Clare drummed her fingers on the table. "Kingsgate wishes to drive the price down still further on the grounds that he fears robbers on the road back to London."

"I shall be obliged to hire armed guards," Kingsgate explained smoothly.

"You know how the roads are, my lord. Extremely dangerous, to say the least. And I shall be carrying a very valuable cargo. I must protect it."

Gareth finally understood what was going on. "You need not concern yourself with the added cost of hiring armed men to guard the shipment.

I will send three of my best men to escort you and the goods to London."

The merchant blinked rapidly as he assimilated that information. "Your own men, sir?"

"Aye." Gareth rested his hand on the smoky crystal pommel of the Window of Hell. Kingsgate's gaze followed the movement. "I assure you, they are well trained and experienced in dealing with cutthroats and thieves."

"Ah. I do not doubt it. Your reputation assures me of the truth of that statement," Kingsgate murmured.

"There, you see?" Clare said quickly. "You will be spared the added cost of hiring your own guards. At the same time, you will have the security of knowing that your goods and, indeed, your very life are protected by men in the employ of the famous Hellhound. What more could a man ask as a guarantee of safety?"

Kingsgate cleared his throat. "As you say, madam, what more could a man ask? Very well, then, if you will supply the guards, we have a bargain."

"Excellent." Clare's eyes shone with satisfaction. "I shall look forward to doing business again with you in the fall, Kingsgate."

"Aye, madam. Good day, my lord." Kingsgate swept Clare and Gareth another deep bow and trotted off with a pleased expression.

"Thank you, my lord," Clare murmured. "You handled that very well."

"I try to make myself useful, madam."

She gave him a sharp look. Then her eyes softened. "I vow, we make a good team, sir."

"I am glad you are pleased."

Gareth was about to ask her if he could fetch her something to eat while she was between customers when he spotted William running toward the tent.

The boy was panting with exertion. He looked relieved to see both Gareth and Ulrich. He waved his hand frantically to get their attention.

"My lord, sir," William gasped as he came to a halt. "One of you must come with me. Dalian is in the midst of a terrible fight with a pickpocket. The thief has a dagger and he will likely stab Dalian."

Gareth glanced at Ulrich. "I'll see what this is about. Stay here and keep an eye on our fortunes."

"Aye, my lord." Ulrich grinned. "Try not to have any accidents with the pickpocket's dagger. You have been known to be somewhat clumsy of late."

14

Gareth saw immediately that Dalian was hopelessly overmatched.

The pickpocket was skinny and wiry and not much older than the minstrel.

The rigors of his profession, however, had not only toughened him, they had endowed him with basic dagger fighting skills and absolutely no sense of chivalry. He did not appear to mind in the least that his opponent was unarmed.

Although he was at a serious disadvantage, Dalian had somehow managed to corner the thief behind a large brewer's tent. There was blood on Dalian's arm, but most of it appeared to be spewing from his nose, not a dagger cut. Gareth was grateful for that much. He did not relish the thought of explaining to Clare how her precious minstrel had gotten himself nicked.

It was obvious that Dalian was compensating for his lack of skill with sheer, unswerving determination. He faced the pickpocket fearlessly, as aggressive as a young hound with its first boar.

The pickpocket, accustomed to a more stealthy approach to such matters, seemed genuinely confused by his opponent's relentless assault. Nor did he like the attention the fight was receiving.

Several of the brewer's customers had ambled around the corner of the tent to watch the brawl. Loud cheers and shouts of encouragement filled the air as the two young males circled each other. For once Dalian was not twitching.

The pickpocket's eyes darted nervously left and right. He was clearly searching for an opportunity to bolt past Dalian and escape into the crowd.

Gareth swept the ring of onlookers with a single glance, seeking the source of Dalian's newfound boldness.

He spotted her at once. She was a pretty girl with blond curls, blue eyes, and a jaunty green cap. Her expression of rapt excitement and her glowing cheeks told its own story. Dalian had found himself a maiden in need of rescue.

"Halt, both of you."

Gareth strode into the middle of the fight and seized each young man by the scruff of the neck. He gave them both a brief, rough shake. Then he held them apart until they came to their senses long enough to comprehend that an outsider had interfered in the battle.

"This brawl is ended," Gareth said.

"He started it." Dalian wiped his bleeding nose with his sleeve. "He tried to steal Alison's purse."

"I did not. He lies." The pickpocket glowered at Dalian. His dagger had miraculously disappeared into the voluminous folds of his shabby clothes.

Gareth reasoned that Alison was the name of the girl hovering nearby. He glanced at her. "Do you still have your purse?"

Alison looked first startled and then decidedly uneasy at finding herself addressed by the lord of Desire. She flushed a deep pink. "Aye, m'lord. Tis safe enough." She patted the small leather pouch that hung from her girdle. Her eyes kindled with feminine admiration as she gazed at her champion. "Thanks to Dalian."

"Bah, I never laid a hand on her purse." The primitive fury of battle faded from the pickpocket's gaze. Wariness took its place. He measured Gareth with a quick, assessing glance, obviously recognizing him. As a professional thief, he would have learned early to mark men of rank in the crowd so as to avoid costly miscalculations. An unfortunate choice of victims could lead to a bad end for his kind. "I'm innocent, m'lord.

I swear it on me mother's grave."

"He's a rogue and a thief," Dalian declared.

"Mayhap," Gareth said quietly. "But 'tis as important for a man to know when to end a battle as it is for him to know when to begin one. You've saved Alison's purse. One chivalrous act a day is enough for any man." He looked at the pickpocket. "Off with you. And take care that my squire-in-training is not obliged to deal with you a second time."

The pickpocket stared. "Squire-in-training? By my oath, I didn't know he was yer man, m'lord."

"You do now," Gareth said.

"Twas an honest mistake," the pickpocket whined. "Could 'ave 'appened to anyone."

"Begone."

The pickpocket needed no further urging. He whirled around and melted into the crowd.

Disappointed with the tame outcome of the event, the onlookers drifted back to the ale tent to refill their mugs.

Dalian looked at the blood on his sleeve and then raised dumbfounded eyes to Gareth's face. "Did you mean that, my lord? I'm going to be your squire?"

"I'd be pleased to have such a brave man in my service." Gareth held out his hands. "Will you swear fealty to me, Dalian of Desire? Think well before you give your oath on this. I demand absolute and unswerving loyalty from those who serve me."

"Dalian of Desire." Dalian repeated the words as though they were a magical incantation. He put his hands in Gareth's, fell to his knees, and bowed his head. "My lord, from this day forward, I vow, I am your man."

"Tis done, then." Gareth glanced at Alison and William, who were watching the small ceremony with awed expressions on their faces. "You two are my witnesses. Henceforth this man shall be known as Dalian of Desire and he is in my service. He has the right to my protection and in return he has vowed allegiance to me."