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way out of the trap, Clare chose one of the only two options available.
    Slowly she reached out and grasped the hilt of the sword. The weapon was so heavy that she had to use both hands to hold it.
    A great cry of jubilation went up from the crowd. William grinned.
    Cheers filled the air. Armor clashed and rang as the mounted knights and men-at-arms brandished their lances and struck their shields.
    Clare looked at Gareth and felt as if she had just stepped off one of the high cliffs of Desire.
    Gareth reached out with his huge, mail-covered hands, caught her up, and swept her off the wall. The world spun around Clare. She very nearly dropped the big sword.
    An instant later she found herself settled safely across the saddle in front of the Hellhound. She was steadied by a mail-clad arm the size of a tree. She looked up and saw the satisfaction blazing in Gareth's eyes.
    Clare wondered why she felt as if she were still falling.
    Gareth raised one hand to summon a knight. A hard-faced warrior rode forward.
    "Aye, Sir Gareth?"
    "Ulrich." Gareth pitched his voice so that his man could hear it above the thundering cheers of the crowd. "Escort my lady's noble protector in a manner which befits his excellent service."
    "Aye." Ulrich eased his mount closer to the wall and held out his arms to seize William by the waist. He lifted the lad off the wall and settled him onto his saddle bow.
    Clare saw William's eyes grow huge as he was carried off through the crowd astride the massive war-horse. She realized with wry chagrin that Gareth had just gained a loyal follower for life.
    Clare listened to the exultant shouts of her people as the Hellhound of Wyckmere walked his gray stallion through the crowded street. She glanced back over her shoulder and saw Margaret standing in the gatehouse entryway.
    The prioress waved cheerfully.
    Clare clutched the Window of Hell and considered carefully the excellently set snare in which she had been caught.

2
    "Presenting the Window of Hell to the lady was a pretty gesture." Ulrich grinned as he watched Gareth soap himself in the large bathing tub.
    "Quite unlike you, if I may say so."
    "You think me incapable of pretty gestures?" Gareth shoved his wet hair out of his eyes and looked at his trusted friend.
    Ulrich lounged on a cushioned window seat. The sunlight shone on his totally bald head. A seasoned knight some six years older than Gareth, Ulrich was a heavily muscled man of surprisingly handsome countenance.
    Lord Thurston had hired Ulrich to be Gareth's mentor when Gareth had turned sixteen. The older man was both a thoughtful tactician and a skilled warrior. He had been present the day Gareth had won his spurs and the knighthood that went with them. The event had followed a violent encounter with a band of renegade knights who had been terrifying villagers on some of Thurston's lands.
    Ulrich and Gareth had been together since that day. Their association was founded on friendship and anchored by trust and mutual respect.
    Gareth had learned a great deal from Ulrich in the beginning and he still listened to the other man's advice. But somewhere along the way their relationship had gradually shifted from mentor and student to that of professionals who dealt with each other as equals.
    It was Gareth who now gave the commands, however.
    It was Gareth who had gathered a tightly knit, well-disciplined band of men around him and shaped them into a formidable weapon whose services went for a very high price.
    It was Gareth who had selected potential employers and decided how and when to sell the services of his men.
    He had assumed the role of leader not because of his connection to Thurston of Landry, but simply because it seemed natural for all concerned. For Gareth, the will to command was inherent, as unquestioned an impulse as breathing.
    Ulrich had no great interest in the position of leader. His was an independent nature. He swore fealty to those of his own choosing and the lord to whom he gave