by Amanda Quick
“I was wondering what will become of those four knights who served Sir Lucretius. And those three bowmen you took captive. Poor men. It must be very hard not to have a home or good lord to serve.”
“Finding a new home is not going to be a problem for them, Clare.”
She turned her head on the pillow. “Why not?”
“Because I’m going to have them all hung, that’s not.”
“What?” Clare shot bolt upright. “You cannot do that, Gareth.”
He opened one eye and looked at her as though she had gone mad. “’Tis the usual procedure for dealing with men of that sort.”
“Impossible. Absolutely impossible. You are not going to hang seven men here on Desire, my lord. By Saint Hermione’s ring, it is out of the question.” Clare’s imagination conjured up a vision of seven bodies dangling from gibbets. “I absolutely forbid it.”
Gareth opened his other eye and studied her with a blank look. “You forbid it?”
“Aye, I most certainly do. There has never been a hanging here on Desire. My father never found it necessary to hang anyone. I do not intend to change that custom.”
“Clare,” Gareth said with an ominous patience, “those men downstairs in the cellar are masterless men. Thieves. Renegade knights. They are likely murderers and worse.”
“They killed no one here.”
“By purest chance.”
“They were led by an evil man who is now dead.”
“Aye, and if I turn them loose, they’ll soon find themselves another such master to serve. That is their nature.”
Clare stared at him, shaken by the implacable expression on his face. “My lord, I cannot abide the thought of so many terrible deaths taking place on this isle. You cannot do it.”
Gareth hesitated. “I suppose I could have them sent to Seabern. Sir Nicholas will likely not mind seeing to the matter.”
Clare pounded the bedding with clenched fists. “That is not the point. The point is, I do not want them all to hang.”
Gareth made an obvious bid for his patience. “We agreed that we each had our responsibilities as lord and lady of this manor.”
“Aye, but—”
“You must allow me to carry out my duties, madam.”
“Surely you do not need to hang them. There are alternatives.”
“What alternatives?”
“You can banish them,” she suggested swiftly. “Make them swear to abjure the territory. They would not dare to return.”
“Clare—”
“They fear you, sir. They believe you to be more powerful than Lucretius de Valemont.”
“Mayhap they would not be of much concern to us in the future,” Gareth conceded, “but declaring them outlaws and sending them away only serves to make them someone else’s problem.”
“Gareth, I will not have seven bodies twisting in the breeze of Desire, and that is final.”
“Nay, madam. In this matter, my decision is final.”
“We shall see about that.” Clare swept up the quilt and wrapped it around herself. She slid off the edge of the bed.
“Where the devil do you think you are going, wife?”
“I am going to sleep in the wardrobe until you grant me the boon I have asked of you, my lord.”
Wearing the quilt like an overlong cloak, Clare spun on her heel and stalked across the bedchamber into the wardrobe.
19
“By the devil, they are all so young,” Gareth muttered. “Not a one of them is above nineteen years.” He surveyed the faces of Lucretius’s four surviving knights as they were led into the hall for questioning. “Why did that damned magician have to choose boys to carry out his plans?”
“They are not boys, they are men.” Ulrich shrugged. “And you know the answer to your question as well as I do.”
“Aye.” Gareth braced his elbow on the arm of the heavy oak chair and rested his chin on the heel of his hand. He never relished this aspect of the business. “Young men of that age are easier to control and more easily impressed than are their elders. They do not question commands. Or a magician’s tricks.”
“De Valemont no doubt used a combination of terror and promises of knighthood and a fortune to lure them into his service. ‘Tis an old and much-proven technique for recruiting young men.”
“My lady wife wishes me to show mercy.” Gareth gazed moodily at the prisoners. “She has bid me set them free.”
“So I have heard. Indeed, my lord, the entire hall is aware of Lady Clare’s, ah, request.”
“I knew she would not be able to keep the matter private.”
