Christian knew that he must say something. It might help if he made her understand that he had not meant anything ill by kissing her. “Rowena, I…” He halted, not certain what he could say.
She watched him with those haunting and extraordinary eyes. With obvious reluctance she said, “Yes?”
“I am sorry that I kissed…” Unbelievably, he felt himself flushing as he admitted, “I can never remember apologizing to anyone so oft in my life. I have never had a need to do so….”
She stopped him with an upraised hand. “Please, do not explain. I realize that nobles behave differently from what I may be accustomed to. It is I who should apologize if I made you think I was unduly affected by it.”
Christian was so amazed by this hurried speech that he was struck dumb. Here then, although it was not the truth, was a way out.
He felt a stab of discomfort, but quickly dismissed it. Since he had no reasonable explanation, there was no harm in Rowena thinking what she would. He could not have her know that for one brief moment he had felt…
He shrugged. “I…thank you for your good grace.”
“You are most welcome.” Her tone strengthened.
“But I must ask you to understand that there is something of more import to me.”
He listened in silence.
“You are not to defend my fa—the nobles to me. I will accept you for who you are, having seen that you are a kind and gentle man. But no more than that. My mother’s memory is dear to me.”
Christian felt himself frowning. It was not his purpose to defend the nobility. He wished for her to understand that she might be one of them.
He nodded sharply. He simply had to find a way to explain that did not constitute a defense in her eyes.
They broke their fast in a slightly less tangible tension. Christian could not truly relax, however, for he could not help wondering how he was to go on from here. He could only pray that she would listen when the time came to explain all he knew of her past.
Rowena finished eating before him, saying, “You will pardon me, for I have work to do.”
He nodded, there being nothing else he could say, even though he was certain she was making herself busy in order to avoid talking to him. “Go to it. I will clean away the meal, then take a walk, if you do not mind.” He watched as she went and lifted the heavy lid of the chest at the foot of her bed and began to search inside.
His frustration did not distract him from the rise of interest he felt at the sight of the sheets of parchment she set aside as she dug deeply. Without pausing to think, he moved forward and saw that they were blank. His fingers flexed with sudden anticipation. “You have blank parchments.”
She looked up at him with a frown of confusion, glancing back at the sheets. “Aye. I purchase them from the monastery where I buy my wines. I use them to label my dried ingredients.”
His brows rose with surprise. “You can read and write?”
She shrugged stiffly. “Only well enough to label my goods. One of the monks taught me.”
He studied her profile. Reading was a skill known by few of the nobles, even to the extent she mentioned, yet she spoke as if it were nothing. Again he realized what an unusual young woman she was. Watching her averted face, he knew that she would not be pleased to have him remark on it.
Instead he indicated the parchment. “Would you mind? I would dearly love to have one of the sheets.”
A perplexed expression creased her brow, but she recovered quickly. “Most certainly.” She reached down and plucked a sheet from the stack, holding it out to him.
Christian took it, and as he did his fingers brushed hers. Rowena started backward with a shudder, immediately turning to continue what she had been doing. “I…if you would be so good as to excuse me, I must finish here.”
Christian stepped backward, somewhat appalled that she would be so averse to an innocent touch. She had shown no such aversion to him ere this. Perhaps she was more disturbed by what had occurred the previous day than she was willing to admit.
Roughly he told himself it mattered not. Except, of course, in relation to his quest in getting her to trust him enough to at least listen when he told her who he believed she was.
When she chose that moment to stand, holding a small leather bag in her hand as she said, “I will be off now,” he refrained from comment as to what errand could be taking her away this day. Then she was gone, never once truly looking at him.
He realized there was no understanding the unfathomable Rowena. More importantly, he had no duty to do so. His goal was to take her home to assume her rightful position at Dragonwick. Nothing more, nothing less.
Yet in spite of that logic, as Christian bent over the piece of parchment a short time later, a stick of sharpened charcoal in hand, she was still uppermost in his thoughts, and not solely because of her obstinacy. He also thought of her beauty, her courage and her strength. Driven by these thoughts, he found the rendering quickly began to take form. Yet as it took shape he had an increasingly vivid memory of how he had felt the day before when his lips touched the soft skin of her wrist—the passion and the even more shocking tenderness. These feelings drove his need to do the image justice, and resulted in some time passing before he felt that he had the details just the way he wished them to be.
Finally, though, Christian sat back to run a hand through his hair, shocked at the way he had given in to those thoughts. Self-consciously he rose and stretched. Even though he had fully recovered his strength, there did seem to be a lingering stiffness in his muscles from his days abed. It could not be due to the fact that more time had passed as he sat lost in reverie than he would have imagined possible.
Christian ran an assessing glance over the face portrayed on the parchment. Aye, he had captured Rowena more fully than he had thought to—that regally proud nose, the stubborn chin, the high cheekbones. She was hauntingly beautiful in profile, her almond-shaped eyes seemingly fixed on some inner thought.
In one corner, as in the drawing he had made of Jack, he had without being aware of it sketched the shape of the dragon brooch that was one of three Jarrod had had fashioned just after The Dragon’s death. Christian felt a deep sense of regret that it had been lost with his saddlebag. For he, Simon and Jarrod had worn them proudly, not only as a symbol of their brotherhood, but also as a sign that the memory of their foster father, and the wrong done him, would always live in them.
A deep voice jolted Christian out of his reverie. “What is this?” He looked up to see that he had been so intent on his drawing that Sean had entered through the open door and approached the table without being heard. His gaze was fixed on the likeness of Rowena.
Christian shrugged, deliberately offhand. “If you do not know then I have made a poor effort.”
Sean scowled. “I know who it is, mon. Why have you done it?”
Christian cast a wry glance at him. “Rowena gave me a piece of parchment. I felt like drawing on it.”
“Did Rowena tell ye that ye could draw her likeness?”
“I did not ask.”
“Where is she?”
Christian shrugged again, motioning toward the doorway. “Gone out on some business of her own.”
The younger man watched Christian through narrowed eyes as he said, “Ye told me this morn ye mun leave ere long, that yer family will miss you. Surely, ye mun wish to ease them?”
Christian looked down at the drawing of Rowena. He shrugged. “I have lost my horse and my purse. I will have some trouble returning to England without them.”
Sean squared his shoulders. “Although the horse could ha’ been drowned and washed out to sea, it may only be wandering about. I could see me way to asking about the countryside for ye.” His gaze swept over Christian. “I have no doubt it was an animal of some note.”
Christian nodded. “The horse is an uncommon one, true enough.” He held the other’s gaze. “I would indeed be grateful if you could see him returned to me.”
&nb
sp; Sean bowed, not intimidated. “Would finding it see ye on yer way?”
Christian frowned. “Perhaps.”
Sean glared at him. “I have ye and yer business here clear in my mind, English knight. I know that ye wish to bed my Rowena. I’ll not have it.”
His Rowena. If she were The Dragon’s daughter, as Christian believed, Rowena would never be Sean’s. But neither was she for Christian. He spoke slowly, carefully, feeling some sympathy for the other man’s plight. “You have mistaken my intent here.”
Even as he said it the very notion of bedding Rowena stirred his blood. But any man would feel thus. Christian was in no position to acknowledge or indulge such an inclination.
Sean shook his head. “Ye have been told that the woman ye seek is no’ here, yet ye willna go. Do not forget that I saw ye looking at Rowena, saw what is in yer mind.”
Christian raised his head high. “You know nothing of my thoughts and would do well not to imagine that you do.”
Again Sean ran unhappy green eyes over the drawing. “Then give me that.”
This Christian was not willing to do, not even to ease this hothead’s mind. “Nay, I never give my renderings away. They are a memento, if you like, of where I have been and what I have done.”
The lips twisted disparagingly. “Do ye make a likeness of every woman ye meet, then?”
“Nay, only those of note.” He did not add that he had rarely drawn any of the women he had known. When he had, it had not been based on romantic notions, as Sean obviously assumed.
Christian had begun drawing after his mother died, in an attempt to keep her likeness sharp in his mind. It had been at a time when his father would not have her name spoken, so deep was his grief, and Christian had desperately needed some connection with her. That he had recreated her likeness until he was actually able to do so with some skill had been incidental. Since then Christian had been moved to capture the likeness of many things, many people, the most recent being Jack, who had died with The Dragon’s name on his lips.
Christian smiled at the other man, having nothing to say that might ease his mind, for he could not tell him of his true interest in Rowena.
The younger man rose. “Keep your drawing, then. I need nothing from ye. But ken well that I have seen what ye have in mind no matter that ye deny it. As I told ye, Rowena is mine and I will warn her of yer purpose. Though she has shown ye some kindness, as she has countless others, it is me she will believe, for I have known her long and well. Once she begins to ask hersel why ye stay when ye have naught to keep ye, she will cast ye out. Ye’ll find no easy mark with her, for she’ll not be used as her mither was afore her.”
So the gauntlet had been tossed.
Christian stood. “I see there is no convincing you.”
“Nay. Ye shall be gone ere morning.”
Christian shrugged, although he was aware of the fact that Rowena might indeed be moved by Sean’s determination to play against her fear that her mother had been used and discarded. “Do your worst.”
He was no less determined to take Rowena with him when he left. Christian would simply have to tell her what his real interest in her was in order to counter the other man’s mistaken belief.
Surely he would be able to convince her to at least come with him to England. Once there she would take her rightful place, after he made her see who she was and just how desperately she was needed. Even more than she was needed here.
How he was to accomplish this he was not sure. He would simply have to believe that all would come unraveled one step at a time.
Sean’s declaration had forced Christian to recall that he could not afford the luxury of unlimited time. His return to England must come with all possible haste.
In spite of her warnings to speak no more of her mother, he must now find a way to tell Rowena all, and he must do so this very day. He must do it before Sean had an opportunity to voice his own unfounded suspicious.
Unfortunately, Christian had no notion of when Rowena would be returning to the cottage.
