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

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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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

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

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 Padriac scampered off, Rowena felt a tug of melancholy. Her mother, sad and bitter as she was, had been the center of Rowena’s world. She had hardly a clear memory of anything before the two of them had come here to Ashcroft, when Rowena was not quite four.

One of the two memories she did have was of looking up at a high stone wall. So vivid was this recollection that she could almost feel the rough, cool texture of the stone against her fingers. The other was less clear a vision, but more compelling. She believed it was of her father, for she had a sense of being held close to a broad strong chest and hearing the steady and comforting beat of a heart as she inhaled the combined scents of sweat and leather and fresh air. The warmth she felt at the recollection brought up such feelings of love and safety that she was sure it could only be of her father.

The fact that her mother had become so disturbed each time they’d spoken of him, of the fact that he had been a knight, and in the business of making war to protect lands, always kept Rowena from asking about it. Agitated and distraught, her mother would lament the fact that he would still be alive if he were a common man, concerned with no more than his livelihood and family. When Rowena had grown old enough to wonder why they had come to Scotland rather than go to other relatives upon his death, her mother had become hysterical, blurting out that her family were all dead and her husband’s family did not want them. She had never been more than a servant in his home, she’d said, never his wife.

She had begged Rowena to let the past remain there. And she had seemed more disturbed by his position as a noble than by the one detail that troubled Rowena most: his failure to legitimate her.

Leave it in the past was what Rowena had done, though in her deepest heart she continued to wonder about the man who had fathered her. In spite of her own anger at his refusal to wed her mother, Rowena would have given much to know him. She wished to know if the memory that lived in her heart was truly of him. For it was the one thing she could not set aside. He may have been mistaken in his loyalties, may have failed to give her his name, but perhaps he had loved her to some extent.

That question would never be answered, for all who might have known had gone on to the next world, or were lost to her because of her illegitimacy.

Rowena looked down at the man before her. He might have someone, somewhere, who would grieve should he fail to return. Perhaps even nobles like her father, if his clothing was any indication. ’Haps it was this that had brought her these unwanted thoughts of things best left forgotten.

With determination, she knelt to run her sure hands over the man’s large form. There was an unnatural coldness to his flesh that told her he had been exposed to the elements for too long.

She knew he must be warmed, and without delay. More than one death had been brought about by extended exposure to the cold.

Hurriedly she continued to run her hands over him, searching for injuries. She found nothing more than a prominent lump on the back of his head. And though she tried not to think on it as she slid her fingers over the smooth skin beneath his woolen tunic, she had an unaccustomed awareness that the man’s body was hard and lean, the muscles well developed. Rowena felt an odd stirring, a sense of him as a man that was far different than what she usually experienced in her work as a healer.

Even as uncertainty coursed through her, he groaned and opened his eyes.

Starting, Rowena looked up at his face, into the most unusual blue eyes she had ever seen in her life. They were an oddly compelling shade, light and yet dusky at the same time, like periwinkle blossoms.

Rowena’s heart thudded in her chest.

As she continued to return his gaze, she noted that although the man was looking directly at her, he did not appear to be focusing. He was seeing but not seeing, his expression troubled by some inner vision. Even as she noted his distress, she saw that it was softened by compassion and yearning.

He opened his pale lips, murmuring, “Rosalind.” His lids drifted closed once more.

Rosalind? For a brief instant Rowena felt a stirring of familiarity in hearing that name. She quickly dismissed it. There was no one hereabouts named Rosalind.

Clearly this unknown woman meant something to the man with the unusual and compassionate blue eyes. What an enigma he was. Unless she was completely mistaken, her examination of that powerful, lean body told her he had been in the best of health and vigor ere he had washed up on their beach.

Though she wondered once again how he might have gotten here, the way to Ashcroft being arduous and seldom traveled, Rowena knew that would be determined only if the man regained consciousness. He could have fallen from a passing ship, but few ships sailed this close to their treacherous shores, for the sea was far too shallow for any vessel larger than a fishing boat.

She stood, looking up along the cliffs, as the sound of voices came to her. A group of women led by Hagar, who had become something of a mother to Rowena when her own had died, and the excitedly prancing Padriac, hurried along the path. It looked as if most of the women in the village had come to her aid. They picked their way carefully down to the beach, continuing to ply young Padriac with questions about the man he had found.

Rowena smiled with gratitude. As always, there would be enough hands to accomplish the task. Here in this quiet village were folk who cared for one another. They did not value land or position above life or family.

In a relatively short time, Rowena and the other women had the stranger on the bed, covered with blankets, in Rowena’s small but tidy cottage in the wood. He had begun to moan and murmur under his breath, but his words were indecipherable, though the distress behind them could not be mistaken.

It was Hagar who finally stood back and surveyed the man with hands on her narrow hips. “I can make out none o’ that. Where do you ken he might come from?”

The elderly widow Aggie answered, “I canna reason it, neither. ’Haps his mind be addled.” She sighed. “We won’t be finding out, if he dies. And he may indeed, for he’s got the look of one not long for this world.”

Rowena knew a renewed sense of disquiet at the thought of this powerful man having lost his mind. But she made no mention of the name he had uttered with such clarity. She wished to give them no false sense of hope for his recovery. “’Twill be Rowena who brings him ’round if anyone can,” Hagar replied with some uncertainty. “Ye mun recall how bad off was young John last fall when he fell overboard and breathed in all that seawater.”

There were nods of agreement as all eyes turned to Rowena. She knew not what to say to this, and covered her disquiet by addressing Padriac. “Pray fetch me an extra bucket of water from the stream.”

She then began to clear the table of the roots she had been preparing for drying when Padriac came to fetch her. As she did so she listened as the women continued to discuss the stranger and the severity of his condition.

They might indeed have great faith in her, but their very likely accurate assessments of the man’s chances of recovery were trying Rowena’s self-confidence. As soon as Padriac returned with the water, she stated gently, “Thank you all so very much for your assistance. I am certain you must all have more pressing duties to attend than this. I do promise to let each of you know if there is some change in his condition.”

It would indeed be best if they all went back to their own work. Except for Hagar.

Rowena stopped the older woman with a hand on her arm. “Pray, would you stay and help me to tend him?” The request had nothing to do with the odd awareness she had had of the man as she examined him on the shore, she told herself. “I would greatly appreciate your doing so, for there are some plants I must gather in order to treat him.”

The older woman nodded and said, “I will warm some water whilst you are at it and clean him up, lass. He’s needing a bit of a wash.”

“I…yes, he is.” Uncertain as to why the thought of washing the man was so very disturbing to her, when she had seen many a man in various states of undress while treating them, Rowena put water on to heat. She then hurried out into the wood to gather some fresh mandrake. Only when she had gathered what she required did she return to the cottage.

Giving Hagar a brief nod as the older woman looked up from the large wooden bowl of water and the cloth she held, Rowena could not help taking in the long form on the bed. Quickly she set about brewing an infusion that would help to strengthen the stranger’s blood as well as calm his unrest.

As she did so, Rowena was infinitely conscious of the fact that Hagar had removed the man’s wet and bedraggled clothing, for it lay in a filthy heap upon the floor at the foot of her bed. The sounds of her wetting and wringing out her cloth could not be mistaken, nor could the soft but incoherent sounds he made as he stirred restlessly from time to time.

Rowena did not allow herself to even glance toward the bed again, though she was not certain why. As she had told herself earlier, she had examined and treated more than one man, despite her somewhat tender years. It had been her mother who had taught her about plants and their medicinal properties. Yet she had soon confessed that Rowena’s natural aptitude far surpassed her own abilities.

Fascinated as she was with trying new and varied combinations of plants, Rowena had taken what her mother had taught her and expanded her knowledge by trial and error, as well as by searching out every other healer in the surrounding countryside.

Rowena’s knowledge and skill had grown until she was often called upon to minister to those in nearby villages. She took great satisfaction putting her life to some use in the community that had taken in a bastard child and her English mother, making them their own when they had had no one.

After what seemed a very long time, Hagar said, “You can get a better look at him with all that muck washed away.” She stepped back, the bowl of water held before her, murmuring, “What a pity,” as Rowena drew near.

The man was so pale without that covering of sand and dirt that his tenuous hold on life was obvious. As Rowena stopped beside the bed, it seemed as if his incoherent muttering had grown louder, though she still could make out none of what he was saying. Again she felt a sense of regret. At the same time she could not help acknowledging that the face was undeniably a strong one, the features quite pleasingly formed.

