Dragon's Daughter

by Catherine Archer

  Rowena did not want to ask, yet a voice that she knew was her own said, “And what did you reply?”

  She could feel the weight of the silence that followed, the weight of all their eyes as she was carefully measured by that assessing gaze. Finally the lady Jannelle, whose hair was as dark a brown as her eyes, shook her head. “The truth is that I do not know. I do see that there is a similarity to The Dragon in your coloring and the way you hold your head. He had such a way about him, was regal as only kings have a right to be. You have that quality…”

  Regal?

  Rowena was amazed by this description of herself. She was one of the ordinary folk.

  Lady Jannelle’s voice drew her back.

  “…yet I cannot be sure.” Her gaze met Rowena’s. “Are you completely certain that you recall absolutely nothing of your life before you were taken to Scotland? I know you were very young, but if there is anything, any small detail, I might be able to verify it.”

  Rowena tried not to allow the disappointment that washed over her to matter. She had known this would be for naught.

  She told herself it was only her hope that she would at last have known her father that had been dashed. She had no care for being the heir to the lands that had caused so much misery for so many.

  Not wanting any of them to see how she was feeling, especially not Christian, she raised her head. “I have two memories.” Quickly she described what she recalled, though she knew there was little to warrant doing so.

  Slowly Lady Jannelle shook her head. “It is so very little. I regret that I have nothing to add.” Her sorry gaze found Lord Greatham’s. “I did so wish to help.”

  Rowena watched as he came forward to take her arm in a gentle grip, the two of them with their backs toward the others as they faced Rowena. “You have done your very utmost, dear lady. None here would fault you.”

  Lady Jannelle’s dark eyes seemed to hold his. “But I have disappointed you.”

  His tone was as gentle as his touch. “You have disappointed no one, me least of all.”

  Rowena, realizing that she was staring, looked down at her feet in the soft red leather slippers Isabelle had given her. Heavens above, what was going on between them?

  It appeared that Lord Greatham had not given up on life as completely as Christian had imagined.

  She sent a thoughtful glance Christian’s way and saw that he was frowning darkly, clearly lost in his own thoughts.

  He was very likely unhappy with Lady Jannelle’s failure to identify her, Rowena thought. Resentment at his inability to see or care about anything but installing her at Dragonwick eased some of her own disappointment.

  Yet it was with an undeniable ache in her chest that she realized there would no longer be any delay in her return to Scotland. She said to the lady, “You have my thanks for coming all this way on my behalf.” She cast a sweeping glance over the others, being careful not to make eye contact for fear that any hint of sadness would make her waver in her resolve. “I thank you all for everything you have done.” She allowed herself to meet Simon’s gaze, for she knew that he was least likely to argue. “Now I would go home.”

  His dejected expression told of his regret, but he did no more than nod. “So be it.”

  She was aware of Christian’s departure, but continued to keep her eyes averted even when the door slammed behind him.

  Christian left the keep, going to the stables to fetch his stallion. He had a need not only for air, but for privacy, the privacy to think. To become accustomed to the fact that Rowena would soon be gone from his life without his having accomplished anything for their efforts.

  As he rode, his frustration only grew. He took in the verdant fields, the well-fed folk who tended them, the peace that was such a contrast to his own churning emotions, with growing anger.

  He could not help thinking of how different it was for the folk of Dragonwick and the surrounding lands. Not only was Rowena destroying his hopes of avenging her father, she was giving up on all the people whose lives would be bettered by her accepting her responsibilities.

  He could not allow her to do that. Could he? Even if he had promised that he would not attempt to interfere in whatever decisions she chose to make in the matter.

  Yet there had to be something he could do.

  Suddenly he realized that it would not be coercion to simply attempt to show her how much her presence would mean to those at Dragonwick. Rowena was nothing if not giving. He had seen it in her work as a healer.

  He would only show her what good she could do. Given who she was there was no way she could, or would, ignore that. With renewed hope, Christian turned back toward the keep.

  He would convince her to give him the morrow. Surely he had a right to ask that much of her.

  Deep in his heart he knew that if what he meant to show her was to matter, one day was all it would take. If she did not respond immediately to what she saw, more time would count for naught.

  The serving woman told him he would find the lady in her chamber. Christian did not allow himself to hesitate over going to her there.

  The way Rowena had behaved this morn, he was unlikely to find an opportunity to speak to her alone, unless he make one. Her answer to his knock was slow in coming, but at last she opened the door. “Yes?”

  Her expression grew cool as she saw who it was. “What do you want, Christian?”

  Angered at her demeanor, he stepped through the door, forcing her to allow him entry. “To speak with you.”

  She stepped back, but her expression was tight. “I do not wish to speak with you.”

  He fought the anger and, yes, hurt, that rose up inside him. He had given her cause for anger.

  Christian took a deep, calming breath. “I would beg a favor of you.”

  She looked at him, her brows raised in silent question.

  Again he damped down his response. “I ask you to go riding with me in the morning.”

