Desire

by Amanda Quick

  “So you always listen to me, do you?” Clare gave a small, ladylike sniff that indicated strong disbelief. “What did I just say?”

  Gareth concentrated on the complex discussion of the properties of fire, earth, water, and air. “You said something about Dallan bidding you farewell.”

  “He seemed to be bidding me farewell. It was as if he were planning to leave Desire.”

  “I told you, I have no plans to leave the isle.”

  “Not you, my lord. Dallan. There, you see? I knew you weren’t listening to me.”

  Gareth gave up trying to read the translated Arab treatise. He stretched his legs out toward the fire, leaned back in his chair, and looked at Clare.

  The sight of her sitting there with a book resting on her lap, her intelligent face screwed into an expression of intense concern, made him momentarily forget about the essay on elements.

  My wife, he thought with a sense of wonder. He still could not quite believe that she was his.

  The flames highlighted the lustrous darkness of her hair and rendered her skin the color of rich cream. She watched him with her serious, gemlike eyes. He contemplated how he could make her glow with passion and his body started to harden. It always did when he thought of holding Clare naked in his arms.

  “What seems to be the problem?” Gareth asked.

  “I fear that some dreadful concern is still plaguing Dallan. He is more anxious than ever. His melancholia is not improving.”

  “Aye.” Gareth gazed into the fire. “A strange lad. Ulrich is worried about him, also. Apparently young William came across Dallan just as he was leaving one of the garderobes this afternoon. Dallan had tears in his eyes.”

  “He was crying? But why?”

  “William told Ulrich that he asked Dallan that very question. Dallan told him it was none of his business.”

  “This is terrible. Dallan will not talk about whatever it is that concerns him,” Clare said. “What do you suggest we do, my lord?”

  “There is nothing we can do except keep an eye on Dallan. Ulrich will see to that.”

  “Keep an eye on him?” Clare’s eyes widened. “Why is that necessary? Are you afraid he will do himself some harm?”

  “‘Tis possible. Melancholia is a strange and sometimes dangerous condition.”

  “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?” 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.”

  “Dallan?” 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, Dallan’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 Dallan 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 Dallan 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. Dallan’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 storm-tossed water of the harbor. A large leather pouch lay on the stone wall of the quay.

  “Hold, minstrel.” Gareth pitched his voice above the howling wind. “As your liege lord, I command you to stop.”

  Dallan whirled around, a frightened expression on his face. “Nay, let me go, my lord, I beg you. I have to go. He’ll kill her if I do not give him the book.”

  Gareth swung down from the gelding, wrapped the reins once around a post, and strode toward the quay. “Do as I command, Dallan of Desire, or else learn here and now how I deal with thieves and murderers.”

  “Nay.” Dallan’s eyes widened in terror. He grabbed the leather pouch and leaped over the quay into the shallow, bobbing boat.

  He landed off center. The boat tipped precariously on its side.

  Dallan screamed and dropped the leather pouch into the bottom of the boat. He flailed wildly in an attempt to regain his balance.

  The boat bobbed once more. Dallan toppled into the churning water.

  Gareth broke into a run. Hoofbeats sounded on the road just as he reached the edge of the quay. He glanced back over his shoulder and saw Clare riding toward him on her palfrey. The hood of her cloak had been blown back by the wind. Her hair lashed her face.

  “Gareth, what are you going to do?” she called.

  “I’m going to pluck your pet minstrel from the sea and then I shall teach him the price of betrayal.”

  “My lord, you must not hurt him. I’m certain there is an explanation for his behavior.”

  “Aye,” Gareth muttered. “I vow that there is. And I intend to hear it before I hang him.”

  “Nay, you cannot hang him,” Clare shouted.

  “Why not? ‘Tis the way in which I generally deal with thieves.”

  Dallan screamed again. Gareth looked down and saw the boy floundering helplessly in the roiling water. It was obvious that Dallan could not swim.

  Gareth unfastened the long length of his leather belt. He looped the end twice around his wrist and then he leaned down over the side of the stone quay. “Catch hold of my belt, Dallan.”

  “’Tis better if I drown.”

  “Mayhap, but you are not going to drown. I have other plans for you, vassal. Take hold of the belt.”

  Dallan reached for the belt.

  16

  The ominous silence in the firelit chamber made Clare uneasy. She knew that Dallan was beyond uneasy. He was terrified. They both sat very still on their stools and waited for Gareth to speak.

  Clare gave Dallan a small smile of encouragement. Dallan did not return the smile.

  Gareth did nothing to ease the oppressive atmosphere. Clare had begun to suspect that he was deliberately allowing it to deepen. He lounged in a chair in front of the fire and gazed into the flames with a dark, brooding expression that boded ill. His elbows rested on the carved oak arms of the chair.

  He finally spoke, startling Clare.

  “What is the name of this other master whom you serve, Dallan of Desire?”