She remembered the expression in his eyes when he had opened them on the shore. Rowena realized that those eyes would soften that broad forehead, proud nose, high cheekbones and lean jaw. His face would be a compelling mixture of strength and gentleness.

Hagar distracted her from these thoughts, saying, “I’ll warrant there’s a broken heart that will never mend, should he die.”

“Rosalind.”

The name flitted through Rowena’s mind and she did not know she had said it aloud until Hagar replied, “What say ye?”

Rowena shrugged. “Just a name he said.”

The older woman frowned. “Ye spoke with him?”

Rowena did not look at Hagar as she recalled how the concern and compassion in his gaze as he’d spoke that name had moved her. “Nay, he came ’round only long enough to say that one thing. You see how he has been since.”

The older woman moved to the door with the bowl. “I’ve heard naught of a Rosalind.”

Rowena answered softly, “Nor I. He seemed so…If I could I would find her and bring her to him, for there was such a look to him when he said it. Her presence might help him to come through this alive.”

Hagar’s gaze was kind but measuring. “Aye, love will do such things.” She went outside to empty the bowl.

Quickly Rowena returned to the hearth, where the medications she was preparing would soon be ready. In one bowl she had mixed rue with wine she obtained from a monastery some miles away, for any pain he might be having in his head. She had also made another concoction of the mandrake to further aid in relieving any pain, as well as aid in sleeping, though the man had not fully regained consciousness thus far. Lastly she had prepared another bowl with a mixture of rue and vinegar, beside which she’d laid a scrap of clean white cloth.

Hagar, who had now returned, said, “You will bathe his head in rue?”

Rowena nodded. “’Twill perhaps help him to regain his wits.”

The older woman nodded in turn.

When Rowena was ready she moved to the bed and, trying not to show that she felt strangely self-conscious about touching this man, put her arm under his head and tipped the first bowl to his lips. To her relief he took it easily enough, swallowing whilst not fully rousing.

When the second bowl was empty, and Rowena had rubbed the rue and vinegar across his wide brow, Hagar said, “Now all we can do is pray.”

Rowena sighed. “Aye. Though I will continue to give the medicaments.”

Hagar answered softly, “May God’s own hands be with ye, lass.”

Rowena bowed her head humbly. “I pray that it be so.”

The older woman sounded weary as she sighed and said, “I mun go home and get the meal ready for my Sean now, if you’ve no more need of me.”

Rowena nodded quickly, feeling guilty for keeping the older woman from her work for so long. Hagar’s son was Rowena’s closest friend and had been since the day Rowena had first wandered down the forest path to their cottage. Of late Sean had seemed somewhat agitated and demanding, wanting her to take long walks and such when she was quite busy. He was wont to talk endlessly of a lass named Berta, whom he had met while delivering fish to a village farther inland. Rowena had no quarrel with his preoccupation, only his insistence that she hear his every thought. But she loved Sean wholly, and he would be hungry from his morning’s work. “I will keep you no longer. Thank you so very much for all you have done.”

The older woman shrugged as she moved to the door, her face filled with affection and approval. “I’ve done no more than yersel, my lass. You’ve a good heart in ye. If ye have need of me I will come.”

Rowena felt a rush of both happiness and self-consciousness. She whispered, “I love you as well.”

Hagar smiled, flushing with pleasure, and nodded, closing the door behind her. Her cottage was just a short distance away and close to the main path through the village. It would be no great effort to fetch Hagar if she was needed, but Rowena was determined to manage on her own.

No more than an hour had passed when Rowena was given cause to put her skills to the test. The man in the bed had begun muttering to himself again. By the time a new batch of potions was ready he had grown far louder, tossing and turning as she moved toward the bed to give them to him.

When Rowena reached out to put her arm around his neck to lift him up, he shocked her by grabbing hold of her wrist and rearing up in the bed, those blue eyes flying wide. The bowl fell, spilling the contents upon the coverlet, even as fear raced through her.

Her terror grew as the man cried, “Ashcroft…must find Rosalind….” He shook his head violently. “Dragon dead…the babe dead…not dead…”

Ashcroft, for the love of heaven—the stranger knew of Ashcroft and clearly connected it to this unknown Rosalind. But the references to dragons and dead babes were utterly incomprehensible. Desperately Rowena forced herself to break free from the terror that gripped her. Yet it took all her strength to pull her arm away from his.

Just as suddenly as he had risen up the sick man fell back upon the bed. His eyes were closed now, but the ravings continued, as did his thrashing about. With shaking fingers, Rowena grabbed the bowl and clutched it to her, backing away from the bed.

Calm, she told herself over and over again, she must be calm. Breathing as evenly as she could, she moved to the table to refill the bowl.

And all the while she could hear him repeating the same disjointed phrases. Her chest ached as she realized that he had obviously gone mad, as the other women had feared. It was such a pity for one so strong and virile to be brought so low.

How much of his mind might return when, and if, he recovered, she could not say. All she could do was attempt to keep him quiet, not only for his sake, but for hers.

By the time Rowena had returned to the bed with the bowl and a spoon with which to feed him the liquid, the sick man had quieted somewhat. That strong, tanned forearm lay across his brow, and though she was watchful, he made no effort to take hold of her again as she fed him a strong dose of the mandrake potion.

That done, she rubbed more of the rue upon his forehead and placed a bag of dried rosemary beneath his head to ward off anxiety of the mind. Finally he fell silent once more, his arm dropping to the coverlet.

Rowena stood for a long moment looking down at him. As when she had first seen him on the beach, she felt a deep sympathy for those who loved this man. Who would grieve for the loss of him? Did they even know that he had come to Ashcroft, and thus know where to search for him? If he died having never returned to his right mind, she would not know whom should be sent word of his passing. His people would never know what had happened to him.

He might have a young child—a daughter who would always…

She stopped herself there. She had no reason to think he had anyone, even this Rosalind, who could be as much a product of his addled mind as the dragons he raved on about. Rowena would be far better served by not getting overly involved in what happened to this man. She would tend him, as any other, and accept what came.

Rowena barely glanced up as the door opened without ceremony some time later and she heard Sean’s voice say, “What is my mother on about? A stranger washed ashore? And you tending him?”

She spoke with deliberate calm. “Aye, Sean, ’tis true. And here he is.”

Hagar’s voice was filled with exasperation as she spoke from behind Sean. “As I told ye.” Obviously his mother had accompanied him.

Rowena kept her gaze on the strong column of the stranger’s throat as he swallowed without fully rousing. She felt strangely self-conscious about holding his head against her breast as Sean moved to stand beside the bed, exclaiming, “Dear God, where could he have come from?”

She shrugged and sighed as the man took the last of the liquid, and allowed his head to fall back against the pillows. She met Sean’s gaze briefly, seeing the agitation in his strong but sensitive face. “That is as much a mystery to me as to you. Has anyone sighted a ship?”

Sean shook his dark head. “Nay, there would have been some mention of it amongst the men.” He cast an assessing glance over the sick man as Rowena placed the small wooden bowl upon the table beside the bed.

Sean scowled as the stranger passed an agitated hand across his brow. “Why have you brought him here?”

Rowena shrugged again, meeting his green gaze with surprise. “To minister to him, of course. Where else would he be taken?”

“Why, anywhere. To our cottage. To…”

Rowena felt her brow crease with puzzlement as she looked to Hagar, who was frowning. Clearly this notion hadn’t come from her. “Why would I have him taken to your cottage when everything I need to treat him is right here?”

Sean’s scowl deepened. “You must see that this man cannot stay here with you.”

“Others have done so.”

He took an exasperated breath. “Those others were known to you and us. This man is a complete stranger. He could—”

Rowena laughed in spite of her irritation with his overprotective manner. They had been struggling over things like this ever since they were children, Sean telling her she could not climb trees and the like, Rowena ignoring his every directive. “And pray, what could he do? The man cannot even raise his hand to wipe his own brow, let alone harm me in some way.” She recalled just how strong he had been in that one moment when he had grabbed her wrist, but she would be much more careful to keep him from waking to that degree until he showed some signs of improvement.

Nonetheless, she did not meet Sean’s gaze as she said, “You can see the state he is in. I have given him medicaments to quiet him and will continue to do so.”

