Desire

'Who predicted death? The recluse?'

'Aye. But then, she frequently predicted gloom and disaster. This time, unfortunately, she was right.' Clare shifted against him, entwining her leg with his. 'How will you go about finding the murderer?'

'I shall do what I am most skilled at. I shall set a few snares.'

'What do you mean?'

'It appears that the murderer did not have an opportunity to steal whatever it was he sought in the library. He may try again. When he does, we shall be ready for him.'

'How?'

Gareth shrugged. 'I shall post guards around the convent every night and instruct them to remain out of sight in the shadows. They will be in a position to see if anyone attempts to climb the wall or get through the gates.'

'A brilliant plan, my lord.'

Gareth was amused by the note of genuine admiration in her voice. Some people were easier to please than others, he reflected. They expected so little that they were overwhelmed by any sign of competency. 'Thank you.'

'You are certain that the murderer is a man?'

Gareth remembered the grim bruises on the recluse's throat. 'Aye. Mayhap a very strong woman could have killed her. But I think a woman would have had to drag the body back to the cell. Beatrice was carried.'

'Aye. There were no signs of her being dragged across the flower beds.'

'Or along the graveled paths. The pebbles were undisturbed.'

'You are a keen observer, my lord.'

'You mean for a thick-skulled, overly muscled knight?'

'Hush.' She covered his mouth with her fingertips. 'I never actually called you that.'

'I beg your pardon. My mistake. I do not know how I came by that impression.'

'No more of your teasing, sir. I have had quite enough.'

'Aye, madam.'

Clare fell silent for a few seconds and then she sighed. 'It is so difficult to imagine anyone killing a harmless old woman like Beatrice.'

Gareth thought back on his years spent hunting violent men.

'Unfortunately, 'tis only too easy to imagine someone committing murder. The real question is why.'

'To steal a book?'

'Books are valuable, 'tis true, but only to scholars. I do not believe there are many such who would actually kill for one. And even if a man were determined to lay hands on a book, you must admit that Desire is a very distant, out-of-the-way place to travel merely to steal one.'

'Many scholars have braved the perils of the roads all the way to Spain and Italy just to get hold of certain books. In a sense my father died because of his thirst for the treasures stored up in the Arab treatises he hunted.'

'I had not thought of it in that fashion, but you're right. Sir Humphrey risked his life to seek out books. Mayhap someone else is prepared to do the same.'

***

'It is at times such as this,' Nicholas of Seabern said mournfully,

'that I comprehend the true extent of all that I lost when I failed to win the hand of the lady of Desire. I trust you appreciate your good fortune, Hellhound.'

Gareth followed his gaze to where Clare stood outside a yellow-and-white-striped tent. She was haggling with a merchant. From the few words that reached him, it was obvious that his wife was driving a hard bargain. She appeared to be enjoying herself immensely.

'Aye,' Gareth said. He felt a rush of pleasure at the sight of her. She was as vibrant and warm as the spring day. Her eyes were bright with excitement and her hands moved gracefully through the air as she emphasized a point. A few strands of her hair had escaped her yellow net. 'I am not one to take fortune for granted.'

'She'll make you a nice profit on this one sale alone.' Nicholas took a large swallow from his mug of spiced wine. 'And there are two more days of good bargaining ahead. You'll be richer than that fat London merchant before the fair is over.'

Gareth knew that the merchant in question had come all the way from London to purchase the perfumes of Desire. He was a short, stout man of middle years. His shrewd eyes gleamed with the delight he took in bargaining with an opponent of equal skill. He was dressed in a finely embroidered wool tunic. His cap and mantle were trimmed with fur and velvet and he wore costly rings on his plump fingers.

Nearby Joanna stood outside a green and white tent. She was hard at work dealing with two other merchants. She was selling quantities of exquisitely embroidered sweet bags and scented pillows. She appeared to be enjoying herself as much as Clare was.

Ulrich and one of Gareth's men-at-arms lounged idly between the two tents. They munched hot pies as they kept watch on the tables laden with the wares of Desire.

Pickpockets and petty thieves were as much a part of a busy fair as the peddlers, merchants, jugglers, and acrobats.

Gareth rested his hand on the hilt of the Window of Hell and surveyed the array of colorful tents and peddlers' stalls that had been set up in front of Seabern Keep.

The fair had attracted not only the inhabitants of Seabern and Desire but a number of other people from miles around. Pennants flapped in the breeze. Musicians strolled through the crowds with lutes and drums. Tradesmen sold food, spiced wine, and ale. It was a busy, energetic scene and, Gareth knew, a lucrative one for all concerned.

'Do not bemoan your loss to me,' he said to Nicholas. 'Seabern will see a healthy profit from this fair. Everyone here is making money and spending it.'

'Aye.' Nicholas grinned. 'I should look on the bright side of the matter. You could say that I get to enjoy some of the benefit of your lady's talents without having to put up with her sharp tongue and clever wit.'

'I'm pleased that you do not intend to hold my good fortune against me.'

'Nay.' Nicholas took another swallow of the wine and assumed a philosophical expression. 'And I'm pleased you do not feel the need to run me through with the Window of Hell.'

'I have been entirely convinced that there is no great need to kill you, Nicholas.'

'I told you so.' Nicholas clapped him on the back. 'So the lady was a virgin, after all, eh? I'll confess it crossed my mind that Raymond de Coleville might have had her, but I'm not surprised he failed to seduce her, too. Clare's got the pride of a queen.'

'Aye.'

'And blood made from ice water, if you ask me.'

'I did not ask your opinion.'

Nicholas ignored that. 'She'll be grateful when you leave, you know. She has no use for a husband.'

'Mayhap she will discover one.'

Nicholas hooted with laughter, nearly choking on his spiced wine. 'God's eyes, man, but that's an excellent jest. Didn't think you had a sense of mirth. Well, then, as we're neighbors and we both owe allegiance to Thurston of Landry, I say we may as well be friends.'

'An interesting thought.'

'No offense, but your lady would have made my life a hell on earth.'

Nicholas shook his head. 'Tis all that education they gave her when she was young. Ruins women, you know. She actually demanded to wed a man who could read. Can you credit it?'

'Astonishing.'

'Of what use is such a skill to a knight with a good strong sword arm, I ask?'

'You do not know how to read?' Gareth asked casually.

'Nay.' Nicholas belched. 'Never saw the point of it. I can hire all the scribes and clerics I need to deal with my accounts and such. Reading is a waste of time and energy for a man.'