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."

"Dalian 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 Dalian 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 Dalian stood awkwardly clutching wooden shields and swords. William looked excited.

Dalian 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 Dalian 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 successful 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 Dalian 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.

Dalian 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."

Dalian'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 leam 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 Dalian, 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," Dalian 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."

He reached out and caught hold of Clare's arm in what no doubt appeared to onlookers to be a husbandly gesture of affection. Clare, however, was acutely aware of the inflexibility of his fingers. He was not hurting her, but his grasp was unshakable.