by Amanda Quick
Gareth smiled. My sweet, clever Clare. You have snared the magician for me. Now all I have to do is wait for the right moment to kill him.
The second sneeze was accompanied by a raging curse.
“Goddamn this isle and all your obnoxious perfumes, Clare. There must be a field of mugwort nearby.”
“Release me, sir,” Clare commanded. “You do not need me any longer.”
“Hush. Do not speak again. That damned Hellhound is no doubt following us.” Lucretius broke off to sneeze.
Gareth used the sound to guide himself closer to his quarry. He motioned Dallan to stay behind him.
They were very near the edge of the cliffs now. Gareth could hear the echo of the waves in the cove. He heard Clare cry out softly as she stumbled over some object.
“The boat is hidden in the cave down below,” Lucretius muttered. “You will go down the cliff path ahead of me. There is no place to run, so don’t even think of doing so. Go. I will be right behind you—”
The magician’s words were cut off by a swift series of loud, convulsive sneezes. He swore again, violently. And sneezed again.
The sound of a brief scuffle ensued.
“Nay,” Clare said. “I’ll not go with you.”
“Come back here, you stupid wench. I will kill you with my magic if you do not return to me.” Another sneezing fit overcame Lucretius. “What is this?” he gasped. “What have you done to me? Damn you, ‘tis the book.”
Something heavy fell to earth. Gareth knew that it was the leather pouch Lucretius had slung across his body. The magician had thrown it down onto the ground in rage.
“You have tried to poison me,” Lucretius screamed. “I’ll kill you for this, just as I killed your father.”
“Leave,” Clare cried. “Flee while you still can, magician. If my husband finds you, he will surely destroy you.”
Gareth saw the flash of Clare’s gown in the fog. A new fear seized him. He realized that Clare could not see any more clearly than he could. If she chanced to lose her bearings, she might fall into the sea.
“Clare, this way,” he shouted. “Do not run toward the cliffs. Run to me.”
Footsteps thudded softly in the moist ground. Clare appeared out of the mist. She ran blindly toward the sound of his voice. Then she saw him.
“Gareth.”
“Stay with Dallan.” Gareth raised his sword and went past her.
He nearly stumbled over the leather pouch that was lying on the ground. The book had fallen out. Dried flowers were scattered about. The familiar scent of mugwort was strong.
Another loud sneeze made Gareth whirl to the left. Lucretius stood in the swirling gray mist. His black cloak was thrown back behind his shoulders, revealing his mail hauberk.
“So you think that you are a more clever magician than I, Hellhound?”
Gareth did not answer. He paced toward Lucretius.
“Stay back.” Lucretius held his sword ready for battle with one hand. With his other, he reached into the folds of his cape and withdrew an object the size of a cup. “I can throw the contents of this vial farther than you can reach with a sword, Hellhound.”
Gareth glanced at the large vial. It was filled with a green-tinged potion that he did not recognize. “Do you think I fear whatever you have in that jar?”
“You would do well to fear it.” Lucretius’s smile was savage. “’Tis a corrosive elixir that burns whatever it touches, including skin and eyes, Hellhound.”
“He’s right, my lord.” Dallan took a step forward. He stared at the vial in Lucretius’s hand. “‘Tis a mixture that he concocted when he tried to create gold from base metals. It burns like fire.”
Lucretius laughed softly. “Listen to the boy, Hellhound. Or risk your eyes. What good is a blind hound?”
“Gareth, I believe that he speaks the truth,” Clare said. “Do not get close to him.”
“He does speak the truth,” Dallan insisted. “Have a care, my lord.”
Clare did not take her eyes off Lucretius. “Why did you kill the recluse?”
Lucretius shrugged. “The foolish old woman saw me. She believed me to be the ghost of Brother Bartholomew come to search for his lost Sister Maud. But for some reason she felt she had to prove the point.”
“She followed you to the convent library and you killed her,” Clare whispered.
