Clare scowled at Gareth and then turned back to Dallan. “Do not pay my lord any heed. He is in a foul mood. He is not going to hang you, Dallan.”
Dallan looked at her as if she were mad.
“My lord, will you kindly tell Dallan that you are not going to hang him?” Clare snapped impatiently.
“I am still contemplating the matter,” Gareth murmured.
“Sir, you know very well that you are not going to hang your own squire-in-training.” Clare smiled at Dallan. “I understand that you took the book because you wanted to protect me, Dallan. Lord Gareth understands that, too.”
Dallan appeared unconvinced of Gareth’s understanding. “My lord, I know you believe that what I did was an act of betrayal. I wish with all my heart that I could have continued to serve you as your squire-in-training. But you yourself once told me that a man must do whatever was necessary to protect those who depend upon him. I had to protect Lady Clare.”
“A man cannot serve two masters, Dallan of Desire.”
“Nay, my lord. I know that. But when I gave you my oath, I truly believed that I was free to serve you. I was nothing to the magician, you see. Just a boy he had bought for a few coins. After I had been here on Desire for a time, it was easy to believe that he had either forgotten about me or no longer needed me. I told myself that he would not come for me.”
Gareth’s eyes were the color of pale gray smoke. “I want the magician’s name, Dallan.”
Dallan’s expression was that of a hunted hare. “I swear, I dare not reveal it. To do so would put all of you, especially Lady Clare, in grave danger.”
“Lady Clare is already in jeopardy,” Gareth said. “The only way I can protect her, this hall, and those within it is to gain as much information about your master as possible.”
“But he is no ordinary knight, my lord. He is a magician,” Dallan wailed.
“Hell’s teeth. He’s an alchemist, from the sound of it. An ordinary man who has mastered a few Eastern tricks. Nothing more. I want his name”
Clare touched Dallan’s hand. “Give us the magician’s name, Dallan. ‘Tis for the best. Lord Gareth will resolve the problem. He is very good at such things.”
Dallan’s eyes shifted anxiously back and forth between Gareth’s hard, unyielding face and Clare’s reassuring smile. “Forgive me. I know that you are a great knight, my lord, but even you cannot defend against the magician’s magic arts.”
“Nonsense,” Clare said. “Lord Gareth is perfectly capable of dealing with a mere magician.”
Gareth’s unreadable gaze rested fleetingly on her face. “Thank you for your confidence, madam.”
Clare felt herself grow warm at his wry tone. “I have no doubt about your ability to protect this hall, my lord.”
“Now, if I just had a similar degree of confidence from my squire-in-training,” Gareth said deliberately, “I would be well on my way to accomplishing my task.”
Dallan’s face brightened for a second and then crumpled back into an expression of despair. “I am no longer your squire-in-training, my lord. We both know that.”
“You say you have never sworn an oath of fealty to this magician?”
“Nay, my lord.”
“But you have sworn fealty to me in front of witnesses.”
“Aye.”
“Did I not accept your oath and give you my own in return?”
“Aye.”
“What did I promise you in exchange for your honest service, Dallan of Desire?”
“Your protection, my lord.”
“I have never foresworn myself, minstrel. My oath is the only thing that I have ever been able to call my own. I do not give it easily. And once I have given it, I honor it.”
“I understand, my lord.” Dallan tightened his hands. “But I no longer have the right to claim your protection.”
“You do if you have not foresworn yourself,” Gareth said softly.
Dallan’s head came up swiftly. “But I have done so. At least, you believe that I have.”
“What I believe,” Gareth said thoughtfully, “is that you fear this alchemist so much that you did as he commanded.”
“Aye.”
“But I also believe that you obeyed him because you wished to protect Lady Clare.”
“’Tis the truth,” Dallan whispered. “I swear it.”
“Then you did not betray me,” Gareth said. “Your actions were misguided and foolish, but you are not foresworn. You are still my squire-in-training and I am your liege lord.”
