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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 his loyalty could be assured of unswerving service. Four years earlier Ulrich had sworn fealty to the Hellhound of Wyckmere.
    Ulrich knew Gareth better than anyone, including Thurston. He was well aware that Gareth had never before offered the Window of Hell to man or woman, lord or lady, master or mistress.

    "I will admit that you have a way with grand and impressive gestures." Ulrich stroked his jaw thoughtfully.

    "With you, such gestures always conceal clever traps. But this was an unusual move, even for you."

    "It was an unusual situation."

    "Still, it was merely another snare, was it not? You left the lady little alternative but to accept the Window of Hell."

    Gareth shrugged.

    "It would have been awkward if she had turned the blade on you and tried to run it through your gut."

    "She was hardly likely to do that. The greater risk was that she would refuse to accept it." Gareth held the scented soap to his nose and sniffed cautiously. "Does it seem to you that everything here on Desire smells of flowers?"

    "The whole damned isle smells like a garden. I vow, even the village ditch is perfumed."

    "It appeared that it was linked to the sea through a channel of some sort." Gareth frowned thoughtfully. "The refuse is no doubt washed out with the tide. The garderobes here in the hall empty into a similar sort of system. Very interesting."

    "I have never understood your curiosity about clever devices." Ulrich drew in a long breath, inhaling the scent of spring that poured through the open window behind him. "Tell me, what would you have done if the lady had refused the blade?"
    "It no longer matters, does it? She did take the blade."

    "And sealed her fate, is that what you believe? I would not be too certain of that, my friend. I have a feeling that the lady of Desire is a resourceful female. From what you have told me, 'tis she who has kept this manor so fat and profitable."

    "Aye. Her mother taught her the secrets of perfume making. Her brother apparently spent all his time riding from one tournament to another until he finally got himself killed. Her father was a scholar who had no interest in managing his lands. He preferred to spend his time in Spain translating Arab treatises."

    Ulrich smiled slightly. "What a pity you never made his acquaintance. The two of you would have had much to discuss."

    "Aye." Gareth felt a sudden surge of satisfaction. Once wed, he would retire from hunting outlaws and return