“I…thank you, I…Isabelle.”
The other woman nodded and motioned for her to follow as she said, “There is much to be done.”
And much there was.
Rowena went along, listening and learning as Isabelle discussed the running of the keep with the cooks, the laundresses, the seneschal and untold others. When the cook spoke to Isabelle of her husband’s bloating and lethargy, it was Rowena who said, “Give him green rue. It may be eaten or consumed in a drink.”
The cook bowed with gratitude and Rowena nodded in return.
When they had moved on, Isabelle said, “You have my thanks, and I would be grateful if you would impart some of your healing lore to us here.”
“I would be happy to do so,” she replied. “I am grateful for the gift God has given me and would share what knowledge I possess.”
“I love my duties as lady to Avington,” Isabelle confided to Rowena. Ruefully she admitted, “My father felt I was unable to do aught but tend my own appearance.”
It was clear that being lady of this keep brought her only joy. Yet Rowena could not help thinking that Isabelle’s situation would be uncommon amongst her kind. She had the great fortune to love and be much loved by the man who had wed her, quite unlike others of her station.
Yet her position was dependent on the toil of so many. Rowena sighed.
“You seem troubled.” Isabelle’s voice intruded upon her thoughts.
Watching her closely, Rowena asked, “Does it never trouble you that all these folk have put their own lives second to tending to yours and your possessions?”
The moment the words were spoken Rowena wished them back. She had not meant to offend one who had treated her so very kindly, however much that kindness was based on her belief that Rowena might be her sister. She shook her head. “Pray forgive me. I should not have…”
Isabelle smiled gently, her gaze searching Rowena’s face. “Once I might have agreed with you on that. I was of little use to anyone, including myself. But when I had the opportunity to take up the duties of my position, everything became clear. What I do here—manage the running of this keep and the housing of its folk—is of grave import. When the lands do well the folk of Avington have plenty. When they do not, Simon will provide from the stores here. If the folk are threatened they may come to the keep and depend upon these strong walls to protect them.”
“But they might not require protection, except when some enemy tries to take the very things you say protect them.”
Isabelle shrugged. “Is it really thus where you come from? Have there never been those who would take what others have? No invading armies?”
Rowena sighed. “I…suppose there must have been. I have heard tales of the Norsemen raiding farther up the coast from Ashcroft.”
“Do those folk not band together under a strong leader whom they trust?”
She shook her head. “I believe he is picked from amongst the clans that exist in Scotland. He does not take his place simply by an accident of birth.”
“Are not those who are chosen often the sons of great leaders?”
“I believe so.”
“Because great men beget great men.” She put a hand to her belly. “I only pray that my son will be as good a man as his father.”
Rowena had already come to respect the other woman. She could not find it in her to dismiss her way of thinking out of hand.
If for no other reason than the return of courtesy where so much had been given.
She bowed. “You have given me much to think on.”
Isabelle bowed in return. “I thank you for listening. Now, if you would excuse me, I wish to lie down for a short time before the evening meal. Simon insists.” Her smile was fond.
Rowena nodded. “Pray do. The babe must tire you.”
When Isabelle had gone, Rowena sighed. Although she was not convinced that the way of the nobles was indeed best, she did indeed respect Isabelle.
Yet that did not mean she must give up her own way of seeing things. She need not agree to take part in what to her seemed wrong.
While waiting for the evening meal to begin, Christian listened as Simon said, “There are some folk at Avington who came from Dragonwick after Kelsey took control. We must question all those who had association at the castle and might remember the young lady Rosalind. Even though they do not recognize her, changed as she would be by the years between, they might recall something that would arouse a memory in Rowena herself.”
Christian nodded, although a deep frown etched his forehead. “I have told you what she does remember of her childhood. Unless something is said that breaks loose a piece of memory that she is not consciously aware of, it will do little good. As you have noted, she was very young at the time of her leaving Dragonwick. Nonetheless, questioning your folk is as good a notion as any.”
“I will set my men to finding out who might be of help.”
Christian rubbed the back of his neck. “They must have no hint of why they are being questioned.”
Simon shrugged. “I will not inform the men of our purpose. Thus they will not reveal anything even inadvertently.”
Christian nodded. “I will join your men, of course.”
Isabelle spoke up gently, from her place beside Simon. “There is no need for that, Christian. We would greatly love the pleasure of your company after these many weeks.”
He shook his head, albeit with equal gentleness. “I cannot sit here at the keep waiting for word. I would much prefer to be doing something.”
He saw Isabelle and Simon exchange a glance. She bowed her regal head as she replied, “As you will.” It was a gesture he had seen Rowena make, and only added to his certainty that he had found the right woman.
Yet none of his revelations had merit unless Rowena changed her mind. Frustration tightened his throat as he realized they could be doing all this for naught. For even if they did find some definitive proof, Rowena did not mean to stay.
He drew himself up. He could only tell himself that once she realized what her mother had told her of nobles was false, she would change her mind about returning to Scotland. Suddenly Christian felt a feathery tingling of awareness even as he heard Isabelle say, “Here is Rowena, at last.”
