Desire

intensity. 'On the contrary. He mocked you.'

Clare glanced at her new minstrel. He was a gaunt young man of barely sixteen years who was easily startled by unexpected sounds or a raised voice. If one chanced to come upon him unawares, he jumped or froze in the manner of a panic-stricken hare.

The only time he seemed to find any inner calm was when he sang his ballads.

His thin features had begun to fill out slightly since he had arrived on Desire. But Clare could still see too many traces of the anxious, hunted look that had been in his eyes that first day when he had appeared at the hall.

Dalian had told her that he was seeking a position as a minstrel in the household. Clare had taken one look at him and had known that whatever lay in the young man's past was not pleasant. She had taken him in on the spot.

Clare scowled as she considered Dalian's impassioned remark. 'I do not think he was mocking me, precisely.'

'Well, I do,' Dalian muttered. 'He is likely a cruel and murderous man.

They do not call him the Hellhound of Wyckmere for naught.'

Clare whirled around, exasperated. 'We must not read too much into a silly nickname.'

'I don't think it's silly,' William said with great relish. 'Sir Ulrich says he got that name because of all the outlaws he's killed.'

Clare groaned. 'I'm sure his exploits have been greatly exaggerated.'

'Do not alarm yourself, Clare,' Joanna said. 'I comprehend how uneasy you are at the prospect of this marriage. But I feel certain that Lord Thurston would not have sent you a candidate who did not meet the majority of your requirements.'

'I'm beginning to wonder about that,' Clare said.

She halted her pacing abruptly as a very large shadow fell across the graveled path directly in front of her.

As if conjured up by a sorcerer, Gareth appeared. He had come soundlessly around the corner of the high hedge, giving no warning of his presence until he was directly in front of her.

She glowered at him. It did not seem right that such a large man could move so quietly. 'By Saint Hermione's little finger, sir, you gave me a start. You might have said something before you popped out from behind the bushes in such a sudden manner.'

'My apologies. I give you fair greeting, my lady,' Gareth said calmly.

'I was told I would find you here in your garden.' He glanced at the small group still gathered beneath the apple tree. 'I have already made the acquaintance of young William.

Will you introduce me to the lady seated beside him and to the other members of your household?'

'Of course,' Clare said stiffly. She rattled off the introductions.

Joanna studied Gareth with assessing interest. 'Welcome to Desire, my lord.'

'Thank you, madam.' Gareth inclined his head. 'It is good to know that I am welcomed here by some. Rest assured that I shall endeavor to meet as many of my lady's requirements as possible.'

Clare flushed and motioned quickly to a reluctant-looking Dalian.

'Welcome to Desire, sir,' Dalian muttered. He looked mutinous but he wisely kept a civil tongue.

Gareth raised one brow. 'Thank you, master minstrel. I shall look forward to hearing your songs.

I should tell you now that I have very specific preferences in music.'

'Have you, sir?' Dalian asked, tight-lipped.

'Aye. I do not care for songs about ladies who are seduced by knights other than their wedded lords.'

Dalian bristled. 'Lady Clare delights in songs that tell of the love affairs of ladies and their devoted knights, sir. She finds them very exciting.'

'Does she, indeed?' Gareth arched a brow.

Clare felt herself grow warm. She knew that she was turning a bright shade of pink. 'I am told that such ballads are very popular at the finest courts throughout Christendom.'

'Personally, I have seldom found it either necessary or convenient to follow the latest fashion,' Gareth said. He gave the small crowd a cool, deliberate look. 'I trust you will all excuse your lady and me. We wish to converse in private.'

'Of course.' Joanna rose to her feet. Then she smiled at Gareth. 'We shall see you at supper. Come along, William.'

William hopped off the bench. He grinned at Gareth. 'Is the Window of Hell very heavy, Sir Gareth?'

'Aye.'

'Do you think that I could lift it if I tried?'

Joanna frowned at him. 'Certainly not, William. Do not even suggest such a thing. Swords are very dangerous and extremely heavy. You are much too delicate for such weapons.'

William looked crestfallen.

Gareth looked down at him. 'I do not doubt that you could lift a sword, William.'

William beamed.

'Why don't you ask Sir Ulrich if you can examine his sword?' Gareth suggested. 'It is just as heavy as the Window of Hell.'

'Is it?' William looked intrigued by that information. 'I shall go and ask him at once.'

Joanna looked horrified. 'I do not think that is at all wise.'

'You may be at ease, Lady Joanna,' Gareth said. 'Sir Ulrich has had a great deal of experience with such matters. He will not allow William to hurt himself.'

'Are you quite certain it is safe?'

'Aye. Now, if you do not mind, madam, I would like to speak with Lady Clare.'

Joanna hesitated, obviously torn. Then good manners took over. 'Forgive me, sir. I did not wish to be rude.' She hurried off after her son.

Clare bit back her annoyance. Now was probably not the best moment to inform Gareth that Joanna did not want William encouraged in his growing enthusiasm for all things pertaining to knighthood. She tapped her toe impatiently as the others took their leave.

Dalian lingered a moment, giving Clare an urgent, searching glance. He looked frightened but determined.

Clare frowned and quickly shook her head once in a small negative gesture. The last thing she wanted was for Dalian to attempt to be her champion in this awkward situation. The young troubadour stood no chance against the Hellhound of Wyckmere.

When they were alone in the garden, Clare turned to face Gareth. He no longer stank of sweat and steel, but the rose-scented soap he had recently used did not disguise that other essence, the one that smelled so right to her.

She could not help but notice that even though he had discarded hauberk and helm, he did not appear any smaller than he had earlier.

Clare was forced to acknowledge that it was not his physical size, intimidating as that was, which made him seem so large and so very formidable. It was something else, something that had to do with the aura of self- mastery and clear-minded intelligence that radiated from him.

This man would make a very dangerous adversary, Clare thought. Or a very strong, very loyal friend.

But what kind of lover would such a man prove to be?

The question, unbidden and deeply unsettling, had a shattering effect on her.

To cover her strange reaction, Clare sat down quickly on the stone bench. 'I trust my servants have made you comfortable, sir.'

'Very comfortable.' Gareth sniffed a couple of times, as if testing the air. 'I seem to smell of roses at the moment, but I expect the odor will soon fade.'

Clare set her teeth. She could not tell if he was complaining, jesting, or merely remarking upon the fragrance. 'The rose-perfumed soaps are among our most profitable wares, sir. The recipe is my own invention. We sell great quantities to the London merchants who come to the spring fair in Seabern.'

He inclined his head. 'That knowledge will greatly increase my appreciation of my bath.'