Dallan closed his eyes and took a deep, shaky breath. “You are most generous, my lord. I do not deserve your kindness.”
“The name, Dallan.” Gareth’s hand closed into a fist on the arm of the chair. “I want the magician’s name.”
“Lucretius, my lord.” Dallan held himself very still. He squeezed his eyes shut, as if he expected to be struck with a bolt of lightning on the spot. When nothing happened, he lifted his lashes warily. His voice firmed. “His name is Lucretius de Valemont.”
“Lucretius de Valemont.” Gareth repeated softly. “I have never heard of him.”
“Nor have I,” Clare said.
Dallan rested his head in his hands. “God save us, I fear he will murder us all.”
“How did Dallan get out of the courtyard without being spotted by the guard?” Ulrich’s bald head gleamed as he studied the parchment map spread out on the desk.
“He waited until the guard had gone past on his rounds.” Gareth traced the shoreline with his finger, searching for the two places where a small boat could be landed. “Then he raised a ladder behind the stables. When he reached the top of the curtain wall, he lowered himself to the ground with a rope.”
“Clever for a minstrel, is he not?”
“Aye.” Gareth glanced out the window at the new day. The storm had passed, but there was a heavy quality in the air. “If someone can get out that easily, someone else can get inside just as easily. Add an extra guard here at the hall, Ulrich.”
“I’ll have to pull one of the guards away from the convent to do that.”
“I do not believe the convent is in danger now. The alchemist knows the book is here in the hall.” Gareth found the indentations in the shoreline. “I also want a watch kept at these locations as well as at the village harbor. Check the small cliff caves after every tide.”
“We’re going to be spread very thin around the isle, my lord. The three men you sent to guard the perfumes that London merchant purchased have not yet returned. We are still short-handed.”
“You and I will take a watch. My squire-in-training will also take one.”
Ulrich looked up with a curious glint in his eye. “You’re going to trust Dallan with guard duty?”
“Dallan is my man. He’s frightened of his former master, but he does not serve him. He serves me.”
Ulrich hesitated and then nodded. “Very well. You have always been a good judge of men. We’ll let him take a watch near the convent.”
“I will stay here in the hall,” Gareth said. “You take the harbor with two of the men.”
“Aye, my lord. Do you believe this Lucretius de Valemont will attempt to bring armed men onto Desire?”
“I do not know. He must realize how difficult it would be to bring an armed company ashore without being seen.”
“At this point he has no way of knowing that you are aware of him or his intentions.”
“He will soon reason it out.” Gareth studied the map. “I have a feeling that when Dallan does not bring him the book, he will come here to look for it. He has already stepped foot on our isle on one previous occasion.”
Ulrich looked up with an inquiring frown. “When was that?”
“The night he came to search the convent library.”
“You believe it was he who murdered the recluse?”
“Aye.”
“Ah, yes. Our mysterious ghost who walks through locked gates,” Ulrich said thoughtfully.
&nb
sp; “More likely a man in a monk’s cowl who knows how to pick a lock. I suspect he came and went in a small boat that he brought ashore at one of these two locations.” Gareth stabbed a finger at the small coves drawn on the map.
Ulrich smiled without any of his usual amusement. “If the magician returns a second time, well have him.”
“Aye. He’s only a man, despite what Dallan believes.”
“Where is young Dallan?”
“Clare took him out to the kitchens to feed him. He’s suddenly starving now that he has recovered from his adventures and no longer fears he will be hung.”
Ulrich frowned in thought. “I would like more information about this magician.”
“As would I. But Dallan’s fear of him is such that he finds it difficult to speak of him. Clare says the minstrel will become more talkative once he is fed.”
“You have assigned your lady to question the boy?”
“It was Clare’s idea,” Gareth admitted.
‘He’s a magician?” Joanna’s mouth fell open in astonishment. “Are you certain?”
“That’s what Dallan claims.” Clare looked at Dallan. “Is that not so?”
