Desire

3

Gareth had not intended to kiss her. It was no doubt too soon. But she looked so tantalizing sitting there in the shade of an overhanging branch that for once he did not stop to contemplate all the possible consequences of his actions.

So he did something he rarely allowed himself to do. He surrendered to impulse. And to the new hunger that had arisen deep within himself.

She would soon be his wife. His desire to learn the taste of her had been clawing silently at his insides since the moment he had plucked her off the convent wall. He was suddenly desperate to know if there was any hope of finding some warmth waiting for him in his marriage bed.

Likely he was a fool to seek the answer to such a question. Marriage was a matter of duty for Clare.

She had approached the business in the same manner in which she no doubt concocted her perfumes; she had created an ideal recipe and then attempted to find all the various ingredients combined in one man.

She was bound to be disappointed that her alchemic brew had failed, and bold enough to make that disappointment plain.

Logic told Gareth that in spite of her intriguing title, he could not expect much in the way of passion from the lady of Desire. Nevertheless, some deeply buried part of him yearned to find a welcome here on this flowered isle.

The long years that he and Clare would spend together stretched out ahead for both of them. Gareth hoped those years would not be spent in a cold bed.

She seemed startled but not frightened by his kiss. Gareth was relieved.

At least her experience with Nicholas of Seabern had not left her fearful or repulsed by passion.

Mayhap she had been seduced rather than raped by Nicholas.

Mayhap she even had some affection for her neighbor. It was possible that she had enjoyed her four days with Nicholas but had not wanted to marry him for some reason that had nothing to do with passion.

That last thought did not please Gareth.

Clare stood stiffly in his arms at first, her back rigid, her mouth tightly sealed. A strange sense of despair welled up within him. He wondered if the aura of spring that radiated from the lady was a false one. If she had ice in her veins, he was doomed to a wintry bed.

It should not matter, but it did.

By the devil, it mattered.

And then Clare trembled slightly. She made a tiny little sound and her lips softened beneath his own. Gareth discovered what his senses had suspected from the first. Kissing Clare was like kissing the petals of a flower. She tasted fresh and sweet.

There was nectar buried deep within the petals. Gareth found it and drank deeply. His tongue touched her own. She started but did not pull away. Instead she leaned closer, apparently as curious as he to learn what their future held.

Her fingertips glided along the back of his neck beneath his hair. She sighed softly into his mouth. It was a breathless little sigh of budding passion.

Gareth's entire body reacted as though he had downed a potent elixir.

A surging rush of desire swept through him. His hands shook a bit as he tightened his hold on her. Her mouth was soft, ripe, and very inviting.

Gareth had promised himself only the briefest of sips, but the potion in the heart of the blossom proved too intoxicating. The urge to down it all overwhelmed his senses and threatened to destroy his self-mastery.

He cupped her face in his hands and drew his thumbs along the line of her firm little jaw. She was as finely made as the exquisite tapestries that hung on the walls of her hall.

He let his hands skim the curves of her body. The promise of vibrant life was waiting for him here in the gentle curves of Clare's breasts and in the flare of her hips. An aching need twisted his gut. He flexed his fingers around her waist.

Clare's hands shifted to settle like butterflies on his shoulders. She touched the tip of her tongue very tentatively to his lower lip. Gareth could feel her breasts, round and full as summer fruit, pressing against his chest.

"You will give me fine, strong sons," he said against her mouth.

She drew back with a small frown. "And mayhap a daughter or two." There was a crisp edge on her words that told him he had somehow managed to offend her.

"Aye." He stroked her spine with the sort of soothing movement he would have used on his proud, temperamental war-horse. "Twould suit me well to have a clutch of daughters as well made and as intelligent as their mother."

She looked up at him with perceptive, searching eyes as though trying to peer into his very soul.

"I cannot guarantee that you will have children of me, sir, let alone that they will be sons. No woman can make such promises."

"The only guarantee I seek and will most certainly have from you, madam, is a vow that any babes you do give me will be of my blood."

Her gem-green eyes widened, first in shock and then in anger. She took a swift step back, wrenching herself out of his grasp.

"How dare you even imply that I would deceive you in such a fashion," she shot out fiercely.

He studied her, trying to read the truth in her eyes. But he could see only the blazing feminine outrage.

He had blundered badly. That much was clear. On the other hand, he thought, mayhap it was time for plain speaking.

"I demand an oath of fealty from the men who serve me and I will ask no less from my wife. I mean to have such matters understood between us."

"I am not one of your liege men, sir. I consider that I have been gravely insulted."

"Insulted? Because I seek to ensure that my wife will be loyal?"

"Aye. You have no right to question my honor. I demand an apology."

"An apology?" Gareth eyed her thoughtfully. "Pray, which of your devoted admirers will you ask to avenge this grave insult if I do not apologize?

Young William? Your new minstrel? Or mayhap your marshal, who looks as though he would have trouble lifting a tankard of ale, let alone a sword."

