“So beautiful, Aislynn.”
He reached to touch her hair, noting that the fine strands seemed to cling to his callused fingers. “So soft.”
A barely audible sound escaped her, drawing his gaze back to her face. He watched her lips part and her breathing quicken. He found himself unable to tear his gaze away from those sweet pink lips.
Aislynn’s voice was husky and questioning as she whispered, “Jarrod?”
Jarrod’s head spun. Whether it was from the feel of this beautiful woman in his arms, or from the wine, he did not know. And at this moment, he did not truly care.
He could never in his life recall wanting to kiss anyone as badly as he did Aislynn in this moment. And if there were reasons for not doing so, he could think of none of them.
He bent and placed his mouth on hers….
Praise for Catherine Archer’s recent titles
Summer’s Bride
“A delightful read!”
—Romance Reviews Today
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
#603 THE BRIDE FAIR
Cheryl Reavis
#604 MISS VEREY’S PROPOSAL
Nicola Cornick
#605 THE DRIFTER
Lisa Plumley
Dragon’s Knight
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
This book is dedicated to Mt. Hood Hospice in Sandy, Oregon, for all the wonderful work they do.
Contents
Chapter One
Aislynn Greatham moved through the high-ceilinged, drafty rooms of Bransbury Castle, with only half her attention on whence she was going. The rest of her mind was centered on thoughts of where her brother Christian might be.
And if he would ever return.
Her father, the baron of Bransbury lands and keep, grew more morose with each day that passed. He asked the same questions each time they were together. Where could his son have gone and why? What could have possessed him to leave without telling his father? For the thirteen years Christian had been gone to the Holy Land. Had this not been long enough for him to be without his son and heir to his lands?
Aislynn could make no answer to any of these queries. She did regret not telling their father when Christian had confided in her that he was leaving. Christian had been so certain that he would return within a fortnight, had, in fact, given his solemn word on it. He had also assured her that he would be free to tell her every detail of his mysterious mission on his return.
Aislynn sighed, catching the first scents of the roasted fowl that she herself had seasoned that afternoon. She felt no pangs of hunger though she had eaten little that day. She greatly dreaded sitting at table with her father, having to bite back her own fears. For, more troubling than their father’s worry, was Aislynn’s thought that her brother had not returned because he could not.
Visions of him, ill…or worse, had begun to assault her day and night.
Those visions had driven her to do something that made it even more difficult to face her father. She had written to the friends Christian had spoken so much of. She had not bid her father’s permission, fearing that in his pride he would not give it.
Although she had asked for no more than information concerning her brother’s whereabouts, she secretly hoped and prayed that they would come to Bransbury. Christian had told her much of Jarrod Maxwell and Simon Warleigh, whom he had known since fostering with them even before the three of them had accompanied King Richard to the Holy Land. Not only his love, but his admiration for their strength and abilities was abundantly clear.
Surely in the event that Christian was not with them, such men could find her brother.
Her father, his leg having never healed properly after a fall from his horse, was in no condition to search further than the immediate surroundings for his son. Moreover, he had no notion of where to start his search.
“Dear God,” she prayed, as she slowed her steps at the end