"Sir Humphrey's book says that the invention comes from China. As does the recipe for the sulfur and charcoal powder that we used to route de Valemont's men."
"What of these other objects?" Ulrich picked up a round, polished sphere.
"A mirror. Dalian says de Valemont used it to signal messages to his men on occasion." Gareth picked up a ring of oddly shaped keys. "He used these to open locks of all kinds."
"Ah. So that is how he got through the convent gates and into the library."
"Aye." Gareth dropped the keys back onto the table. "And how he managed to relock the recluse's cell after he had carried her body back into it."
"This is all quite interesting, sir, and knowing you, I'm sure you will be occupied for days playing with the magician's bag of tricks. But what am I to do about our prisoners in the meantime? Shall I see that they are dispatched immediately?"
"Nay. Hold off awhile longer. I may think of some more questions to ask them."
Gareth was aware of Ulrich's amused gaze resting on him as he walked out of the hall. As usual, he did not comprehend the jest.
The fog that had shrouded the isle for the past two days had finally cleared. The courtyard was humming with activity.
William and Dalian dashed to and fro, carrying out Eadgar's instructions and assisting the servants. As he went down the steps, Gareth saw two of his men-at-arms come through the open gate. They were laden with armfuls of fresh flowers. The sight of his hardened warriors buried in blossoms made him grin briefly.
His amusement faded as he crossed the courtyard to Clare's workrooms.
He could have forced her to return to the bed last night, of course. He was a lot bigger and a lot stronger than she was. It would have been a simple matter to fetch her out of the wardrobe. But he had been too annoyed to do so. He had told himself that a night spent on the hard floor, wrapped in a quilt, would teach her a lesson.
It was unfortunate that the serving maid had entered the wardrobe chamber earlier than usual. Clare had still been sound asleep.
Gareth had been awake, however. To his disgust, he had slept little during the night. Three times he had wandered into the wardrobe to adjust the quilt over Clare's shoulders.
It was one thing to let her sleep on the hard stone floor. It was another to let her take a chill. He had no intention of allowing her to risk her health while she did battle with him. He had a duty as a husband to see to it that she did not become ill through her foolish actions.
This morning she was astonishingly calm about the open warfare which she had more or less declared. She acted as if she had already won and was merely waiting for him to concede defeat.
Gareth wondered if she realized that he had never surrendered to anyone in his entire life.
He reached the first of the long series of workrooms and stepped into the open doorway. The scent of flowers, vanilla, and mint hit him like a soft pillow in the face.
"Clare?"
"In here, my lord," Clare called from the adjoining chamber.
Gareth walked through the mixing room into the drying room. He saw her standing at one of the wide tables. Something inside him twisted with yearning.
He had come close to losing her yesterday. The last thing he wished to do today was argue with her. He sighed. He knew better than to show weakness.
Clare held a handful of dried flowers to her nose. Her eyes were closed as she concentrated on the fragrance. Sunlight streamed through the window behind her, creating a golden halo around her graceful figure.
She was the most wonderful thing in his life, Gareth thought. She had given him a home.
He shook off the strange blend of emotions that he did not fully comprehend and went toward her.
"What are you doing?" he asked, more for something to say than any real curiosity.
"I'm mixing a special pomander for the abbess." Clare opened her eyes.
"A very complex recipe that will be hers alone. Do you think she will appreciate it?"
"I'm certain she will." Gareth hesitated. "The household is in an uproar."
"She will be here any day now. Mayhap even this afternoon."
"Uh, Clare, I know you're very excited about this visit."
"I certainly am. Abbess Helen has been most gracious to me in her letters. I am eager to repay her kindness."
"Mayhap I should tell you?"
"Have you freed the prisoners, my lord?"
"Nay."
"I know you'll do the right thing before the day is out."
"Hell's teeth, woman, hanging them is the right thing."
"Not in this case. Have you taken a close look at Lucretius's knights?
They are not much older than Dalian."
"Well, what about those professional thieves Ulrich captured at the harbor?" Gareth retorted. "They cannot be excused by reason of youth.
One of them is forty, if he's a day. He's made a lifetime career out of robbing people."
"Aye, but if we are going to free the others, we may as well free him. I do not want even one corpse hanging above my beautiful flowers."
"Clare, you're a woman and you have led a rather sheltered life here on Desire. If you?" Gareth broke off as voices rose outside.
"Lady Clare, Lady Clare, your guests have arrived," a servant called.
"Lady Joanna said to tell you to come quickly."
"Abbess Helen is here." Clare opened her fingers and let the dried flowers drop back into the bowl.
"Clare, wait." Gareth reached for her as she sailed past him. He missed.
Clare rushed out through the door into the courtyard. "Joanna? Where is the abbess? Mayhap she will stop first at the convent to meet with the prioress. By Saint Hermione's girdle, we are not ready. I wanted all to be in perfect order when she got here."
Gareth walked slowly out of the drying shed and found Ulrich standing nearby. Together they surveyed the busy scene.
"The abbess is here?" Gareth asked.
"Aye. She came over from Seabern with an escort a short while ago. One of the men just rode up from the village with the news."
"An escort?" Gareth raised an inquiring brow.
"It seems that Thurston of Landry and three of his knights just happened to be traveling in the same direction as the abbess. They offered to provide protection for her and her retainers. The entire crowd should be here any minute."
"Just what I needed," Gareth said.
A screech of dismay rose above the commotion in the courtyard. Gareth glanced at Clare, who was gesticulating wildly with her hands.
"What do you mean, Thurston of Landry is on his way here?" Clare yelled at Joanna. "Tis impossible.
He cannot be here."
"Calm yourself, Clare," Joanna said. "We shall manage."
Clare scowled furiously. "How dare Lord Thurston do this to me? Has he no consideration? I am entertaining an abbess tonight; I cannot be bothered with a stupid baron."
"We shall manage," Joanna said soothingly.
"Nay, 'tis simply not possible. He has ruined everything. How am I to deal with my father-in-law when I am trying to entertain a great abbess?"
"An excellent question under the circumstances," Gareth observed to Ulrich.
"You're smiling, my lord. You know it makes me uneasy when you smile."
Ulrich hesitated. "What about the prisoners?"
"You had better hold them in the cellar for another day or so. There is too much chaos around here as it is. Hanging a bunch of thieves would no doubt create even more of an uproar."
"Aye," Ulrich said. "It should prove to be an interesting evening."
Shouts from the watchtower and a cloud of dust heralded the arrival of the company and a host of retainers.
"They're here," someone yelled. "The abbess and Thurston of Landry are at the gates."
Clare stalked over to Gareth. "This is really too much. The least your father could have done was send word that he intended to pay a visit."