“Aye, my lady.” Dallan sat at the trestle table in the kitchen. He had a large slice of leftover roast chicken in front of him which he was devouring with the air of a man who had not eaten in weeks. William sat across from him, nibbling on a bit of cheese.
“Sir Ulrich says there is no such thing as magic,” William said. “He says Lucretius de Valemont is likely an alchemist, not a real magician.”
“Lucretius de Valemont can walk through locked doors,” Dallan insisted.
“Is that true?” William asked, intrigued.
“I have seen him enter a locked chamber without using a key,” Dallan said around a mouthful of chicken. “I have also seen him make objects appear and disappear. I know that Lord Gareth does not believe me, but ‘tis true.”
“I’ll wager he is not a great knight like Lord Gareth and Sir Ulrich,” William said confidently.
Dallan stopped chewing. His eyes were troubled. “I told you, Lucretius de Valemont went on Crusade. He is a fierce knight, although he says only a fool uses a sword when he can use magic.”
William took another bite of his cheese. “Is he as large and strong as Lord Gareth and Sir Ulrich?”
“Nay.” Dallan looked more cheerful for a moment. “He is not as large as my lord.” His face fell again. “But he is very skilled with a sword. And he is extremely clever. He says big men are easy to defeat because they always rely on their muscles instead of their wits.”
“The magician has obviously not met Lord Gareth, has he?” Clare sat down on the bench beside William and looked across at Dallan.
“Nay.” Dallan appeared to relax slightly at that thought. “Lord Gareth is very clever, too, is he not? Mayhap he is even more clever than the magician.”
“I expect he is.” Clare helped herself to a slice of hot bread. “Is the magician married?”
“Nay. Women find him handsome. Indeed, they are much taken with him. I have often seen them vie for his attention. But he says he has little use for females.”
Joanna set out a portion of custard. Her eyes met Clare’s. “Does he prefer the company of men, then?” she asked very casually.
Dallan shrugged. “Nay.”
“Young boys, mayhap?” Joanna suggested quietly.
Clare held her breath as she realized the implications of Joanna’s question.
But Dallan merely seemed confused by the remark. He shook his head and helped himself to the custard. “Nay. In truth, the magician does not care for anyone. He is devoted to his studies of the black arts. But I have seen him be most courteous to ladies when he wants something from them.”
Clare did not move. “What do you mean?”
“He gives them romantic gifts when he wishes to lure them into doing some service for him.”
“What sort of gifts?” Clare asked.
“A single blood-red rose. Sometimes he composes poetry for them, even though he thinks it foolish.” Dallan grimaced. “The ladies are much impressed by such gifts. They do not know that he feels nothing for them.”
“A single blood-red rose.” Clare drummed her fingers lightly on the table. “Tell me, Dallan, does the magician perfume his clothing or use a scented soap?”
“Nay. He does not care for perfumes and scents. He says they are for women, but in truth, I believe he does not like them because some of them make him sneeze.”
Clare exchanged a glance with Joanna. “What color hair does the magician have?”
“He is fair.” Dallan looked at her. “Why do you ask?”
“With golden brown eyes?”
“Aye.” Dallan frowned. “How did you know?”
Clare met Joanna’s uneasy gaze. “‘Twas a guess based on some of the other things you have said of him.”
William was visibly impressed. “But how did you guess the color of his eyes, Lady Clare?”
“I believe we know this magician, William.”
“We have made his acquaintance?” William stared at her.
“Aye.”
“But that is impossible,” William said.
“Dear God,” Joanna whispered. She met Clare’s gaze with dawning horror. “Surely you do not believe—”
“Aye, I do.” Clare’s mouth tightened. “Think on it, Joanna. He is in the habit of giving ladies a single blood-red rose. He composes poetry for them. He is a courteous knight who studies the secrets of the Arabic texts. He is medium-sized and scoffs at large men who rely on their strength. And he does not care for perfume because some recipes make him sneeze.”
