"All of the men and horses are properly settled?" Levy frowned intently as she paced the garden in front of her assembled household.

Her makeshift family, composed of people who had no other home, sat on the stone bench beneath the apple tree or stood nearby.

Happy, his face still aglow from his first ride astride a real war-horse, was positioned on the bench between his mother, Lucy, Droy, and Jet.

Mirajane, the marshal of the hall, stood at the end of the bench, had an expression one of great uneasiness. She had good reason to be alarmed. As marshal, she was charged with the day-to-day tasks of running the household. She was the one who had to make certain that the kitchens were supplied with the vast quantities of food required to feed the new arrivals. It was also her responsibility to ensure that the servants saw to such matters as preparing baths, mending clothes, and cleaning the garderobes.

It was all a great nuisance, Levy thought.

"Oh, aye, my lady. Certainly. Indeed." Mirajane straightened her shoulders and made an obvious effort to appear in control of the situation.

"I am amazed that you found room for so many. I trust I shall not find any of these great oafs sleeping on the stairs or in my solar?"

"Nay, my lady," Mirajane assured her earnestly. "There were chambers enough for his lordship and some of the others on the upper floors. The rest will sleep on pallets in the main hall or in the stables. Rest assured all will be carried out properly."

"Calm yourself, Levy." Lucy looked up from her needlework and smiled. "All is under control."

Lucy wasn't older than Levy. She was a pretty woman with golden blond hair, soft brown eyes, and gentle features.

Married at the age of fifteen to a man who had been twenty years her senior, Lucy had soon found herself widowed and penniless with a small son.

Desperate, she had arrived on Levy doorstep three years earlier to claim a very distant relationship based on the fact that her mother and Levy's had once been close friends. Levy had taken Lucy and Happy into the household.

Lucy had immediately begun to contribute to the income of Desire by virtue of her brilliant needlework.

Levy had been quick to see the possibilities inherent in Lucy's talent. The revenues from the sale of Levy's dried flower and herb concoctions had increased markedly due to the fact that many were now sold in exquisitely embroidered pouches and bags of Lucy's design.

The demand had grown so great that Lucy had instructed several of the village women in the art of embroidery. Some of the nuns of Saint Hermione's also worked under her supervision to create elegantly made pouches for some of Levy's fragrance blends.

"Mirajane, inform cook that she must resist the temptation to dye all of the food blue or crimson or yellow tonight." Levy stalked along the graveled path, her hands clasped behind her back. "You know how much she likes to color the food for special occasions."

"Aye, madam. She says it impresses guests."

"I see no need to go out of our way to impress Sir Gajeel and his men," Levy muttered. "And personally, I do not much care for blue or crimson food."

"Yellow is a nice color, though," Levy mused. "When Abbess Hisui visited last fall, she was much struck by being served a banquet done entirely in yellow."

"It is one thing to entertain an abbess. Quite another to be bothered with a bunch of very large knights and their men-at-arms. By Hermione's sainted sandal, I'll not waste the vast quantity of saffron it would take to dye everything on the table yellow tonight. Saffron is very costly."

"You can afford it, Levy," Lucy murmured.

"That is beside the point."

Mirajane cleared her throat. "I shall speak to cook."

Levy continued to pace. The walled garden was usually a source of pleasure and serenity for her. The flower and herb beds had been carefully planted so as to achieve a complex and tantalizing mixture of scents.

Normally a stroll along the paths was a walk through an invisible world of enthralling, compelling fragrance. Levy's finely honed sense of smell delighted in the experience.

At the moment, however, all she could think about was the very unflowerlike, very unsettling, very masculine odor of Sir Gajeel, Kurogane of Wyckmere.

Beneath the earthy smells of sweat, leather, horse, wool, steel, and road dust that had cloaked Gajeel, had lain another scent, his own. During the ride from the village to the hall, Levy had been enveloped in that essence and she knew she would never forget it.

In some mysterious fashion that she could not explain, Gajeel had smelled right.

Her nose twitched in memory. There had certainly been nothing sweet-smelling about him, but her reaction had reminded Levy of the feeling she got when she had achieved the right blend of herbs, spices, and flowers for a new perfume recipe. There was a sense of completion, a sense of certainty.

The realization sent a shiver through her. Even Raymond de Coleville, the man she had once loved, had not smelled so right

"Was the Iron God Sword fearfully heavy?" Happy asked eagerly. "I could see that Kurogane let you to carry it all the way to the gates of the hall. Sir Natsu said that was most amazing."

"Did he, indeed?" Levy said.

