gaze as she had left his chamber the night before. Clearly she was an unpredictable young wench to show such resentment in the face of his and her father’s consideration of the late hour.
Jarrod paused at the entrance to the hall and realized that only a few of the servants were stirring. He felt a sense of relief that he need not linger to break his fast with the family. It was surely due to his uneasiness over not only Aislynn’s but also her father’s making such an effort to see him made comfortable.
Jarrod was not accustomed to being the brunt of such coddling. He was a soldier, not visiting royalty. Even at Avington, with Simon and Isabelle, he had gone about, as he was accustomed to, without so much fuss.
Last night had been his first bath in a tub in some time. His baths were taken in whatever body of water he might come across. And that was the way Jarrod preferred it. He required no luxuries and wanted none. He neither wanted to become soft, nor to become beholden to anyone.
Yet he could not deny that the warm tub of water would have been relaxing had it not been for the fact that he kept getting images of a pair of periwinkle-blue eyes each time he closed his own.
With a silent groan of frustration, Jarrod approached a slender, dark-haired woman in a clean woolen gown and said, “Might I trouble you for a slice of bread and meat?”
As she passed an assessing brown gaze over him, putting hard, muscled arms on her narrow hips, he realized it was the woman, Margaret, who had come to Christian’s chamber the previous night. “You may, my lord, but would it not be better to eat a proper meal?”
He shrugged. “Perhaps. Yet I would get an early start.”
She nodded. “As you will, my lord.” She paused then before going. “It is good of you to come, my lord, to help to find our lord Christian.” He could see the sudden misting in those brown eyes. “We are sore grateful to you.”
Feeling uncomfortable with her emotion and gratitude, Jarrod nonetheless reached out to put a hand on her shoulder. “He is my friend.” He was not acting out of some selfless wish to help, but out of his own desire to find Christian. Jarrod wished they would all see that.
Her gaze registered understanding and she bowed deeply in return, then went on her way.
His discomfort with her thanks, with all of their thanks, had not lessened as he received the food with a self-conscious nod and strode from the hall. As quickly as his horse could be fetched, he left the keep, turning his mount to the open countryside at a gallop.
Although Jarrod knew that Lord Greatham had questioned everyone in the immediate vicinity of Bransbury, he began at the beginning. He needed to set some order in his mind to his own search.
The village lay nestled to one side of the castle, but Jarrod moved directly off to the left of it. He meant to leave the village for later as he moved around the demesne in a circular motion.
Each man, woman and child must be thoroughly questioned. Without even realizing, someone might have seen Christian as he left. If he could find such a soul, Jarrod would then know which road and direction he had taken.
Yet thorough as he was, helpful as all he spoke to were, Jarrod learned nothing new that day, even though he spent all the hours between leaving the keep and long after dark on his effort. Neither did he the next day.
Though he did see and discuss what he had been about with her father, Jarrod did not see Aislynn Greatham during either of those two days, returning to the keep after she had retired. He told himself that he had no care for this either way.
His last thought each night was of her, but this was because she was Christian’s sister and he was sympathetic to her pain.
Chapter Three
Aislynn woke quite early, after a restless night—as each night had been since Jarrod Maxwell had arrived at Bransbury. She kept telling herself that his speaking to her as if she was a child did not plague her in the least.
Yet her agitation worsened when she remembered how she had felt as his black eyes looked directly into hers. It was as if he were looking into her soul, making her feel far from the child he believed her to be.
She tried to wish Jarrod Maxwell had never come to Bransbury, but the very notion was shockingly painful. Surely it was due to her belief that he would be able to help them find Christian.
Even though there had been no real developments in the days the knight had been at Bransbury, she was not willing to relinquish hope. She was, in spite of all that had happened in her life, including the early death of her mother and her brother’s long absence, an optimist at heart. And it was this sense of optimism that she drew on to assure herself that she would conquer this strange fascination with Jarrod Maxwell.
She parted the heavy rose velvet curtains at the side of her large oaken bed and stepped out onto the carpet that covered the cold stone floor beside the bed. There was no sense in building a fire when the day’s duties would keep her from returning to the comfortably furnished chamber for more than minutes at a time. Shivering, Aislynn dressed warmly, as she always did on chill mornings, in a shift, a heavy underdress of dark green linen, and an enveloping over gown with wide sleeves that showed the tightly fitted sleeves of the gown beneath. She then donned her veil, barbette and a warm cap with pearl trim that matched the butter-yellow brocade of her gown.
Leaving her chamber, she went to the kitchen, which lay at the end of a long corridor off the hall, as she did each morning before going in to break her own fast. One of the duties she most enjoyed was flavoring the large pots of stews and boiled meats that were served at the midday meal. The herbs that she grew in her own garden served as a constant inspiration for new and interesting combinations of flavor. And many about the keep said that the teas she brewed from her herbs were quite effective at alleviating minor ailments of the head and stomach.
This day she paused at the entrance to the long narrow chamber with its well-scrubbed counters, great ovens and wide hearth. With one of the two enormous pots that hung from iron hooks on either side of the hearth broken, only one rested over the low-burning fire. Although this made keeping up with work in the kitchens difficult, the women had managed to do well thus far, roasting more of the meat than was their usual custom.
And strangely Aislynn had not even thought on the matter of how much thyme might be added in to a particular recipe in relationship to the amount of rosemary, or any other such combination since the first night Jarrod had come to Bransbury.
Jarrod, whose mysterious black eyes made her heart pound each time he looked at her.
With irritation she realized that she had allowed her thoughts to go back to that man once more. Sharply Aislynn returned her attention to her responsibilities.
It should have soothed her that all was in order, as it was every morning with Margaret awaiting her instructions on which of the containers of herbs and spices would be used this day. It did not.
Margaret had mothered Aislynn since her earliest memory and Aislynn loved her. As a small child she had often been held close to the woman who was lean and wiry from constant activity. Even at rest, the head woman seemed always about to jump up and see to some task.
Yet the fact that she had inadvertently seen Jarrod Maxwell comforting Margaret in the hall on his first morning here had left Aislynn uncomfortable in Margaret’s company. She had been so moved by the brief gesture that she had not shown