“He could awaken fully at any time.”

Rowena said, “I will certainly keep that in mind, and should he awaken with the intent to do me harm, I shall hie myself off to your cottage with all haste.”

Sean placed his hands on his lean hips. “Ye canna stay here alone with a strange man, Rowena. I forbid it.”

Rowena frowned, feeling a shaft of rebellion race through her. She knew he wished only the best for her, but she would not allow him, nor anyone else to dictate to her.

She placed her hands on her own hips. “What say you, Sean?”

He glared at her even as chagrin registered in his eyes. “Now, Rowena, I did not mean to sound so…I am only…”

She raised her chin. “And have a care that you do not. Now be off with you so that I might get on with my own business here.”

“Rowena…” His tone was cajoling now, but she would have none of it.

“Go on, I said. You may stop ’round in the morning if you are truly concerned for my safety.” Though her determination to do as she would was still clear, the edge was now gone from her voice. ’Twas impossible to remain vexed at Sean for long. They knew one another far too well. Although she had never had a brother, if she had he would have been just like Sean, bright and handsome and protective.

The fact that she had no brothers, no sisters, no family of any sort besides her mother, made her hold Sean all the more dear. She didn’t even know her father’s name, having been told that it was for the best. Even on the day she had died her mother had refused to utter his name.

Telling herself that such thoughts could gain her nothing, Rowena watched as her friend moved to the door with obvious reluctance. Yet he said no more, glancing back over his shoulder only once before making his exit.

Rowena then turned to Hagar, who had also watched her son leave the cottage. The older woman suddenly cast a sympathetic, yet distracted glance at her and said, “Is there anything I might do?”

Rowena shook her head. “There is nothing to do but wait.” And suddenly she found herself confiding in her friend about those troubling ravings. “He has come around more fully, rambling wildly about dragons and dead babes. I fear his head injury may indeed have left the man addled.”

Slowly Hagar came forward, placing a covered container on the table, her dear face fearful. “Those do sound like the ravings of a madman. ’Haps Sean is right in this. The stranger could be dangerous, Rowena.”

“Pray do not worry. I have given him sufficient mandrake as well as other sleeping herbs. He will not waken.”

The older woman shook her head, glancing to the door through which her son had gone. “Sean and I…we love ye, lass. And only wish for ye to be safe.”

Rowena noted the odd catch in Hagar’s voice as she spoke of Sean’s and her own love. Rowena was more moved by this concern coming from Hagar, who had sought to guide her only in the gentlest ways, than she had been by Sean’s demands. Perhaps she should take heed here. Her mother had always told her to be wary of strangers. Heretofore there had been no reason for wariness, as she had never come into such close contact with a total stranger. But she should not allow her stubbornness to make her forget her mother’s advice.

Rowena took a deep breath. “I will have a care. But truly, I do not feel there is cause to worry for the next few hours. As I said, I have given more than sufficient of the sleeping potions to keep him docile. In this state he would be near impossible to move, and it would be unfair to call out those who have already sought their beds to aid us.”

Hagar watched her for a long, silent moment, then nodded, indicating the container on the table. “I’ve brought ye this broth, and will be back when the sun rises.”

Rowena bowed her head in acknowledgment. “Thank you. I am grateful for your care.”

Hagar left the cottage without further conversation.

Rowena sighed. Since her mother died she had spent much time alone. Though she loved the villagers who had taken her and her mother in, she was also fond of her solitude.

She glanced back toward the bed. She tried to tell herself that the sick man would give her little trouble, but knew it was not true. Although she had decided that she would not allow herself to care about the outcome of his illness, she did indeed care. Again she told herself it was because of those who might await him.

It was with a decided determination to think of something besides the sadness engendered by this thought that she began to make herself a pallet on the floor near the fire. She did not mind so very much, as she had also slept there in the last few weeks of her mother’s wasting illness.

The task was too soon completed, as well as her other preparations for sleep. Cocking her head, she listened for any stirrings from the bed. There was nothing but the sound of the man’s deep breathing, which seemed to have grown somewhat raspy.

Rising, she went to peer down at him by the light of her candle. Though his face was very pale and drawn, that was no change from before. His forehead was cool to her touch.

The sound of his breathing had definitely changed. Determinedly she told herself not to become alarmed, for it could be caused by nothing more than a dry throat. When she fetched and spooned a bit of cool water into his mouth, the harshness did seem to improve somewhat.

Slowly she sank down on the bench beside the table and took a bit of the rich broth Hagar had placed there. Although it had grown cold, the flavorful liquid was welcome.

Several times Rowena reached up to rub her eyes, which felt gritty and tired. It had been a long and wearisome day.

Once the cup was empty she rose and went to her pallet. There was no telling what tomorrow might bring, and she would be well served to try to get some sleep.

She knew not how long she had actually been asleep when she opened her eyes again. Wondering what could have wakened her, she became aware of the fact that the man’s breathing was ragged again. That soft raspiness seemed to have grown harsher, shallower. Frowning, she rose and moved to look down at him.

That handsome face was flushed with heat, and though he slept on, he moved his head restlessly from side to side.

Rowena put her hand to his forehead. It was hot—too hot.

Chapter Two

Fever.

Rowena quickly went to the fire and put the water back on to heat. Because of the likely inflammation in his lungs, she made a mixture of horehound and honey. Then she placed a combination of sorrel and marigold into her mixing bowl to treat the fever. While she waited for the water to heat, she fetched a shallow wooden bowl, filled it with cool water and removed a soft clean cloth from the chest beside the foot of the bed.

Then she stepped toward the bed, placed the bowl upon the narrow table and dipped the cloth into it. When she’d wrung out the cloth, she hesitated, her gaze fixed on his face, handsome in spite of the illness that had robbed it of color and animation. She should not have told Hagar to go.

With a sigh of impatience, Rowena told herself that this was completely foolish. She had performed this very task more times than she could count. To hesitate with this man was madness. He was nothing to her, and utterly unaware of her at any rate.

Her suspicion that he might be a noble, a man who came from the world of her father, made him no different from any other man who lay ill in her care.

Nonetheless, she took a deep breath as she smoothed the cloth slowly across that wide brow, her fingers brushing the thick, dark brown hair Hagar had washed. The stranger stirred slightly and Rowena stiffened. But he did not open those blue eyes and she forced herself to relax.

Yet as she ran the cool cloth over his high cheekbones and lean jaw, she found herself thinking that this man was the most handsome she had ever seen. There was a deep strength to his face that was belied by that one look she had had of his blue eyes, eyes that had seemed so surprisingly gentle. That gentleness was echoed in the softness of his mouth, which was now parted as he took in quick, shallow breaths.

Suddenly she realized that though this man was a stranger, completely unknown to her, she wanted to know him. To know something of the world he came from, the world of her father. It was a world she and her mother had lived in, at least for a time.

She wanted to know why the stranger had come to Ashcroft, and whence he would be going when he left.

Her mother had told her that the nobles valued their lands above aught else. But the look in his eyes when he had spoken of the unknown Rosalind…

If there was a Rosalind. What if it was all mad ravings?

Frustrated with her own whirling thoughts, Rowena drew the bench close to the bed and set about her task with renewed purpose. She grew increasingly aware of the intimacy of their situation. She was touching this man in a way she would never dream of doing if he were well, learning the smooth contours of his face in a way she did not even know her own. Gently she bathed the corded column of his throat, his powerful shoulders, wondering at the sheer masculinity of him, and feeling a more intense awareness of her own femininity.

When he groaned and tossed the coverlet from his chest, her gaze went to that wide expanse, which glistened with perspiration.

Her own breathing seemed more shallow, her chest tight. Although she knew it would help to cool him were she to bathe him there as well, Rowena dared not do so.

Thus she put all of her attention and energy into doing what she could—working on without ceasing, yet never growing less conscious of him as a man, even when her heavy lids sagged with exhaustion…

Rowena lifted her head from her arm, realizing she had fallen asleep. A low groan came from the bed beside her.

Instantly her gaze went to her patient’s face. The light from the fire was dim but she could see the beads of perspiration on his upper lip. He groaned again, his head rolling on the pillow.

Hurriedly she dipped the cloth into the cool water and wiped it across his brow. The moment it touched him he sighed, raising his hand to rub his throat, though it was clear he had not regained consciousness.

