Ulrich caught his eye at that moment. "So you knew the lady of Desire on sight?" He shook his bare, gleaming skull with wry admiration. "I congratulate you, Gareth. As usual, you were quick to add the facts together and determine the correct sum."
"It was not very difficult." Gareth sat down on a stool to pull on soft leather boots. "Enough of that discussion. I'm interested to hear whatever you learned about the kidnapping incident."
"There is not much to tell. As you know, I downed a few mugs of ale with the crowd at the local tavern in Seabern last night. The most interesting thing I learned is that all parties concerned, including Sir Nicholas, his entire lousehold, and the lady herself, insist that there was no kidnapping."
Gareth shrugged. "Only to be expected. A lady's reputation is involved."
"Aye. The tale is that she made an unexpected visit to sir Nicholas which lasted four days."
"After which he offered marriage?"
"Aye. The lady refused." Ulrich chuckled. "You must admit that took courage under the circumstances."
"That it did. Most women would have yielded to the nevitable."
Satisfaction flowed through Gareth.
His future bride was not one to collapse in the face of blatant ntimidation. He approved of that sort of courage.
Up to a point.
"By way of excuse she told him that her guardian, Thurston of Landry, had agreed to allow her to choose her own husband."
"That must have been when she decided to write to my father and request a selection of candidates for the position."
"No doubt."
"It also explains why my father instructed me to waste no time claiming my bride." Gareth reflected on that jriefly. "He suspects that Nicholas will soon make another ittempt to get his hands on Desire."
"A second kidnapping might not be so easy to brush aside." Ulrich paused briefly. "As a matter of curiosity, what do you intend to do about Nicholas?"
"Nothing for now. I do not expect that Clare will willingly charge him with kidnapping or rape, even though he is now safe."
"She has her reputation to consider. As do you, Gareth. The lady will not thank you for dragging her honor through the mud."
"Nay. And I have other concerns at the moment. I will deal with Nicholas later."
Nicholas of Seabern would pay for what he had done, but that payment would be made at a place and hour of Gareth's choosing. The Hellhound of Wyckmere sometimes took his time when it came to exacting revenge, but sooner or later, he always claimed it.
He had his own reputation to consider.
Ulrich got to his feet, turned toward the window, and braced his hands on the ledge. He looked out over the fields of flowers that lay beyond the old wooden curtain wall that surrounded the hall. He drew a deep breath of the fresh, flowery air.
"Tis a most unusual land you have come to claim," Ulrich said. "And a most unusual lady. To say nothing of the rest of the household."
"Aye. What is the boy to Lady Clare?"
"William?" Ulrich smiled. "A spirited lad, is he not? He could do with some exercise, though. He has a fondness for sweet cakes and puddings."
"Aye."
"He and his mother, the Lady Joanna, both live here at the hall. Lady Joanna is a widow."
Gareth glanced at Ulrich. "The boy is all Lady Joanna has left?"
"It seems her husband sold everything he owned, including his lands in the north, to raise money for his adventures in the Holy Land. He managed to get himself killed there. Joanna and William were left penniless."
"So Lady Joanna came to Desire seeking a place for herself and her son in this hall?"
"Aye." Ulrich's expression turned speculative. "I have the impression that your lady is very softhearted about such matters."
"Is that so?"
"Joanna and her son are not the only ones to whom she has given a home.
Her elderly marshal, who should have been replaced years ago, by the looks of him, and her old nurse still live here, too. Apparently they had nowhere else to go."
"Any other strays about?"
Ulrich frowned slightly. "William said that a couple of months ago a young minstrel showed up on the hall doorstep. Clare took him in, too. He will no doubt entertain us this evening. William told me that Clare is very fond of love songs."
Gareth reflected on Clare's recipe for a husband. "I feared as much."
"The minstrel's name is Dalian. William informs me that the troubadour is devoted to his new lady."
"'Tis the way of troubadours," Gareth muttered. "They are a great nuisance with their silly songs of seduction and cuckoldry."
"The ladies love such ballads."
"There will be no songs of that sort sung here," Gareth said quietly.
"See that Dalian the troubadour is instructed in that regard."
"Aye, sir." Ulrich's teeth flashed in a grin before he turned back to the window.
Gareth ignored his companion's ill-concealed mirth. As usual, he did not pretend to comprehend what Ulrich found so vastly entertaining. The important thing was that Gareth knew his orders would be carried out.
Satisfied that he was once again clean and clothed in fresh garments, Gareth strode toward the door of the chamber. "I believe it is time for me to present myself again to my future wife. She and I have much to discuss."
"You will find her in her garden."
Gareth looked back over his shoulder. "How do you know that?"
"Because I can see her from here." Ulrich gazed down through the open window. A smile still hovered about his thin lips. "She is addressing her loyal household. I'll wager that she is giving them instructions for the defense of the hall."
"What in the name of the devil are you talking about? This hall is not under attack."
"That, my friend, is clearly a matter of opinion. It seems to me that your lady is preparing to withstand a siege."
"From me?"
"Aye."
Gareth shrugged. "Then she is wasting her time. The battle is over and won."
"I'm not at all certain of that." Ulrich started to grin. The grin became a chuckle and the chuckle exploded into laughter.
Gareth made no attempt to reason out what it was that Ulrich found amusing. More important matters awaited him.
"All of the men and horses are properly settled?" Clare frowned intently as she paced the garden in front of her assembled household.
Her makeshift family, composed of people who had no other home, sat on the stone bench beneath the apple tree or stood nearby.
William, his face still aglow from his first ride astride a real war-horse, was positioned on the bench between his mother, Joanna, and Dalian, the thin, anxious young troubadour.
Eadgar, the elderly marshal of the hall, stood at the end of the bench, his expression one of great uneasiness. He had good reason to be alarmed. As marshal, he was charged with the day-to-day tasks of running the household. He was the one who had to make certain that the kitchens were supplied with the vast quantities of food required to feed the new arrivals. It was also his responsibility to ensure that the servants saw to such matters as preparing baths, mending clothes, and cleaning the garderobes.
It was all a great nuisance, Clare thought.
She was concerned about Eadgar's ability to cope with the crowd.
Although loyal and hardworking, he was nearly seventy and the years had taken their toll on his joints and his hearing.
When Eadgar did not respond to her question, Clare sighed and repeated it in a louder voice. "I said, are all the men and their horses settled, Eadgar?"
"Oh, aye, my lady. Certainly. Indeed." Eadgar straightened his stooped shoulders and made an obvious effort to appear in control of the situation.
"I am amazed that you found room for so many. I trust I shall not find any of these great oafs sleeping on the stairs or in my solar?"