'This is a most alarming thought, my lord.'
'Do not concern yourself tonight. As I said, Ulrich will keep an eye on the lad.' Gareth went back to his book. 'Clare, do we have any mercury?'
'Aye, my lord,' she said absently. 'My father kept some about somewhere.
Have you had any more ideas concerning who might have killed Beatrice?'
'Nay.'
'Do you still believe that the motive involved the theft of a book?'
Gareth gazed down at the alchemic recipe he was studying. He thought of the powerful explosion he had produced with the sulfur and charcoal mixture. 'Lately I have begun to realize that there are many great secrets concealed in these ancient treatises that your father translated.'
'That is no doubt true, but the books in the convent library are not of Eastern origin. They are primarily English herbals and Church histories.
Surely none of them contain any secrets worth murder.'
'But what if the thief did not know what he would find there V Gareth touched the edge of the unevenly cut parchment pages of the book he held. 'What if he believed he would find something of great value in one of them?'
'What sort of secret would that be?'
'Mayhap the elixir that will produce gold from base metals.'
'Oh, that. Alchemists have searched for such a recipe for years,' Clare scoffed. 'My father always claimed that it did not exist.'
The knock on the bedchamber door came shortly before dawn. It brought Gareth out of a dark, disturbing dream that involved blood and an open book.
In the dream he had been attempting to read the alchemic recipe that had been written in the book. But blood had flowed across the page before he could make out the words.
When the knock sounded, Gareth came awake as he always did, swiftly and completely. With the force of long habit he reached down over the side of the bed. His hand closed around the hilt of the Window of Hell.
'What is it?' Clare asked in a sleepy voice. 'Is something wrong?'
'Someone is at the door.' Gareth pushed aside the bed curtain and padded across the floor, sword in hand.
'Who's there?'
'Ulrich, my lord.'
Gareth opened the door. Ulrich stood in the hall, a candle in his hand.
He was fully dressed. He glanced at Gareth, who was naked except for the sword. 'I am sorry to disturb you.'
'What's wrong?'
'The minstrel has left the hall, as you said he might do.'
'Dalian?' Clare stuck her head out between the heavy bed curtains. 'Did you say he left?'
Gareth ignored her. 'Did he leave empty-handed?'
'I do not know. The door of Lady Clare's study chamber is ajar, however.'
'So. The lad was bent on betrayal after all,' Garth said quietly.
'I warned you he might well prove to be dangerous,' Ulrich said quietly.
'Aye.' He had been prepared for this, Gareth thought, even expected it after contemplating the minstrel's strange behavior during the past few days. Nevertheless, Dalian's actions saddened him in some manner that he could not fully explain. It was the sadness one felt when a friend proves untrustworthy, he decided.
Gareth had convinced himself that he and Dalian had forged a common bond based on the burden of their mutual illegitimacy and on their interest in conducting experiments. Clearly he had been wrong.
'You said if anything such as this occurred, you wanted to handle it yourself.' Ulrich did not look toward the bed.
'Aye. I'll get dressed. Have one of the horses readied.'
'I'll come with you,' Clare said.
'A storm struck a short while ago, my lord.' Ulrich politely kept his gaze fixed on Gareth.
'Tis miserable out there.'
'I'll go alone,' Gareth said.
'Nay, my lord.' Clare thrust aside the curtain. Her night robe hiked up above her knees as she slid her legs over the edge of the high bed. 'I shall come with you.'
Gareth glanced over his shoulder and scowled. 'Get back into bed at once, madam.' He turned back to Ulrich. 'See to the horse. I'll be down in a moment.'
'Aye, my lord.' Ulrich took a quick step back into the corridor.
Gareth shut the door. He crossed the room in three swift strides and grabbed his clothing out of a chest.
'Gareth, I want to come with you.' Clare rose from the bed and hurried to the chest that contained her tunics and gowns. 'You must wait for me.'
'Nay. I will handle this matter.' Gareth finished dressing and fastened his belt low on his hips. He picked up his sword and scabbard and went toward the door.
Clare struggled to pull her gown over her head. 'Why do you suppose Dalian is sneaking off like this?'
'Mayhap because he has found the book he came here to steal,' Gareth said from the open door.
'What?' Clare yanked the gown downward. She stared at Gareth with troubled eyes. 'I cannot believe that he would do such a thing.'
'Then mayhap he is running away because he does not wish to be questioned in the murder of Beatrice the recluse,' Gareth said.
He closed the door very firmly on Clare's horrified expression.
The horse was waiting in the courtyard. The howling wind and the crackle of lightning made the gelding restless. The beast pranced and danced on the stones until Gareth vaulted into the saddle. Once the gelding felt the firm hands on the reins, he settled down.
'Open the gate,' Gareth ordered.
'Aye, my lord.' Ranulf raced toward the gatehouse.
Ulrich looked up at Gareth. 'Are you certain you don't want company?'
'I will deal with the minstrel. How long ago did he leave the hall?'
'Not above half an hour ago. I ordered his bedchamber checked every half hour, as you commanded. When the guard found it empty, he reported immediately to me and I came directly to you.'
'I assume he did not leave by way of the gate or he would have been seen by the guards.'
'Aye. Twill be interesting to discover just how he got out of the courtyard without being spotted.'
'We'll see to that matter after I apprehend him.' Gareth gave the signal to the gelding. The big animal surged toward the open gate.
The gray light of a stormy dawn broke across the isle as Gareth galloped down the road toward the village. His destination was the harbor. The only way off Desire was by boat. The only vessels available were moored at the village quay.
The gelding thundered down the road, past the fields and the scattered cottages. In the early light Gareth could see the rows of flowers bending before the wind.
The convent gatehouse was still locked when Gareth rode past. There was no one up and about yet in the street or the market square.
When Gareth reached the harbor he spotted the lone figure on the quay at once. Dalian's cloak whipped wildly about his thin frame as he struggled with the lines of a small boat. The vessel lurched and heaved on the