"Sir Natsu said that Kurogane has never offered his sword to anyone else in the whole world," Happy continued, "let alone allowed anyone to carry it in a procession in front of a whole village."

"He did not allow me to carry it," Levy grumbled. "He more or less forced me to do so. He refused to take it from my hands until we reached the hall. I could hardly drop such a valuable blade into the dirt."

Lucy quirked a brow but did not raise her eyes from her needlework. "Why do you think he simply did not resheath it?"

"He claimed he could not get the thing back into its scabbard with me seated in front of him. And he refused to put me down from the beast. He said it would not be chivalrous. Hah. What arrogrance to discourse on the finer points of courtesy when he was, for all intents and purposes, holding me captive."

Lucy pursed her lips. "I have the distinct impression that his lordship does not lack boldness of any kind."

"Sir Natsu says that Kurogane is a very great knight who has destroyed scores of robbers and murderers in the south," Happy said. "Sir Natsu says he showed you great honor by allowing you to carry the Iron God Sword."

"It was an honor I could have done without," Levy said.

She knew full well why Gajeel had politely refused to take back his sword until they had arrived at the very steps of her hall. He had wanted to make certain that everyone along the way, from shepherd to laundress, witnessed the spectacle of the lady of Desire clutching Kurogane's great sword.

No, Kurogane had shown her no great honor, she thought. It had all been a very calculated gesture on his part.

"If you ask me, I do not believe he showed you any great honor, my lady," Droy deLevyd with passionate intensity. "On the contrary. He mocked you." Jet stated

Levy glanced at her new friends.

Droy was a tall, slim young man of the age of nineteen with black hair kept in an unusual, distinctive hairstyle, with a tuft of hair on top of his head jutting upwards and then curving frontwards, he has dark eyes and thin dark eyebrows pointing downwards at their outer edges; his rectangular-shaped face sported sharp features, with prominent donning a distinctive, dark jacket, with a single bandolier passing over his left shoulder. Possessing a high, light collar seemingly made of leafs, and jagged edges and cuffs yet again reminiscent of leafs, with a light stripe going down each of the sleeves

Jet is a slim, young man of average height with orange hair, kept jutting backwards at the sides of his head. He has a sharp face, a prominent, flat and defined nose pointing downwards, and distinctive teeth. Jet donned an open, light-brown coat with yellowish fur trimmings on its edges and sleeves, which reached down below his elbows. Below it was a high-collared purple shirt, with its collar mostly left open, which was sometimes seen left hanging over the checkered belt below it, with a rectangular buckle, and others tucked inside the baggy dark pants covering Jet's legs, in turn tucked inside dark boots. The most distinctive piece of his attire is probably the fancy, extremely high hat matching his coat, with a large brim.

The only time the seemed to find any inner calm was when they performed for her. But Levy could still see too many traces of the anxious, hunted look that had been in his eyes that first day when he had appeared at the hall.

The two men showed up on her door step begging for a place to stay and in turn they will work for her. Levy had taken one look at him and had known that whatever lay in the young men's past was not pleasant. She had taken them in on the spot.

Levy scowled as she considered Jet's impassioned remark. "I do not think he was mocking me, precisely."

"Well, I do," Jet muttered. "He is likely a cruel and murderous man. They do not call him Kurogane of Wyckmere for naught."

Levy whirled around, exasperated. "We must not read too much into a silly nickname."

"I don't think it's silly," Happy said with great relish. "Sir Natsu says he got that name because of all the outlaws he's killed."

Levy groaned. "I'm sure his exploits have been greatly exaggerated."

She halted her pacing abruptly as a very large shadow fell across the graveled path directly in front of her.

As if conjured up by a sorcerer, Gajeel appeared. He had come soundlessly around the corner of the high hedge, giving no warning of his presence until he was directly in front of her.

She glowered at him. It did not seem right that such a large man could move so quietly. "By Saint Hermione's little finger, sir, you gave me a start. You might have said something before you popped out from behind the bushes in such a sudden manner."

"My apologies. I give you fair greeting, my lady," Gajeel said calmly. "I was told I would find you here in your garden." He glanced at the small group still gathered beneath the apple tree. "I have already made the acquaintance of young Happy. Will you introduce me to the lady seated beside him and to the other members of your household?"

"Of course," Levy said stiffly. She rattled off the introductions.

Lucy studied Gajeel with assessing interest. "Welcome to Desire, my lord."

"Thank you, madam." Gajeel inclined his head. "It is good to know that I am welcomed here by some. Rest assured that I shall endeavor to meet as many of my lady's requirements as possible."

