Gareth used the momentum of the swing to propel the small jar off to the side. It struck a rock and shattered. There was a soft hissing sound.
"Dear God," Clare breathed. "It is eating away at the rock."
"You have the devil's own luck, Hellhound." Lucretius raced toward the cliff path. "But it cannot last forever."
"There is no boat waiting for you down in the cove, magician," Gareth said softly. "My men discovered it a short while ago."
"Nay, that cannot be." Lucretius's cloak whipped around him as he halted at the top of the cliff path. "You He. I discovered those caves. No one knows about the cliff caves."
Gareth smiled. "You do not know much about young boys. They are insatiably curious. William found the caves long ago."
"Damn you, Hellhound." Lucretius lunged toward him, sword raised.
Gareth met the rush easily. Steel clashed against steel. Lucretius leaped back out of reach, feinted, and closed once more.
The magician was good, Gareth conceded privately as the two men circled each other. He was both fast and clever. Lucretius might make a show of disdaining the fighting arts in favor of magic, but it was obvious he had a talent for swordplay.
Conscious of the sheer drop at the edge of the cliff, Gareth maneuvered to ensure that it was Lucretius's back that was to the sea, not his own. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Clare drag Dalian out of harm's way.
Lucretius attempted another rushing charge. Gareth sidestepped it.
The magician swung around and this time Gareth found himself in the position he had wished to avoid. His back was to the cliffs.
Lucretius closed again, sword glinting dully in the gray light. Gareth felt the ground give way beneath his left boot heel. The edge of the cliff began to crumble beneath him. The waves below were very loud.
With all of his strength, he dove forward, headfirst, in an attempt to dive beneath the thrust of Lucretius's steel.
Lucretius was already committed to the blow. His face contorted with rage as Gareth slid in low, just beneath the blade, hit the ground with his shoulder, and rolled.
"Die, Hellhound." Lucretius swung around as Gareth surged to his feet.
Die, damn you."
Gareth saw the opening and moved in, sword ready. Lucretius could not get his own blade up swiftly enough to effectively parry the blow.
But even as Gareth went in for the kill, Lucretius screamed and dropped his sword. He flailed wildly as the ground gave way beneath his feet.
"No," Lucretius yelled. "No, it cannot happen like this. I'm a magician."
Gareth caught himself and stepped swiftly back from the disintegrating cliff edge.
Lucretius pitched backward into the gray nothingness that waited for him. His scream rent the air for endless seconds and then it abruptly ceased.
In the great silence that followed, Gareth met Clare's eyes.
"Gareth." She ran toward him and threw herself into his arms, hugging him fiercely. "You are safe."
"Aye." Gareth looked over the top of her head at Dalian, who was staring at the place where Lucretius had last been seen.
"Do you think he is truly dead, my lord?' Dalian asked in a strange voice.
"Aye. You and I shall go down to the cove together. Be assured that we will find his body lying on the rocks. He was only a man, after all."
"A terrible man," Clare said distinctly from the circle of Gareth's arm.
"Not at all a good recipe for a husband."
Clare had still not recovered from the shock of the day's events by the time she and Gareth retired to their bedchamber that evening.
On the surface, all had returned to normal. Ranulf had been found, alive but unconscious, in the watchtower. He had soon recovered from the blow to his head, but, Clare suspected his pride would take longer to heal.
Lucretius's body had been retrieved from the cove. The four black-cloaked knights that had survived the conflict and the three hapless bowmen were securely locked up in a storage cellar beneath the hall.
Joanna had recovered from her faint, hugged William until he pleaded with her to cease, and then thrown herself straight into Ulrich's arms.
The village was abuzz with excitement as neighbor retold the tale to neighbor. With each telling, the exploits of the Hellhound grew more impressive. Clare knew that her people were taking a great deal of pride in the fact that their lord had proven himself more powerful than any magician.
There had been much merriment and jubilation among Gareth's men at supper. Cook had produced an elaborate array of dishes to celebrate the events. The servants had talked and jested with the men-at-arms.
Dalian had contributed to the air of celebration by singing a thrilling ballad narrating the rescue of Desire. He had composed it in less than two hours and everyone was extremely admiring of his talents.
Clare had managed to maintain a reasonably serene facade as the courtyard was cleaned and all was set to rights. But it was only a facade. She had not been able to eat a thing at the evening meal.
"Are you all right, Clare?" Gareth asked quietly. He stood in front of the hearth fire and stripped off his tunic and boots.
"Aye. Just a little cold." She clenched her hands around the edge of the quilt and watched Gareth as he undressed.
Gareth coiled his leather belt around his fist. "You've been acting oddly this evening."
"Well, it has been a rather odd day, my lord."
He cocked a brow as he set the coiled the belt down on top of a carved chest. "I understand."
"Do you, Gareth?"
"Aye. You are not accustomed to violence here on Desire."
"That is very true."
"Well, calm yourself, madam." Gareth yawned. "Tis very unlikely that we'll be confronted with a similar situation anytime soon. The hall is safe. Desire is safe. Our people are safe."
"Thanks to you, my lord."
His broad shoulder moved in a massive shrug as he crossed the room to the bed. "The magician was nothing more than a well-dressed thief. I am good at dealing with thieves, madam. I've had a fair amount of practice, if you will recall."
His careless attitude to the devastating events of the day was too much.
Clare sat straight up in bed.
She clutched the quilt to her throat with shaking fingers. "By Saint Hermione's eyes, how can you be so casual about this, my lord?"
He stopped, clearly surprised by her burst of anger. Then concern furrowed his brow. "Clare? Are you well? Do you need a warm drink to help you sleep? You've been through a great deal today."
"I most certainly have been through a great deal." Clare scrambled to her feet and stood squarely in the middle of the bed. She braced her fists on her hips and glowered at him. "You very nearly got yourself killed today, Hellhound!"
He regarded her with a quizzical expression. "There was very little likelihood of that."
"There was every likelihood of it. I witnessed that last battle with the magician. It could just as easily have been you who went over the cliff."
Gareth yawned again. "But I didn't."
"Don't you dare treat this matter so lightly, my lord. What would I have done if it had been your body we brought up from the cove?"
"Clare?"
Tears of anguish and rage filled her eyes. "I could not have borne it, damn you."
"Clare, all is well, I swear it. Calm yourself, madam."
"Do not treat me as though I were an anxious mare. I almost lost you today."
Gareth gave her a slight smile. "I have no doubt but that you could have replaced me easily enough, madam. There are no lack of homeless knights in England. Mayhap you would have found one who came closer to meeting your specifications than I do."
"Do not jest with me, sir. I am in no mood for it. I told you that I love you. Can you not comprehend what that means?"