Desire

  “My lady,” he called when he caught sight of Clare. He shoved the last of his bread into his mouth and hurried toward her. “I bid you good day.”

  “Good day to you, Dallan. I pray you will not choke on your morning meal.”

  “Nay, my lady.” Dallan swallowed hastily and wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his tunic. “I trust that you slept well last night?”

  “Aye, thank you.”

  “‘Tis a wonder.” Dallan frowned darkly. “I thank the saints that you were not kept from your rest by the dreadful events which took place in your hall after you left.”

  Clare raised her brows. “I did not think that anything dreadful occurred. The hall is in an unpleasant condition this morning, but that is only to be expected with so many guests scattered about.”

  Dallan’s thin face assumed a grave expression. “‘Twas a scene that would have shocked and horrified a lady as refined and gracious as yourself. Aye, it was a sight that could have come straight from the depths of hell.”

  Clare frowned. “Come, now, it cannot have been that bad.”

  “You were not there, madam, saints be praised.” Dallan straightened his thin shoulders. His eyes flashed with indignation. “Need I remind you that the awful events of last night were presided over by the Hellhound himself?”

  “What’s this, minstrel?” Gareth asked casually as he walked out onto the steps to stand behind Clare. “Carrying tales so early in the day? One would think that you could find more useful employment to occupy your time.”

  Dallan started and took a step back. His fingers twitched in agitation. Then he recovered himself, scowled resentfully, and turned to Clare. “I pray you will excuse me, my lady.”

  “Yes, of course,” Clare murmured.

  She watched Dallan hasten away and mentally composed herself to face the man who would soon be her husband.

  Her husband. The thought made her feel light-headed.

  “Good day to you, madam,” Gareth said.

  “Good day, sir.” Clare fixed a smile in place and turned to greet him. Although she thought that she had prepared herself, she realized she was nonetheless a little breathless.

  After her conversation with young Ranulf, it did not surprise her that Gareth’s eyes showed no trace of an evening spent drinking Nicholas into the rushes. She suspected most of the Hellhound’s wine had, in fact, gone under the table along with Nicholas and his men. That was certainly where hers had gone during that first, dangerous evening when she had found herself a virtual prisoner in Seabern Keep.

  She had escaped Nicholas that night after encouraging him to drink his fill. Then she had rushed upstairs to a tower chamber and locked herself inside.

  Clare had spent the next three days there, ignoring Nicholas’s rage, his threats, and the pounding on the door. She had managed to free herself one afternoon when, frustrated by his failure to convince Clare that she must wed him, Nicholas had gone hunting.

  It occurred to Clare now that if her captor had been the Hellhound, she likely would not have escaped.

  Gareth looked even larger this morning than she had remembered. The strong, sleek power that he exuded was as much a part of him as his intelligence and his determination. Clare had a fleeting wish that her father and brother had lived to meet him.

  But, she reminded herself, if her father and brother had still been alive, she would likely never have met Gareth of Wyckmere herself, let alone contracted a marriage to him. She would never have sought him out as a husband and Gareth would not have been interested in her because she would not have been an heiress.

  Life played odd tricks on a woman.

  Gareth had on a gray tunic over his undertunic, which was the color of charcoal. Although he wore no armor this morning, the Window of Hell was at his side, secure in its scabbard. The crystal pommel mirrored its master’s eyes. Clare got the impression that the sword was as much a part of Gareth’s daily attire as his boots and tunic.

  His gaze was thoughtful as he watched Dallan scurry away. “Your minstrel and I are going to have to have a long talk.”

  “Dallan means no harm, sir. He is merely concerned on my behalf.” Clare frowned. “I trust you will not make a practice of frightening the members of my household?”

  “It won’t hurt your pet poet to learn a few manners. He is not merely protective of you, madam. I believe he is jealous.”

  “Jealous” Clare’s mouth fell open in disbelief.

  “Aye. ‘Tis not difficult to comprehend.”

  Clare blushed. “Thank you, sir, but in truth I have had little experience with jealous men.”

  “’Tis not an uncommon malady. Many men fall victim to the fever when they are Dallan’s age.”

  “The fever?”

  “Love sickness. The symptoms are easily recognized. When the disease strikes, young males become overly earnest and passionate, determined to worship the very hem of their beloved’s gown.”

  “I see.”

  “Dallan has obviously devoted himself to your service with the whole of his pure young heart and he does not wish to share your attentions.”

  “Are you certain? I hadn’t realized his feelings were of such an intense nature.”

  Gareth shrugged. “As I said, ‘tis a common enough problem in boys his age. ‘Tis nothing he will not outgrow.”

  Clare crossed her arms beneath her breasts. “Tell me, sir, were you ever prey to the sort of fever you describe?”

  “There was a brief time in my life during which I succumbed to the hellfires of unrequited passion. But that was long ago.” Gareth’s eyes gleamed. “I decided there was no profit in it and soon wearied of the pangs. I have no talent for worshiping a lady from afar.”

  “A pity.” Clare did not want to admit it to herself, but the truth was that Gareth’s easy dismissal of gallant love and pure passion was disheartening. She must remember that this marriage was as much a matter of business for him as it was for her.

  “I trust you do not expect me to fall ill with love sickness at my age,” Gareth said softly.

  Clare looked into his crystal eyes and realized with a sense of startled wonder that he was once again amused. The knowledge did much to lift her flagging spirits. Gareth was a man of well-concealed emotions, but at least he possessed some. Yesterday she had not been entirely certain of that.

  She reminded herself that she had never expected to gain a passionate lover in this marriage. All she could hope for was a husband who would make an intelligent friend and companion.

  She needed time.

  She cleared her throat and decided to seize the opportunity. “Although you speak in jest, Sir Gareth, I would—”

  “Never, madam.”

  She blinked in confusion. “I pray your pardon?”

  “I merely said that I never speak in jest.”

  She brushed that aside. “Nonsense, of course you do. However, your last comment raises a rather delicate issue, one that I wish to address before our marriage takes place.”

  “Later, if you do not object. There are one or two matters I must deal with before Nicholas and his men awake.” Gareth glanced across the courtyard and raised a hand to catch Ulrich’s attention.

  “But Sir Gareth, the matter I wish to speak to you about is quite important.”

  “So is sweeping out the refuse from your hall.”

  Clare was distracted by that remark. “Well, that is certainly true. Do you propose to take charge of the task?”

  “How could I do anything less? I am the one who caused the mess.”

  She swallowed a smile. “Aye, so you are. But under the circumstances, I am prepared to overlook the matter.”

  “You are indeed a most gracious and generous lady.”

  “I am pleased that you think as much.” She frowned thoughtfully. “I suppose our discussion can wait. Mayhap you will be free sometime this afternoon?”

  “I am always available to you, madam.”

  “Except when you are in the process
of cleaning out a hall?”

  “Aye.”

  A groom chose that moment to lead one of the massive war-horses across the courtyard. The animal’s steel-shod feet rang on the stones. The horse and groom were followed by a clattering cart full of hay.

  A pained groan sounded from just inside the hall.

  “In the name of the devil and all his minions, what is all that damnable noise?” Nicholas lurched into view from the shadowed doorway behind Gareth. He absently scratched the stubble on his cheeks as he peered, bleary-eyed, into the courtyard. “Oh, it’s you, Clare.”

  Clare tried to ignore the stench that emanated from him. “Good day to you, sir.”

  “Is it? I hadn’t noticed.”

  She scowled. “You appear ill.”

  “I am.” Nicholas winced. “My head feels as if some fool used it for quintain practice.”

  “Do not expect sympathy from me,” Clare said. “After your extremely annoying behavior last night, you do not deserve any pity.”

  Nicholas gave Gareth a beseeching look. “You have won the lady’s hand. She’s all yours with my blessing. The least you can do is protect me from the sharp edge of her tongue.”

  Gareth glanced at Clare. “Lady Clare was just about to take a brisk walk along the cliffs.”

  “I was?” Clare gazed at him in astonishment.

  “I think it would be for the best,” Gareth said. “By the time you return, your hall will be swept clean.”

  Clare hesitated. “Mayhap a walk is not such a bad notion. I often take one in the mornings. As it happens, I have an errand in the village.” She brightened. “I’ll just run upstairs and fetch an item that I promised to take to Beatrice the recluse. I pray you will both excuse me, sirs.”

  “Aye,” Nicholas muttered. “You’re excused. Good riddance.”

  Clare glowered at him as she went past. “Really, Sir Nicholas, you should be ashamed of yourself for the way you acted last night.”

  “I pray you will read me no lectures,” Nicholas said. “This sore skull of mine is punishment enough for any offense I may have committed last night. You are welcome to your Hellhound if he is, indeed, your choice.”

  “He is no longer the Hellhound of Wyckmere,” Clare said forcefully. “On the morrow he will become Gareth, lord of Desire, and I would have you show him proper respect.”

  Gareth raised one brow and watched Clare with mild curiosity, as if she were an odd and unfamiliar creature.

  Nicholas cradled his head between his hands. “I will call him by any name you wish, if you will cease screeching, lady.”

  “I am not screeching.” Clare stepped around him and went toward the tower stairs.

  “‘Tis a matter of opinion.”

  Clare ignored him. But halfway up the curving staircase, she realized that she had forgotten to inquire as to whether or not Nicholas intended to stay for the wedding. If he and his men were going to spend another night under her roof, she would have to alert poor Eadgar.

  Lifting the skirts of her gown, she hurried back down the stone steps. She evaded a snoring man who had slid halfway off his pallet into the stinking rushes, and crossed the shadowed hall to the main entrance.

  Gareth and Nicholas still stood talking quietly in the doorway. Neither man noticed her as she came to a halt at the sound of her own name.

  “Nay, by all that’s holy, I have no desire to stay another day to see lady Clare wed,” Nicholas said. “She’s yours and I wish you joy of her.”

  “That is generous of you under the circumstances,” Gareth said.

  “’Tis true that she brings a fine, fat manor as her dowry. I felt obliged to try to get my hands on it, but to be honest, I’m not sorry I lost to you. The man who takes Clare as wife will pay a high price. You’ll discover that soon enough.”

  “‘Tis no concern of yours,” Gareth said.

  “Aye, and I confess that this morning I am eternally grateful for that.” Nicholas rubbed his temples. “God save me from clever women.”

  “Rest assured that you have been saved from this particular woman.”

  “The difficulty is that she’s had the running of this manor ever since she was a young girl,” Nicholas complained. “She’s grown far too accustomed to command. I warn you, Hellhound, she’ll not tolerate any man’s hand on the reins.”

  “Mayhap that will depend upon the man who lays hold of those reins.”

  “Nay, you do not know what you’re getting into.” Nicholas heaved a heartfelt sigh. “I concocted a shrewd plan for managing her, you know.”

  “Did you?”

  “Aye, and being the generous man that I am, I’ll give you the advice I had intended to take myself.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Once you’ve got her well and truly wed, bed her day and night until you’ve planted your seed. When you’re certain that she is with child, you can leave the isle.”

  “Leave?” Gareth sounded curious.

  “Why not? Let her stay here to see to the running of Desire. ‘Tis what she’s good at. You can spend most of the year somewhere out of range of her tongue.”

  There was a short pause.

  “That was your brilliant scheme for dealing with Lady Clare?” Gareth finally inquired. “Get her with child and then leave the isle?”

  “Aye, and it would have worked, too. If you’ve got half the wit they say you have, Hellhound, you’ll heed my advice.”

  Nicholas’s words hurt. Clare tired to ignore the pain and embarrassment they caused, but it was impossible. She took a step closer to the entrance.

  “You are even more of a fool than I believed you to be, Nicholas,” Gareth said quietly.

  Clare brightened a little. It was nice to be defended by her future lord.

  “Bah. We’ll see how much of a fool I am after you’ve had a chance to get better acquainted with Clare,” Nicholas grumbled. “Do not expect me to offer you shelter at Seabern whenever you’ve had enough of the little harpy’s tongue.”

  “Seabern Keep is the last place I will go to seek refuge from my wife.”

  “You may suit yourself.” Nicholas started to turn back into the hall. “If you have no objection, I’ll rouse my men and well be on our way. I wish to God I did not have to face that boat trip back to Seabern.”

  “There is just one more thing before you leave.”

  “Aye?” Nicholas paused. “And what would that be?”

  “It has to do with that visit that Clare made to Seabern Keep a month ago.”

  “What about it?”

  “I am well aware of the true circumstances of her stay there. I know that you held her against her will.”

  “’Twas merely a friendly visit. Ask the lady yourself.”

  “It was kidnapping, so far as I’m concerned. And make no mistake, Nicholas, there will be a reckoning.”

  Clare froze.

  “God’s eyes, man.” Nicholas sounded genuinely taken aback. “You don’t mean to say that you intend to challenge me because of that visit?”

  “Not today. Clare does not want any violence on Desire and I am of a mind to indulge her for the present. But there will come a time and a place when you and I will settle the matter.”

  “But nothing happened,” Nicholas exploded. “I never touched the lady.”

  “That was not the impression you gave last night.”

  “I gave out that impression because I hoped you might decide to quit the field if you believed it to be the truth. I knew it was my only chance. I was drunk at the time, if you will recall. ‘Twas the wisdom of the wine.”

  “You cannot expect me to believe that you kidnapped Clare, kept her for four days at Seabern, and did not touch her.”

  “You don’t know much about Clare yet, do you?” Nicholas retorted. “Devil take it, why am I standing here arguing with you? You’ll learn the truth tomorrow night when you claim your bride.”

  “Aye,” Gareth said. “I will.” The tone of his voice made it clear that he d
id not expect to find that his bride was a virgin.

  Clare was speechless. Nicholas’s earlier words had hurt, but Gareth’s calm assumption that she had been dishonored enraged her. He had not even had the grace to ask her for the truth. He had simply accepted the gossip of others as the final verdict.

  Her cheeks burned and her stomach clenched. She had never expected much from Nicholas, but she had begun to believe that Gareth was a man of reason and some courtesy. Obviously she had been mistaken.

  Clare stalked out of the shadowed hall and onto the sunlit steps.

  Gareth glanced at her. “I thought you were fetching something from your chamber.”

  “I overheard every word.” Clare ignored Nicholas and fixed Gareth with a steely gaze. “Sir Nicholas speaks the truth when he says that he did not dishonor me while I was at Seabern.”

  “Does he?”

  “Aye, he does,” Clare said very loudly.

  Nicholas winced. “Pray, madam, have some consideration for my poor head.”

  Clare spun around to confront him. “By Saint Hermione’s little finger, will you cease prattling on about your aching skull, sir? I do not care if your head falls off your shoulders and rolls down the road.”

  Nicholas cringed and made for the door. “I shall leave you two to continue this delightful conversation without me. I am going home to Seabern. When I arrive there, I shall go straight to the chapel and thank the saints for sparing me from this match.”

  “Aye, you do that, Sir Nicholas.” Clare was more incensed than ever by his cowardly departure. “Would that I could also be spared. I am very well aware that it was only my lands and perfume recipes that attracted the attention of two such noble and chivalrous knights as yourself and Sir Gareth.”

  Nicholas groaned and clapped his hands over his ears.

  “Lady Clare,” Gareth said gently, “mayhap it would be best if we conducted this discussion in a more private place.”

  She turned on him. “I care not who hears me. Everyone on this isle knows I spent four days at Seabern Keep. ‘Tis no great secret.”

  Gareth’s gaze was contemplative. “Aye, madam.”

  “I do not expect passion and devotion from you sir, but I do expect that you will believe me when I give you my oath. And I swear to you now that Sir Nicholas did not share my bed while I was at Seabern.”