Again she wet the cloth, this time applying it to his lean jaw.

Without warning, his eyes flew open and he grabbed her, pulling her against the burning heat of his chest. “Rosalind…must find her…”

Instantly Rowena leaned back, but in his fever her resistance only seemed to fuel his determination to hold her. His arms were like iron bands, pressing her to him, to the heat and strength of his body, the body she had not dared to touch.

From somewhere there came a response in her own body, a hardening of the peaks of her breasts that shocked her even as a shaft of inexplicable pleasure raced through her blood.

Then, just as suddenly as he had taken hold of her, she was released and he fell back, unconscious once more. Quickly she crossed her arms over her aching breasts, her gaze focusing on the smooth tanned skin of the stranger’s chest as she wondered how touching it could have brought such a reaction from her.

She looked into his face. He was oblivious to her.

Of course he was. He had never thought of her at all. It was this unknown Rosalind who consumed him to the point that worry for her had fought its way up through the depths of his illness.

Rowena could only wonder in horror that she would react to this man as she had. All she could do to soothe herself was remember that when his health returned he would not recall this event. She would be wise to forget it as well.

She raked a hand through her hair, looking toward the shuttered window. How long until sunrise? No matter how long, or how ill he became, she was not going to touch that man again, not alone here in the darkness.

Rowena still had not done so when Hagar arrived, accompanied by Sean, not long after sunrise. Rowena found it hard to meet the older woman’s gaze, and even harder to meet Sean’s as she opened the door and moved back to the table, where she made a show of tidying up the things she had left out during the night.

Sean, who was garbed for fishing in a short tunic and heavy woolen hose, hesitated in the doorway as Hagar came forward, removing her cloak. He spoke carefully, and Rowena knew that he was thinking of their unpleasant exchange of the previous evening. “Good morrow, Rowena.”

She nodded without looking at him, less irritated with him than herself, given her confused feelings about the stranger. In spite of this she spoke with bravado. “Good morrow. As you can see I am quite whole.”

She felt him stiffen.

Hagar seemed to be unaware of their discomfort or else chose to ignore it. “So how went the night?”

Feeling her friend’s attention upon her as he, too, listened for her reply, Rowena bent to put more wood upon the fire. “It was long. He has developed a fever.”

The older woman went to the bed and reached out to place her worn hand upon the stranger’s brow. “Ah, ’tis not good. You could have come for me.”

Placing a pot of water on to heat, Rowena said, “Why would I wake you, good Hagar, when you needed your sleep? I did well enough on my own, and methinks he has cooled somewhat from the worst of it.”

Never would she admit how difficult tending him had been, for she could not understand why herself. Now, in the light of day, she felt utterly foolish for reacting to the man as she had.

Hagar sighed. “Well, enough then.”

Rowena was conscious of Sean continuing to study her. She looked up at him, forcing herself to meet his gaze. ’Twas her own predicament and no other’s if she had gone a little mad in her reactions to this stranger. She spoke in what was a surprisingly normal tone. “Will the men not be waiting for you?”

He nodded jerkily, and she felt a stab of sympathy at his obvious dejection.

Affection for him made her add, “I would not take it amiss should you come by at the end of your day. If you are not too tired.”

A hopeful glimmer lit his eyes. “Then you are not still angry with me?”

She shook her head. “I could not remain so. You are my brother.”

A strange expression passed over his face, immediately replaced by relief. And then she had no more time to think of Sean, for Hagar said, “’Tis good you’ve decided to cease your squabbling, but we have other concerns to occupy us now. Methinks the man’s fever may be increasing again.”

Rowena barely noted Sean’s departure as she moved forward to touch the sick man’s heated brow. She felt a new wave of anxiety. Clearly the worst was not over.

While Rowena brewed more of her potions, the older woman set to tending their patient by unspoken consent. Thus it went over the next day and into the night. No more did Rowena stay alone with the stranger as fever raged through his body.

If Hagar found it odd that Rowena would suddenly be eager for her assistance, she made no remark on it. Rowena could only be grateful, for there was no explanation she was willing to voice aloud.

Sir Christian Greatham, heir to his father’s title and lands, opened his eyes and looked at the low, wood-beamed ceiling overhead with confusion. Where was he?

He sat up, taking in the fact that he was lying in what appeared to be a wide platform bed barely long enough to contain his full length. A woolen curtain separated it from the main chamber, but it had been drawn back. His gaze scanned the small but scrupulously tidy interior of a one-room cottage.

Where was he, indeed?

And how had he come to be here?

The throbbing in his head made him reach up. He was not surprised to discover that the pain seemed to originate with the lump he found, although he had no memory of how it had come to be there.

The last thing he recalled was riding his stallion along the edge of the cliffs. It had been full dark, and he had known the path was treacherous, but he had been determined to keep going, certain that he had nearly reached the end of his journey.

According to what he had learned when he stopped at a village near the English border, his destination could not be far ahead. The locals had shown open curiosity at his interest in finding Ashcroft, telling him that he would find little of interest there, naught but a tiny fishing village. From them he had also discovered why it was so little known, for it lay on the point of a narrow peninsula that was near impossible to reach from the inland side, due to the mountainous terrain and constantly swollen rivers. His informants clearly felt that the trouble of reaching Ashcroft, coupled with the lack of any noteworthy object at the end of such a journey, made the going nonsensical.

But Christian had a reason. A reason compelling enough to make him overlook any hardship.

Rosalind. The Dragon’s daughter.

Once he reached Ashcroft he might discover if the fantastic tale told to him by a dying knight had any merit. That Rosalind might still be alive he could not fully credit, but he had to know.

Unfortunately, the delays he had encountered in finding the village where Sir Jack had said he would find her had left Christian incautious in his determination to reach it.

He had been told that the best route, the one that lay along the shore, was hardly better than the inland route. That it was barely traversable even in daylight. He had been driven by the knowledge that he had already been gone five weeks, three more than he had assured his sister he would be gone when he had left Bransbury. He had refused to tell even her where he was going because of his sworn word to the dying Jack. The more people who knew of Rosalind’s possible existence, the more danger there was of her uncle, the present earl of Dragonwick, finding out before her safety could be guaranteed.

Again Christian rubbed his head. His last memory was of his horse rearing up, as a huge wave seemed to rise from out of nowhere. How he had come from that windswept shore to this bed was as much a mystery as where here might be.

Christian slid forward and swung his legs over the side of the bed. In spite of the increased pounding this caused in his head, he realized as he did so that he was completely nude.

At the same time he noted the sounds of someone stirring across the room. He followed the rustlings, and came up short as a woman rose from a pallet on the floor beside the fire.

The first thing he noticed was her hair, a fiery auburn that drew the eye as it hung about her in wildly tousled disarray. The second thing he noted was her long, lithe figure in a flowing gown of white. The third thing, and the one that gave him pause, was a pair of eyes so rich a green he could hardly credit their reality, for they were the color of newly grown moss. Darkly lashed, they had an almond shape that made them even more unusual.

So transfixed was he by those eyes that it was a moment before he realized the expression in them was decidedly apprehensive. He pulled the coverlet about his waist, aware that her slender body was poised as if ready to take flight. He spoke quickly, surprised at the dry and raspy sound of his own voice. “Pray do not fear me.”

She raised her head, her eyes now filled with bravado. “I am not afraid, sir.”

He tried to hold that gaze, but felt a wave of dizziness overtake him. It was with regret that he felt himself sink back on the bed. “That is quite wise of you, for I seem to be too weak to do you ill did I wish to.”

Immediately her face softened in concern. “You have been very ill.” In spite of her change of tone he noted that she remained where she stood.

He rubbed a hand over his face. “How long have I been here?”

“Four days.”

Shock drew him upright. “Four days? But how…?”

His father needed him at Bransbury. Only Christian’s determination to settle the debt to his former foster father could have taken him away, now that he realized his error in staying away for so very long. He must return!

She took a step closer. “One of the village lads found you unconscious on the beach. I…you were brought here so that I could care for you.”

His mind teemed with questions, yet his confusion only served to make the weakness in his body more pronounced. “I recall nothing beyond riding along a rocky and narrow track wedged between a high cliff and a rolling sea.”

She took another step closer. “Then you did not wash ashore from a ship.”

He looked at her. “Nay, I was mounted, trying to find my way to a particular village. A place called Ashcroft.”

