"I shall think of you whenever I inhale the scent of this perfume,"

Gareth said quietly.

"And of Desire, my lord, your new home."

"Aye. I shall most certainly think of Desire." His eyes pinned hers.

"Was there a special reason for this gift?"

"Nay, my lord," Clare said lightly. "Merely the usual."

"The usual? And what would that be?"

"As a token of my respect, of course."

"Respect?"

"Aye. What other reason would a wife have for giving her husband a gift?"

"A good question, madam."

"Dalian, help Ranulf fold the tent."

Dalian jerked as if he had been stung. "Aye, my lord."

Gareth frowned as he watched the minstrel hurry to assist Ranulf in packing the yellow-and-white-striped tent.

Something was wrong.

Gareth had noted the change in Dalian shortly after noon on this, the last day of the fair. Gone was the minstrel's jaunty swagger and his enthusiasm for his position as squire-in-training. They had magically disappeared in the space of a few short hours. Melancholia and an anxious demeanor had taken their place.

Dalian seemed suddenly preoccupied with matters that weighed down his very soul. He jumped whenever someone spoke to him. He continued to carry out the orders Gareth gave him, but the eagerness which had characterized his behavior since he had sworn fealty to his new lord had vanished.

Gareth thought he understood the nature of the problem. He was less certain of what to do about it. He was no expert at dealing with lovesickness.

He waited until the boats had been loaded for the return trip To the Isle of Desire before he called Dalian aside.

"Dalian."

"Aye, my lord?" Dalian wiped his hands on his tunic in a nervous gesture. "Did I do something wrong?"

"Nay. Walk with me for a moment. I wish to speak to you."

"Aye, my lord." Dalian shot Gareth a quick, uneasy glance as he obediently fell into step beside him.

Gareth clasped his hands behind his back and tried to think of the best way to approach this delicate subject. "You have sung many songs of love, minstrel, but mayhap you have not learned much about the matter."

"I beg your pardon, my lord?"

Gareth cleared his throat. "A man's first taste of passion is as unsettling as his first taste of war. Both are powerful in their own fashion and both have a way of temporarily distorting his view of himself and the world around him."

Dalian looked politely blank.

Gareth sighed and tried again. "I know that you believe you have fallen in love with your pretty Alison.

It no doubt saddens you to part from her."

Dalian frowned. "I shall miss her."

"Aye. That is understandable. However?"

"But I do not love her."

Gareth glanced at him speculatively. "You don't?"

"Nay. We had a pleasant time together, but I have told her that I cannot love any woman yet. I must make my way in the world before I can think on such matters."

"Ah." Gareth was vastly relieved. "A very wise statement from a man of your years. I'm impressed with your common sense. I have seen men twice your age make fools of themselves over a woman. Tis not a pretty sight."

Dalian gave him a quizzical look. "Was that all you wanted to say to me, my lord?"

"Aye. Run along and help pack the tents."

"Aye, my lord."

Gareth watched Dalian hurry back to join the others. He wondered if he had misinterpreted Dalian's mood. It was possible that the young man suffered from severely unbalanced humors. The disease could prove lethal. Gareth had once known a man who was so severely afflicted with unbalanced humors that he had committed suicide.

Gareth determined to keep a close eye on his new squire-in-training.

Three days later Clare sat at her desk and nibbled at the end of her quill pen. She pondered her latest perfume recipe. It was difficult to properly describe the exact steps required for combining various substances to achieve the desired results of her more complex concoctions. She studied what she had just written:

Put a quantity of water into a pan and put the pan into the fire. When the pan is red hot and the water boiling softly, take a fair quantity of your best rose leaves and put them in the pan.

The phrase fair quantity did not seem very exact. Abbess Helen had advised her to be very specific when she was writing recipes.

Clare scratched out "fair quantity" and inserted the words "two handsful."

A single, peremptory knock was all the warning she got before the door opened and Gareth strode into the room. He had the book her father had written open in his hands. He was frowning intently over a passage.

"Clare, do we have any sulfur?"

"Aye, my lord. My father kept a quantity of it in the storerooms along with some other ingredients.

The Arabic treatises make frequent reference to recipes that use sulfur.

He often expressed his desire to experiment with it. Personally, I have never bothered with the stuff.

I do not care for the smell."

"Excellent, excellent. I must see if I can find it." Gareth scowled over whatever it was that he was reading for another moment. "The charcoal will not be a problem. 'Tis easy enough to make."

"Have you found an intriguing recipe?"

"In this volume your father describes some very unusual recipes from the East."

"Recipes that use sulfur?"

"Aye. I shall investigate them later." He closed the heavy volume and tucked it under his arm. "What are you doing?"

"I am working on my own book."

"Ah, yes. Your book of perfume recipes." Gareth surveyed the volumes on the shelves of her study chamber. "Your library is almost as large as the convent's."

"I am very proud of it. Many of the books were collected by my father, of course, but I have acquired one or two on my own. I am especially pleased with the one that was written by Abbess Helen of Ainsley. 'Tis a most learned work on herbs which I consult frequently."

"Abbess Helen of Ainsley?" Gareth repeated in a strangely neutral voice.

"Aye." Clare smiled proudly. "She has been kind enough to enter into a correspondence with me."

"You exchange letters with an abbess?"

"Quite regularly. I find her advice on the properties of herbs invaluable. As it happens, she will be arriving soon for a visit."

"She will?" Gareth looked startled. Clare nodded happily. "I am very excited. Prioress Margaret sent word this morning. She tells me I can expect Abbess Helen any day now.

You will have an opportunity to meet her, my lord."

"That should prove interesting."

"Aye. She will no doubt stay with us here at the hall. That is what she did the last time she came to visit. Tis a great honor for us."

"I see." Gareth lowered himself onto the window seat. "Well, that is neither here nor there. At the moment I wish to talk to you about Dalian."

"What about him?" Clare frowned. "I thought he was proving to be very satisfactory in his new position as a squire-in-training. If he is having difficulties or not giving good service, I pray you will be patient with him. He needs time, my lord."

"He performs his duties with right goodwill. That is not the problem. I am concerned about his growing melancholia."

"I know what you mean." Clare put down her pen. "It is very worrisome.

Tis almost as bad now as it was when he first arrived on Desire. For a time he improved markedly.

But since the fair he seems to have grown very anxious again."

"What do you know of young Dalian's history?"

Clare regarded him thoughtfully. "Very little. He is a bastard, as you know. He claims to have been raised in the home of a man of rank. As you and I have discussed, I suspect he was not well treated."