Three days later Clare sat at her desk and nibbled at the end of her quill pen. She pondered her latest perfume recipe. It was difficult to properly describe the exact steps required for combining various substances to achieve the desired results of her more complex concoctions. She studied what she had just written:
Put a quantity of water into a pan and put the pan into the fire. When the pan is red hot and the water boiling softly, take a fair quantity of your best rose leaves and put them in the pan.
The phrase fair quantity did not seem very exact. Abbess Helen had advised her to be very specific when she was writing recipes.
Clare scratched out 'fair quantity' and inserted the words 'two handsful.'
A single, peremptory knock was all the warning she got before the door opened and Gareth strode into the room. He had the book her father had written open in his hands. He was frowning intently over a passage.
'Clare, do we have any sulfur?'
'Aye, my lord. My father kept a quantity of it in the storerooms along with some other ingredients.
The Arabic treatises make frequent reference to recipes that use sulfur.
He often expressed his desire to experiment with it. Personally, I have never bothered with the stuff.
I do not care for the smell.'
'Excellent, excellent. I must see if I can find it.' Gareth scowled over whatever it was that he was reading for another moment. 'The charcoal will not be a problem. 'Tis easy enough to make.'
'Have you found an intriguing recipe?'
'In this volume your father describes some very unusual recipes from the East.'
'Recipes that use sulfur?'
'Aye. I shall investigate them later.' He closed the heavy volume and tucked it under his arm. 'What are you doing?'
'I am working on my own book.'
'Ah, yes. Your book of perfume recipes.' Gareth surveyed the volumes on the shelves of her study chamber. 'Your library is almost as large as the convent's.'
'I am very proud of it. Many of the books were collected by my father, of course, but I have acquired one or two on my own. I am especially pleased with the one that was written by Abbess Helen of Ainsley. 'Tis a most learned work on herbs which I consult frequently.'
'Abbess Helen of Ainsley?' Gareth repeated in a strangely neutral voice.
'Aye.' Clare smiled proudly. 'She has been kind enough to enter into a correspondence with me.'
'You exchange letters with an abbess?'
'Quite regularly. I find her advice on the properties of herbs invaluable. As it happens, she will be arriving soon for a visit.'
'She will?' Gareth looked startled. Clare nodded happily. 'I am very excited. Prioress Margaret sent word this morning. She tells me I can expect Abbess Helen any day now.
You will have an opportunity to meet her, my lord.'
'That should prove interesting.'
'Aye. She will no doubt stay with us here at the hall. That is what she did the last time she came to visit. Tis a great honor for us.'
'I see.' Gareth lowered himself onto the window seat. 'Well, that is neither here nor there. At the moment I wish to talk to you about Dalian.'
'What about him?' Clare frowned. 'I thought he was proving to be very satisfactory in his new position as a squire-in-training. If he is having difficulties or not giving good service, I pray you will be patient with him. He needs time, my lord.'
'He performs his duties with right goodwill. That is not the problem. I am concerned about his growing melancholia.'
'I know what you mean.' Clare put down her pen. 'It is very worrisome.
Tis almost as bad now as it was when he first arrived on Desire. For a time he improved markedly.
But since the fair he seems to have grown very anxious again.'
'What do you know of young Dalian's history?'
Clare regarded him thoughtfully. 'Very little. He is a bastard, as you know. He claims to have been raised in the home of a man of rank. As you and I have discussed, I suspect he was not well treated.'
'That's all you know of him?'
Clare reflected on the question. 'Aye, I believe so. He never speaks of his past.'
'Or of the man who raised him?'
'Nay. I have the impression that he would prefer to forget both.'
'Mayhap he cannot forget, although he tries.'
'Aye. Some things cannot be conveniently forgotten.'
'True. But a man who cannot forget must learn to deal with the devils that plague him.' ''
'Give him time, my lord. He has only been with us for a short while.'
'Tis the suddenness with which this new fit of melancholia has come upon him that concerns me. He was content and cheerful during the fair until the last day. I thought at first that he was suffering from lovesickness.'
Clare smiled. 'Young Alison?'
'Aye. I spoke to him of the matter, but he claims he is not afflicted with the illness.' Gareth grimaced. 'Thanks be to the saints for that. I have not the least notion of how to cure such a disease quickly and I have never known a doctor who could treat it successfully.'
'I believe you once told me that you, personally, have not suffered from it for many years,' Clare murmured dryly.
'Nay.' Gareth shrugged. 'Lovesickness is for poets and fools.'
'Of course.'
'A man in my position cannot afford to indulge himself in such an illness.'
'Why not, pray? What harm can it do?'
'What harm?' Gareth scowled. 'The harm is obvious. Tis a most dangerous fever. It destroys sound judgment and common sense.'
'Of course. I do not know what I was thinking of to even ask such a foolish question. Well, then, about Dalian. What do you suggest?'
Gareth considered. 'It would no doubt be best to give him something to think about that will take his mind off whatever it is that is plaguing him.'
'An excellent plan, my lord. I have noticed that men have a great skill for ignoring certain pressing problems in favor of amusing themselves with other matters.'
Gareth cocked a brow. 'Have I said something to annoy you, madam?'
'Not at all,' Clare assured him very smoothly. 'What do you believe would successfully distract Dalian from whatever it is that is unbalancing his humors and inducing melancholy?'
Gareth glanced down at the book he was holding. 'Mayhap I shall ask him to assist me in my experiments with sulfur and charcoal.'
'I believe he will find that very interesting.' Clare was briefly intrigued herself. 'Let me know when you are ready to demonstrate the results of your work, my lord. I would enjoy witnessing them even though I do not much care for the odor of sulfur.'
'I shall send word when I'm ready with the experiment.' Gareth rose from the window seat, kissed her lightly on the mouth, and went toward the door.
Clare watched him leave. She experienced a twinge of melancholy herself as she reflected on their conversation. Lovesickness is for poets and fools.
She was neither a poet nor a fool, but she was very much afraid that she was suffering from lovesickness.
She did not enjoy suffering alone.
It was not as if Gareth were completely free of the softer emotions, she told herself. There were some encouraging signs. For example, he always smelled of the new fragrance she had given to him.