“You have arrived at your destination. Well, near enough. My cottage lies in the wood nearby.”

He took a deep breath. “This is Ashcroft?” She nodded and he felt hope growing inside him, for if he had found the village…

She spoke slowly, watching him with those amazing green eyes. There was an intensity in them that surprised him. “Why have you come here?”

He wished that he did not feel so very tired, so weak, so conscious of her mesmerizing loveliness. He sighed. “I am searching for someone. A young woman.”

She bit her full lower lip. “Rosalind?”

He jerked, alert again. “Aye, but how would you know that? Do you know her?”

She shook her head quickly, seeming uneasy at his vehemence. “Nay, I know nothing of a Rosalind. I…you said her name when you were ill. You spoke of Dragons and dead babes. I thought you might be quite mad.”

Disappointment added to Christian’s utter exhaustion as he sighed. “I assure you that I am not mad.” He raked a hand through his hair. “I want to…” He could not quite focus his mind on what it was he did want.

The next thing he knew he felt cool, gentle hands upon his brow. Her soft, husky voice murmured, “Do not worry over anything now. Lie still. There will be time enough for what you wish to do. All will be well.”

He could not summon the energy to explain that he was needed at Bransbury…that he must…

It was full light when Christian once again opened his eyes, instantly recalling the events of the night. He sat up, glad for the strength that seemed to be returning to his body. Even as he thought this, his gaze searched for the young woman he had spoken to before.

She was there beside the fire, as she had been the previous night. This time she was garbed for the day in a woolen gown of deep forest-green.

There was guarded tension in that slender form, as there had been the previous time they’d spoken, but there was no fear in her captivating green eyes. She spoke evenly. “Good morrow, sir.”

He could hear the huskiness in his own voice as he replied, “Good morrow, kind lady. Forgive me for not offering my thanks last night, for it appears I have much to be thankful for if you have taken me in and nursed me. Especially whilst knowing nothing of me. For my lack of chivalry, pray forgive me. I can only claim surprise at finding myself in these circumstances.”

She inclined her head with an unconsciously regal grace. “Your thanks are well met.”

He found himself watching her closely, realizing anew that she was likely the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, with those green eyes, well-formed features and auburn hair, now confined in a thick braid that hung to her hips. He heard the wonder in his voice as he asked, “Pray, do you mind my asking who you are?”

She seemed to stiffen, answering without looking at him. “My name is Rowena.” She cast a fleeting glance in his direction, then added, “And you are?”

He noted her seeming agitation over giving her name, but could fathom no reason for it as he answered, “Sir Christian Greatham, of Bransbury.”

Her gaze flew to his and she straightened fully, her fair brow creasing. “A knight!”

He frowned in turn. “Does that trouble you?”

She flicked her tongue over those full lips as if with nervousness, replying, “Nay, I have simply never met a noble. My mother did not…How does one behave with a knight?”

He shrugged, replying even as he noted the unfinished remark. “As one wishes.”

She frowned thoughtfully, those eyes flicking toward him and away, and he could not help noting once more how beautiful they were with their surprisingly dark fringe of lashes. A man could become lost in those…

Abruptly he called himself to task. This woman’s eyes were not what had brought him to Ashcroft. “Where are my clothes? My horse?”

She shook her head with regret. “I am sorry. The clothing had to be burned. There was nothing left of it, really. And the horse…” She again shook her head. “We saw no sign of a horse.”

Christian raked a hand through his hair. God, what a fool he had been to continue on that night. The animal had been worth much in gold, but his value as a constant and loyal companion had been far greater. Christian’s eyes widened as he realized that with the loss of his stallion, he had also lost all that had been in his saddlebags, including his dragon brooch. It was the symbol of his brotherhood with his friends Simon and Jarrod, and their determination to stand against the man who had murdered The Dragon. Hatred for the man who had perpetrated that crime rolled in Christian’s belly for a brief moment before he overcame it.

If he had lost the brooch, he would not have it be for naught. He would discover if Rosalind were still alive. And if she was, Kelsey might pay for his crimes at long last.

Christian could not accomplish that clothed in a bed fur. He pulled the cover higher about his waist as he cast an assessing gaze over the young woman. “Are you alone here?”

She flushed. “Yes, but it was not I who…Hagar was the one who removed your…”

“You mistake me. I was not concerned with who might have removed my garments, only with attaining others. Who is this Hagar?”

“She is…a friend who lives in the village. An elder lady.”

He sighed.

Rowena watched her patient with an embarrassment mixed with fascination that nearly overrode her caution and discomfort.

This man with the powerful form and gentle eyes was a knight! Just as her father had been.

She trained her full attention on the man before her. She had never grown accustomed to him ill. Conscious and fully aware, he was even more disquieting.

She tried not to let her gaze linger on the broad expanse of his naked chest and shoulders as she wondered if she was fooling herself to imagine that he would not recall any of what had occurred while she tended him. The fact that he seemed more concerned about his lost garments than with her should have put her at ease.

It did not. For she was even more eager than he to cover that smooth, tawny flesh.

Hagar was the only one who could aid her in this. Surely the older woman would be able to help her find garments to clothe her guest.

So thinking, Rowena said, “If you will await me I will go and fetch something for you. I…we…Hagar and I did not know when you might awaken, and gave no thought to what you might wear when, and if, you did.”

Without waiting for a reply, Rowena took her warm woolen cape from the peg on the door and stepped into her leather shoes.

He spoke up. “Rowena, I would—”

But she did not stop in her flight from the cottage. “You rest. I will return anon,” she stated, nodding in his direction.

She raced down the path through the forest to Hagar’s cottage. She threw the door open without knocking. With an expression of surprise, the older woman looked up from where she was tending the fire as Rowena exclaimed, “He is awake.”

“Praise be.”

“He told me he is a noble. A knight. He is asking for his clothing. I have nothing to—”

Hagar stood immediately. “A knight, ye say? Of course ye have nothing for him to wear. We should have thought…” She bit her lip. “Sean is not of a size with him.”

With a nod the older woman spun about and went to the chest that sat beneath the shuttered window. Quickly she opened it and withdrew garments from inside, laying them neatly on the hard-packed dirt floor, until she stopped, holding up a deep blue tunic. “I had saved this for Sean so that he might wear it when he grew to be a man.” She touched the fabric gently. “It was his father’s best, his marriage garb. Methinks Sean will never be so large, but I did plan to cut it down for him….” She glanced toward Rowena and away. “We will put it to good use this day instead. I also have my Duncan’s hose, and a pair of shoes that have seen better days, but will have to do.”

In no time at all she and Rowena were headed back down the forest path to the cottage. When they reached it Christian Greatham was standing in the middle of the floor with a frown on his undeniably handsome face, the bedcover wrapped around his lean middle.

Seeing him like that again, feeling his masculine presence, Rowena was doubly glad that the older woman had returned with her.

It was Hagar who spoke up. “There ye are, my lad. ’Tis surely good to see ye up and about.”

He answered “Hagar? If I may call you Hagar?”

“Aye, that would be me name. And you are welcome to use it.” She held up the clean garments as she moved toward him. “I’ve brought ye these. They may not suit ye so well, bein’ a knight, but I think they will fit those shoulders.”

Christian Greatham took the clothes with a formal bow. “You have my deepest thanks, gentle lady. I take it from Rowena that I must also thank you for helping to look after me when I was ill.”

Rowena was unaccountably pleased at his deference to the older woman. She did not know how she had expected a knight to behave, but she had never imagined one would be so gracious to folk her mother had told her would be considered beneath him. Rowena said nothing, continuing to watch his interaction with Hagar.

The knight said, “Is there somewhere…”

Hagar motioned toward the bed. “Ye may pull the curtain. Rowena and I will await ye.”

He bowed and moved off to close himself behind the bed curtain. In spite of the fact that the woolen curtain was heavy and opaque, Rowena turned her back and gathered up the pallet she’d been sleeping on.

Despite her efforts at distraction, the rustling noises behind the curtain brought forth vivid visions of that long hard body.

Once her bed was put away she moved to the fire to begin brewing an infusion of herbs that would further aid her guest in regaining his strength. Not that the knight needed any more assistance with that if his physical appearance was any indication.

But she did not wish to think upon that.

She continued to occupy herself until she heard Hagar say, “There ye be. Good, they do fit ye.”

