Aislynn approached, Margaret swung around from where she stood stirring the pot and smiled at Aislynn. “Good morrow.”
Aislynn nodded. “Good morrow.”
“What think you this morn?” She nodded her head toward the row of small containers in which the flavorings were held, the main stores being kept in a cool dry cellar.
Aislynn looked at them and frowned, her mind devoid of any inspiration. Finally she admitted, “I have little hunger and naught seems appealing to me. What think you?”
Margaret looked at her closely. “Are you well, Aislynn?”
She avoided looking into those brightly observant brown eyes, fearful that all she was trying not to think on would be revealed to the woman who knew her so well. She spoke the truth without telling all of the truth. “Aye, I am concerned for Christian.”
Margaret clearly failed to note any undue disquiet in her mistress, asking, “Have you seen Sir Jarrod this morn?”
“Nay, why do you ask?”
“I wish to catch that lad before he sets off without anything to eat. We must have a care for his wellbeing for he seems to have little enough, if any.”
Aislynn bit her lower lip, guilt stabbing her sharply. In spite of his shortcomings, Jarrod Maxwell was a guest at Bransbury. It was her duty, as the lady of the keep, to have a care for his comfort.
She held up a hand. “I will see to it. You have enough to attend without adding that to your other duties.”
Quickly, before she could give herself time to think, Aislynn went back down the corridor that connected the kitchens to the main part of the keep. On entering the Hall she cast a glance around the chamber.
She did not see him. Hurriedly she asked one of the serfs who were assembling the trestle tables. “Royce, have you seen Sir Jarrod?”
The serving man nodded. “Aye, he went from the keep some minutes ago.”
Clearly the knight meant to leave without eating, as Margaret feared. Aislynn hurried out into the cold morning after him, knowing he would first fetch his horse.
The stable came into her sight just in time for her to see a mounted Jarrod Maxwell emerge from the wide double door. He started across the greensward toward the gate and she called out quickly, “Sir Jarrod.”
He swung around immediately, his dark gaze searching her out with obvious surprise and what looked to be reluctance. But it was quickly masked by cool civility as he turned the white stallion and came toward her.
Not caring for that expression of reluctance, however brief, Aislynn raised her chin as she waited for him.
Sir Jarrod halted the restless stallion at her side. “May I be of assistance, Lady Aislynn?”
In spite of her irritation with him, she answered, “I thought to see that you had something to eat before you left the castle.” A desire to hide any real interest in him made her add, “Actually it was the head woman, Margaret, who thought of you. I simply realized it was my own duty and not hers to see you were looked after.”
His lips curved into a smile that did not reach his eyes. “You have done your duty by me. You may rest easy.”
She grimaced, wrapping her arms around herself as she realized that it was not her intention to be surly no matter what his opinion of her might be. “I did not mean to imply…Aside from your being here to help us find Christian, you are a guest at Bransbury. We do not receive many guests and it is not only my father’s but my intent that you be treated with the utmost hospitality and honor.”
Those dark eyes changed, narrowed, studying her with an expression she did not understand, and Aislynn could no longer hold them. She looked at the ground as a shiver took her and she wrapped her arms about herself.
He said softly, “You’ve come out without your cloak.”
His changed tone made her raise her head.
Before she could even think, Jarrod Maxwell was on the ground beside her, slipping his own cloak about her shoulders, the cloak that was still warm from the heat of his body. There was a new tingling along her flesh that had naught to do with cold.
Immediately she made to remove the cloak, whispering, “Please, there is no need for you to…”
He reached out to hold it together in front of her and Aislynn looked up at him, her eyes caught once again by his as he said, “Do not be silly. You are cold.” His gaze softened as did his voice, the huskiness of his tone making her shiver in a different way, a pleasurable way. “I do thank you for your concern for my well-being and it has already been brought home to me that you and your father are kind and generous folk. But you should not have come out here without a cloak.”
“I simply thought to catch you before you could leave the keep without some sustenance.”
A soft laugh escaped him. “Let me assure you. I am quite unaccustomed to being fussed over and am more than able to look after my own needs.”
She was surprised at the huskiness of her own voice as she replied, “So you have said, but mayhap you should allow yourself to be looked after. At least a little.”
He looked away from her, his gaze distant. “Nay, there is nothing to be gained in becoming soft.”
She frowned at this. “It is not softness to allow others to show kindness. The receiving of kindnesses takes as much strength as the giving of them. You seem willing enough to care for others but unwilling to receive care.”
His lips twisted wryly, his expression suddenly patronizing. “What would one of your tender years know of such things?”
Her frown deepened as a wave of renewed ire swept through her and she groaned in frustration. “Why do you persist in saying such things to me?”
His black brows arched high in obvious amazement at her animosity. “What things?”
She put her hands on her hips. “You address me as if I am a child.”
“But you are a child.”
She raised her head high, made bold by the anger running through her veins. “I may be small of stature, my lord, but I am no child and you should know this. Many women are several years wed by my age. I myself will be married ere many months have passed.”
A strange ripple of something dark and unreadable passed over his exotically handsome face, leaving as quickly as it had appeared before he said, “But how could this be. You were an infant when last I saw you.”
She sighed. “I was six and more than thirteen years have passed. I am nineteen years of age.”
He took a deep breath, a flicker of uncertainty passing through his eyes now, as he seemed to be speaking more to himself than to her. “But I thought…” He drew himself up. “Nonetheless, you are my friend…my brother’s sister.”
Impatience tinged her voice. “Pray what can you mean by that, Sir Jarrod? I have not said that I am not Christian’s sister. And what has that to do with
