Dragon's Knight. Catherine Archer

her father had said, the knight should be shown the utmost honor and hospitality they could bestow upon him. Christian’s chamber was vacant at the moment and quite spacious. It should serve their guest quite well.

      Without further ado Aislynn went to the kitchens and charged her women with readying a bath. She then made her way to her brother’s chamber to prepare it for Jarrod Maxwell herself, determined to behave as the daughter of her father’s noble house. Yet, as she was spreading the clean linens on the bed, the bed Jarrod Maxwell would soon lie upon, she noted with alarm that her hands were trembling. Quickly, she told herself her trembling was only due to her excitement and hope that the knight might actually be able to help them find her brother.

      When she moved to place the soft white pillow upon the bed, she could not deny an unexplainable thrill at the vivid image of his dark head upon it. She took a deep breath and held the snowy pillow tightly to her breast.

      It was with a start of surprise that, at that very moment, she heard her father’s voice behind her in the open doorway. Along with it came the unmistakable deep tones of the man who was so much in her thoughts.

      She swung around to face them with a guilty start, dropping the pillow onto the floor.

      Her father motioned Jarrod Maxwell into the chamber as he addressed her. “Aislynn, my dear, Margaret informs me that Sir Jarrod is to have Christian’s room during his stay.”

      Aislynn nodded, not meeting her father’s gaze as, with a pounding heart, she bent to pick up the pillow and toss it upon the bed. Telling herself that the men could not have known her thoughts even if they had seen her hugging it, she replied quickly, “There is no point in his having less comfortable accommodation when it is vacant. Sir Jarrod will have some measure of privacy here.” As she motioned toward the large wooden tub, she realized that the knight’s name felt strange and at the same time welcome on her lips, which only disturbed her further.

      Hurriedly she went on evenly, determined to behave as if she welcomed this man no more than she would any other guest. “The women are heating water for a bath as we speak.”

      Jarrod Maxwell held up a hand, shaking his black head. “There is no need—”

      Her father interrupted him. “Nay, do not demure, sir knight. Allow us to thank you for your help by way of our hospitality.”

      The other man subsided, bowing, his stance tense, as if he were uncomfortable at being the object of their consideration.

      Aislynn found herself studying Jarrod Maxwell as he stood there with her father. This new awkwardness was a sharp contrast to the grace and power that seemed his accustomed demeanor. What a strange mixture of reticence and confidence he was. No wonder Christian held him in such high esteem.

      Again Aislynn felt an unmistakable stirring inside her. He raised a strong hand and raked it through the raven darkness of his hair while he listened to her father. At that very moment those black eyes found hers and she felt herself flush. He held her gaze for just one moment. “Lady Aislynn.”

      Quickly she looked away, moving to make sure the towel she had draped over the bench was not too close to the fire, though she already knew that it was not. Far from being pleased that he had acknowledged her, she was unaccountably flustered, her heart thumping in her breast.

      Deliberately Aislynn occupied herself with wandering about the room, putting away the few items her brother had left out. The two men’s conversation became no more than a soft murmur in the background, though the deep timbre of the knight’s voice kept her senses in a heightened state.

      So successful was she in distracting herself that she ceased to even attend their conversation until her father’s voice rose as he said, “What do you mean, the side of one of the pots has cracked?” Aislynn looked up to see that her father was addressing Margaret, the head woman at Bransbury, who stood at the entrance to the chamber with a perplexed frown creasing her brow.

      The slender, dark-haired Margaret looked from him to Aislynn. “I did not mean to trouble you with this matter, my lord. I intended to inform Lady Aislynn. The iron hook that held the pot of bathing water over the fire came loose, causing it to fall.”

      Her brow creasing, for a crack in one of the enormous pots was a calamity indeed, Aislynn started forward. “I will see to it, Father.” She would be glad of an excuse to leave them.

      But her father halted her with a raised hand. “Nay, Aislynn, you have had much to occupy you. See to our guest. I will attend this matter myself. I wish to see how badly the pot is damaged.”

      “But…”

      It was too late. He was gone and with him, Margaret.

      She heaved a silent sigh. Clearly she had been too effective at appearing busy.

      And now she was yet more determined to appear so. She did not wish to attempt to make polite conversation. But Aislynn could feel the knight watching her. She could not bring herself to look at him, not now without her father’s presence to buffer her feelings.

      Desperately she looked about the chamber. The fire burned clean, the tub was ready for filling, the linens were laid out, the bed was turned down. There was nothing left to do and his attention upon her was near tangible, though Aislynn pretended not to notice.

      She felt a flush staining her cheeks. Surely she had blushed more in the past hours since Jarrod Maxwell’s arrival than ever before in her life.

      It was with a start that she heard him speak her name. “Lady Aislynn?”

      She looked across the length of the thick carpet that marked the center of the room and into those black, depthless eyes. There was no expression in them that she could read. “My lord?”

      He motioned about the chamber. “Would you mind if I have a look about? I might be able to find something that would help us in our search for Christian.”

      Instantly she shook her head, blushing anew as she realized what her thoughts should truly be occupied with—her brother and finding him. “Nay, please do so, but I do not know what you might find. My father and I have been through everything. There seems to be nothing here beyond my brother’s clothing and his drawings.”

      “He left his drawings? When we were in the Holy Land he never went far without them.” His dark brows arched. “Perhaps I will begin there.”

      Aislynn started toward the chest at the end of the bed and was aware that he was moving toward it, too. When she halted before it, she reached out to the latch. A strange but unmistakable jolt flashed through her as her hand came into contact with warm flesh and she pulled her hand back. In that brief contact, she was aware that the skin she had inadvertently touched was smooth and hard. The skin of a man’s hand.

      Jarrod Maxwell’s hand.

      Her gaze lifted and she saw that he was now standing close enough that she could see the fine lines at the corners of his mysterious black eyes. He took a step backward, murmuring, “Forgive me. I but thought to do something for myself rather than have you wait upon me.”

      Her heart pounding, Aislynn saw that his mobile mouth had turned down in a frown. Rubbing her still trembling hand against the back of her skirt, she wondered if he was aware of her own reaction to that inadvertent touch.

      She answered hastily, attempting to cover her confusion. “There is nothing to forgive. You simply startled me.” She was decidedly unhappy with the breathlessness in her voice.

      Surely it was surprise that made her tingle from the top of her head to the tips of her toes—startlement.

      He bowed, not meeting her gaze now, and Aislynn turned back to open the chest. She found herself speaking too quickly. “As I told you, we have searched everything. Though there are hundreds of renderings, none of them gives any hint of where Christian might have gone.”

      With the lid thrown back, the few sheets of parchment, which lay on top of Christian’s best garments, were revealed. “These are most recent of those we found. All the