Dragon's Knight. Catherine Archer

action to conversation. Words were too easily distorted. As had been the loving and loyal words of The Dragon’s brother only days before he had betrayed him.

      Aye, Jarrod would be glad to begin his new course of action. He did not wish to examine the accompanying thought that his restlessness was stronger than ever in Aislynn Greatham’s presence.

      Jarrod took another long drink of his wine.

      Aislynn raised her own glass. She too took a long drink before setting it back down, staring at her slender fingers as she twisted them around the base.

      Jarrod found himself studying her averted profile, the dusky fringe of her lashes, the sweet curve of her cheek, which was pale cream in contrast to the apricot velvet of her cap. There was a definite trembling in the mouth that had pursed so many times with anger in his presence. He was drawn to her vulnerability, beckoned by it. She was so very delicate, so small, and seemed as if she would be so very easily broken. At the same time he realized what strength lay inside her. He had seen it time and again over the past days in the way she looked after her father—and in the confrontations with himself.

      She lifted one hand and wiped it across her cheek. It was a furtive gesture and, if he had not been studying her so closely, Jarrod might have missed it.

      Yet he was watching her. And he realized instantly that she was crying.

      An intense jolt of protectiveness tightened his chest.

      Before he could stop himself, Jarrod moved around the table to her side. Acting purely on instinct alone, he reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. The bones felt fragile under his hard, callused hand. He swallowed as she looked up at him, her periwinkle eyes damp and unguarded in the light of the candle.

      Jarrod spoke roughly, awkwardly. “Pray do not cry, Aislynn. I will find him.”

      Rather than stopping the tears as he had hoped, this made them spill over onto her pale cheeks in a flood of sorrow. God’s blood. He had not meant to make things worse.

      Now what was he to do?

      Jarrod’s experience with women had not involved much in the way of comforting. He refused to remember the one woman for which he would have done anything. She who had wanted none of him. That pain was too great to bear…

      Aislynn was here—now, and she seemed to welcome his care. He raised his other hand to the soft curve of her cheek. “Aislynn, I…please do not weep so. I promise you that I will bring Christian home to you.”

      She peered up at him, her face pale, her gaze now searching, afraid to hope. “How can you make such a promise?”

      He took a deep breath. “Because I am that certain I will do so.”

      She sniffed. “Truly?”

      He forced himself to hold her eyes without wavering, although his felt hot from not only the wine, but the loveliness of her. “Aye, truly.”

      Before he knew what she meant to do, she had leaped up from her chair to throw her arms about his neck. “Thank you, thank you so very much. I simply could not bear it if he were not to return to us, nor could Father. Father is really not as strong as he appears, you know. His leg, it pains him so at times. That is the true reason that he has not gone after Christian.”

      Jarrod stood very still. Aislynn was soft and yielding against him, so delicate, while at the same time decidedly woman. Feeling a distinct and decidedly unwanted stirring deep in his lower belly, he recognized it for what it was instantly. Desire. Jarrod tried to breathe evenly.

      He told himself that he must think clearly here, must not allow himself to feel this way. He would concentrate on the fact that he must now do whatever he had to in order to bring Christian back, no matter how difficult it proved, or how long it took.

      Yet as he stood there, he continued to be aware of other feelings and thoughts, the gentle, warm, woman scent of her, the press of her breasts against that area between his chest and belly, the heat that flickered gently but distinctively in his own blood. These sensations reminded him of the fact that he was a man and Aislynn was a woman.