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villagers appeared more enthralled than ever by the oncoming knights.

    When all was said and done, Clare thought, her people were an ambitious lot. They were no doubt envisioning the prestige that would devolve upon them if they were to gain a lord who wore the trappings of a fearsome reputation.

    A reputation was well and good, Clare reflected, unless one was obliged to marry it.

    "The Hellhound of Wyckmere," William breathed with a reverence that by rights ought to have been reserved for a prayer or a holy vision. "He must be a very great knight, indeed."

    "What I would like to know," Clare said, "is where are the others?"

    "What others?"

    Clare scowled at the approaching riders. "There are supposed to be at least three other knights from which I shall choose a husband. These men all appear to ride beneath one man's banner."

    "Aye, well, this Hellhound of Wyckmere is nearly as large as three men put together," William said with great satisfaction. "We don't need any others."

    Clare narrowed her eyes. The Hellhound was not that big, she thought, but he was certainly formidable-looking. He was not at all of the moderate proportions she had requested.

    The gray knight and his entourage were almost in front of her now. Whatever else could be said, the new arrivals were providing a wondrous entertainment for all present. It would be interesting to see if the other suitors could improve upon this display of steel and power.
    She was so caught up in the unusual sights and sounds of the event that she barely noticed another ripple of whispers as it washed through the crowd. She thought she heard her own name spoken, but she paid no attention. As the lady of Desire, she was accustomed to having her people discuss her. It was the way of things.

    Margaret peered up at her. "Clare, you had best return immediately to your hall. If you stay up here on the wall, you will not be able to get back in time to receive this grand knight in a proper manner."

    " Tis too late now, madam." Clare raised her voice to be heard over the din of voices and thudding hooves. "I shall have to wait until they have gone past before I can make my way through the street. I am trapped here until the crowd has dispersed. Joanna and the servants will see to the business of greeting our visitors."

    "What are you saying?" Margaret chided. "Joanna and the servants can hardly provide the sort of welcome the future lord of Desire will be expecting."

    Clare turned her head and grinned down at Margaret. "Ah, but we do not know if this gray knight will be the future lord of Desire, do we? In fact, I think it highly unlikely. From what I can see, he is not at all the right size."

    "Size, my child, is the least of it," Margaret muttered.

    The thunder of hooves and the rattle of harness ceased abruptly. An astonished gasp from William and the sudden hush that had fallen over the throng brought Clare's head back around very swiftly.

    She was astonished to see that the troop of mounted men, which had been making slow, stately progress through the center of the village, had came to a complete halt right in the middle of the street.

    Directly in front of where she sat on the wall.

    Clare swallowed uneasily when she realized that the gray knight was looking straight at her. Her first
    instinct was to slide back over the edge of the wall and drop discreetly out of sight into the garden.

    But it was too late to flee. She would have to brave it out.

    Clare was suddenly acutely conscious of her dirt-stained gown and windblown hair. Her palms grew moist as she gripped the edge of the sun-warmed stone wall.

    Surely he wasn't looking at her.

    He could not be looking at her.

    There was no reason she should have caught the attention of the gray knight. She was just a woman sitting on a wall watching the spectacle along with the rest of the villagers.

    But he was looking at her.

    An odd stillness settled over the scene as the silver-and-smoke knight gazed