Levy flushed and motioned quickly to a reluctant-looking Jet and Droy.

"Welcome to our island, Sir Gajeel." Droy said bowing his head

"Welcome to Desire, sir," Jet muttered. He looked mutinous but he wisely kept a civil tongue.

Gajeel raised one brow at the duo. "Thank you. I shall look forward to hearing your songs and seeing your dances. I should tell you now that I have very specific preferences in music."

"Have you, sir?" Jet asked, tight-lipped.

"Aye. I do not care for songs about ladies who are seduced by knights other than their wedded lords."

Jet bristled. "Lady Levy delights in songs that tell of the love affairs of ladies and their devoted knights, sir. She finds them very exciting."

"Does she, indeed?" Gajeel arched a brow.

Levy felt herself grow warm. She knew that she was turning a bright shade of pink. "I am told that such ballads are very popular at the finest courts throughout Christendom."

"Personally, I have seldom found it either necessary or convenient to follow the latest fashion," Gajeel said. He gave the small crowd a cool, deliberate look. "I trust you will all excuse your lady and me. We wish to converse in private."

"Of course." Lucy rose to her feet. Then she smiled at Gajeel. "We shall see you at supper. Come along, Happy."

Happy hopped off the bench. He grinned at Gajeel. "Is the Iron God Sword very heavy, Sir Gajeel?"

"Aye."

"Do you think that I could lift it if I tried?"

Lucy frowned at him. "Certainly not, Happy. Do not even suggest such a thing. Swords are very dangerous and extremely heavy. You are much too delicate for such weapons."

Happy looked crestfallen

Gajeel looked down at him. "I do not doubt that you could lift a sword, Happy."

Happy beamed.

"Why don't you ask Sir Panther Lily if you can examine his sword?" Gajeel suggested. "It is just as heavy as the Iron God Sword."

"Is it?" Happy looked intrigued by that information. "I shall go and ask him at once."

Lucy looked horrified. "I do not think that is at all wise."

"You may be at ease, Lady Lucy," Gajeel said. "Sir Panther Lily has had a great deal of experience with such matters. He will not allow Happy to hurt himself."

"Are you quite certain it is safe?"

"Aye. Now, if you do not mind, madam, I would like to speak with Lady Levy."

Lucy hesitated, obviously torn. Then good manners took over. "Forgive me, sir. I did not wish to be rude." She hurried off after her son.

Levy bit back her annoyance. Now was probably not the best moment to inform Gajeel that Lucy did not want Happy encouraged in his growing enthusiasm for all things pertaining to knighthood. She tapped her toe impatiently as the others took their leave.

"Do not alarm yourself, Levy," Lucy said. "I comprehend how uneasy you are at the prospect of this marriage. But I feel certain that Lord Metalicana would not have sent you a candidate who did not meet the majority of your requirements."

"I'm beginning to wonder about that," Levy said.

Jet and Droy lingered a moment, giving Levy an urgent, searching glance. They both looked frightened but determined.

Levy frowned and quickly shook her head once in a small negative gesture. The last thing she wanted was for either one of them to attempt to be her champion in this awkward situation. The young men stood no chance against Kurogane of Wyckmere.

When they were alone in the garden, Levy turned to face Gajeel. He no longer stank of sweat and steel, but the rose-scented soap he had recently used did not disguise that other essence, the one that smelled so right to her.

She could not help but notice that even though he had discarded hauberk and helm, he did not appear any smaller than he had earlier.

Levy was forced to acknowledge that it was not his physical size, intimidating as that was, which made him seem so large and so very formidable. It was something else, something that had to do with the aura of self-mastery and clear-minded intelligence that radiated from him.

This man would make a very dangerous adversary, Levy thought. Or a very strong, very loyal friend.

But what kind of lover would such a man prove to be?

The question, unbidden and deeply unsettling, had a shattering effect on her.

To cover her strange reaction, Levy sat down quickly on the stone bench. "I trust my servants have made you comfortable, sir."

"Very comfortable." Gajeel sniffed a couple of times, as if testing the air. "I seem to smell of roses at the moment, but I expect the odor will soon fade."

Levy set her teeth. She could not tell if he was complaining, jesting, or merely remarking upon the fragrance. "The rose-perfumed soaps are among our most profitable wares, sir. The recipe is my own invention. We sell great quantities to the London merchants who come to the spring fair in Dreyar."

He inclined his head. "That knowledge will greatly increase my appreciation of my bath."