  Dallan flinched. Clare saw his mouth open and close nervously. His hands squeezed together in his lap. “My lord, I beg you, do not ask me for his name. To speak it will bring disaster down upon this isle.”

  “He is such a powerful lord, then?” Gareth’s voice was very soft.

  “Aye.”

  “A great knight?”

  “Aye.”

  “You once told me that he went on Crusade.”

  “Aye.”

  “You fear him more than you fear me?”

  Dallan looked down at his hands. “You will do no more than hang me, my lord. My master can do much worse.”

  “What is worse than being hung, minstrel?”

  Dallan’s eyes flickered to Clare. He licked his lips. “He has promised to kill my lady if I betray him.”

  A terrible stillness settled over Gareth. “He actually said those words? He specifically threatened to kill Lady Clare?”

  Dallan shivered, although he was now warm and dry. “He vowed that he would kill all those for whom I had any affection. And then he promised to destroy me in a most hideous manner. No offense, my lord, but I would rather hang than die by magic.”

  Clare stared at him. “Magic?”

  Dallan pressed his lips together as if fearing that he had said too much.

  “Magic.” Gareth repeated the word curiously, as though tasting it. “This lord whom you fear is a great magician, then?”

  Dallan looked down at his clenched hands. “Aye. He is a master of the dark arts. He can walk through locked doors. He can make objects disappear. He knows the secrets of the ancients.”

  Gareth’s brows rose. “This great magician who can walk through locked doors and make things disappear must send a boy of sixteen to steal a book from a lady? Why did he not simply materialize in my wife’s study chamber and select the volume himself? Then he could have whisked himself away before anyone was the wiser.”

  “My lord, I do not pretend to know his reasoning,” Dallan said desperately. “He never confides his plans to me or anyone else. ‘Tis not his way. He keeps his own counsel.”

  “What, precisely, did he tell you to do while you were here?” Gareth asked.

  “He bid me come here to Desire and enter the household as a minstrel. He said I was to become familiar with the hall and those who live here. He told me to be ready for a signal from him.”

  Clare frowned. “He knew I would be glad of a minstrel?”

  “Aye. My master—” Dallan broke off and cast a quick, uncomfortable look at Gareth. “I mean, my former master said—”

  “What did he say?” Clare prodded gently.

  Dallan sniffed back a few tears. “He said my foolish poetry would likely please you, my lady. He said you would welcome me because you had a great fondness for romantic nonsense.”

  “He was right about one thing,” Clare said. “You are welcome here, Dallan.”

  “He was welcome,” Gareth corrected quietly. “Until he betrayed this house and me.”

  “I had to do it,” Dallan whispered. “I had to take the book. He commanded me to do so.”

  Gareth’s gaze sharpened. “When did he issue this command?”

  “He appeared on the last day of the spring fair. He sought me out in the crowd and described the book that he wanted. He said that if I did not bring it to him within a sennight, he would destroy this hall and all those within.”

  “The spring fair?” Gareth’s eyes narrowed. “He was in Seabern?”

  “Aye.” Dallan sniffed again. “He materialized there in the guise of a peddler.”

  “So that was why your mood ch
anged so drastically on the last day of the fair,” Clare said.

  “I had begun to believe that he had forgotten about me,” Dallan whispered. “In truth, during the past two months, I made myself believe that he no longer had any use for me, that mayhap I was free.”

  “Was that why you swore fealty to me, Dallan of Desire?” Gareth asked. “Because you thought the magician had freed you of your oath to him?”

  “He never asked for my oath, as you did, my lord.” Dallan gazed forlornly at the floor. “To him I was never more than a servant. One does not ask a servant to swear a squire’s oath.”

  Clare looked at the volume lying on the desk. “How did you know which of my father’s books your magician wanted you to steal?”

  “He described it to me when he sought me out at the fair.” Dallan raised his eyes to the book on the desk. “He said it would be a large volume containing many strange recipes scripted in a poor hand. He said it would no doubt be among the items that Sir Humphrey had sent home just before he died.”

  “You knew that I have been studying just such a volume lately because you had assisted me with some of my experiments,” Gareth said.

  “Aye, my lord.”

  Gareth’s mouth twisted briefly. “I thought you had a rare talent for experiments. ‘Tis because you assisted your magician from time to time, I’ll wager.”

  “Aye.” Dallan swallowed heavily. “He taught me the things I needed to know in order to aid him in his studies. My lord, I must know, are you going to hang me tonight?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “I do not wish to die unshriven. I realize I have no right to ask for any kindness, but I will be very grateful if you will summon a priest before you hang me.”

  “By Saint Hermione’s merciful heart, Lord Gareth is not going to hang anyone tonight,” Clare said quickly. “Are you, my lord?”

  Gareth said nothing. He continued to gaze reflectively into the flames.

  Dallan bit his lip and looked down at his shaking fingers. “I pray that you will someday be able to forgive me, Lady Clare.”