“I wanted to see if you had stored your father’s books in the convent library before I went to the trouble of trying to find it in your hall. It would have been so much simpler if you had handed it over to the nuns, Clare.”
“They were not interested in it,” Clare said. “So I kept it.”
“Idiots.” Lucretius glanced at the book lying near the pouch. “The greatest secrets of the ancients are in that volume. Your father found them in the Arabic treatises that he translated. Mayhap the very secret of immortality is in there.”
“Do you intend to leave the isle without your precious book, magician?” Gareth prodded the volume with the toe of his boot.
“It appears that I shall be forced to leave it behind today, but you may be certain that I shall return for it.” Lucretius smiled his cold, dazzling smile once more. “And you will never know when or where I shall next appear. The knowledge will no doubt keep you awake at night, eh, Hellhound?”
“I stopped you this time, did I not? I can do it again, if need be.”
“Bah! You were fortunate this time, that is all. Next time, things will be different.”
“Leave, then, if that is your intent. Take your foul elixir and get off this isle.”
“As you wish, Hellhound. But first I will leave you something by which you shall always remember me.” Lucretius hurled the vial, straight at Gareth’s face.
“No,” Dallan yelled. He leaped to intercept the vial, reaching for it with his bare hands.
“Dallan,” Clare shouted.
Gareth did not even think about his reaction. It was instantaneous, the sort of quick, physical response that had saved his life on countless occasions.
With one hand he grabbed Dallan and yanked him out of the way. With the other he brought his sword up in a swift, short arc. He caught the vial on the flat of the blade.
Gareth used the momentum of the swing to propel the small jar off to the side. It struck a rock and shattered. There was a soft hissing sound.
“Dear God,” Clare breathed. “It is eating away at the rock.”
“You have the devil’s own luck, Hellhound.” Lucretius raced toward the cliff path. “But it cannot last forever.”
“There is no boat waiting for you down in the cove, magician,” Gareth said softly. “My men discovered it a short while ago.”
“Nay, that cannot be.” Lucretius’s cloak whipped around him as he halted at the top of the cliff path. “You lie. I discovered those caves. No one knows about the cliff caves.”
Gareth smiled. “You do not know much about young boys. They are insatiably curious. William found the caves long ago.”
“Damn you, Hellhound.” Lucretius lunged toward him, sword raised.
Gareth met the rush easily. Steel clashed against steel. Lucretius leaped back out of reach, feinted, and closed once more.
The magician was good, Gareth conceded privately as the two men circled each other. He was both fast and clever. Lucretius might make a show of disdaining the fighting arts in favor of magic, but it was obvious he had a talent for swordplay.
Conscious of the sheer drop at the edge of the cliff, Gareth maneuvered to ensure that it was Lucretius’s back that was to the sea, not his own. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Clare drag Dallan out of harm’s way.
Lucretius attempted another rushing charge. Gareth sidestepped it.
The magician swung around and this time Gareth found himself in the position he had wished to avoid. His back was to the cliffs.
Lucretius closed again, sword glinting dully in the gray light. Gareth felt the ground give way beneath his left boot heel. The e
dge of the cliff began to crumble beneath him. The waves below were very loud.
With all of his strength, he dove forward, headfirst, in an attempt to dive beneath the thrust of Lucretius’s steel.
Lucretius was already committed to the blow. His face contorted with rage as Gareth slid in low, just beneath the blade, hit the ground with his shoulder, and rolled.
“Die, Hellhound.” Lucretius swung around as Gareth surged to his feet. Die, damn you.”
Gareth saw the opening and moved in, sword ready. Lucretius could not get his own blade up swiftly enough to effectively parry the blow.
But even as Gareth went in for the kill, Lucretius screamed and dropped his sword. He flailed wildly as the ground gave way beneath his feet.
“No,” Lucretius yelled. “No, it cannot happen like this. I’m a magician”
Gareth caught himself and stepped swiftly back from the disintegrating cliff edge.
