Desire

by Amanda Quick

  William’s eyes watered. He sputtered, recovered, and managed to swallow the pie. He drew in several gasping breaths. “Lady Clare and my mother will never allow me to train to be a knight.”

  “Why not?” Gareth asked.

  “I’m delicate.”

  Dallan glowered at Gareth. “That’s right. They’ll never allow young William to practice such skills.”

  “Lady Clare and Lady Joanna need not concern themselves with William’s training. Such matters are my responsibility.” Gareth eyed Dallan. “What about you, minstrel? How far did your training progress?”

  “Huh?”

  “Did you learn any useful skills before you took up the harp and began composing irritating ballads about young knights who cuckold their lords?”

  Dallan looked seriously alarmed. “My former master was a scholar.”

  “A scholar?”

  “Aye.” Dallan’s eyes shifted uneasily as though he were searching for a place to hide. “He raised me to assist him with his studies.”

  “Was he a trained knight?” Gareth asked.

  “Aye, a very great knight. He even went on Crusade. But he said there was no point teaching me knightly skills,” Dallan’s lips trembled. “He said I was a clumsy weakling who could not be taught such things.”

  “You were raised in a scholar’s household?”

  “Aye.” Dallan wiped his sweating brow on the back of his sleeve.

  “Your father sent you to live in this scholar’s hall?” Gareth probed.

  “My father does not even know that I exist.” Dallan jerked his arm back down to his side. “I don’t know his name. I am a bastard, sir.”

  Gareth met Dallan’s fierce, anguished gaze and knew the depths of the younger man’s fear as well as his rage. “It would seem that you and I have something in common, minstrel.”

  Dallan clearly did not want to hear that. “At least you know your father’s name. Thurston of Landry is a great lord. I know nothing of the man who sired me except that he was a knight on his way to a tourney. He found my mother alone in a field. He raped her and left her pregnant with me. He went on his way and never came back for either of us.”

  “You are not the only product of such an unpleasant union,” Gareth said. “You must find your own way in the world. At least you will have the satisfaction of knowing that everything you achieve will be won by your own hand. You may well discover that it is useful for a bastard to be able to handle a sword.”

  “I intend to make my living as a minstrel, or mayhap as a scholar,” Dallan retorted. “I do not wish to make a career of splitting skulls or fighting other men’s battles.”

  Gareth caught Ulrich’s eye. “It would seem that my lady’s poor opinion of fighting men has infected the entire household.”

  Ulrich’s smile came and went. “Aye.”

  “We must see if we can change her mind.”

  “I’m sure you will find a way to prove yourself useful,” Ulrich said. “You always do.”

  Gareth returned his attention to Dallan. “Was your mother the one who arranged for you to be fostered in the house of this scholar you mentioned?”

  Dallan shook his head. The hunted look reappeared in his eyes. “My mother loved me. She would never have sent me away. But she died when I was eight. Soon afterward my aunt sold me to my master. I mean, my former master.”

  Gareth frowned. “She sold you to him?”

  “Aye.” Dallan’s mouth tightened. “He gave her several cold coins in exchange for me. He wanted a healthy, intelligent lad, he said. One who could be trained to be his assistant.”

  “This scholar …” Gareth said slowly, “he was a harsh master?”

  Dallan flinched as if he had been struck by a whip. “He does not—I mean, he did not tolerate any mistakes.”

  “Are you here on Desire because you have run away from his household?” Gareth asked quietly.

  “Nay” Dallan looked terrified now. “Nay, I did not run away. I always obeyed my lord’s commands.” There was a glazed expression in his eyes. “Always. But he was never satisfied. Never. I could not please him, although I tried my best. No matter what I did, I could not please him”

  William touched Dallan’s arm in an awkward gesture. “Remember what Lady Clare said, Dallan.”

  “Aye.” Dallan drew several deep breaths. His eyes refocused.

  “What did Lady Clare say?” Gareth asked.

  Dallan scowled. The fear in his eyes was gone. “‘Tis not important.”

