Window of Hell fearfully heavy?" William asked eagerly. "I could see that the Hellhound let you to carry it all the way to the gates of the hall. Sir Ulrich said that was most amazing."
"Did he, indeed" Clare said.
"Sir Ulrich said that the Hellhound has never offered his sword to anyone else in the whole world," William continued, "let alone allowed anyone to carry it in a procession in front of a whole village."
"He did not allow me to carry it," Clare grumbled. "He more or less forced me to do so. He refused to take it from my hands until we reached the hall. I could hardly drop such a valuable blade into the dirt."
Joanna quirked a brow but did not raise her eyes from her needlework. "Why do you think he simply did not resheath it?"
"He claimed he could not get the thing back into its scabbard with me seated in front of him. And he refused to put me down from the beast. He said it would not be chivalrous. Hah. What arrogance to discourse on the finer points of courtesy when he was, for all intents and purposes, holding me captive."
Joanna pursed her lips. "I have the distinct impression that his lordship does not lack boldness of any kind."
"Sir Ulrich says that the Hellhound is a very great knight who has destroyed scores of robbers and murderers in the south," William said. "Sir Ulrich says he showed you great honor by allowing you to carry the Window of Hell."
"It was an honor I could have done without," Clare said.
She knew full well why Gareth had politely refused to take back his sword until they had arrived at the very steps of her hall. He had wanted to make certain that everyone along the way, from shepherd to laundress, witnessed the spectacle of the lady of Desire clutching the Hellhound's great sword.
No, the Hellhound had shown her no great honor, she thought. It had all been a very calculated gesture on his part.
"If you ask me, I do not believe he showed you any great honor, my lady," Dalian declared with passionate intensity. "On the contrary. He mocked you."
Clare glanced at her new minstrel. He was a gaunt young man of barely sixteen years who was easily startled by unexpected sounds or a raised voice. If one chanced to come upon him unawares, he jumped
or froze in the manner of a panic-stricken hare.
The only time he seemed to find any inner calm was when he sang his ballads.
His thin features had begun to fill out slightly since he had arrived on Desire. But Clare could still see too many traces of the anxious, hunted look that had been in his eyes that first day when he had appeared at the hall.
Dalian had told her that he was seeking a position as a minstrel in the household. Clare had taken one look at him and had known that whatever lay in the young man's past was not pleasant. She had taken him in on the spot.
Clare scowled as she considered Dalian's impassioned remark. "I do not think he was mocking me, precisely."
"Well, I do," Dalian muttered. "He is likely a cruel and murderous man. They do not call him the Hellhound of Wyckmere for naught."
Clare whirled around, exasperated. "We must not read too much into a silly nickname."
"I don't think it's silly," William said with great relish. "Sir Ulrich says he got that name because of all the outlaws he's killed."
Clare groaned. "I'm sure his exploits have been greatly exaggerated."
"Do not alarm yourself, Clare," Joanna said. "I comprehend how uneasy you are at the prospect of this marriage. But I feel certain that Lord Thurston would not have sent you a candidate who did not meet the majority of your requirements."
"I'm beginning to wonder about that," Clare said.
She halted her pacing abruptly as a very large shadow fell across the graveled path directly in front of her.
As if conjured up by a sorcerer, Gareth appeared. He had come soundlessly around the corner of the high hedge, giving no warning of his presence until he was directly in front of her.
She glowered at him. It did not seem right that
"Did he, indeed" Clare said.
"Sir Ulrich said that the Hellhound has never offered his sword to anyone else in the whole world," William continued, "let alone allowed anyone to carry it in a procession in front of a whole village."
"He did not allow me to carry it," Clare grumbled. "He more or less forced me to do so. He refused to take it from my hands until we reached the hall. I could hardly drop such a valuable blade into the dirt."
Joanna quirked a brow but did not raise her eyes from her needlework. "Why do you think he simply did not resheath it?"
"He claimed he could not get the thing back into its scabbard with me seated in front of him. And he refused to put me down from the beast. He said it would not be chivalrous. Hah. What arrogance to discourse on the finer points of courtesy when he was, for all intents and purposes, holding me captive."
Joanna pursed her lips. "I have the distinct impression that his lordship does not lack boldness of any kind."
"Sir Ulrich says that the Hellhound is a very great knight who has destroyed scores of robbers and murderers in the south," William said. "Sir Ulrich says he showed you great honor by allowing you to carry the Window of Hell."
"It was an honor I could have done without," Clare said.
She knew full well why Gareth had politely refused to take back his sword until they had arrived at the very steps of her hall. He had wanted to make certain that everyone along the way, from shepherd to laundress, witnessed the spectacle of the lady of Desire clutching the Hellhound's great sword.
No, the Hellhound had shown her no great honor, she thought. It had all been a very calculated gesture on his part.
"If you ask me, I do not believe he showed you any great honor, my lady," Dalian declared with passionate intensity. "On the contrary. He mocked you."
Clare glanced at her new minstrel. He was a gaunt young man of barely sixteen years who was easily startled by unexpected sounds or a raised voice. If one chanced to come upon him unawares, he jumped
or froze in the manner of a panic-stricken hare.
The only time he seemed to find any inner calm was when he sang his ballads.
His thin features had begun to fill out slightly since he had arrived on Desire. But Clare could still see too many traces of the anxious, hunted look that had been in his eyes that first day when he had appeared at the hall.
Dalian had told her that he was seeking a position as a minstrel in the household. Clare had taken one look at him and had known that whatever lay in the young man's past was not pleasant. She had taken him in on the spot.
Clare scowled as she considered Dalian's impassioned remark. "I do not think he was mocking me, precisely."
"Well, I do," Dalian muttered. "He is likely a cruel and murderous man. They do not call him the Hellhound of Wyckmere for naught."
Clare whirled around, exasperated. "We must not read too much into a silly nickname."
"I don't think it's silly," William said with great relish. "Sir Ulrich says he got that name because of all the outlaws he's killed."
Clare groaned. "I'm sure his exploits have been greatly exaggerated."
"Do not alarm yourself, Clare," Joanna said. "I comprehend how uneasy you are at the prospect of this marriage. But I feel certain that Lord Thurston would not have sent you a candidate who did not meet the majority of your requirements."
"I'm beginning to wonder about that," Clare said.
She halted her pacing abruptly as a very large shadow fell across the graveled path directly in front of her.
As if conjured up by a sorcerer, Gareth appeared. He had come soundlessly around the corner of the high hedge, giving no warning of his presence until he was directly in front of her.
She glowered at him. It did not seem right that
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