He was not certain if it was the lack of sleep during the previous night, or a slight lingering weakness from his illness, but he grew unusually tired. Thinking to do no more than rest his eyes, he lay down upon the bed, almost immediately falling into a deep but troubled slumber.
When he woke the interior of the cottage had darkened with the advance of evening. He yawned, stretching muscles that cried out for more activity than they had known of late.
A soft sound brought him more fully awake. Quickly he sat up, just in time to see Rowena moving from the table toward the open doorway.
Christian stopped her with a raised hand. “Pray, do not go, Rowena.”
She swung around, her gaze apologetic. “I did not mean to waken you. Go back to sleep. I must go to see Hagar for a while.”
He stood, realizing that he must act now before she saw Sean. “Nay, please wait. There is…there is something that I must tell you, something I have wanted to tell you for some while. Something of great import.”
Now he had her full attention. “Of great import, you say?”
He nodded with determination, feeling more encouraged than he had thought to. “Aye, and the time for delay is long past.” He indicated the bench along the wall. “Although you may not wish to listen, I beg you hear me out ere you grow too vexed.”
Her smooth brow now creased by a scowl, Rowena sat down on the end farthest from him. Her tone was far from encouraging as she said, “What is it that you would tell me?”
Christian took a deep breath, realizing he had given away too much of his frustration with that last statement. He went on more evenly. “You know I did not simply happen upon Ashcroft, Rowena. I came here for a purpose.”
She watched him. “Aye. You were searching for your Rosalind, but as you have been informed, there is no Rosalind in our village.”
He nodded. “Yes, I came here looking for a Rosalind and I have been informed that there is no such woman here. But I believe that you are wrong in your assumption that she is not here.” He held her troubled gaze. “I believe that you, Rowena, are Rosalind.”
“Me?” Rowena could hear the incredulity in her voice. She shook her head at such madness, even as she noted the seriousness of Christian’s expression. “How am I to make any sense of that declaration?”
He sat down beside her, taking her cold hand in his, and she was aware of how strange this situation and what he was saying was. At the same time the utter gravity in his blue gaze held her captive.
He went on slowly, seeming to choose each word with infinite care. “I believe, Rowena, that you may very well be Lady Rosalind Kelsey, the lost daughter of the former earl of Kelsey.”
She jerked her hand from his, putting it to his forehead. “Is your fever returned?” His skin felt cool and dry. “Or have you simply gone mad?”
He grasped her hand again. “I am not ill. Nor am I mad. I am very sorry to have dealt you such a shock, and wish there were some other way I could think to say it, but I have tried time upon time over the past days with no success. I could think of nothing more than just to tell you outright.”
Suddenly she realized that this was not some game or mistake on his part. The knight actually believed what he was saying.
That she, Rowena, was the lost daughter of the earl of Kelsey.
So this was what he had been attempting to get at with all those questions about her parentage. What a fool she had been to think he simply did not wish to believe her a bastard. But this madness was even worse.
Rowena jerked her hand away from his and twisted her fingers together in her lap. “I cannot allow you to go on like this.”
He shook his head. “I agreed not to defend your father or other nobles. It is not my intention to do that, but to tell you what I believe concerning your identity.”
She put her hand to her cheek. “Do you not see that for me to even allow you to go on is to say that there is a possibility that Mother could ha
ve lied to me? She would never have done so.”
He sighed, his tone earnest as he said, “Unless she sought to protect you by doing so.”
Rowena shook her head as she looked up at him again. “And how could such a lie protect me?”
“I have told you of Rosalind’s father and how he died. The child was believed to have been killed in the same battle, pushed down the stair in the turmoil.”
She stood. “I tell you this is madness. My mother would not have kept such a thing from me, would not have allowed me to believe something so painful for no reason—that I was a bastard child. Her anger toward my father, was so great that it could not have been feigned.”
Christian stood awkwardly, looking down at her with entreaty. “Aye, I can see how it could be. You see, according to Sir Jack, who told me all of this, the nurse’s own child was killed. As for her anger with your father, ’haps she felt The Dragon was responsible, that her little one would still be alive if he had not fought to defend the keep.”
“’Tis so far-fetched as to be impossible. You are desperate to find this woman, and see her in me because of that.”
He shook his head. “You are of an age. You know nothing of your father, other than the tale that he did not want you. You came here from England with the woman you call your mother only months after the attack on Dragonwick keep. You have been taught to mistrust strangers.”
She covered her ears. “It is not possible.”
Gently, he drew them away, his heart twisting at the pain in her gaze. But he knew that making her at least consider the possibility that she might be Rosalind was for her own good. “Rowena—” his eyes held hers “—have you never noted that your speech is quite unlike that of the locals?”
She frowned. “My mother always insisted that I speak as she did.”
He lifted a dark brow. “But your mode of speech is like mine and other nobles. If your mother hated nobles so greatly, why would she insist upon this?”
“I…nay.” Rowena backed away from him.
He let go of her and took a deep breath. “I can see that I have done badly here. I can further explain why I believe you may be the earl’s daughter. You are under no obligation to agree. Only please listen to my reasoning, no matter how wrong you think it.”
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