Desire Read Online Free PDF

thoughtfully at Clare for an endless moment. It seemed to her that even the very breeze had ceased. The leaves of the trees in the convent garden hung motionless. Not a sound could be heard, not even the snap of a banner.

    Clare looked into shadowed, unreadable eyes framed by a steel helm, and prayed that the Hellhound of Wyckmere would take her for one of the villagers.

    At some unseen command, the great dappled gray stallion started toward the convent wall. Those who stood in the beast's way instantly melted aside to clear a path. Everyone's eyes went straight to Clare.

    "He's coming over here, my lady," William squeaked. "Mayhap he recognizes you."

    "But we have never met." Clare's fingers tightened on the stone. "He cannot know who I am."

    William opened his mouth to say something else but closed it abruptly again when the massive war-horse halted directly in front of Clare. The gray knight's gaze was level with her own.

    Clare looked deeply into brilliant, unsmiling eyes that were the color of smoky rock crystal. She saw the cool, calculating intelligence that blazed in the depths of the crystal and knew in that moment that the gray knight was aware of her identity.

    Clare held her breath, trying frantically to think of a clever way to deal with the situation. She had never faced such an awkward moment in her life.

    "I seek the lady of Desire," the knight said.

    A curious tremor flashed through Clare at the sound of his voice. She did not know why she reacted so strangely to it, because it certainly suited him. It was low and dark and vibrant with controlled power.

    She clutched at the stone in order to keep her fingers from trembling. Then she raised her chin and straightened her shoulders. She was mistress of this manor and she intended to conduct herself in a manner that befitted that title, even if she was facing the most formidable-looking man she had ever met in her life.

    "I am she whom you seek, sir. Who are you?"

    "I am Gareth of Wyckmere."

    Clare remembered the whispers. The Hellhound of Wyckmere. "I have heard that you are called by another name."

    "I am called by many other names, but I do not answer to all of them."
    There was a clear warning in the words. Clare heard it and decided to fallback upon the safety of good manners. She inclined her head in a civil fashion.

    "I bid you welcome to Desire, Sir Gareth. Allow me to thank you on behalf of the entire village for the fine entertainment you have provided for us this day. We are rarely fortunate enough to be allowed to view such grand spectacles here in our small village."

    "I am pleased that you are satisfied with what has transpired thus far, my lady. I trust you will be equally pleased with the remainder of the performance." Gareth released the reins, raised his mailed hands, and removed his helm.

    He did not glance over his shoulder nor give any signal that Clare could see. He merely held the gleaming helm out to the side. Another knight rode forward at once, took the steel helm from Gareth's hand, and retreated back to join the other warriors.

    Clare studied Gareth with a curiosity she could not completely conceal, even for the sake of good manners. This was one of the men who had been sent to vie for her hand, after all. She was surprised to discover that something deep within her was oddly satisfied by the look of him.

    He was definitely too large, but somehow that glaring fault did not seem quite as alarming now as it had when she had composed her recipe for a husband. The reason was obvious. In spite of his size and obvious physical power, something told her that this was not a man who would rely on brute strength alone to obtain his ends.

    Gareth of Wyckmere was obviously a trained knight, well versed in the bloody arts of war, but he was no thick-skulled fool. Clare could see that much in his face.

    The sunlight gleamed on his heavy, shoulder-length mane of near-black hair. There was that about his fierce, stony features