Instant Father. Lucy Gordon

days.”

      Shock drew him upright. “Four days? But how…?”

      His father needed him at Bransbury. Only Christian’s determination to settle the debt to his former foster father could have taken him away, now that he realized his error in staying away for so very long. He must return!

      She took a step closer. “One of the village lads found you unconscious on the beach. I…you were brought here so that I could care for you.”

      His mind teemed with questions, yet his confusion only served to make the weakness in his body more pronounced. “I recall nothing beyond riding along a rocky and narrow track wedged between a high cliff and a rolling sea.”

      She took another step closer. “Then you did not wash ashore from a ship.”

      He looked at her. “Nay, I was mounted, trying to find my way to a particular village. A place called Ashcroft.”

      “You have arrived at your destination. Well, near enough. My cottage lies in the wood nearby.”

      He took a deep breath. “This is Ashcroft?” She nodded and he felt hope growing inside him, for if he had found the village…

      She spoke slowly, watching him with those amazing green eyes. There was an intensity in them that surprised him. “Why have you come here?”

      He wished that he did not feel so very tired, so weak, so conscious of her mesmerizing loveliness. He sighed. “I am searching for someone. A young woman.”

      She bit her full lower lip. “Rosalind?”

      He jerked, alert again. “Aye, but how would you know that? Do you know her?”

      She shook her head quickly, seeming uneasy at his vehemence. “Nay, I know nothing of a Rosalind. I…you said her name when you were ill. You spoke of Dragons and dead babes. I thought you might be quite mad.”

      Disappointment added to Christian’s utter exhaustion as he sighed. “I assure you that I am not mad.” He raked a hand through his hair. “I want to…” He could not quite focus his mind on what it was he did want.

      The next thing he knew he felt cool, gentle hands upon his brow. Her soft, husky voice murmured, “Do not worry over anything now. Lie still. There will be time enough for what you wish to do. All will be well.”

      He could not summon the energy to explain that he was needed at Bransbury…that he must…

      It was full light when Christian once again opened his eyes, instantly recalling the events of the night. He sat up, glad for the strength that seemed to be returning to his body. Even as he thought this, his gaze searched for the young woman he had spoken to before.

      She was there beside the fire, as she had been the previous night. This time she was garbed for the day in a woolen gown of deep forest-green.

      There was guarded tension in that slender form, as there had been the previous time they’d spoken, but there was no fear in her captivating green eyes. She spoke evenly. “Good morrow, sir.”

      He could hear the huskiness in his own voice as he replied, “Good morrow, kind lady. Forgive me for not offering my thanks last night, for it appears I have much to be thankful for if you have taken me in and nursed me. Especially whilst knowing nothing of me. For my lack of chivalry, pray forgive me. I can only claim surprise at finding myself in these circumstances.”

      She inclined her head with an unconsciously regal grace. “Your thanks are well met.”

      He found himself watching her closely, realizing anew that she was likely the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, with those green eyes, well-formed features and auburn hair, now confined in a thick braid that hung to her hips. He heard the wonder in his voice as he asked, “Pray, do you mind my asking who you are?”

      She seemed to stiffen, answering without looking at him. “My name is Rowena.” She cast a fleeting glance in his direction, then added, “And you are?”

      He noted her seeming agitation over giving her name, but could fathom no reason for it as he answered, “Sir Christian Greatham, of Bransbury.”

      Her gaze flew to his and she straightened fully, her fair brow creasing. “A knight!”

      He frowned in turn. “Does that trouble you?”

      She flicked her tongue over those full lips as if with nervousness, replying, “Nay, I have simply never met a noble. My mother did not…How does one behave with a knight?”

      He shrugged, replying even as he noted the unfinished remark. “As one wishes.”

      She frowned thoughtfully, those eyes flicking toward him and away, and he could not help noting once more how beautiful they were with their surprisingly dark fringe of lashes. A man could become lost in those…

      Abruptly he called himself to task. This woman’s eyes were not what had brought him to Ashcroft. “Where are my clothes? My horse?”

      She shook her head with regret. “I am sorry. The clothing had to be burned. There was nothing left of it, really. And the horse…” She again shook her head. “We saw no sign of a horse.”

      Christian raked a hand through his hair. God, what a fool he had been to continue on that night. The animal had been worth much in gold, but his value as a constant and loyal companion had been far greater. Christian’s eyes widened as he realized that with the loss of his stallion, he had also lost all that had been in his saddlebags, including his dragon brooch. It was the symbol of his brotherhood with his friends Simon and Jarrod, and their determination to stand against the man who had murdered The Dragon. Hatred for the man who had perpetrated that crime rolled in Christian’s belly for a brief moment before he overcame it.

      If he had lost the brooch, he would not have it be for naught. He would discover if Rosalind were still alive. And if she was, Kelsey might pay for his crimes at long last.

      Christian could not accomplish that clothed in a bed fur. He pulled the cover higher about his waist as he cast an assessing gaze over the young woman. “Are you alone here?”

      She flushed. “Yes, but it was not I who…Hagar was the one who removed your…”

      “You mistake me. I was not concerned with who might have removed my garments, only with attaining others. Who is this Hagar?”

      “She is…a friend who lives in the village. An elder lady.”

      He sighed.

      Rowena watched her patient with an embarrassment mixed with fascination that nearly overrode her caution and discomfort.

      This man with the powerful form and gentle eyes was a knight! Just as her father had been.

      She trained her full attention on the man before her. She had never grown accustomed to him ill. Conscious and fully aware, he was even more disquieting.

      She tried not to let her gaze linger on the broad expanse of his naked chest and shoulders as she wondered if she was fooling herself to imagine that he would not recall any of what had occurred while she tended him. The fact that he seemed more concerned about his lost garments than with her should have put her at ease.

      It did not. For she was even more eager than he to cover that smooth, tawny flesh.

      Hagar was the only one who could aid her in this. Surely the older woman would be able to help her find garments to clothe her guest.

      So thinking, Rowena said, “If you will await me I will go and fetch something for you. I…we…Hagar and I did not know when you might awaken, and gave no thought to what you might wear when, and if, you did.”

      Without waiting for a reply, Rowena took her warm woolen cape from the peg on the door and stepped into her leather shoes.

      He spoke up. “Rowena, I would—”

      But she did not stop in her flight from the cottage. “You