“And,” Gareth said quietly from the doorway, “he knows a great deal about this isle and this hall. Enough to send Dallan here with clear instructions on how to ingratiate himself into this household.”
“My lord.” Dallan leaped to his feet. “I did not hear you come in.”
William scowled. “I don’t understand. Who is this magician?”
Clare looked at Gareth, whose gray eyes matched the color of the sky behind him. He watched her intently, waiting for her answer.
“We knew him as Raymond de Coleville,” Clare said.
“By the saints,” Joanna whispered. “Your handsome Raymond?”
“Aye.” Clare did not take her gaze off Gareth’s grim face. “Well, that’s a relief, is it not?”
“Why is it a relief?” Dallan asked.
“Because I know both Sir Raymond and Lord Gareth very well.” Clare rose to her feet and gazed at the expectant faces surrounding her. She smiled calmly. “And I can assure you that the magician is no match for our Hellhound.”
Gareth stood at the window of Clare’s study chamber and gazed out over the sea. There was an unpleasant gray mist pooling above the steel-colored waves. It had the look of a dense fog that could quickly shroud the isle.
“He was your ideal knight, the pattern of chivalry on which you based your recipe for a husband,” Gareth said without any inflection in his voice.
“’Tis true, I used Raymond de Coleville as a model.” Clare sat very straight in her chair and clasped her hands on top of her desk. “A woman needs a basic recipe to work from, after all.”
“Does she?”
Clare sighed. “I have not made the acquaintance of many knights, my lord. The few I have known were not very impressive. They tended to resemble Sir Nicholas or my brother. My father was a knight and I held him in great affection, but I certainly did not want a husband who shirked his responsibilities as he did.”
“And then the magician appeared here on your isle and cast his spells on you.”
Clare wrinkled her nose. “I do not think I’d put it quite like that.”
“There is one thing that I would like to know,” Gareth said.
“Aye, my lord?”
“Do you still love him?”
Clare froze. “Nay. I do not love Raymond de Coleville or Lucr
etius, or whatever he calls himself.”
Gareth turned to face her. His jaw was rigid. “Are you certain? Because I shall very likely have to kill him, Clare.”
She shuddered. “I’d rather you did not kill anyone.”
“So would I. But this magician is a murderer.”
“Beatrice?”
“It must have been he who strangled her.”
“Aye, I suppose it was, although ‘tis impossible to think of Raymond as a murderer.”
“You must also face the possibility that he killed your father.”
“My father” Clare was stunned. “But my father was killed by thieves in Spain.”
“What did your father have that was worth his life?” Gareth asked softly. “Think about it, Clare.”
“His book of translated alchemic recipes,” she whispered. “The same thing that the magician seeks.”
“Aye. We know the magician has killed once for the book. Mayhap he has killed twice.”
Clare closed her eyes in pain. “’Tis hard to comprehend. I am very sorry that we here on Desire are proving to be such a great nuisance, my lord. I know you had hoped for a quiet, peaceful life.”
“Nothing comes without a price. Not even a quiet, peaceful existence. I am willing to pay the cost for what I want.”
Clare opened her eyes and searched his face. “Aye. I know that. I only pray that one day you find what you seek.”
“So do I.” Gareth lowered his lashes, veiling his gaze. “You are certain that you do not love the magician?”
“I am very certain, my lord. In truth, I knew a long time ago that I could not ever love him.”
“How did you—” Gareth broke off as if to search for the words he wanted. “What convinced you that you were not in love with him? How do you know that you are not still in love with him?”
“There are two reasons. The first one you will likely not comprehend.”
“What is it?”
Clare shrugged. “He never smelled right to me.”
Gareth blinked. “I beg your pardon? Did he fail to bathe regularly?”
“Oh, no. He was most fastidious in his personal habits.” Clare smiled faintly. “But he just did not smell right to me, if you see what I mean.”
“Nay, I do not see what you mean, but who am I to argue?” Gareth paused briefly. “And your second reason for being so certain that you do not love him?”