Rowena spun around, looking at him dressed and realizing that clothing did nothing to dampen the sheer masculine energy of this man, this knight named Christian Greatham.

“Do they not fit him well, Rowena?” the older woman said.

Rowena could not hold that blue gaze as he turned to her, though she noted that the vivid blue fabric, which hugged those wide shoulders as if made for them, only seemed to make his blue eyes appear all the more intense. She found herself looking down at the cup in her hands with uncharacteristic shyness. “Aye.” She forced herself to face him, to say something. “They were the marriage garments of Hagar’s late husband.”

Christian turned to the older woman. “Dear lady, may I not attain some other garb less dear? I would not—”

Hagar hushed him quickly. “Do not worry yersel. My Duncan, he would be happy to see them put to good use, as I am.” Rowena knew she was pleased at his having understood that the clothing was a gift of some consequence.

As before, he bowed. “I am honored.”

Again Rowena felt inordinately pleased with this man—though she had no reason to be so, for he was no more than a stranger to her. A stranger whose life she might very well have helped to save, but a stranger nonetheless.

She told herself she was simply surprised, after the way her mother had led her to believe one of his station would behave.

Hagar turned to Rowena. “This lad needs something to fill his belly.”

Rowena held out the cup. “I have brewed a drink that will help you continue to recover your strength. If you would take it I will serve you some of the rabbit stew from last eve.”

The knight came forward to take it from her hand, saying, “My thanks.”

Hagar asked, “What were ye doing hereabout, lad? And what happened to ye that ye would be washed up on our uneasy shore?”

Rowena paused in the act of dishing up the stew and watched as he replied, “As to the latter, I have no notion. I was riding my horse along the path, and it seemed a large wave might have hit us. But I am not certain. As for the former, I am searching for someone.”

The older woman shrugged. “Rowena told me of that. Ye are far from likely to find her here, sir knight. No strangers ever come to Ashcroft. The last being Rowena and her mother some fourteen years gone.”

Rowena found herself nearly pinned in place by that blue gaze. “You came here fourteen years ago with your…mother?” When she nodded, he said, “Where is she?”

She frowned, uncomfortable beneath that close and curious scrutiny. “She has been dead these three years.”

He raked a hand through his hair. “Dead. Can you…do you know where you lived before coming here?”

“England. But I…” She frowned, unable to meet his gaze as she suddenly realized that she did not wish to tell this man that she knew nothing of herself, her parentage. “I—I do not wish to speak of it.” She could hear the note of shame in her voice.

He took a step toward her. “But I would know—”

Looking to Hagar with desperate eyes, Rowena said, “Forgive me. I…must leave you in Hagar’s gentle hands now. There are some things I need from the forest.”

She did not remain to see the sympathy or understanding that came into the elder woman’s gaze. Hagar would understand her distress, for Hagar and Sean were the only ones she had ever told of her ignoble parentage. Rowena grabbed up her cloak and left the cottage.

Chapter Three

The next afternoon Christian was still teeming with frustration as he waited for Rowena to return from another seemingly imperative errand in the forest. He felt a renewed wave of frustration each time he thought of what had happened when he attempted to question her about her life before coming to Ashcroft. He groaned, wiping a hand across his brow as he lay on the bed in the tidy little cottage.

His deep desire to return home could not be fulfilled until he had done what he’d come here to do. He must find the patience that had been so much a part of his nature all his life, but seemed to have deserted him of late.

He recalled the sad expression on Hagar’s face as Rowena had left them the previous afternoon. At the time, he had been so filled with enthusiasm and hope that she, against all probabilities, might be Rosalind—even though the name appeared to bring no hint of recognition whatsoever. The fact had continued to trouble him as he’d questioned Hagar. “Why did Rowena leave so suddenly?”

She’d raked him with a glance. “Why do ye ask? What can it matter to ye?”

He’d realized that he would need to go carefully with these folk, who met few strangers, especially if Rowena were the one he was searching for. She would have been taught caution from an early age, from what Sir Jack had told him. Christian shrugged. “I would simply know of the one who saved my life. Perhaps I mean to reward her kindness in a way most fitting.”

Hagar had looked at him closely, and he’d held her gaze without wavering, determined to make her see that he meant no harm. Finally she said, “Rowena will expect no reward and will likely take none. Though she’s deserving of more than she’ll ever receive. Her mother brought her here when she was four, just as she told ye. Mary, her mother, was mistrusted at the start, with her English ways and all. But even though she didna welcome prying about her own life, she was kind and helpful enough to others. And Rowena…” Hagar’s fond gaze went to the door, through which the girl had just left. “She was a love from the outset. Our own cottage is just along the path through the wood, and my lad, who is of an age with her, wouldna stay away. He was hers from the start. As she grew, her care for me, Sean, all of the villagers was clear. It surprised none of us when she took to the ways of healing. Only eighteen winters she has seen, but her skill is far beyond those years, for it comes from true care for others.”

Christian attempted to disguise his eagerness, as he realized that along with the age of the child, the mother’s English background were surely too similar to be coincidence. “What can you tell me of the mother?”

Hagar shrugged with regret. “She died. ’Twas slow and painful, and there was naught Rowena or any of us could do to change it, though we tried.”

“You know nothing of them before they came to Ashcroft?”

She clamped her lips together tightly, looking away. “I have told ye all ye need to know. Aught else is for the lass to say, or nay.”

Christian was less than pleased. He wanted to explain that he had only Rowena’s best interest at heart, that he felt she might be an heiress, but he had sworn to speak of the matter to no one. At the same time he chafed at this impasse, for he had heard enough to know that unlikely as it might be, he might have stumbled upon the very woman he was searching for.

It was Rowena herself he needed to question. Yet if she were Rosalind, her nursemaid mother would have taught her to be wary of revealing any information about herself. Her well-being, her very life, depended upon secrecy, for if Kelsey were ever to learn that the child lived he would surely make good on his previous effort to dispose of her. It seemed that even Hagar, who appeared to be quite close to the girl, knew very little of her before her arrival here. Though it did appear that she was hiding something, she clearly had no intention of saying more.

He had found no opportunity to speak privately with Rowena, due to Hagar’s almost constant presence. In the short bits of time the older woman was gone from the cottage on some business of her own, the lovely Rowena engaged herself in some important task, or simply left the cottage. Just as she had not more than an hour ago, when Hagar had gone to prepare a meal for her son.

Christian longed to challenge Rowena, but caution warned him not to create tension between himself and the girl.

Under no circumstances could he risk ruining a possible opportunity to see right done for The Dragon’s daughter. Christian gave another groan of frustration and closed his eyes, telling himself that she could not run from him indefinitely. He must have an opportunity to begin to gain her trust before he could even hope to get her to confide in him.

Even if it meant more delay in fulfilling his long-neglected duty to his father.

So plagued was he by these thoughts that he felt little relief in knowing that in spite of the fact that he had been dreadfully ill, his strength was returning apace. That it had been Rowena’s doing only made him all the more hopeful that she was the one he sought. For he would expect the uncommon in the daughter of a man such as The Dragon had been.

These thoughts continued to torment Christian as he looked toward the open door of the cottage only moments later. He frowned, uncertain as to what might have drawn his gaze there. It took only a glance to realize that the woman who leaned heavily against the sill was in dire circumstances.

The hands she clasped around the great mound of her belly were white-knuckled, and her face was twisted in a grimace of agony. Her pain had marred her face to the point where it was difficult to gauge her age with any degree of accuracy, but the wildly helpless and confused expression in her wide blue eyes told him that she must be very young.

He was on his feet and hurrying toward her before he even thought to move. She practically fell into his arms as she cried, “Is the healer here?”

He felt her surprisingly slight weight as he held her upright. “If you mean Rowena, she has gone to gather herbs from the forest.”

Sudden and desperate sobs erupted, as the girl seemed to lose what little hold she’d had on herself. “But she mun not be gone. She was me only hope. The babe is coming and I’ve no one to help me.”

He had suspected the part about the babe. As calmly as he could, Christian said, “I can fetch other help should Rowena not come back in time.” He had no notion as to how long Rowena might be in returning. It could be any moment or hours, for all he knew. But the village was purported to be quite nearby. Hagar had said she lived only a short distance up the path through the forest.