"No doubt." She mentally braced herself. "There was something you wished to discuss with me, sir?"

"Aye. Our marriage."

Levy flinched, but she did not fall off the bench. Under the circumstances, she considered that a great accomplishment. "You are very direct about matters, sir."

He looked mildly surprised. "I see no point in being otherwise."

"Nor do I. Very well, sir, let me be blunt. In spite of your efforts to establish yourself in everyone's eyes as the sole suitor for my hand, I must tell you again that your expectations are unrealistic."

"Nay, madam," Gajeel said very quietly. "'Tis your expectations that are unrealistic. I read the letter you sent to Lord Metalicana. It is obvious you hope to marry a phantom, a man who does not exist. I fear you must settle for something less than perfection."

She lifted her chin. "You think that no man can be found who suits my requirements?"

"I believe that we are both old enough and wise enough to know that marriage is a practical matter. It has nothing to do with the passions that the troubadours make so much of in their foolish ballads."

Levy clasped her hands together very tightly. "Kindly do not condescend to lecture me on the subject of marriage, sir. I am only too well aware that in my case it is a matter of duty, not desire. But in truth, when I composed my recipe for a husband, I did not believe that I was asking for so very much."

"Mayhap you will discover enough good points in me to satisfy you, madam."

Levy blinked. "Do you actually believe that?"

"I would ask you to examine closely what I have to offer. I think that I can meet a goodly portion of your requirements."

She surveyed him from head to toe. "You most definitely do not meet my requirements in the matter of size."

"Concerning my size, as I said earlier, there is little I can do about it, but I assure you I do not generally rely upon it to obtain my ends."

Levy gave a ladylike snort of disbelief.

"'Tis true. I occasionally prefer to use my wits rather than muscle if possible."

"Sir, I shall be frank. I want a man of peace for this isle. Desire has never known violence. I intend to keep things that way. I do not want a husband who thrives on the sport of war."

He looked down at her with an expression of surprise. "I can't say I have no love of violence or war."

Levy raised her brows. "You, who carry a sword with a terrible name, You, who wears a reputation as a destroyer of murderers and thieves, believe that you life on a small island selling flowers? It makes me want to laugh."

"I did say I had interest in such matters. However I have, after all, used a warrior's skills to make my way in the world. They are the tools of my trade, that's all."

"You may have a point, but I have grown weary of violence, sir. I seek a quiet, peaceful life." Levy said looking away from Gajeel

"As do I" he said

Levy did not bother to hide her skepticism. "An interesting statement, given your choice of career."

"I did not have much choice in the matter of my career," Gajeel said. Levy sat there silent for a moment then regained her train of thought

"Let us go on to your second requirement. You wrote that you desire a man of cheerful countenance and even temperament. Do you consider yourself any of these two things?"

"Nay, I admit that I have been told my countenance is somewhat less than cheerful, and I am most definitely a not man of even temperament."

"I do believe that , sir."

"You see? We are making progress here. Getting to know one another" Gajeel reached up to grasp a limb of the apple tree. "Now, then, to continue. Regarding your last requirement, I remind you yet again that I can read."

Levy cast about frantically for a fresh tactic. "Enough, sir. I grant that you meet a small number of my requirements if one interprets them very broadly. But what about your own? Surely there are some specific things you seek in a wife."

"My requirements?" Gajeel looked taken back by the question. "My requirements in a wife are simple, madam. I believe that you will satisfy them."

"Because I hold lands and the recipes of a plump perfume business? Think twice before you decide that is sufficient to satisfy you, sir. We live a simple life here on Desire. Quite boring in most respects. You are a man who is no doubt accustomed to the grand entertainments provided in the households of great lords."

"I can do without such entertainments, my lady. They hold no appeal for me."

"You have obviously lived an adventurous, exciting life," Levy persisted. "Will you find contentment in the business of growing flowers and making perfumes?"

"Aye, madam, I will," Gajeel said with soft satisfaction.

"'Tis hardly a career suited to a knight of your reputation, sir."

"Rest assured that here on Desire I expect to find the things that are most important to me."

Levy lost patience with his reasonableness. "And just what are those things, sir?"

"Lands, a hail of my own, and a woman who can give me a family." Gajeel reached down and pulled her to her feet as effortlessly as though she were fashioned of thistledown. "You can provide me with all of those things, lady. That makes you very valuable to me. Do not imagine that I will not protect you well. And do not think that I will let you slip out of my grasp."

"But—"

Gajeel brought his mouth down on hers, silencing her protest.