The Hellhound of Wyckmere was enjoying himself.

Clare wanted to dump the contents of the pottage bowl over his head.

"Mayhap we would all enjoy some music," Clare said firmly. She looked at Dalian, who was sulking at the end of one of the long tables. "Will you give us a cheerful song, Dalian?"

Dalian leaped to his feet and swept her a deep bow. "As my lady commands."

He picked up his harp and began to play a familiar melody. Clare relaxed as she recognized one of her favorite songs. Dalian had composed it for her shortly after his arrival on Desire. It was called "The Key."

My lady's smile doth shine as bright as moon and stars on a summer's night.

Her eyes are emeralds, soft and green,

Her face is as pure as a clear, fresh stream.

Tonight I shall take the key,

The key that she has given to me.

"Aye, aye, the key." Nicholas banged his tankard on the table. "Take the key." He belched.

Clare shuddered.

"Aye, the key." One of Nicholas's burly men, already drunker than his master, rapped his knife against his tankard. "And what will ye do with the key, lad?"

More tankards clashed as the rest of the men from Seabern called encouragement to Dalian. Clare saw Nicholas start to grin. He downed another swallow of ale and then reached for his goblet of wine.

'Tis the key to her chamber that she has given me.

She will welcome me there most graciously.

"Graciously, graciously," one of the men chorused with a hoot of laughter.

'Tis unfair that her lord keeps such a treasure hidden.

I shall risk my life to climb through her window this night.

I shall part her bed curtains and behold the fair sight.

Nicholas slammed the table with his fist, rattling cups and dishes.

"Aye, lad, on to the lady's bed. Tis worth the risk." He leered at Clare.

Clare looked helplessly at Joanna, who in turn glanced uneasily at Ulrich. Ulrich gazed impassively at Gareth, as if waiting for a signal.

Her thighs are alabaster columns, round and smooth.

When I lay between them I shall see

The golden door that awaits my key.

"Aye, aye, the key." Nicholas roared.

Out of the corner of her eye Clare saw Gareth pick up one of the delicate yellow primroses that decorated her table. The blossom looked small and extremely fragile in his large hand. Slowly he began to stroke the petals.

Clare held her breath.

Another shout went up from the men seated below the head table. Clare pulled her fascinated gaze away from the sight of the primrose cradled in Gareth's hand.

She tried to signal Dalian to stop singing, but he pretended not to notice her attempt to gain his attention. He strummed his harp with grim defiance.

Nicholas sprawled in his chair. "You appear bored, Hellhound. What's the matter? Don't you care for the minstrel's song?"

"Nay." Gareth continued to stroke the petals of the j primrose, apparently intrigued by their delicacy.

Clare shot to her feet. She fixed Dalian with a pointed look. "Master minstrel, I would prefer another song, if you do not mind. Mayhap the lovely one you wrote about the flowers of spring."

"But 'The Key' is one of your favorites, my lady," Dalian protested.

"Aye, but tonight I would like to hear another of my favorites."

For an instant she thought Dalian was going to refuse. But he finally nodded brusquely and began to pluck a different tune, one that featured flowers.

Clare sighed with relief, sat down, and quickly signaled Eadgar to send out more food and ale.

The marshal moved with astonishing alacrity for a man afflicted with stiff joints. It was clear that he, too, had sensed impending doom and was eager to do his part to avoid it.

Joanna visibly relaxed. Clare saw her smile weakly at Ulrich, who gallantly offered her a morsel from his plate. To Clare's amazement, Joanna blushed prettily and took the preferred bite.

Nicholas's mouth turned down in a sullen fashion, rather like that of a boy bent on mischief who has seen his teasing game halted before the jest has been played.

Gareth set the primrose aside and calmly picked up his wine goblet as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. "I am well pleased with your minstrel's new song, madam."

"I am very glad to learn that, sir." Clare gave him an irritated smile.

Her manners were wearing thin. She was thoroughly annoyed with Gareth, just as she was with Nicholas, and she did not particularly care if he knew it. "I certainly would not want any of the guests in my household to have cause to be displeased with the entertainment."

Nicholas slammed his goblet down on the table. "Well, I do not much care for the new song. All that nonsense about spring flowers is dull and boring."

"Do you find it so?" Gareth glanced at him very casually. "Mayhap you lack the wit to enjoy the more refined aspects of the verses."

Nicholas glowered at him. "Are you saying I lack wit?"

"Aye. 'Twas no doubt one of the reasons Lady Clare sought other suitors.

She has stated quite clearly that she desires a husband who is both clever and well educated."

Nicholas flushed with fury. A reckless glitter lit his eyes. "I'll wager Lady Clare prefers the other song. Is that not right, madam?"

Clare tried to think of an excuse to end the evening and send everyone off to bed. She wished someone would do her a favor and raise the alarm for fire or siege.

"I take pleasure in all types of music." Desperately she sought a distraction. "Would you please pass me the bowl of figs, Sir Nicholas?"

"Certainly." Nicholas smiled slowly. "Allow me to choose a fig for you."

Instead of handing her the bowl, he reached into it with his short, broad fingers and plucked out one of the figs. He dipped the dried fruit into a dish of cinnamon and honey and held the morsel to Clare's lips.

She stared at the dirt under Nicholas's nails and tried to think. She was intensely aware of Gareth watching the small scene, a deceptively neutral expression in his eyes.

The whole situation was getting ridiculous, she thought angrily. This was her hall and she was in command here. She refused to surrender it to either of these large, overbearing males.

She smiled coolly at Nicholas and removed the fig from his hand. She set the dried fruit down on her plate without taking a single bite.

"I have changed my mind. I believe I have eaten enough this evening," she said.

"You disappoint me, lady," Nicholas said. "Why, when you stayed with me at Seabern last month, your appetite was much keener." He paused to leer. "And not just for figs."

Clare experienced a distinct chill. "I do not recall."

"Ah, but I do," Nicholas said. "How could I forget those enticing meals we shared? I confess that my fondest memories are of how very pleased you were when I satisfied your extremely delightful appetites.

I trust you have not forgotten your sweet satisfaction?"

"You tease me, Sir Nicholas," Clare said. Foreboding, dark and disquieting, stole over her. She was rapidly losing all hope of staving off disaster. "I would have you cease at once. I do not find it amusing."

"Nay?" Nicholas watched her, but it was obvious his real attention was on Gareth. He was weighing each goading word he spoke, pushing a little harder, searching for the point where blood could be drawn. "I am devastated to learn that, madam. I certainly found you to be most entertaining. Indeed, I eagerly await your return to Seabern so that we may again satisfy our appetites together."

The implication of Nicholas's words were clear to all who heard them.

Joanna toyed nervously with her spoon. Ulrich gazed at Gareth in stone-cold silence.

Gareth helped himself to a fig. He said nothing. "I wish to discuss something else." Clare realized her voice was starting to rise.