Dragon's Knight. Catherine Archer

to Lord Greatham. “Neither Simon nor myself would have you do aught but contact us about this matter.”

      Jarrod recalled Aislynn’s obvious understanding of their brotherhood, and felt an unwanted rush of kinship toward her. He knew again a strong pull of awareness that centered in his lower belly. Instantly Jarrod called himself firmly to task.

      He forced himself to look at her again, to see her clearly as the child she was. It was almost with relief that, as he swept her form, which was enveloped in a gown of heavy sapphire velvet, his eyes told him that she was indeed a tiny waif of a girl with fragile bones. And her blue eyes were, as they had been the first time he saw her, too large for her heart-shaped face.

      He also recalled a blond braid of so pale a shade that it was not readily forgotten. His gaze slid over the hood that completely concealed her hair. The honey of her brows and lashes made him wonder if it had darkened as many children’s did as they approached adulthood.

      At the moment, his eyes met those blue ones again and he saw that they bore an expression of uncertainty as well as sadness over her brother’s disappearance. He found himself thinking that he would do whatever he must to see that sadness gone from her eyes. To see her smile.

      His gaze went to those lips, which were not smiling now. Her tongue flicked out to dampen the lower lip, which seemed more full than before. He felt a stab of awareness and found himself once more looking into the blue eyes that were watching him with an expression he could not begin to name.

      The baron’s voice intruded on Jarrod’s thoughts like a cold draft as he said, “I appreciate your enthusiasm, sir, but I am certain you must have your own matters to attend.”

      Jarrod blinked and turned back to the other man. “Forgive me, my lord, but I have nothing of more import to attend. At the same time, I do not mean to press myself where I am not wanted.” He squared his shoulders, frustrated with the need to convince the other man to accept his help. He sensed the depth of their concern as well as his own. Tact was not one of his virtues, but he ventured, “I understand that I am as determined to find your son as you yourself are, my lord. I am but another pair of hands, another horse, to aid the efforts that are already being made. I would do whatever I can to locate him and see him returned home without delay.”

      Lord Greatham sighed heavily, rubbing long slender fingers across a tired brow. “I know not what you could accomplish, sir knight. Thus far none of my efforts or those of my men have gained so much as one hint of where my son has gone.” The baron took a long, deep breath. “It appears as though my son rode out from this keep and disappeared into the mists.”

      Jarrod bowed. “I assure you, I have naught else to demand my attention than finding Christian.”

      He could see the continued strain on the older man’s face, even as indecision creased his brow.

      At that moment the woman reached out to put a comforting hand on her father’s arm. And Lord Greatham, proud man that he was, put his hand over hers as if it was she who needed comfort.

      She whispered, “Pray heed his offer, Father. Sir Jarrod is as worried as we and mayhap he can help us. I…Christian was gone from us for such a very long time and now…”

      Her anxiety moved Jarrod to a feeling of protectiveness that amazed him. He also felt moved by Lord Greatham’s pain as he sighed. Jarrod listened with relief as he said, “I will accept your aid in the spirit it is offered.”

      Jarrod bowed again, knowing that he could not afford the weakness of becoming too attached to Christian’s sister, or his father, for that matter. The only relationships he’d ever experienced with anything approaching satisfaction were those with Christian and Simon. And they needed nothing from him, accepting his loyalty and love, not requiring it.

      Jarrod had never been needed by anyone, nor had he himself needed anyone, not his father, nor his half brother, nor his moth—He stopped himself before the last thought could fully form. Jarrod was greatly aware of his own good fortune. As the bastard son of an Eastern woman and his father, he had been brought back to England and lived in his father’s noble household until he’d overheard his younger, legitimate, brother Eustace begging their father to send him away. Having never felt that he truly belonged in the household of his father’s legitimate wife and son, he had requested that he be sent away into training as a knight.

      His father had agreed with his accustomed lack of emotion and Jarrod had fostered with The Dragon at thirteen, those two years being the best of his life. And even after his foster father had been betrayed and murdered by The Dragon’s own half brother, Jarrod had simply gone on to a new fosterage, leaving England with his new lord and not returning until early in this year. As Simon and Christian had also made the journey, staying on in the employ of the Knights Templar, when most others had returned to England, he had been more than content for the thirteen years he had remained in those hot desert climes. He had only ventured to return when they had, feeling no more tied to the East than he was to England.

      He would remain, as he has always been, free to come and go, by his own will. He would keep his mind on what he had come here to do. “I thank you, sir, and will begin at whatever task you would have me do with all haste.”

      Lord Greatham inclined his own head, seeming almost relieved now that the matter had been decided. “You may do what you think best in this. Truth to tell, I find I have a scarcity of inspiration.”

      “I thank you, my lord, for your faith in me.”

      The older man shrugged. “Give more credit to my son’s high opinion of you.” He eyed Jarrod with a respect that did nothing to disguise the pain he was feeling. “Your quest will wait till morn. For tonight you will accept not only our thanks but our hospitality.” He gestured to one of the servants who stood nearby. “Bring our guest a seat as well as a cup and plate.” He then turned to Jarrod again. “Please, take a place at our table.”

      “Thank you, my lord. I would be grateful as well as honored to sup with you.”

      Jarrod seated himself on the bench that was brought forward. In spite of his hunger, he found himself picking at the food presented to him. Resolved to remain unmoved by these two, he cast not so much as a glance in Aislynn Greatham’s direction.

      Yet he was uncomfortably aware of Aislynn throughout the remainder of the meal. With the baron it was easier. They talked of hunting and other such pursuits, seeming to stay away from more personal issues. He felt the baron was not eager to reveal more of his inner feelings than had already been given away.

      Even when Aislynn rose before the meal’s end, begging fatigue, he kept from looking directly at her, though he was aware of a certain stiffness that emanated from her small person. Only then did he finally look into her delicate face to see that she was watching him with a look of hurt confusion in her blue eyes.

      Jarrod kept his surprise severely in check. As soon as she noted his attention, she looked away, making a hasty departure.

      Once she was gone, though, Jarrod realized that he was indeed behaving quite madly. He was decidedly wrong to think he could prevent being moved by Christian’s sister to some extent. She was frightened for him and Jarrod loved Christian as his brother. It was only natural that he would feel a strong connection to the sister Christian loved and who obviously loved Christian. He could not ignore her in his short time here, nor did he wish to.

      She was feeling badly enough without his being rude. One did not have to become attached to show kindness as he had toward many in his life.

      Chapter Two

      Aislynn paused before the door that led to the private chambers and peered back toward the high table. Aye, Jarrod Maxwell was indeed still there. He was not some figment of her imaginings, that strange and fascinating man who had come walking into their lives with that cool breath of wind. And yet he had managed to sit the whole of the meal without one word to her, talking with her father as if she did not even exist.

      She would certainly wish him at the far ends of the earth