“I believe the rumors started when a serving maid found Lady Clare asleep in the wardrobe this morning.”
Gareth tapped his forefinger against his set jaw and said nothing.
Ulrich politely cleared his throat. “Mayhap your gentle lady feels sorry for these men because they are not much older than Dallan. I’m surprised she feels equally charitable toward the would-be thieves we caught at the harbor, however. There is no denying they are a seasoned lot.”
“She would have me banish them all and bid them good fortune in their next endeavors.”
“Women are inclined to be softhearted, especially those who have not had much experience with violence.”
“She says she does not want Abbess Helen to arrive on our fair isle to find seven corpses twisting in the scented breezes.”
“Something tells me our lady abbess has seen worse in her time,” Ulrich murmured.
“True. In any event, if we get on with the matter, we can be rid of the corpses before the abbess arrives.” Gareth watched the four knights come to a halt in front of his chair.
They were not only young, they were scared and trying hard to conceal the fear behind masks of stoic defiance. Gareth nodded once to the guards, who stepped back a pace. Then he looked straight at the eldest of the young men.
“You. What is your name?”
“Sir Robert.”
“Where is your hall?”
Robert hesitated and then shrugged. “I do not have a hall now that Lord Lucretius is dead.”
“You have no family?”
“Nay, my lord.”
“Your parents?”
Robert looked puzzled by the line of questioning. “I never knew my father. My mother died at my birth.”
Gareth glanced at the next young knight. “And you? What is your name? Where is your family’s hall?”
“My name is John.” There was a slight tremor in John’s voice. He took a deep breath and managed to control it. “I was the magician’s sworn man. Now that he is dead, I do not have a hall.”
“I believe I see a pattern here,” Ulrich said softly.
“Aye.” Gareth looked at the remaining two knights. “Do either of you have families? A hall?”
Both shook their heads.
“If it pleases you, my lord.” Robert took a single step forward.
Gareth glanced at him. “What is it?”
“None of us has any relatives or friends who will ransom us. All that we possess was given to us by the magician. Our armor and our swords are the only things of value that we own.” Robert’s mouth was a tight, grim line. His eyes held fierce pride as well as fear. “And you have already stripped them from us. You may as well get on with the hanging.”
“In good time, Sir Robert, in good time. Death always comes soon enough for most.” Gareth motioned for the guards to take the knights back to their makeshift prison.
Ulrich clasped his hands behind his back and waited until the hall was empty once more. Then he looked at Gareth. “Do you wish to question the bowmen we caught at the harbor, my lord?”
“Nay. There is nothing new to be learned from them. They are typical of their kind. Freebooters who hired themselves out to the magician on the promise of easy plunder.”
“Masterless men.”
“Aye.” Gareth got to his feet. “Men without villages or families.”
“Su
ch men are always dangerous. Best to hang them quickly and be done with it.”
“Aye.” Gareth walked to a nearby table where he had spread out an assortment of items that he and Dallan had discovered in Lucretius de Valemont’s cloak. “Have you seen this yet, Ulrich?”
“Nay.” Ulrich crossed to the table. He looked down at the handful of tiny slivers of metal floating in a bowl of water. “What are they?”
“Dallan tells me that de Valemont called them his iron fish. Watch.” Gareth dipped a finger into the water and spun the small iron slivers in a circle. When the water settled, so did the iron fish. “Notice that they are pointing in the same direction in which they pointed before I disturbed the water.”
Ulrich frowned. “What of it?”
“They are pointing north, my friend. Always north. It is the mysterious device the magician used to guide his hired thieves to the isle in the fog. He would have used it again to make his escape.”
“Iron fish?”
“I heard of such a few years ago,” Gareth said. “I read about them again in Sir Humphrey’s book. But this is the first time I have actually seen a device that uses them. Amazing, is it not?”
“Aye.” Ulrich stabbed a finger into the water and ruffled the surface of the liquid. He watched, fascinated, as the slivers realigned themselves. “Most interesting.”
