"You definitely do not plan to leave Desire?"

"Nay."

"I have your oath on it?"

"Aye."

Relief poured through Clare. She tried not to let it show. "Very well.

That is all I wished to know."

Gareth braced his hands on his hips. "If you are satisfied, madam, may I return to the task of repairing the windmill sail?"

"Of course. My apologies for disturbing your labors." Clare started to turn away.

"Clare."

"Aye?" She paused.

Gareth surveyed her thoughtfully. "I am told that you do not charge the villagers for the use of the mill."

"That is correct. I'm aware that many lords do charge their people for grinding their flour, but I feel there is no need to do so. The villagers supply the hall with all the flour we need, so it is an even trade as far as I am concerned."

"I see."

She eyed him uneasily. "I trust you do not intend to start charging our people for milling their flour, my lord?"

"Nay, madam. You are the one with a head for business in this family. If you believe the present arrangement to be fair, who am I to argue with you?"

"A head for business, aye. That is what I have always been told." She gave him a wry look. "It would appear that we both have our uses, sir."

Gareth's eyes gleamed. "A man could not ask for a more useful wife than you, madam. Now, pray excuse me. Tis past time I got back to my tasks." He returned and stalked back to the crowd that hovered around the mill.

Clare gazed wistfully after him for a brief moment.

Useful She had always been useful, she reflected. She had been useful to her mother, who had borne the burden of managing the manor while her lord traipsed about the continent in search of knowledge.

She had been useful to her absentminded, scholarly father, who preferred his studies in Paris and Spain to the responsibilities of being a husband and a father and the lord of Desire.

She had been useful to her brother, who had hungered for the excitement and glory of the tournaments more than he had hungered for the lands he was to inherit.

She had been useful to Raymond de Coleville, who had wished to amuse himself with a bit of dalliance while he studied with her father.

Nicholas of Seabern had thought that she would make him a useful bride, one who could plump up his pockets.

She was useful to Thurston of Landry, who valued the income from Desire.

And now it appeared that the Hellhound found her useful, too.

It was not a cheerful thought, but Clare feared that there were worse fates than being useful.

Fates such as falling in love with a man who did not see love as particularly useful, for example.

That afternoon, Clare finally found time to climb the tower stairs to her study chamber. She hurried around the corner at the top of the staircase and ran headlong into Dalian.

"Ooph." Clare put out a hand to steady herself as she staggered back a step.

"Lady Clare. I beg your pardon." Something that was more than surprise, something that might have been fear, flashed in Dalian's eyes.

She grinned ruefully. "What are you doing up here, Dalian? I thought you were assisting Lord Gareth in his experiments."

"Forgive me, my lady." He glanced nervously down the hall and then looked at her. "I did not hear you on the stairs."

"I am on my way to my study chamber."

"Oh." Dalian wiped his palms on his tunic. "Are you all right?"

"Do not concern yourself. You did no great harm." Clare frowned. "Is anything amiss, Dalian?"

"Nay, madam."

"Are you quite certain? You seem to have grown increasingly downcast since the spring fair. Are you sure that you are not pining for your pretty Alison?"

"Alison?" Dalian looked briefly confused. "Nay, my lady. I am not pining."

"You're certain?"

"Aye, madam. Quite certain."

"Is there something else preying on your mind, mayhap?"

"Nay, madam." Dalian hesitated and then squared his shoulders. There was a sad, almost desperate light in his eyes. "Lady Clare, I have never thanked you for your great kindness to me. I wish to do so now."

Clare smiled. "It is I who should thank you, Dalian. You have brightened our lives here on Desire with your fine music and poems. And I know that Lord Gareth is very pleased to have your assistance in his workroom."

"My lord is a very clever man," Dalian whispered. "As are you, my lady.

It has been an honor to serve you."

"Why, thank you, Dalian."

"Pray excuse me, madam," Dalian said softly. "I must go now. His lordship will be waiting for me."

"Off with you, then. I shall see you at supper."

"Farewell, my lady. And thank you again for all your kindness to me. I do not deserve it."

"Nonsense, of course you deserve it." Clare went on down the hall to her study chamber.

She opened the door and made to step inside. Something made her hesitate. She turned and glanced back. Dalian was watching her with an intensely melancholic look in his eyes. She smiled reassuringly once more. Then she stepped into the chamber and closed the door behind herself.

She went to her desk, sat down, and propped her chin on her hands. She reflected for a long time on the manner in which Dalian had thanked her for her kindness.

"It was the strangest thing, Gareth," Clare said that evening when they were alone in their bedchamber.

"Twas as though he were bidding me farewell."

"Who said farewell?" Gareth did not look up from the heavy volume he was studying.

Clare's father had done a fine job of translating Arabic into Latin, he reflected, but Sir Humphrey had not been a skilled scribe. It required painstaking effort to puzzle out the words of the essay on the elements that Gareth was attempting to comprehend.

Although the day had been warm, it had turned cooler than usual that evening. There was a brisk fire on the hearth of the bedchamber. Outside a wind was beginning to howl, promising a storm before dawn.

"Dalian. My lord, are you listening to me?"

"Of course I'm listening to you. I always listen to you when you speak, madam. Did I not leave off repairing the mill today just to listen to you?" Gareth frowned over a clumsily lettered word. He could not make out if it was vapor or viper. It had to be vapor, he decided.

Viper did not make sense in the context. Intense heat causes the liquid to boil and give off a vapor which becomes, itself liquid…

"So you always listen to me, do you?" Clare gave a small, ladylike sniff that indicated strong disbelief. "What did I just say?"

Gareth concentrated on the complex discussion of the properties of fire, earth, water, and air. "You said something about Dalian bidding you farewell."

"He seemed to be bidding me farewell. It was as if he were planning to leave Desire."

"I told you, I have no plans to leave the isle."

"Not you, my lord. Dalian. There, you see? I knew you weren't listening to me."

Gareth gave up trying to read the translated Arab treatise. He stretched his legs out toward the fire, leaned back in his chair, and looked at Clare.

The sight of her sitting there with a book resting on her lap, her intelligent face screwed into an expression of intense concern, made him momentarily forget about the essay on elements.

My wife, he thought with a sense of wonder. He still could not quite believe that she was his.

The flames highlighted the lustrous darkness of her hair and rendered her skin the color of rich cream. She watched him with her serious, gemlike eyes. He contemplated how he could make her glow with passion and his body started to harden. It always did when he thought of holding Clare naked in his arms.