Lucretius pitched backward into the gray nothingness that waited for him. His scream rent the air for endless seconds and then it abruptly ceased.
In the great silence that followed, Gareth met Clare’s eyes.
“Gareth.” She ran toward him and threw herself into his arms, hugging him fiercely. “You are safe.”
“Aye.” Gareth looked over the top of her head at Dallan, who was staring at the place where Lucretius had last been seen.
“Do you think he is truly dead, my lord?” Dallan asked in a strange voice.
“Aye. You and I shall go down to the cove together. Be assured that we will find his body lying on the rocks. He was only a man, after all.”
“A terrible man,” Clare said distinctly from the circle of Gareth’s arm. “Not at all a good recipe for a husband.”
Clare had still not recovered from the shock of the day’s events by the time she and Gareth retired to their bed-chamber that evening.
On the surface, all had returned to normal. Ranulf had been found, alive but unconscious, in the watchtower. He had soon recovered from the blow to his head, but Clare suspected his pride would take longer to heal.
Lucretius’s body had been retrieved from the cove. The four black-cloaked knights that had survived the conflict and the three hapless bowmen were securely locked up in a storage cellar beneath the hall.
Joanna had recovered from her faint, hugged William until he pleaded with her to cease, and then thrown herself straight into Ulrich’s arms.
The village was abuzz with excitement as neighbor retold the tale to neighbor. With each telling, the exploits of the Hellhound grew more impressive. Clare knew that her people were taking a great deal of pride in the fact that their lord had proven himself more powerful than any magician.
There had been much merriment and jubilation among Gareth’s men at supper. Cook had produced an elaborate array of dishes to celebrate the events. The servants had talked and jested with the men-at-arms.
Dallan had contributed to the air of celebration by singing a thrilling ballad narrating the rescue of Desire. He had composed it in less than two hours and everyone was extremely admiring of his talents.
Clare had managed to maintain a reasonably serene facade as the courtyard was cleaned and all was set to rights. But it was only a facade. She had not been able to eat a thing at the evening meal.
“Are you all right, Clare?” Gareth asked quietly. He stood in front of the hearth fire and stripped off his tunic and boots.
“Aye. Just a little cold.” She clenched her hands around the edge of the quilt and watched Gareth as he undressed.
Gareth coiled his leather belt around his fist. “You’ve been acting oddly this evening.”
“Well, it has been a rather odd day, my lord.”
He cocked a brow as he set the coiled the belt down on top of a carved chest. “I understand.”
“Do you, Gareth?”
“Aye. You are not accustomed to violence here on Desire.”
“That is very true.”
“Well, calm yourself, madam.” Gareth yawned. “‘Tis very unlikely that we’ll be confronted with a similar situation anytime soon. The hall is safe. Desire is safe. Our people are safe.”
“Thanks to you, my lord.”
His broad shoulder moved in a massive shrug as he crossed the room to the bed. “The magician was nothing more than a well-dressed thief. I am good at dealing with thieves, madam. I’ve had a fair amount of practice, if you will recall.”
His careless attitude to the devastating events of the day was too much. Clare sat straight up in bed. She clutched the quilt to her throat with shaking fingers. “By Saint Hermione’s eyes, how can you be so casual about this, my lord?”
He stopped, clearly surprised by her burst of anger. Then concern furrowed his brow. “Clare? Are you well? Do you need a warm drink to help you sleep? You’ve been through a great deal today.”
“I most certainly have been through a great deal.” Clare scrambled to her feet and stood squarely in the middle of the bed. She braced her fists on her hips and glowered at him. “You very nearly got yourself killed today, Hellhound:”
He regarded her with a quizzical expression. “There was very little likelihood of that.”
“There was every likelihood of it. I witnessed that last battle with the magician. It could just as easily have been you who went over the cliff.”
Gareth yawned again. “But I didn’t.”
“Don’t you dare treat this matter so lightly, my lord. What would I have done if it had been your body we brought up from the cove?”