  She frowned. “Can you be serious? Why would I agree to ride with you?” She gestured about her. “I am preparing to leave.”

  He decided to be as honest as possible. “I know I have made you hate me. I cannot fault you that. I have made a jumble of it all. Yet there is something I would show you before you go.”

  She did not look at him. “I do not hate you, Christian. I…” She sighed heavily, closing her eyes.

  “Then you will accompany me?”

  “Will you then let it rest at last?” Her unhappy gaze met his.

  He took a breath. “Aye.”

  She stood very still, taking a deep breath herself before she said, “Then I will do what you ask.” But before he could even begin to experience the relief that rose up inside him, she said, “Will you please go now?”

  He squared his shoulders and nodded sharply, then left her.

  Rowena was confused, to say the least, unsure why she had agreed to accompany Christian on this mysterious ride. She had felt almost compelled to do so, driven by the quiet desperation she sensed in him despite the unease it caused her.

  In the time she had known him Rowena had realized that three things mattered to Christian: His family, his friends, and avenging his foster father. Somehow she was sure that this outing was connected to his need for vengeance, else he would not have bidden her to come with him.

  That certainty made her all the more uneasy about doing so.

  Yet she had agreed. She did wish to admit that it was very likely because of the fact that she did not, as he imagined, hate him. Quite the contrary, in spite of all he had done to hurt her, she continued to love him with all of her wayward heart.

  Thus she garbed herself in one of the gowns Isabelle had given her—a lovely, heavy garment of mauve velvet—and a dark blue cape, and met him in the courtyard. Christian wore a long black velvet cape over his own clothing, the front held together with his dragon brooch.

  He bowed as the servant he had sent to fetch her led her out to him, but said only, “Good morrow.”
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  She returned the greeting just as coolly.

  It was the servant who helped her mount. From atop the mare, Rowena cast Christian a nervous glance.

  He seemed to read her thoughts, for he said, “I will go slowly. I have not forgotten your inexperience with horses.”

  She did not welcome the rush of warmth this brought, and hurriedly looked away. Nothing had changed between them.

  When he showed her how to hold the reins properly, asking if she thought she could manage, she nodded without looking at him.

  Sighing, he said, “Have no fear. The mare is gentle and will follow Gideon.”

  Again she nodded. Frowning now, he mounted and nudged the stallion forward.

  True to his statement, the mare did follow, and Rowena was forced to give her attention to riding. Although she had certainly had opportunity to grow accustomed to it when she’d ridden with Christian, riding a horse was still far from familiar.

  In spite of his obvious distraction now that they were on their way, Christian clearly made an effort to keep his own restive stallion restrained. Because of this, Rowena soon found that she was able to place less and less of her attention upon riding.

  Had she been less nervous, she might have enjoyed the journey through the lush countryside. First they passed through the village resting in the shadow of the castle, then on into patches of forest and across now-dormant fields.

  Everywhere they went they came upon the people who lived upon the lands, all busy with their own tasks. As Rowena and Christian passed, hands were raised in greeting, bows were exchanged and sometimes offers of refreshment were made.

  It went on like that for all of the morning, with Rowena and Christian exchanging few words between them. Though she continued to puzzle over what they were about, her curiosity grew with each mile they traversed.

  Yet Rowena asked no questions. She would not give Christian the satisfaction of questioning him, but waited for him to talk to her.

  They broke their fast with food Christian had brought, each lost in thought. It was not until some time after they started on again that Rowena sensed a change in the man riding with her, a subtle tension that put her on the alert.

  She studied his mounted form ahead of her on the trail, trying to determine what troubled him. There was an even deeper rigidness to the set of his shoulders, as if the muscle had hardened to the consistency of bone. There was a faint air of distaste in the flare of his nostrils that had not been there before. And his hands on the reins seemed to move less supply, his knees to grip the animal beneath him more tightly as he scanned the countryside about them.

  To one who was less attuned to him than she, Rowena realized, the changes in Christian might have gone quite unnoticed.

  At the top of a hill she ran her gaze over the countryside spread out before them, trying to fathom what could have wrought this change in his demeanor. At first she could mark no reason as she eyed rolling hills with their fallow fields and tufts of green forest. Yet as she looked about, she realized that something was different. It was not so much visible as something subtle that left her feeling as if her former impression, of the fields lying in rest for the new life that would come in spring, had been mistaken. She now had a sense of bleakness, a barren chill that told her that sustenance would be coaxed from this earth with great toil and suffering.

  Her mare followed Gideon down the hill and into a stand of forest. As they passed among the trees Rowena noted that the shadows seemed darker here and that their inky depths seemed to hold a lurking menace.

  She found herself breaking her determination to keep from questioning him before she knew that she would do so, her voice husky with unease. “Where are we going, Christian?”

  He slowed, dropping back to ride beside her, his gaze earnest. “Trust me.”

  She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue as she cast another trepidant glance about. Yet in spite of her anxiety, she nodded.

