in this bag.'
'Aye.'
'Another morsel, mayhap?' He opened the leather flap and peered inside.
'I could eat a second pie.'
'Nay, my lord. No pies.' Clare took a deep breath and schooled herself to speak very casually. ' 'Tis a gift for you.'
'A gift?' Gareth's head came up with unexpected swiftness. All trace of his easygoing manner had vanished. 'For me?'
'Aye, my lord.' She rested her chin on her knees and studied him.
Gareth stared at her, a very odd expression in his eyes. It was the first time Clare had ever seen him bemused.
'Thank you,' he finally said.
'Do not thank me until you have seen it. Mayhap you will not care for it.'
Gareth reached into the bag and took out an elegantly fashioned, tightly stoppered flask. He examined it with a look of intense pleasure. 'Perfume? For me?'
Clare blushed. ''Tis a special recipe that I created for you and you alone, sir. I hope you will like it.'
Gareth carefully removed the stopper and bent his head to inhale the fragrance.
'Wait.'
Gareth looked up with an inquiring expression.
'My lord, I very nearly forgot to inquire if you are made ill by mugwort or mint or cloves or some other ingredient.'
Gareth shook his head. 'Nay. Why do you ask?'
Clare relaxed. 'Never mind. Tis merely that I knew someone once who had a most violent reaction to mug-wort.'
'I find mugwort quite pleasant.' Gareth took a deep, savoring breath.
'This mixture is very, very fine, madam.'
'Do you really like it?'
'Aye.' He inhaled again. 'It smells of many things that I have always enjoyed, the fresh air of dawn and the tang of the sea. I shall keep it in my clothing chest.'
'I'm glad you like it.' Clare smiled slightly. 'Not every man cares for pleasant-smelling tunics and linen.'
'Due to the nature of my previous career, I was obliged to smell a great many odors that I would willingly forget,' Gareth said. 'This perfume will replace them in my mind.'
Clare tilted her head. 'What sorts of odors were you forced to endure while you hunted outlaws?'
Gareth studied the exquisitely made perfume flask. 'When I think on my past I recall the foul smells of burned cottages, dead men, and crying women. Whenever I smelled such odors, I knew I had arrived too late. All that was left was to begin the hunt for the men who had created the stench.'
Clare chilled. 'How terrible for you, Gareth. No wonder you were eager for a hall of your own.'
'I shall think of you whenever I inhale the scent of this perfume,'
Gareth said quietly.
'And of Desire, my lord, your new home.'
'Aye. I shall most certainly think of Desire.' His eyes pinned hers.
'Was there a special reason for this gift?'
'Nay, my lord,' Clare said lightly. 'Merely the usual.'
'The usual? And what would that be?'
'As a token of my respect, of course.'
'Respect?'
'Aye. What other reason would a wife have for giving her husband a gift?'
'A good question, madam.'
'Dalian, help Ranulf fold the tent.'
Dalian jerked as if he had been stung. 'Aye, my lord.'
Gareth frowned as he watched the minstrel hurry to assist Ranulf in packing the yellow-and-white-striped tent.
Something was wrong.
Gareth had noted the change in Dalian shortly after noon on this, the last day of the fair. Gone was the minstrel's jaunty swagger and his enthusiasm for his position as squire-in-training. They had magically disappeared in the space of a few short hours. Melancholia and an anxious demeanor had taken their place.
Dalian seemed suddenly preoccupied with matters that weighed down his very soul. He jumped whenever someone spoke to him. He continued to carry out the orders Gareth gave him, but the eagerness which had characterized his behavior since he had sworn fealty to his new lord had vanished.
Gareth thought he understood the nature of the problem. He was less certain of what to do about it. He was no expert at dealing with lovesickness.
He waited until the boats had been loaded for the return trip To the Isle of Desire before he called Dalian aside.
'Dalian.'
'Aye, my lord?' Dalian wiped his hands on his tunic in a nervous gesture. 'Did I do something wrong?'
'Nay. Walk with me for a moment. I wish to speak to you.'
'Aye, my lord.' Dalian shot Gareth a quick, uneasy glance as he obediently fell into step beside him.
Gareth clasped his hands behind his back and tried to think of the best way to approach this delicate subject. 'You have sung many songs of love, minstrel, but mayhap you have not learned much about the matter.'
'I beg your pardon, my lord?'
Gareth cleared his throat. 'A man's first taste of passion is as unsettling as his first taste of war. Both are powerful in their own fashion and both have a way of temporarily distorting his view of himself and the world around him.'
Dalian looked politely blank.
Gareth sighed and tried again. 'I know that you believe you have fallen in love with your pretty Alison.
It no doubt saddens you to part from her.'
Dalian frowned. 'I shall miss her.'
'Aye. That is understandable. However?'
'But I do not love her.'
Gareth glanced at him speculatively. 'You don't?'
'Nay. We had a pleasant time together, but I have told her that I cannot love any woman yet. I must make my way in the world before I can think on such matters.'
'Ah.' Gareth was vastly relieved. 'A very wise statement from a man of your years. I'm impressed with your common sense. I have seen men twice your age make fools of themselves over a woman. Tis not a pretty sight.'
Dalian gave him a quizzical look. 'Was that all you wanted to say to me, my lord?'
'Aye. Run along and help pack the tents.'
'Aye, my lord.'
Gareth watched Dalian hurry back to join the others. He wondered if he had misinterpreted Dalian's mood. It was possible that the young man suffered from severely unbalanced humors. The disease could prove lethal. Gareth had once known a man who was so severely afflicted with unbalanced humors that he had committed suicide.
Gareth determined to keep a close eye on his new squire-in-training.
