"Very well, let's get to work, Blacksmith," Gareth said. "I brought no armorer with me when I came to Desire. I can employ one from Seabern if necessary, but I am told that you are uncommonly skilled with hammer and anvil."

John flushed a deep red at the compliment. "Aye, my lord."

"Do you think that you can handle the work of mending my men's equipment as well as keeping the horses properly shod?"

John drew himself up and squared his shoulders proudly. "Aye, my lord. I believe I can handle the task. I've done a fair bit of delicate work for my lady and the prioress. I've even fashioned some keys and locks."

"Excellent." Gareth clapped him on the back and led the way into the stables. "I'll show you what needs to be done. And when we've finished in the stables, I have an interesting mechanical device to show you."

"What mechanical device would that be, my lord?"

"An Arab machine designed for extracting oil from roses and cinnamon and such. It is broken at the moment, but I believe I can repair it. I will need your help."

Twenty minutes later the muffled chuckles and hastily swallowed grins still had not entirely subsided.

Gareth left the blacksmith to his work and walked over to where Ulrich stood leaning against a stable post.

"Do you think," Gareth said in a very low voice, "that you could possibly explain the jest that everyone appears to find so very entertaining this afternoon?"

Ulrich's eyes gleamed with laughter. "I can explain it, but you very likely will not find it amusing."

"That is understood;" Gareth muttered. "Nevertheless, I grow curious about the cause of such extended merriment. Just tell me why in the name of the devil every man in the vicinity is struggling not to collapse with laughter."

Ulrich cleared his throat. "I believe it has to do with the rose petals that are tangled in your hair and clinging to the back of your tunic, my lord."

Gareth groaned. "Hell's teeth." He ran his fingers through his hair.

Crimson petals fluttered to the stable floor.

"You have the look of a man who has been tumbling about in my lady's flower bin," Ulrich said.

"Unless you accidentally fell into it, and I will admit that you are prone to accidents lately, there is little doubt about what you were doing in the perfume workrooms."

Gareth planted his fists on his hips and swept the grinning crowd with a thoughtful look. The smiles vanished instantly from every face.

Satisfied, Gareth threw back his head and roared with laughter.

Three mornings later, Clare took her customary walk along the cliffs into the village. To her great astonishment and secret delight, it was not Joanna who accompanied her, but Gareth.

He'd hailed her from the courtyard as she came down the steps.

"I believe I'll join you, madam." Gareth had left to Ulrich the supervision of the stonemasons who had arrived to start work on the new wall. He had walked over to where Clare stood waiting. "I want to take another look at the cliffs above the two small coves."

The whole day had suddenly seemed brighter to Clare. "Aye, my lord. You are most welcome to walk with me. I am taking some herbal cream to the recluse."

As she and Gareth made their way along the cliffs, it struck her that the salt-laced air had never been more invigorating and the scents of morning had never seemed fresher.

It occurred to her that she had been battling an unfamiliar and unsettling mix of emotions since the moment Gareth had set foot on Desire. The sensations had been as powerful as an alchemist's brew.

And just as unpredictable.

But she had finally comprehended the meaning of the volatile mixture three days ago when Gareth had consummated the marriage in her flower bin.

As she watched him walk out of the workroom that day, leaving her drenched in the scent of roses and his own male essence, she had finally acknowledged the truth.

She was falling in love with the Hellhound.

The past two nights had been adventures into the uncharted lands of a passion she had not even dreamed existed. Gareth seemed to take enormous pleasure from bringing her to the peak of physical sensation.

He was never satisfied until she shivered and cried out in his arms. He never let her rest until she was exhausted from his love-making.

"Have you made all the arrangements to get your perfumes and sweet pots over to Seabern?" Gareth asked absently as he paused along the clifftop.

"Aye. My perfumes will be taken across to Seabern by boat on the first day of the fair." Clare shaded her eyes with her hand and watched Gareth study the foaming water at the base of the cliffs. "Joanna and I shall go with them."

"My men can help." Gareth paced along the top of the cliffs for a few steps and paused again to look down. He frowned. "We have a couple of tents that you may use if you wish."

"Wonderful." Clare hesitated. "What are you looking at?"

"Ulrich suggested that this might be one of the two places along the cliffs other than the harbor where a small boat could be brought ashore. He was right."

"Does that concern your' Clare walked over to the edge of the cliffs and looked down. The tide was out. Two small caves in the side of the cliffs near the shoreline were visible.

"Not unduly. Tis obvious that no large force could be landed here."

Clare frowned. "No hostile force of armed men has ever landed on Desire."

"In my experience 'tis better to be prepared for any eventuality."

"You are a cautious man."

"I am when I have something very valuable to protect."

She gave him a quick sidelong glance and wondered whether he referred to her or his new lands. His lands, no doubt, she thought. Lands, after all, were the lure that had brought him to Desire in the first place.

Gareth did not appear to notice her speculative look. He was studying the landscape spread out before him with an expression of intense satisfaction that was overlaid by an equally fierce watchfulness.

He was not yet accustomed to the notion of having a place of his own in the world, Clare realized.

Gareth still looked as though he expected someone to attempt to take Desire from him. Only a fool would dare try, she thought wryly. The Hellhound was on guard.

He looked dangerous even now when he was merely accompanying his wife into the village. His midnight-dark hair was wild and windblown by the sea breeze. His profile was as unyielding as the harsh cliffs below.

Clare stifled a small, wistful sigh. Gareth was concerned with the protection of Desire, of course. She had no doubt that he intended to protect her, too, but that was because she was part of the arrangement.

She was falling in love, but she did not dare to hope that Gareth was suffering the same fate; not yet, at any rate.

His knowledge of lovemaking indicated that he had experienced passion before in his life. During the past three days Clare had learned that he knew well how to control the powerful forces unleashed by physical desire.

She had also learned that he was not above using his own controlled passion to gain the response he wanted from her.

He was a man accustomed to command, Clare reminded herself. It was probably quite natural for him to take command in bed. As for herself, she was still too new at the business to seize the upper hand.

But she was nothing if not a fast learner, she thought optimistically.

Clare searched for a neutral topic. "William and Dalian appear to be doing well in their new program of physical exercise."

"Aye. Boys usually do, if they are properly encouraged. Dalian is still grumbling, Ulrich says, but he shows up on time for practice. At least the minstrel has demonstrated the good sense not to sing any more of his ballads about cuckolded lords."