  “She said Dallan was to remember that he was safe now,” William explained. “When Dallan first came here, he could not sleep at all at night and he was very anxious.”

  “That is not true,” Dallan hissed.

  “Aye, ‘tis true.” William turned back to Gareth. “Poor Dallan was always jumping at the smallest sounds. I came around the corner once and surprised him in the hall outside Clare’s study and he nearly fainted. Is that not so, Dallan?”

  “Say no more.” Dallan whirled furiously on William. “That is enough. My health is no concern of Lord Gareth’s.”

  “But it is my concern,” Gareth said. “As is the state of the health of every man under my command. Only men in good health can carry out their duties properly.”

  “My health is excellent.” Dallan raised his chin in open defiance. “And I am not under your command.”

  “Aye, but you are, as is William.” Gareth straightened away from the table. “The first thing we must do is see to your training. Ulrich, take both of these future knights downstairs to the courtyard and get them started in their careers. William and Dallan are to begin practicing with arms immediately.”

  “Aye, my lord,” Ulrich said. He grinned at William. “Are you ready, lad?”

  William looked dazzled. “I am to learn how to use a sword?”

  “That you are.” Ulrich strode across the room and ruffled William’s hair. “And how to care for armor and a good war-horse and how to defend your hall. Do you think you will enjoy learning all that?”

  “Aye.” William looked up at him with glowing eyes. “I shall enjoy that very much.”

  “Come along, then.” Ulrich glanced at Dallan. “You, too, minstrel.”

  “Nay, you cannot force us to learn such things.” Dallan turned a desperate gaze on Gareth. “Lady Clare will never permit it.”

  Some of the enthusiasm faded from William’s eyes. “He’s right, my lord. Lady Clare will never allow us to begin a knight’s training.”

  “Lady Clare wanted a husband who could see to the defense of her isle,” Gareth said. “She has got one who can do that. I trust that she has sense enough to allow me to get on with the task.”

  “Clare, are you truly all right?” Joanna looked up from the bunch of lavender and mint that she was binding with a cord.

  “Of course I’m all right.” Clare stood on tiptoe to hang another fresh bouquet upside down from the overhead drying rack.

  The long shed where she and Joanna were working was one of a series of workrooms built against the curtain wall. It was filled with bunches of flowers and herbs in various stages of preparation. Many, such as the lavender and mint, were being allowed to dry. When the process was complete, they would be carefully composed into perfumes according to Clare’s recipes.

  Some of the complex mixtures made from dried flowers and herbs would be used to fill sweet bags for linen chests. Others would go into small, lidded pots designed to add a pleasant fragrance to chambers. Still others would be combined with oil and honey to create lush perfumes, lotions, and balms.

  Clare loved the drying shed. She often walked through it as she did through her garden, delighting in one scent after another. She liked to close her eyes in the midst of the fragrant blossoms and create perfumes in her mind the way Dallan created ballads.

  There was a very large bin at the far end of the shed where the dried blossoms and leaves were combined in huge batches. There they were mixed according to Clare’s specificat
ions.

  Today the bin was heaped full of dried petals from early roses, mugwort, lavender, mint, and rosemary. Clare was still fussing with the concoction, deliberating whether to add cinnamon oil or oil of cloves to fix the scent.

  Once she had made her decision, the dried materials would be stuffed into hundreds of small, exquisitely embroidered bags. The sweet bags would be taken to the spring fair in Seabern in a few days, along with the new batch of soaps that was being readied. There they would be sold to eager merchants.

  “I have been concerned about you,” Joanna said.

  “Why?” Clare slung another bunch of lavender onto a drying rack hook.

  “There has been gossip all morning in the hall. By now it has no doubt reached the village.”

  “I am well aware that everyone is overly curious to know the details of my wedding night,” Clare muttered, “but I have no intention of discussing it. Some matters are private between husband and wife.”

  “Clare, you must know that it is not normal for a husband to appear wearing a large white bandage the morning after his wedding.” Joanna threw her an exasperated glance. “What really happened last night?”

