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.
"What seems to be the problem?" Gareth asked.
"I fear that some dreadful concern is still plaguing Dalian. He is more anxious than ever. His melancholia is not improving."
"Aye." Gareth gazed into the fire. "A strange lad. Ulrich is worried about him, also. Apparently young William came across Dalian just as he was leaving one of the garderobes this afternoon. Dalian had tears in his eyes."
"He was crying? But why?"
"William told Ulrich that he asked Dalian that very question. Dalian told him it was none of his business."
"This is terrible. Dalian will not talk about whatever it is that concerns him," Clare said. "What do you suggest we do, my lord?"
"There is nothing we can do except keep an eye on Dalian. Ulrich will see to that."
"Keep an eye on him?" Clare's eyes widened. "Why is that necessary? Are you afraid he will do himself some harm?"
"Tis possible. Melancholia is a strange and sometimes dangerous condition."
"This is a most alarming thought, my lord."
"Do not concern yourself tonight. As I said, Ulrich will keep an eye on the lad." Gareth went back to his book. "Clare, do we have any mercury?"
"Aye, my lord," she said absently. "My father kept some about somewhere.
Have you had any more ideas concerning who might have killed Beatrice?"
"Nay."
"Do you still believe that the motive involved the theft of a book?"
Gareth gazed down at the alchemic recipe he was studying. He thought of the powerful explosion he had produced with the sulfur and charcoal mixture. "Lately I have begun to realize that there are many great secrets concealed in these ancient treatises that your father translated."
"That is no doubt true, but the books in the convent library are not of Eastern origin. They are primarily English herbals and Church histories.
Surely none of them contain any secrets worth murder."
"But what if the thief did not know what he would find there V Gareth touched the edge of the unevenly cut parchment pages of the book he held. "What if he believed he would find something of great value in one of them?"