With a desperate strength that shocked him, the pregnant woman grabbed Christian’s hand, her eyes boring into his with inescapable entreaty. “You canna leave me. ’Tis too late. There is nay time. The babe comes.”

Christian felt a shaft of panic, accompanied by disbelief. “Would this be your first babe?” When she gave a brief nod he added, “I have heard there’s no way to measure the length of the first birthing with any certainty. Surely there is more time left than you imagine.”

Those blue eyes held his and there was no mistaking the certainty in them. “I ken the truth. The babe has been many hours coming, but none would help me in my own village, as the babe’s father is wed to another. I walked for many hours, even crossed a swollen river, ere a man on the road told me that there was a woman here who might…”

She doubled over, leaning her full weight against him once more as her whole body tensed and the breath left her lungs in a moan of misery.

Not knowing what else to do, Christian scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. Once he got her there he realized she was clutching his tunic so tightly that he could not move away. Thus he was forced to remain leaning over her until the spasm that gripped her had passed and she released him.

Though what he should do after she finally did let go her tight hold on his woolen tunic, he did not know.

As a boy Christian had loved the animals around his father’s lands. His mother had shared that love, encouraging him to assist her as she tended the horses, sheep and cattle about the demesne through illnesses and births. His beautiful and much beloved mother…

After she had died and his father had become so morose, Christian’s love of animals had helped to sustain him. Later, at Dragonwick, his life as a squire was so ordered, his growing friendship with Simon and Jarrod so enthralling that there had been little time for such things. As a knight in the Holy Land he had been even further removed from animal husbandry. Yet he had not forgotten.

With animals, keeping up a strong, steady presence was often all he need do.

Something told him that this situation would require more participation on his part. And that was precisely why he was determined to find some way to get assistance.

Hopefully, he told himself that the girl might be wrong in her assessment that the babe was coming now. He could think of only one way to determine that.

Gently, he put his hand on her leg, as he looked at her exhausted face. “I will need to look….”

Eagerly she nodded, pulling at her gown to raise it. “Aye, you mun help the babe come.”

Knowing that she had misunderstood his intent, Christian chose not to discuss the matter…yet. Carefully he took a glance…and sucked in a breath of shock and frustration. For the blood-streaked fuzz could be naught but the child’s head.

Quickly he drew away, his mind reeling. She had been right—the babe was coming and it was happening now. There would be no one to see to it but him.

He felt her watching him, waiting for him to do something, to help her and her babe.

Taking a deep, silent breath, Christian met her eyes. “What is your name?”

“Nina.”

He nodded. “I am Christian.” Then, with what he hoped was more confidence than he was actually feeling, he said, “We’ll see it done between us.”

Her sigh of relief was short-lived as another spasm of pain tightened her face and made her close her eyes as she cried, “Please, now!”

Quickly he rolled up his sleeves.

Minutes or hours, Christian lost track of how much time passed before he lifted a shriveled and screaming man-child from his mother’s body. In the end there had really been very little he could do but catch the infant as the young mother pushed him into the world.

But the rush of exhilaration and relief he felt at hearing the child’s cry was great. He lifted the tiny boy, who would someday be a man, and as he looked into that wrinkled little face, thanked God for the gift of life with an even deeper reverence than he had each time he had helped a colt or a lamb come into the world.

Rowena stopped dead in the doorway of her cottage and stared.

She could not credit what she was seeing with her own eyes. There stood Christian Greatham with a damp and screaming infant in his two large hands. On the bed behind him lay the limp form of a young woman, her pale face lined with exhaustion. The expression on his own face as he met Rowena’s gaze was at once triumphant and relieved. The same emotions were obvious in his voice as he said, “My God, Rowena. Look at him.”

She shook her head in confusion as she moved to look down into the pink and wrinkled little face. “What has happened here?” She flicked a glance toward the mother, who still did not rouse herself.

There was barely leashed excitement in his voice as he said, “The babe was coming and there was no time to find you or anyone else. I had to…” He seemed overcome with his own sense of amazement.

“You delivered this babe?” She could hear her own incredulity, even as she ran practiced eyes over the infant, listened to the clear, healthy ring of its cry, took in the pink flush of its plump little body and maleness. “He seems fine enough.”

The knight’s face was filled with pride and wonder as he looked down at the tiny boy. “Aye, I believe he is.”

Again she looked to the young woman. So white, so still. A tendril of alarm slithered through Rowena.

Deliberately calm, she said, “Look in the chest beside the door. You will find clean clothes to wrap him in.”

Christian seemed to read her unease even as she moved toward the bed. “What…”

She did not look back, and her heart fell at the sight of the blood that was beginning to soak the bedcover. “Was there much bleeding during the birth?”

The man replied, with obvious surprise, “There was some bleeding, but not an untoward amount.”

Rowena answered with forced calm. “Please, look after the babe. I must see to his mother.”

Obviously Christian had now seen what she had, for he murmured in a tone of horror, “Dear heaven, is she…”

Rowena was already bending down to listen to her heart. “She is alive.” Her own relief was great, but the amount of blood the young woman had lost told her that she must act quickly or it would not be true for long.

With haste born of desperation, Rowena examined the young woman. Then she turned to the knight. “Did you remove anything?”

He stood there holding the infant, his face now dark with anxiety. “Nay, nothing. You came just as the babe…”

She nodded, then quickly scanned the bed once more. Although she had never encountered this complication, she had learned from a midwife in a nearby village that the afterbirth could cause hemorrhage and death if it failed to be expelled.

Rowena took one deep breath and was immediately encompassed by a feeling of intense focus and calm. It was a feeling that often came over her when a situation was most desperate. She did not know from whence this gift originated, but it had enabled her to do what she must time upon time.

The fact that it had not come in relation to tending Christian Greatham had troubled her greatly. Its return now when she needed peace most was all she required to face the task at hand with self-possession.

The young mother was so weak that Rowena could only rouse her with a tone of command. But Rowena did command, telling her that she must find the strength to help herself lest her child be orphaned, and the girl did manage to expel the afterbirth.

Only then did the bleeding ease. Rowena could take little relief in this, though she hurried to prepare a mixture that would help her patient rest as well as strengthen her.

The girl had lost so much blood.

Rowena was aware of the knight as he moved about the cottage, and wondered how he was faring with the babe. She was certain caring for a newborn child was not an accustomed task for him. But he left her to work over the mother, for which she was grateful.

It was not until she had changed the linens, given the young woman a potion to restore her blood, and watched her fall into an exhausted sleep that Rowena took a breath of relief. Slowly, on suddenly trembling limbs, she went to the bench next to the table and sank down upon it.

It was with a start that she felt a large warm hand on her shoulder. She looked up into Christian Greatham’s concerned blue eyes. “I have put the babe in a basket near the fire.” He paused, shaking his head. “That was the most amazing feat I have ever seen. You saved her life.” The gentleness in his tone far overrode Rowena’s awe that he would speak thus to her. It made her long for…what?

She spoke with deliberate restraint. “’Twas no great deed. It is what I have learned to do.”

He frowned. “Nonetheless, Nina is alive because of you. I had no idea that she was not…All seemed to go well….”

Rowena shrugged, but avoided meeting his gaze as she recalled her own fearfulness on first realizing what had gone wrong. The thought of the young mother lying there in all that blood, and what the outcome might have been had the midwife not told Rowena about what could happen with the afterbirth, was overwhelming.

Despite her trembling, she said, “How did she come to be here?”

He shrugged. “I looked up and there she was. She said that a man on the road had sent her here. The folk in her village would not help her because the babe’s father is wed to another.”

“A bastard.” The words were a mere whisper of breath on Rowena’s lips.

Christian obviously heard them, for he spoke with disbelief. “Would you hold the babe’s lack of legitimacy against him?”

She answered roughly, “Never!” She felt a new wave of shaking wash over her.

He seemed startled by her vehemence for a moment, but his voice was filled with concern as he said, “You are trembling.”

She shook her head. “I am—”

Before she could finish, she was being pulled up and into the warm, encompassing strength of his arms. Her face came to rest on the soft woolen fabric over his heart, and she felt the steady and even beat of it beneath her cheek.

Rowena grew very, very still. She did not know what to do, how to behave. For never, in all her wildest secret imaginings, had she thought that something like this would occur.