  “’Twas an accident.”

  “Did you actually use the Hellhound’s dagger in an attempt to defend yourself from his embrace?”

  “Nay, I most certainly did not. Is that what the gossips are saying?” Clare demanded.

  “Aye.” Joanna sighed. “I knew you were not looking forward to the duties of a wife, but I did not believe you would do something so outrageous as to stab your husband on your wedding night. How did you dare?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Lord Gareth must have been furious with you.” Joanna shuddered. “‘Tis a wonder he did not beat you.” She frowned in sudden alarm. “Or did he?”

  “Do not be ridiculous, Joanna. Do I appear to have been beaten?”

  “Nay.”

  “Do you think that I would tolerate such treatment?”

  “Nay, but he is a very large man, Clare. Much bigger than you.”

  “Do not forget that I have successfully defended myself against large men in the past.”

  “Aye, but Lord Gareth is not a fool like Sir Nicholas.”

  “A fact for which I am extremely grateful.” Clare glanced over her shoulder. “Joanna, I did not use my husband’s dagger against him last night. There was no need. Sir Gareth behaved himself in a most chivalrous fashion.”

  Clare felt herself grow warm at the memory of how Gareth had cut his own arm in order to protect her from humiliation and gossip. No man had ever done anything so chivalrous for her, not even Raymond de Coleville.

  It was unfair that Gareth had become the object of so much sly speculation and rumor today. After his noble actions, he deserved better. Unfortunately, there was no way to explain that to Joanna.

  “A juggling accident,” Joanna murmured.

  “Aye.”

  “Forgive me, but that is difficult to believe, Clare.”

  “Ask Lord Gareth yourself, if you do not believe me.”

  “You know very well that I could never do such a thing. If I did, he would no doubt merely confirm your version of the tale, just as you are confirming his. For some reason the two of you appear to be as one on this matter.”

  Joanna was right, Clare thought. More right than Clare had even realized until this moment. Somehow, whether he had intended to do so or not, Gareth had succeeded in binding Clare to him in a wholly unexpected fashion.

  Together they shared a secret. A most intimate secret. A secret that, in its own way, was as intimate as the manner in which Gareth had touched her last night.

  Clare stilled, one hand frozen around a bundle of lavender and roses. She gazed unseeing at the rows of flowers and herbs hung from the ceiling.

  It occurred to her that Gareth had no doubt known exactly what he was doing when he had slashed his arm for her. He had likely foreseen everything, including the way in which it would affect her feelings toward him.

  He was very good at making carefully calculated gestures, Clare reminded herself. But even allowing for that, this particular gesture had been undeniably gallant. Moreover, it was a gesture that he could not have planned, she thought. Gareth had had no way of knowing about the vials of chicken blood she had been given on her wedding day. He’d come to the bridal bed equipped with his own supply.

  Another calculated gesture. And one that had most definitely been well planned.

  Whose honor had he really been concerned with last night? Clare wondered. Hers or his own? She still knew very little about the Hellhound.

  “By Saint Hermione’s nose,” she muttered. It was all dangerously confusing.

  Joanna glanced out the open door of the drying shed. “Oh, there is William. Heading for the stables, I believe. I vow, he is spending far too much time with Lord Gareth’s men, Clare. It worries me.”

  “I know, Joanna, but I do not think there is any great harm in it.”

  “Dallan is with him. I wonder what they are about?”

  “I have no notion.”

  “Dear God” Joanna tossed aside the lavender and leaped to her feet.

  “Joanna, what wrong?”

  “Ranulf and Sir Ulrich have given both William and Dallan shields.” Joanna stood in the doorway, her hand at her throat. “And wooden swords. Clare, I believe that they are going to give them instruction in swordplay.”

  “Calm yourself, Joanna. Ulrich and Ranulf are likely just showing them some of the equipment. You know William is very curious about such matters.”

  “Well, your minstrel is not, but he’s out there, too.”

  “Really?” Clare brushed her hands and walked toward the door of the shed. She peered out into the sunlit yard.

  There was no doubt about what was happening. William and Dallan stood awkwardly clutching wooden shields and swords. William looked excited. Dallan looked angry and resentful.

  Clare saw Gareth stroll out of the hall onto the steps to watch the lesson.

  Ranulf raised his shield and spoke to William, who eagerly hefted his wooden blade and delivered a fierce blow to Ranulf’s shield.

  Joanna shrieked. She spun about and gave Clare a stricken look. “’Tis obvious Lord Gareth has ordered William and Dallan to be trained with arms. You must stop this at once, Clare, I beg of you.”

  “I do not think it will do any great harm, Joanna.”

  “My son is much too delicate for such training. You must stop this at once.”

  “Uh—”

  “Clare, do something. You are the lady of this hall. Tell them to cease this dangerous nonsense.”

  Clare glanced at Gareth. She had an unpleasant suspicion that the whole situation was out of her hands.

  It was that realization which abruptly strengthened her resolve. She was mistress of Desire, she reminded herself. She gave the commands here.

  “I shall speak to Ranulf and Sir Ulrich at once.” Clare picked up the skirts of her gown and strode purposefully out into the courtyard.

  11

  “Lady Clare, I would speak with you,” Gareth said as Clare strode swiftly past the hall steps.

  His voice was pitched low, meant for her ears alone, but it carried the weight of command.

  Clare pretended that she had not heard him. She did not dare turn her head to glance at him. It would be easier to ignore Gareth if she did not appear to notice him standing there on the steps.

  “Pray, madam, a word with you.” There was a slight but very distinct edge in Gareth’s voice this time.

  Clare’s fingers tightened in the folds of her skirt, but she resisted the almost overpowering inclination to obey the soft summons.

  “Hell’s teeth. I knew you were going to make this difficult.” Gareth started down the steps.

  Clare ignored him. This was her hall and she was in charge. She had no intention of allowing Gareth to take control. At that moment, however, she comprehended precisely how he had become suc
cessful as a leader of men. There was an inborn authority in his voice that would give anyone pause.

  Anyone, that is, save another who was also accustomed to command.

  Clare reminded herself that she, too, could invest her words with a certain air of authority when the occasion demanded. She had been doing so since the age of twelve.

  “Ulrich.” Clare smiled coolly as Ulrich turned his head. “What is going on here?”

  “Sword practice, my lady. Lord Gareth has ordered William and Dallan to begin training with arms.” Ulrich’s gaze went from Clare’s face to a point just behind her.

  Clare knew that Gareth was striding across the courtyard toward where she stood.

  Dallan and William looked at her, then at Gareth. They were not the only ones who stopped what they were doing to see what was going to happen.

  Disappointment clouded William’s expression. “Ah, Lady Clare, please say that I may continue. I shall be most careful. I vow that I will not get hurt.”

  Dallan’s eyes gleamed with vengeful satisfaction. He shot a sly, triumphant glance at Gareth, who had nearly reached Clare. “I knew you would not allow us to be forced to learn such dangerous skills, my lady. You have always said that only thick-skulled lackwits devote their energies to fighting and tourneying.”

  “Why was I not consulted on this matter?” Clare came to a halt in front of Ulrich and fixed him with a warning glare. Gareth was no more than a few paces away now. She had to act swiftly or the initiative would be taken from her.

  Ulrich glanced over the top of her head and met Gareth’s eyes. “I assumed that my lord was in command of such things.”

  “Lord Gareth may do as he pleases with you and the rest of his men. William and Dallan, however, are members of my household and their welfare is my affair.”

  “Aye, madam,” Ulrich murmured. There was a gleam of unholy amusement in his eyes.

  “You must save us, my lady,” Dallan wailed piteously.

  “Please let us practice, Lady Clare,” William urged. “I want to learn how to use a sword so that I can help defend this hall. Lord Gareth says he needs more trained men.”

  “Aye.” Gareth reached Clare’s side. “One can never have too many well-trained men.”