She felt raw and exposed,
too aware of her own mixed feelings about this enigmatic stranger.
Without warning, he caught her wrist and she winced. Christian raised it up and examined the bruise. His voice was filled with regret as he spoke softly, “I did this last eve when I grabbed you, did I not?”
She nodded hesitantly, “I…Yes, you must have.”
He grimaced. “I am very sorry, Rowena. It was never my intention to cause you pain of any kind.”
Rowena could no more look away from that earnest and compelling blue gaze than she could fly. His hand seemed to near burn her where it rested on the delicate skin of her wrist. But when he broke the contact of their eyes to place his warm mouth against the spot, she gave a start at the streak of heat that flashed through her body….
Praise for Catherine Archer’s titles
Dragon’s Dower
“This is a nonstop read!”
—Rendezvous
Winter’s Bride
“A compelling, innovative tale…
with lush details and unforgettable characters.”
—Rendezvous
Fire Song
“This finely crafted medieval romance…
(is) a tale to savor.”
—Romantic Times
#639 LADY LYTE’S LITTLE SECRET
Deborah Hale
#640 THE FORBIDDEN BRIDE
Cheryl Reavis
#642 HALLIE’S HERO
Nicole Foster
Dragon’s Daughter
Catherine Archer
Available from Harlequin Historicals and
CATHERINE ARCHER
Rose Among Thorns #136
**Velvet Bond #282
**Velvet Touch #322
Lady Thorn #353
Lord Sin #379
Fire Song #426
*Winter’s Bride #477
*The Bride of Spring #514
*Summer’s Bride #544
*Autumn’s Bride #582
†Dragon’s Dower #593
†Dragon’s Knight #606
†Dragon’s Daughter #641
This book is dedicated to the most recent additions
to my family:
Steve Krug, Justin Bennett, Jimmy Bennett,
Marty Brace, Diane Brace, Kailynn Brace
and Christopher Brace,
with love and gratitude for you all.
Contents
Chapter One
With a frown of pity, Rowena looked down at the man who lay on the windswept beach. His face, which she imagined might normally be handsome enough, was gray and lifeless. His dark hair was matted with seaweed and sand. His garments were in tatters, though because the fabric was a rich, dark blue velvet, she knew they once had been fine.
He was indeed breathing, as young Padriac had said when he came bursting into her cottage with the wild tale of finding a stranger on the beach. But just.
Urgently Rowena turned to the boy, who looked up at her with wide, fawn-colored eyes, his round cheeks flushed with concern and excitement. She spoke with deliberate calm. “We must get him to my cottage.”
But how? she wondered. The very reason Padriac had come for her was that all the men, including his own father, had already gone out in their fishing boats for the day. They were not due back for many hours.
The trail up to the village from the shore was steep and slippery. It would not be possible for Rowena and Padriac to move the man without assistance.
“We canna carry him.” The round-faced child echoed her thoughts.
Again she looked down at the stranger. There was no telling how long he had been lying here, but surely it could only have been since this very morn, for someone would have seen him the previous day. ’Twas a deserted stretch of coast indeed, with rocky cliffs jutting steeply above the narrow shoreline, but the village children did roam it searching for gulls’ eggs, as Padriac was surely doing when he found the man.
Rowena said, “Go to Hagar and tell her to bring some of the women here to help us. He is a big man, but methinks together we can move him.”
It was the way things were done in Ashcroft. The village being so remote and small, its occupants were more family than neighbors, for the most part. This fact had helped Rowena to get through the grief and loneliness of losing her mother some three years before.
As