Yet in spite of her amazement she became aware of a feeling of yearning so intense that it further weakened her limbs and caused her to lean even more fully against this strange but fascinating man. He reacted by holding her even more tightly, stroking a gentle hand over her hair.

For a moment, Rowena closed her eyes. She had one memory only of ever being held this way—by her father, she believed, though she could not be sure. What she was certain of was that the feelings inside her in that memory were nothing akin to the odd but compelling ones that rose up inside her now. Feelings that made her heartbeat quicken and her body become aware in a way it never had been.

Only when he spoke, his voice a deep rumble beneath her ear, did she stir. “You are so very young. There must be someone else who could—”

The words brought Rowena back to the realization of what she was doing here, and to the fact that she could not allow this man to hold her this way. When she stepped back, he released her, and she met those blue eyes with heat as she said, “I do as I wish to do. I have been taken in, loved and accepted by those around me. I want to serve and care for them. Nothing means as much to me.”

He reacted with surprise. “I did not mean to criticize. I but thought—”

“You know nothing of what you speak. You come from a different world. Here in Ashcroft, to care for the folk you love and respect is all important. These folk are my family.”

She looked at him when he frowned in seeming consternation. “What of you, Christian Greatham? You have said nothing of your purpose in coming all this way to find your Rosalind.”

He stiffened, his gaze searching hers for a long moment, before he said, “Fair enough. I have seen that you truly care for others. If you give your word to keep what I say to yourself, I will tell you what I can of her.”

Even more puzzled than she had been, Rowena nodded. “You have my word.”

He took a slow, deep breath. “Firstly, let me say that she is not my Rosalind.”

She could not prevent herself from asking, “You mean you are not in love with her?”

He shook his head. “Oh, nay, not in love. I do not even know the woman.” He seemed to study her more intently then, even as she felt an inexplicable sense of relief.

Rowena collected herself instantly, saying, “Then why are you searching for her?”

Christian spoke slowly and deliberately. “Finding her may be the single most important thing I do in my life.”

She shook her head. “You speak without saying anything.”

He looked away, laughing wryly. “Aye, I do.” When he turned back to her there was resignation in his gaze. “It is simply that I endanger her life and her hopes for a future by speaking of her to the wrong person. She has been hidden away for her own protection, and may in fact not even be aware of her true identity.”

Rowena threw up her hands in exasperation. “Still I understand naught of what you say.”

He shrugged. “Perhaps I should begin at the beginning, with what I do know.” He paused, and she remained silent, realizing that he was quite serious about this. “Fifteen years ago I was fostered into the home of a great nobleman, the earl of Kelsey. He was known to those who loved and admired him as The Dragon. He was a man of exceptional character and taught me much of what I know of being a man when my father was too lost in his grief over my mother’s death to heed my own feelings of loss.”

“The Dragon,” she murmured, not realizing that she had said the words aloud until he stopped to watch her. She smoothed her hair back from her brow with a weary hand. “You spoke of dragons and dead babes when you were ill, and I thought you were…”

“Aye.” He nodded. “I can see why such rambling might mark me as mad, but I assure you I am not. You see, The Dragon was betrayed and murdered by his brother, who made it appear as if he had betrayed King Richard by plotting with his enemies. We—my two foster brothers, Simon Warleigh and Jarrod Maxwell, and I—were forced to give testimony that he had indeed met with these men, though we believed the meeting quite innocent, as he had declared.”

“How can you be so certain that your foster father spoke the truth?” Rowena asked.

Christian seemed to hold himself more erect, as if the mere memory of this man was ennobling. “Did you know of him, you would never ask that question. He held truth and honor above all else, and instructed for Simon, Jarrod and I to do the same, no matter what the outcome, though it helped to secure his downfall.”

Rowena felt that such blind faith might be foolish. Yet what Christian chose to believe was his own folly, so she said nothing for a long moment.

But she could not remain silent. Perhaps because, in spite of what her mother had said about her father and her own anger toward him, Rowena was desperate to know something of his world, of him. “What has any of that to do with this Rosalind you search for?”

Christian rubbed a weary hand across his brow. “Rosalind was—is—the daughter of my former foster father. It was believed that she was killed in the battle for Dragonwick Castle. I myself saw the body, though it was covered at the time. We were told by Kelsey’s men that she had fallen from the upper stair whilst trying to get to her father as he fought below.”

“Then why do you search for her?”

“Because it has come to my attention that she may not have died that day. That she was hidden away by the nursemaid in order to protect her.” His gaze now met Rowena’s with a strange intensity.

She frowned. “You imagine she was brought here to Ashcroft?”

He did not break the force of that gaze. “That is what I was told only weeks ago by a dying man.”

“But who was he and how would he know this?”

“He said that it was he who helped the child and the nursemaid to escape the castle. It was the nurse’s red-haired child who Jack saw Kelsey push down the castle steps that day. Though the nurse was grieving her own babe’s death, she was determined to save the little one who had also nursed at her breast. She begged his aid, as they had been lovers. Jack loved The Dragon as loyally as did I and my friends, and abhorred the fact that the earl’s own half brother had wronged him so vilely. Jack felt that parting from his lover was not too high a price to pay in order to see the child safe. They never saw one another again, and it was only because he was dying that he told me what had happened. He knew someone had to know of Rosalind’s existence if there was ever to be any hope of her returning to Dragonwick. Naturally, I had to come and discover if he had spoken true, and then to help her gain her rightful place if he had.”

For some reason Rowena felt an agitation she could not explain. She rose and began to clear the table. “So you took him at his word, coming all this way with no more than that to go by. It could have been nothing more than a delusion brought on by wishful thinking. You said that this Jack felt as you did, that The Dragon had been wronged by his half brother. Perhaps in his illness he fabricated this notion in order to avenge his master before he died.”

Christian stiffened, drawing himself up. “Aye, to a point, though I have told no one else of my quest. And not only because I gave my word to remain silent on the matter until I knew that she would not be placed in danger by my revealing the information. I…did not wish to give false hope to Simon or Jarrod. We have long waited for the day when we might see Kelsey brought low for all he has done.”

Her brows rose. “So this quest you are on is a matter of vengeance. You have no thought for the woman herself.”

He scowled. “Of course I want what is best for Rosalind. She deserves to have what is rightfully hers.”

“Even if she does not wish to become involved in this vendetta? She may very well be happy wherever she is, especially if, as you suspect, she does not know.”

He shook his head. “She must be made to see that she owes it to—”

Rowena interrupted him. “She owes nothing. Why would anyone choose a life fraught with treachery and murder, to be placed in danger that is not of her making? It matters not, at any rate, for you have not found her. Whatever caused your dead friend to imagine that she might be in Ashcroft, he was mistaken. That is misfortune for her, for she would have found a good home here amongst the folk of Ashcroft. She could not have been expected to exchange her life for lands and titles.”

He frowned, but his reply was not what Rowena expected; he changed the subject so abruptly that she felt disoriented for a moment. “I see that you love the people here as a family. But what of your real family, Rowena? Surely there is someone out there, even if both of your parents are dead. What of them?”

This unexpected question brought overwhelming feelings of shame and loneliness. Suddenly she could not hold the secret inside her. “What of them, Sir Christian? I do not know. You see, my father was a knight, my mother a servant in his household. He never wed her, and his family did not want me after his death.”

Christian became very still. “Your father was not wed to your mother? Who told you this?”

“My mother. Who would know better than she?”

He raked that thick dark hair straight back from his brow. “But that is not possible—”

She stiffened. “I assure you it is possible.” She turned her back on him. “I cannot stand about discussing matters you do not understand. I must fetch Hagar before Nina awakens. I will need her help.” She hurried to the door.

He went after her, grabbing her wrist in a tight grip, desperate to get her to listen. “Rowena, please, I must speak with you—”

She winced, jerking away from him.

Christian held up his hands in supplication. “Forgive me, I had no intention of harming you. I but wanted to…”

Rowena did not linger to hear him out. She could not reveal the pain she felt at seeing him so shocked by her revelation. As she ran down the path, she asked herself why she should even care for the opinion of a knight about whom she knew so little.

She was but a moment’s delay in Christian Greatham’s life. Even if being held in his arms had made her feel truly safe for the first time in her memory.

Once he was fully recovered he would be on his way, possibly to continue his search for the young woman he hoped to use to avenge his former foster father. Whatever he chose to do, it did not involve her.

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