He braced himself, as he always did, for the sight of her. Because unwanted as it might be, he knew that tug of desire would come, as it always did.
His gaze came to rest upon her, standing at the bottom of the stair leading into the hall, and he realized there could be no preparation for the sight that met his eyes.
Rowena was garbed in a flowing gown of deep forest-green velvet. The fabric seemed to cling to each curve of her form with unabashed sensuality, molding hips, narrow waist and full breasts that would have captured eyes less eager than his.
Christian’s attention moved upward across the deep scooped bodice, over a long white throat in which he could see the beating of her pulse.
He feasted on each feature of her face, that stubborn chin that now seemed soft and surprisingly vulnerable. He noted the flush that rode high on her cheekbones, and looked up into a pair of eyes that had darkened to match the green velvet ribbons threaded through her intricately upswept hair.
“Is she not lovely?” Isabelle murmured in an approving and almost maternal voice.
Had anyone ever been more lovely?
Isabelle spoke again. “She is shy. You must bring her forward.”
It was not Christian who rose to greet her and lead her to table, but Simon. Christian could not move. He felt as if he had been mortared into place.
Rowena offered but a moment’s hesitation before taking her host’s outstretched arm.
Clearly she had heard Isabelle’s remark, for she said, “You are too kind, Lady…Isabelle. ’Tis the finery that has made me so.” She cast a quick and appreciative glance at the skirt of the green velvet gown. “Anyone would be beautiful in such a garment.”
“That is not entirely true. Do you not agree, Chri
stian, that the gown is so well displayed because of its wearer?” Simon added gallantly.
He swallowed. There was nothing he could say but the truth. “I have never seen anything more lovely.” He was suddenly beset with images of her looking even more compelling, her eyes dark with passion, her lips swollen from his kisses.
Rowena’s gaze met his for a long and oddly vulnerable moment before it skittered away, and he could only be grateful that she could not read his thoughts.
She directed a soft half smile at Simon, then dropped her gaze, the thick fringe of her lashes dark against her ivory cheeks. “I thank you all. Now, please say no more, for you have indeed made me shy.”
Simon helped her into her seat. “Then no more shall be said.”
Christian felt his lips tighten almost painfully as he held back all that he would have told her—all he could never tell her. He did not know how he would ever sleep again without thoughts of her tormenting his dreams. He could never admit how his very flesh seemed to come to tingling life whenever she was near, how he longed to see her smile at him as she had Simon.
On the heels of that thought came the realization that his physical attraction toward Rowena could not explain the depth of his reaction to her. For it went beyond that. He felt a sense of wonder and awe in her nobility of bearing and character. The garments she wore only emphasized what he had already seen.
She would be a fine and noble lady to Dragonwick if only she would accept the role.
Surely that was the reason he was reacting so strongly to seeing her this way. He had neither the inclination nor the stamina to take on Dragonwick—nor the proud Rowena.
Christian spent the following day with several of Simon’s men. They managed to locate a surprising number of folk who had been at Dragonwick. None of them had lived in, or frequented, the castle.
He did learn something that disturbed him greatly from a man and woman who had recently left all they knew at Dragonwick to live with family members. The farm of the man’s sister was quite small, but the couple was clearly grateful to be there.
This he reported to Simon, Isabelle and Rowena at the evening meal. The man, Luke, had said, “Pray tell the lord that we are very glad to be here and that things are bad at Dragonwick, very bad. The people are hungry, the lands barren. The lord has locked himself up in the keep and makes no effort to tend to the estates.”
Simon frowned. “Kelsey?”
Isabelle was shaking her head. “My f—Lord Kelsey has ridden out every day of his life. Although it is only by way of keeping command of every aspect of life at Dragonwick he spent his every hour overseeing it.”
Christian shrugged. “Not of late, apparently.”
Isabelle’s face grew troubled.
Christian went on, feeling Rowena’s attention upon him. “Luke said that never a day has passed that The Dragon has not been missed, and that others who are not afraid to speak of it feel the same.”
In spite of his disappointment at not finding anyone who could help to identify Rosalind, Christian was gratified to see the loyalty that was still apparent toward their former lord. He said, “Once Rosalind has been brought forward there will be much support for her amongst the common folk.”
He could only wonder what Rowena made of any of it. Meeting her gaze, he saw the horror in those green depths.
With studied calm she rose and said, “Forgive me, I mean no insult to any of you, but I have made myself known on this subject. I want no war on my behalf. Now if you will excuse me…”
She walked away, her spine erect, leaving Christian to wonder if there had ever been a wench more stubborn, or desirable, than Rowena.
Chapter Ten
Only two days after walking out on their conversation about Dragonwick, Rowena stood in the open doorway of the keep watching with amazement the events that were taking place in the courtyard. Yet as Christian greeted his newly arrived family, she also experienced curiosity and unwanted longing. She had little fear of her feelings being noted. The attention of all present was fixed on the two new arrivals.
Word that Lord Greatham and the lady Aislynn had begged entry had sent them rushing from Isabelle’s solar, where Rowena, Isabelle and Simon had been partaking of some mulled wine in the cool afternoon. Christian had been noticeably absent, as he had been at each meal for two days.