“Sir Humphrey’s book says that the invention comes from China. As does the recipe for the sulfur and charcoal powder that we used to route de Valemont’s men.”
“What of these other objects?” Ulrich picked up a round, polished sphere.
“A mirror. Dallan says de Valemont used it to signal messages to his men on occasion.” Gareth picked up a ring of oddly shaped keys. “He used these to open locks of all kinds.”
“Ah. So that is how he got through the convent gates and into the library.”
“Aye.” Gareth dropped the keys back onto the table. “And how he managed to relock the recluse’s cell after he had carried her body back into it.”
“This is all quite interesting, sir, and knowing you, I’m sure you will be occupied for days playing with the magician’s bag of tricks. But what am I to do about our prisoners in the meantime? Shall I see that they are dispatched immediately?”
“Nay. Hold off awhile longer. I may think of some more questions to ask them.”
Gareth was aware of Ulrich’s amused gaze resting on him as he walked out of the hall. As usual, he did not comprehend the jest.
The fog that had shrouded the isle for the past two days had finally cleared. The courtyard was humming with activity.
William and Dallan dashed to and fro, carrying out Eadgar’s instructions and assisting the servants. As he went down the steps, Gareth saw two of his men-at-arms come through the open gate. They were laden with armfuls of fresh flowers. The sight of his hardened warriors buried in blossoms made him grin briefly.
His amusement faded as he crossed the courtyard to Clare’s workrooms.
He could have forced her to return to the bed last night, of course. He was a lot bigger and a lot stronger than she was. It would have been a simple matter to fetch her out of the wardrobe. But he had been too annoyed to do so. He had told himself that a night spent on the hard floor, wrapped in a quilt, would teach her a lesson.
It was unfortunate that the serving maid had entered the wardrobe chamber earlier than usual. Clare had still been sound asleep.
Gareth had been awake, however. To his disgust, he had slept little during the night. Three times he had wandered into the wardrobe to adjust the quilt over Clare’s shoulders.
It was one thing to let her sleep on the hard stone floor. It was another to let her take a chill. He had no intention of allowing her to risk her health while she did battle with him. He had a duty as a husband to see to it that she did not become ill through her foolish actions.
This morning she was astonishingly calm about the open warfare which she had more or less declared. She acted as if she had already won and was merely waiting for him to concede defeat.
Gareth wondered if she realized that he had never surrendered to anyone in his entire life.
He reached the first of the long series of workrooms and stepped into the open doorway. The scent of flowers, vanilla, and mint hit him like a soft pillow in the face.
“Clare?”
“In here, my lord,” Clare called from the adjoining chamber.
Gareth walked through the mixing room into the drying room. He saw her standing at one of the wide tables. Something inside him twisted with yearning.
He had come close to losing her yesterday. The last thing he wished to do today was argue with her. He sighed. He knew better than to show weakness.
Clare held a handful of dried flowers to her nose. Her eyes were closed as she concentrated on the fragrance. Sunlight streamed through the window behind her, creating a golden halo around her graceful figure.
She was the most wonderful thing in his life, Gareth thought. She had given him a home.
He shook off the strange blend of emotions that he did not fully comprehend and went toward her.
“What are you doing?” he asked, more for something to say than any real curiosity.
“I’m mixing a special pomander for the abbess.” Clare opened her eyes. “A very complex recipe that will be hers alone. Do you think she will appreciate it?”
“I’m certain she will.” Gareth hesitated. “The household is in an uproar.”
“She will be here any day now. Mayhap even this afternoon.”
“Uh, Clare, I know you’re very excited about this visit.”
“I certainly am. Abbess Helen has been most gracious to me in her letters. I am eager to repay her kindness.”
“Mayhap I should tell you—”
“Have you freed the prisoners, my lord?”
“Nay.”
