"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."

"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: