The baby was still screaming. His new wife was standing on the pavement trying to calm the infant, her mouth tight, her eyes flashing with the first anger Gareth had yet to see in them. His friends had all deserted him, he had cut himself off from Lucien's help — And he hadn't a clue what to do next. He stood there helpless, Crusader's reins knotted in his fist and that saddle looking terribly inviting as he resisted, with everything he had, the urge to go galloping off after Perry, and the rest of the Den, and leave this problem far behind him. This problem that he had rashly inherited. An instant wife and daughter. Whatever were you thinking of, man?! The devil only knew, because he sure as hell didn't. And he had no idea what on earth to do with either of them. He was deep in the suds now, and there was no one to get him out but himself. Bollocks. He looked at his wife. She had turned her back on him and moved a few steps away, perhaps embarrassed that she'd lost her temper, perhaps just giving his a chance to cool.