Not that Rowena would allow herself to care. She had occupied herself with teaching the castle women what she could about healing. The fact that they were so eager and grateful for her knowledge helped ease her unwanted yearning for the dratted man, somewhat.
It was the nights that were hardest. It was then that she was beset with thoughts of how his touch had moved her, of how her body yearned to relive that experience, no matter how she longed to put him and passion in the past.
Roughly she called herself to task, focusing on what was happening in the courtyard. As did Rowena, Isabelle and Simon stood back on the steps to allow the three some measure of privacy in their reunion.
The girl, small and pale, leaned down to say something to Christian, and fell into his arms.
Instantly Isabelle hurried down the steps. “Bring her into the keep.”
There were several moments that could have been chaos if not for Isabelle’s steady nature. And soon Aislynn was in bed, tucked beneath a heavy coverlet, her exhaustion evident in the circles beneath her eyes.
Isabelle had only just turned and said, “We must leave her to rest,” when Aislynn opened her eyes and raised up groggily.
Rowena listened as the others all spoke at once.
“Aislynn, are you well?”
“Do you hurt anywhere?”
“Is there anything you need?”
Holding up a hand for silence, Christian moved to the edge of the bed. “Aislynn, Father told us that you have been wounded. You should not have traveled so soon.”
The girl raised a trembling hand to smooth tendrils the color of moonlight back from her brow, her delicate features and diminutive size making her appear ethereal and fragile. “I am fine, only tired. The wound does not pain me overmuch.”
Watching her, Rowena thought she saw something haunted in the eyes that were the same color as her brother’s. The young woman sat up slowly. “I would meet everyone.”
Christian did the honors. “Aislynn, this is Simon Warleigh and his bride, Lady Isabelle.” When Aislynn’s gaze slid onward, he added, “This is Rowena.”
Aislynn nodded and Rowena felt the way her eyes lingered on her. “I am pleased to meet you all at last.”
Lord Greatham stepped forward, drawing all eyes to him as he addressed his daughter gently. “That is quite enough for now. You must rest.”
She smiled at him and sighed. “As I said, I am fine and feel quite silly about worrying you all.” She turned to Christian. “I am most interested in hearing why you had us worry so.”
He looked to Rowena and she moved toward him. At the same time Isabelle gave her a nod of support. Christian said, “I am very sorry, Aislynn, but I was sworn to silence by a dying man. I could tell no one.” He hesitated. “I had been informed that The Dragon’s daughter was alive and that I had to journey to Scotland to find her.”
“Alive?” Aislynn’s incredulity was clear. “But she was killed in Kelsey’s attack on Dragonwick Castle, along with her father.”
Christian caught and held Rowena’s gaze, and she felt her heart thump with anxiety as to what Christian’s sister would make of all this. “Mayhap not,” he replied.
“Mayhap?” She looked to Rowena. “Are you The Dragon’s daughter?”
Rowena could only return her measuring gaze. “I know not. Your brother believes I am.”
Aislynn sagged back in amazement, and now Isabelle’s tone, however quiet, brooked no dissension. “There will be time for this later.”
Aislynn stammered, “B-but—”
This time her father said, “Nay, no more now. It will all wait until you are rested.” Yet even as he spoke Rowe
na could feel his amazed blue eyes upon her.
She was beginning to feel as if she were some just-discovered creature, both fascinating and unbelievable at the same time. The thought was not pleasing. Raising her head, she caught his gaze as she passed by him, holding it.
He did naught but give her a polite nod as he allowed both her and Isabelle to precede him out the door. Once in the corridor he seemed to have lost interest in her. The face he turned to Christian was naked with joy and relief. “Christian, you are well?”
His son nodded. “I am. I can see that I have worried you and Aislynn greatly. I can only beg your forgiveness.”
Rowena saw the moisture that glistened in the older man’s eyes, which he quickly wiped away as he raked a tired hand over his face. She could not help being moved by this sign of paternal love. It made her long anew to know who her own father had been.
Had he been the kind of man who would cry at the return of his son or daughter?
She would likely never know for certain.
Christian was very pleased to see his father and sister, for he had worried greatly about what they must be thinking. He was shocked to see them here. His father never left Bransbury, and Christian’s guilt over bringing him away from the lands was great. The injury he had sustained after an accident on his horse some years previous made it difficult for him to spend long hours in the saddle. It had also left him with a slow, halting gate that tore Christian’s heart when he recalled the physically powerful man his father had been when Christian had left England for the Holy Land.
In spite of his concern and guilt, he found himself noting Rowena’s dejection and wondering at it. Wondering if she was unhappy here. If she would be wishing…
He raised a hand to stop her as she moved away. “Rowena.”
She spun around, her almond-shaped eyes wide, uncertain.
He went toward her, reaching for his belt. “I have something for you.” He held out the velvet bag she had given him in Ashcroft.
After a long hesitation, Rowena took it, being careful not to touch him. Christian tried not to think about that or the fact that he had gotten the gold to replace hers from Simon days ago.
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