"Aye, my lord," William whispered excitedly. "I cannot wait to tell Mother and Lady Clare."

Alison gazed upon Dalian as though he had recently been transformed from a brave minstrel into a hero from a legend. "You serve the Hellhound of Wyckmere," she breathed, clearly entranced by his improved status in life.

Gareth resisted the urge to grin as Dalian staggered to his feet. "Go and wash the blood off, Squire-in-training. You will frighten the ladies."

"Aye, my lord." Dalian straightened his thin shoulders.

"I'll help you get cleaned up," William volunteered eagerly.

"I'll fetch a cloth," Alison said.

Gareth watched as Dalian was led off by his admirers. There was a new swagger to the minstrel's step and masculine pride in the set of his chin.

It was astounding how a man's view of himself and the world altered once he knew he belonged somewhere, Gareth thought.

"Alone at last." Gareth lowered himself down onto the large square of brightly striped cloth that Clare had spread out on the grass. He leaned back on his elbow and gazed out over the busy grounds of the fair. "Thought I'd never get rid of Dalian.

The lad's been at my heels all afternoon."

"I'm surprised at how eagerly he entered your service." Clare handed Gareth one of the hot pies stuffed with minced meat and nuts that she had just purchased from a nearby stall. "I would never have thought he'd have been so enthusiastic about becoming your personal squire."

"Squire-in-training," Gareth muttered.

"Is there a difference?"

"Aye. Young Dalian has a long way to go before he qualifies as a fully trained squire. He does not yet know one end of a lance from the other."

"I vow, he has certainly undergone a great change today."

"Becoming an instant hero will do that to a man."

Clare smiled. "It was very generous of you to make him into a hero, my lord."

"No one can make a man heroic. He has to do it for himself. Dalian has courage." Gareth took a large bite out of his pie. "I hate to have to tell you this, madam, but you've lost one of your admirers. I fear he has chosen to devote himself to another lady."

"I saw her. A younger woman. And a blue-eyed blond at that." Clare munched her pie enthusiastically. After a morning's hectic bargaining, she was half starved. "How can I compete?"

"Useless. You must resign yourself to the boredom of being wed to a husband who cannot compose a ballad or sing a single note."

Clare grinned. Gareth looked anything but boring sprawled in the sunshine. He lounged at his ease, graceful and dangerous in the manner of a fierce beast of prey.

She had not had much time to talk to him since they had arrived early this morning to set up the tents and prepare for the day's business. But she had been aware of him checking on her and Joanna from time to time. One or two of his men had always been nearby to make certain petty thieves did not make off with the goods.

"You and Sir Ulrich have been a good influence on Dalian and young William, my lord," Clare said quietly. "I'll admit that at first Joanna and I were uneasy about some of your decisions regarding their welfare."

His eyes gleamed with complacency. "Just as you were uneasy about the business of taking a husband."

"Aye." Clare finished the last of her pie and wrapped her arms around her updrawn knees. "But things seem to be working out well enough."

"Naturally they're working out." Gareth lifted one shoulder in a dismissing movement as he popped the last of the pie into his mouth.

"Why shouldn't they? I fail to see what is so difficult about marriage.

It all seems very simple and straightforward to me."

"Does it, indeed, my lord?" Clare batted her lashes with mocking admiration.

"Aye." Gareth brushed crumbs from his hands. " Tis merely a matter of a man taking command of a household and setting down a few rules. Once everyone knows the rules, matters proceed at an orderly pace and all is harmonious."

Clare picked up the pouch she had used to carry the cloth and the hot pies and hefted it in a threatening fashion. "A matter of a man taking command of a household, did you say, sir?"

Gareth held up a placating hand. "Not just any man, of course. One who can read."

She hurled the pouch lightly at his head. Gareth flopped onto his back as though mortally wounded.

"There are some husbands who would take offense at this kind of thing," he said in an injured torte.

"But not you, my lord. You are no ordinary husband."

No ordinary man at all, Clare thought. You are the man I love.

"An ordinary husband would no doubt bore you, madam."

"Aye." Clare closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It felt good to be sharing the afternoon with Gareth.

The scents of the fair sorted themselves out for her sensitive nose. She could detect the savory smells from the food booths, the earthy odors of sheep and goats, the fresh essence of the grass on which she had spread the cloth.

Most of all she was aware of the indefinable tightness of the scent of the man beside her.

Gareth waited for the space of a couple of heartbeats, as if he had anticipated more of a reaction from her. When it was not forthcoming, he picked up the leather pouch that she had tossed at him. "There is something left in this bag."

"Aye."

"Another morsel, mayhap?" He opened the leather flap and peered inside.

"I could eat a second pie."

"Nay, my lord. No pies." Clare took a deep breath and schooled herself to speak very casually. " 'Tis a gift for you."

"A gift?" Gareth's head came up with unexpected swiftness. All trace of his easygoing manner had vanished. "For me?"

"Aye, my lord." She rested her chin on her knees and studied him.

Gareth stared at her, a very odd expression in his eyes. It was the first time Clare had ever seen him bemused.

"Thank you," he finally said.

"Do not thank me until you have seen it. Mayhap you will not care for it."

Gareth reached into the bag and took out an elegantly fashioned, tightly stoppered flask. He examined it with a look of intense pleasure. "Perfume? For me?"

Clare blushed. "'Tis a special recipe that I created for you and you alone, sir. I hope you will like it."

Gareth carefully removed the stopper and bent his head to inhale the fragrance.

"Wait."

Gareth looked up with an inquiring expression.

"My lord, I very nearly forgot to inquire if you are made ill by mugwort or mint or cloves or some other ingredient."

Gareth shook his head. "Nay. Why do you ask?"

Clare relaxed. "Never mind. Tis merely that I knew someone once who had a most violent reaction to mug-wort."

"I find mugwort quite pleasant." Gareth took a deep, savoring breath.

"This mixture is very, very fine, madam."

"Do you really like it?"

"Aye." He inhaled again. "It smells of many things that I have always enjoyed, the fresh air of dawn and the tang of the sea. I shall keep it in my clothing chest."

"I'm glad you like it." Clare smiled slightly. "Not every man cares for pleasant-smelling tunics and linen."

"Due to the nature of my previous career, I was obliged to smell a great many odors that I would willingly forget," Gareth said. "This perfume will replace them in my mind."

Clare tilted her head. "What sorts of odors were you forced to endure while you hunted outlaws?"

Gareth studied the exquisitely made perfume flask. "When I think on my past I recall the foul smells of burned cottages, dead men, and crying women. Whenever I smelled such odors, I knew I had arrived too late. All that was left was to begin the hunt for the men who had created the stench."

Clare chilled. "How terrible for you, Gareth. No wonder you were eager for a hall of your own."