“I know you’ll do the right thing before the day is out.”
“Hell’s teeth, woman, hanging them is the right thing.”
“Not in this case. Have you taken a close look at Lucretius’s knights? They are not much older than Dallan.”
“Well, what about those professional thieves Ulrich captured at the harbor?” Gareth retorted. “They cannot be excused by reason of youth. One of them is forty, if he’s a day. He’s made a lifetime career out of robbing people.”
“Aye, but if we are going to free the others, we may as well free him. I do not want even one corpse hanging above my beautiful flowers.”
“Clare, you’re a woman and you have led a rather sheltered life here on Desire. If you—” Gareth broke off as voices rose outside.
“Lady Clare, Lady Clare, your guests have arrived,” a servant called. “Lady Joanna said to tell you to come quickly.”
“Abbess Helen is here.” Clare opened her fingers and let the dried flowers drop back into the bowl.
“Clare, wait.” Gareth reached for her as she sailed past him. He missed.
Clare rushed out through the door into the courtyard. “Joanna? Where is the abbess? Mayhap she will stop first at the convent to meet with the prioress. By Saint Hermione’s girdle, we are not ready. I wanted all to be in perfect order when she got here.”
Gareth walked slowly out of the drying shed and found Ulrich standing nearby. Together they surveyed the busy scene.
“The abbess is here?” Gareth asked.
“Aye. She came over from Seabern with an escort a short while ago. One of the men just rode up from the village with the news.”
“An escort?” Gareth raised an inquiring brow.
“It seems that Thurston of Landry and three of his knights just happened to be traveling in the same direction as the abbess. They offered to provide protection for her and her retainers. The entire crowd should be here any minute.”
“Just what I needed,” Gareth said.
A screech of dismay rose above the commotion in the courtyard. Gareth glanced at Clare, who was gesticulating wildly with her
hands.
“What do you mean, Thurston of Landry is on his way here?” Clare yelled at Joanna. “’Tis impossible. He cannot be here.”
“Calm yourself, Clare,” Joanna said. “We shall man-age.
Clare scowled furiously. “How dare Lord Thurston do this to me? Has he no consideration? I am entertaining an abbess tonight; I cannot be bothered with a stupid baron.”
“We shall manage,” Joanna said soothingly.
“Nay, ‘tis simply not possible. He has ruined everything. How am I to deal with my father-in-law when I am trying to entertain a great abbess?”
“An excellent question under the circumstances,” Gareth observed to Ulrich.
“You’re smiling, my lord. You know it makes me uneasy when you smile.” Ulrich hesitated. “What about the prisoners?”
“You had better hold them in the cellar for another day or so. There is too much chaos around here as it is. Hanging a bunch of thieves would no doubt create even more of an uproar.”
“Aye,” Ulrich said. “It should prove to be an interesting evening.”
Shouts from the watchtower and a cloud of dust heralded the arrival of the company and a host of retainers.
“They’re here,” someone yelled. “The abbess and Thurston of Landry are at the gates.”
Clare stalked over to Gareth. “This is really too much. The least your father could have done was send word that he intended to pay a visit.”
“I suspect he made his decision on the spur of the moment when he learned that the abbess was on her way to Desire.”
“But why would he do that? It makes no sense.” Clare broke off as the riders clattered through the gates.
There was a general air of confusion as servants rushed to take the horses’ heads.
“Come along, Clare. We must greet our guests.” Gareth took her arm and started forward.
“That lady on the palfrey is the abbess.” Clare’s disgruntled expression gave way to renewed enthusiasm. “She appears to be in excellent health.”
“She generally is.”
“What do you mean?”
“Never mind.” Gareth watched as Thurston dismounted and gallantly went to assist the abbess. The pair turned to meet their host and hostess.
“My Lady Abbess.” Clare rushed forward to kiss the ring of the tall, handsome woman in the Benedictine habit. “Welcome to Desire. We are honored.”