“Clare—”
Tears of anguish and rage filled her eyes. “I could not have borne it, damn you.”
“Clare, all is well, I swear it. Calm yourself, madam.”
“Do not treat me as though I were an anxious mare. I almost lost you today.”
Gareth gave her a slight smile. “I have no doubt but that you could have replaced me easily enough, madam. There are no lack of homeless knights in England. Mayhap you would have found one who came closer to meeting your specifications than I do.”
“Do not jest with me, sir. I am in no mood for it. I told you that I love you. Can you not comprehend what that means?”
“I believe so,” Gareth said slowly.
“Bah, you have no notion whatsoever of love, do you? If you had been killed today, my heart would have been broken forever. Does that mean nothing to you?”
“It means everything to me,” Gareth said simply.
“Oh, Gareth” Clare hurled herself straight into his arms. “You are the only man I have ever known who makes me feel something more than merely useful.”
Gareth wrapped his arms around her. “You have the same effect on me, madam. I begin to believe that I belong here on Desire.”
“You do. This is your home, Gareth. You must never forget that for a single moment. You must not take any more foolish risks.”
“Ease your mind, wife. We are both safe and I intend to keep us so.”
“I was so terrified that I would lose you,” she mumbled against his shoulder.
He tangled his hands in her hair. “How do you think I felt when I returned to the hall and found you standing on the steps conversing with Lucretius de Valemont?”
Clare choked back a sob. “I was not conversing with him. We were bargaining. I am very good at bargaining.”
“Aye, so you are.” Gareth gently stroked the nape of her neck with his thumb and forefinger. “That was a very clever trick you played on the magician.”
“I knew the mugwort would cause him to sneeze most violently. I had hoped that his reaction would give Dallan a chance to escape.”
“Instead it provided you with your chance.” Gareth paused meaningfully. “A chance which you would not have needed if you had stayed safely inside the hall as I commanded.”
“I had to do something. He threatened Dallan’s life.”
“So you went to the rescue.” Gareth groaned in resignation. “I suppose there is no point berating yo
u for your foolishness.”
“I had no choice.”
Gareth captured her face between his palms. “We will not argue the point. ‘Tis over and done. You are safe now and that is all that matters.”
She smiled and blinked back the last of her tears. “Oh, Gareth.” She wound her arms around his neck and pressed close.
He gave a deep, husky exclamation, picked her up, and settled her onto the herb-scented sheets. There was enough light from the banked fire for Clare to see the brilliant intensity of his eyes. The heat in those crystal depths warmed her as nothing else had been able to do all day.
“Ah, my sweet Clare.” Gareth sprawled heavily on top of her, crushing her into the bedding. “You are not the only one who got a sound scare today. Do not ever do that to me again.”
“Nay, my lord.” Clare pulled his mouth down to hers and kissed him with a frantic need that she did not bother to disguise.
His response overwhelmed her, as it always did.
A long while later Clare shifted languidly alongside Gareth. Neither of them had bothered to draw the curtains around the bed yet. The embers of the fire cast a warm light onto the rumpled sheets.
Clare snuggled deeper into her husband’s warmth and breathed in the scent of his relaxed, satiated body. Just as she closed her eyes, a drowsy thought flitted through her brain.
“Gareth?”
“Hmm?” Gareth’s voice was little more than a rumbling purr in the shadows.
“I almost forgot. Eadgar wants to know how long we shall be obliged to feed the prisoners. He says he will need to acquire provisions if they are to be housed in the storage rooms for any length of time.”
“He need only bother with them for another day or so at the most. They’ll all be gone soon.”
“Good. Hell be grateful to learn that.” Clare patted away a tiny yawn and nestled closer. “’Tis a problem for him, you know. We are not accustomed to dealing with prisoners here on Desire.”
“Uh-huh.” Gareth sounded as though he were already half asleep.
Clare gazed thoughtfully into the glowing coals on the hearth. “Where do you suppose such men will go now that their master is dead?”
“Huh?”