  Soon they were out in the open again.

  Rowena would have breathed a sigh of relief, but her feelings of unease continued to hover close as they rode across barren fields. The folk working there made no effort to greet them as people had throughout the morning. They kept their eyes downcast, most falling to their knees until the two of them had passed.

  Finally, as they rode through yet another dark and foreboding stretch of forest, Rowena could stand no more, for a sneaking suspicion was beginning to creep into her consciousness. She urged her mount closer to Christian’s, demanding, “What is this? Where have you brought me?”

  His gaze met hers without apology. “Dragonwick.”

  She drew to an abrupt halt, as did he. “I thought as much. Did you imagine that I would somehow find it all familiar, that I would be able to tell you I remember any of this?”

  He shook his head. “I thought it was possible, but that was not my true intent.”

  “Then why are we here?”

  “Why? So you could see the state of things for yourself, of course. I thought…”

  She put one hand to her hip. “You thought I would see that I must fight on. You thought I would do whatever I must to gain the right to take on the responsibility of all this.” She gestured widely. “You thought I would want to make it better.”

  He frowned with obvious chagrin. “I did think that if you would only look about you you would see—”

  She shook her head. “It is you who do not see. What could I do for them? If you could somehow prove that I am the woman you hope I am, I doubt any of these folk would thank you. For it would only mean war and more privation for them. You know as well as I that this man, this Kelsey, would not simply give up his lands to a mere girl, especially when he has the friendship of a king to bolster him. And what good would I be to them once they got me?”

  “They would gain one who would care for their well-being.”

  She threw her hands wide. “I ask again, what good would I be to them? I know nothing of any of this. I know herbs and healing, not running great estates.”

  “That can be taught.”

  “I do not wish to learn.”

  He sat there, his lips tight. “Then there is nothing more to say.” He bowed. “Let us return to Avington.”

  “Yes, let us.” Forgetting her inexperience, Rowena jerked the reins to turn her mount, as she had seen Christian do. The mare, startled at this unexpected command, spun about too quickly.

  One moment Rowena was in the saddle, the next she was on the ground.

  So shocked was she that it took her a moment to realize that it was her pride that ached, more than her backside, though that portion of her anatomy had not gone completely unscathed.

  Christian was on the ground beside her in an instant. “God’s teeth, Rowena, are you mad?”

  “Yes, sir, I am. Quite mad. Else I would surely not find myself out here with you.”

  When Christian reached out to her she scowled up at him. “Pray leave me be. I can manage.”

  With a thunderous expression he drew his hand back and watched as she gained her feet. She wanted to rub her abused bottom but would not give him the satisfaction of knowing that it hurt.

  Instead she raised her head high and felt she was completely successful in disguising her pain as she looked about for the offending mare. “What has happened to her?”

  He spoke through tight lips. “She’s run back to Avington in self-preservation.”

  Rowena refused to dignify the remark with a reply.

  As he went on she could hear the barely leashed rage in his voice. “How can you ignore your responsibilities? Your birthright?”

  Frustrated, Rowena turned in a circle, unable to fathom what she should do, knowing only that she wanted to be away from this man. How had her ordered and relatively happy life changed so very greatly in such a short period of time? For in spite of her sadness at not knowing her father, she had understood her place in the scheme of things.

  Now she no longer knew anything about anyth
ing.

  She glared at him. “You speak of your own version of my responsibility and birthright.” She folded her arms over her chest. “You want to destroy everything I have ever known or believed in.”

  He glared back, his lips tight as he said, “What you knew was a lie.”

  She took a step closer to him, uncaring that she had to tilt her head back to look up at him. All she cared about was the fact that from the day she had first seen him washed up on the beach, Christian Greatham had brought her naught but confusion. That a good portion of her confusion was due to her own unresolved feelings of attraction for him was utterly irrelevant. She heard the harshness and uncertainty of her own anger as she exclaimed, “You cannot be sure of that. We have learned nothing that proves I am Rosalind of Dragonwick. You only wish it to be true so badly that you cannot see the lack of evidence as proof that I am not.”

  He groaned, balling his fists at his sides. “And you refuse to see anything we do know as proof that you are.”

  “You are impossible!” She turned her back to him, folding her arms across her chest as she stared down the path from whence they had come.

  Chapter Thirteen

  He was impossible?

  Did the wench really imagine that he would simply allow her to walk back to Avington alone, even if she did know the way? Christian’s mind whirled with rage and frustration.

  He reached for Rowena, spinning her around to face him. She tried to pull away and he knew a renewed sense of frustration that made his body tighten as if a coiled snake inside him lay ready to strike.

  He held her tight with a hand on each forearm, and she met his gaze with open challenge.

  God rot his soul that he could still find her so beautiful, desirable, with that delicate nose turned skyward and her chin tilted with angry pride.

  In spite of his fury, he tried for calm, knowing that his anger had never gotten him anywhere with her. “Where are you going?”