Desire

physical power, something told her that this was not a man who would rely on brute strength alone to obtain his ends.

Gareth of Wyckmere was obviously a trained knight, well versed in the bloody arts of war, but he was no thick-skulled fool. Clare could see that much in his face.

The sunlight gleamed on his heavy, shoulder-length mane of near-black hair. There was that about his fierce, stony features which reminded Clare of the great cliffs that protected her beloved isle. In spite of the intelligence that gleamed in his eyes, she sensed that he could be implacable and unyielding.

This was a man who had fought for everything he wanted in life.

He watched Clare as she examined him. He did not appear to object to her scrutiny. He simply sat waiting calmly and patiently for judgment in a manner which suggested that the verdict did not concern him. It struck her then that he had his own ends and he intended to achieve them regardless of her decisions and conclusions.

That realization worried Clare. The Hellhound of Wyckmere would not be easily denied once he had determined upon a goal.

But then, she could be just as determined in the pursuit of her own goals, Clare reminded herself. For all intents and purposes she had been in command of this isle and everything on it since the age of twelve.

'Well, my lady?' Gareth said. 'Are you satisfied with your future lord?'

Her future lord? Clare blinked in amazement. She did not know whether to laugh or scold him for his breathtaking arrogance. She settled on a polite but distinctly cold smile.

'I cannot say,' Clare murmured. 'I have not yet met the other candidates for the position.'

'You are mistaken, madam. There are only two, myself and Sir Nicholas of Seabern.'

Clare's lips parted in shock. 'But that's not possible. I requested a selection of at least three or four knights.'

'We do not always get what we request in this life, do we?'

'But you do not meet any of my requirements, sir,' Clare sputtered. 'I mean no offense, but you are not precisely the right size. And you appear to be very much a man of war, not a man of peace.' She glowered at him. 'Furthermore, I do not gain the impression that you are of a cheerful temperament.'

'My size I can do nothing about. And 'tis true that I have been well trained in the art of war, but I swear to you that I seek a quiet, peaceful life. As for my temperament, who is to say? A man can change, can he not?'

'I'm not at all certain of that,' Clare said warily.

'I can read.'

'Well, that is something, I suppose. Nevertheless?'

'My lady, it has been my experience that we all must learn to make do with what is granted to us.'

'No one knows that better than I,' Clare said icily. 'Sir, I shall be blunt. You have come a long way and given us a fine show. I do not wish to disappoint you, but in all fairness, I fear I must tell you that you are very unlikely to qualify for the position of lord of Desire. Mayhap it would be best if you and your men left on the same boats that brought you here.'

'Nay, lady. I have waited too long and come too far. I am here to claim my future. I have no intention of leaving.'

'But I must insist?'

There was a soft, deadly sigh of sound. Gareth's sword appeared in his hand as if by magic. The swift, terrifying movement brought a collective gasp from the crowd. Clare halted in the middle of her sentence. Her eyes widened.

Sunlight danced and flashed on steel as Gareth held the blade aloft.

Once again everything and everyone seemed to freeze into utter stillness.

It was young William who managed to shatter the spell.

'You must not hurt my lady,' he yelled at Gareth. 'I will not let you hurt her.'

The crowd was as stunned by William's boldness as it was at the sight of the drawn blade.

'Hush, William,' Clare whispered. Gareth looked at William. 'You are very brave, boy. There are those who flee in fear when they gaze at the Window of Hell.'

It was clear that William was frightened, but he wore an expression of stubborn determination. He glared at Gareth. 'Do not hurt her.'

'I will not hurt her,' Gareth said. 'Indeed, as her future lord, I am well pleased to see that she has had such a bold protector to watch over her until my arrival. I am in your debt, lad.'

William's expression became one of uncertainty.

Gareth reversed the sword with another lightning-swift movement. He extended the blade, hilt first, toward Clare in an unmistakable gesture of homage and respect. He waited, along with everyone else, for her to take hold of the weapon.

A murmur of astonishment and approval swept through the crowd. Clare heard it. She sensed William's barely contained excitement. The expectant tension in the atmosphere was overwhelming.

To refuse the sword would be a move fraught with risk. There was no telling how Gareth would react or what his mounted warriors might do to retaliate. They could destroy the entire village in a matter of minutes.

To accept the blade, however, was to give Gareth and everyone else cause to believe that his suit would be favorably received.

It was a trap. A rather neat one, Clare had to admit, but definitely a trap. It was a snare with only two exits, both of which were dangerous.

And it had been very deliberately set. But then, she had known from the first that this was a man who used his wits as well as his strength to gain his ends.

Clare looked down at the hilt of the polished length of steel. She saw that the pommel was set with a large chunk of rock crystal. The cloudy gray stone appeared to be filled with silvery smoke from unseen fires. Suddenly Clare knew whence the blade had taken its name. It did not require much imagination to envision the crystal in the pommel as a window into hell.

Clare met Gareth's steady gaze and saw that the smoky crystal was a fine match for his eyes.

Knowing that there was no way out of the trap, Clare chose one of the only two options available.

Slowly she reached out and grasped the hilt of the sword. The weapon was so heavy that she had to use both hands to hold it.

A great cry of jubilation went up from the crowd. William grinned.

Cheers filled the air. Armor clashed and rang as the mounted knights and men-at-arms brandished their lances and struck their shields.

Clare looked at Gareth and felt as if she had just stepped off one of the high cliffs of Desire.

Gareth reached out with his huge, mail-covered hands, caught her up, and swept her off the wall. The world spun around Clare. She very nearly dropped the big sword.

An instant later she found herself settled safely across the saddle in front of the Hellhound. She was steadied by a mail-clad arm the size of a tree. She looked up and saw the satisfaction blazing in Gareth's eyes.

Clare wondered why she felt as if she were still falling.

Gareth raised one hand to summon a knight. A hard-faced warrior rode forward.

'Aye, Sir Gareth?'

'Ulrich.' Gareth pitched his voice so that his man could hear it above the thundering cheers of the crowd. 'Escort my lady's noble protector in a manner which befits his excellent service.'

'Aye.' Ulrich eased his mount closer to the wall and held out his arms to seize William by the waist. He lifted the lad off the wall and settled him onto his saddle bow.

Clare saw William's eyes grow huge as he was carried off through the crowd astride the massive war- horse. She realized with wry chagrin that Gareth had just gained a loyal follower for life.

Clare listened to the exultant shouts of her people as the Hellhound of Wyckmere walked his gray stallion through the crowded street. She glanced back over her shoulder and saw Margaret standing in the gatehouse entryway.

The prioress waved cheerfully.

Clare clutched the Window of Hell and considered carefully the excellently set snare in which she had been caught.