"I do not appreciate your poor jest, sir."

"I never speak in jest."

"I beg leave to doubt that. I think you enjoy a very dangerous notion of amusement. I do not care for it."

Gareth grew bored with the silly game. He had made his point. Clare had been warned. He made it a practice to give only one warning. "Enough of this nonsense. We have other matters to discuss."

"You are correct in that, sir. I shall not forget your insult, but we most certainly do have other matters to discuss." A speculative gleam appeared in Clare's gaze. "I have been considering this situation and have come to some conclusions."

"Have you?"

"Aye. I believe Thurston of Landry is a kind, compassionate lord."

"What in the name of the devil gave you that impression?"

Clare ignored the interruption. "I cannot imagine that he would insist that I marry a knight who is so unchivalrous as to actually question my honor before the wedding."

"Lady Clare?"

"Obviously Lord Thurston did not fully comprehend your true nature before he selected you as one of my suitors. He will be shocked, shocked, to learn that he made a grave mistake."

Gareth knew by the expression in her eyes that she was seriously contemplating the possibility of sidestepping the marriage on such flimsy grounds. The lady would have made an excellent lawyer. He felt an odd tugging sensation around the edge of his mouth. One corner even started to curve upward into what might very well prove to be a smile. He restrained himself with an effort.

"If you think to delay this enterprise by writing to Thurston to complain of my unchivalrous behavior, I'd advise you not to waste your time. Or Thurston's. He will not thank you for it." Gareth paused to add weight to his next words. "Nor will I."

"So." Clare nodded once, very briskly, as if some inner suspicion had just been confirmed. "Now we have threats from our unchivalrous knight. This business grows darker by the moment." She swung about and began to tread deliberately along the garden path. "The better acquainted you and I become, sir, the more I fear that you simply will not do as a husband."

"How strange." Gareth clasped his hands behind his back and fell into step beside her. He was beginning to enjoy himself. "I have had just the opposite experience. The deeper our acquaintanceship grows, the more certain I am that you will make me a most satisfactory wife."

"Highly doubtful, sir." Clare pursed her lips with an air of regret.

"Highly doubtful. In any case, I must write to Lord Thurston to clarify some aspects of this situation before we proceed further."

"Which aspects do you refer to, lady?"

"To began with, I am concerned that thus far you are the only suitor to arrive on Desire."

"I told you, your choice is limited to Nicholas of Seabern or myself.

There are no other suitors."

She scowled. "There must have been other suitable candidates for the position. Likely you are merely the first to arrive on the isle. The others might be journeying here even as we speak."

"Mayhap I overtook the other candidates en route and persuaded them that their cause was hopeless."

"Aye." Her brows snapped together. "There is that possibility."

"Or, having failed to persuade them to abandon their quest, mayhap I simply dispatched them," Gareth added helpfully.

"That is not at all amusing, sir."

"This has gone far enough." Gareth reached inside his outer tunic and withdrew a folded parchment leaf. "You had best read this letter from Thurston of Landry before you proceed with your schemes, my lady."

Clare regarded the letter warily before she took it from his hand. She studied the seal intently and then slowly broke it. Her mouth tightened as she read.

Gareth examined the neatly framed flower beds and the carefully trimmed borders of the garden as he waited for Clare to read through the letter.

He was familiar with the contents of Thurston's missive. His father had dictated the letter in Gareth's presence. It would be interesting to see how Clare reacted when she had finished reading.

He did not have long to wait. Clare was obviously very skilled at reading. Just as he was.

"I find this very difficult to believe," Clare muttered as she hurriedly perused the first paragraph. "Lord Thurston claims that you are the best candidate he could find. He says that you are the only one who was even remotely comparable to Lord Nicholas."

"I told you as much."

"I would not boast of it, if I were you. Nicholas is hardly a model of gracious chivalry."

"I have heard that he is skilled with a sword and that he is loyal to his liege lord," Gareth said softly. "Those are Thurston's primary concerns."

"It is easy for Lord Thurston to be satisfied with such simple qualifications. He is not obliged to marry the future lord of Desire."

"I'll concede that much."

Clare frowned as she returned her attention to the letter. "Surely there must have been others who…

By Hermione's elbow, sir, this is impossible." Clare looked up, clearly dumbfounded. "Lord Thurston claims that you are his eldest son."

"Aye."

"That cannot be true. Never expect me to believe that Thurston of Landry would want his heir to wed someone like me."

Gareth slanted her a sidelong glance. "What is wrong with you?"

"Nothing, of course. But Thurston's heir will be expected to make a fine match with a truly great heiress, the daughter of a family which enjoys influence with King Henry. A grand lady whose dowry will include much wealth and vast estates. I have only one small manor and it is already bound to Lord Thurston."

"You do not understand."

"I most certainly do understand." Clare's voice rang with fresh outrage.

"You, sir, are attempting to deceive me."

The accusation annoyed him. "No, madam, I am not trying to cheat you."

"Do not think you can trick me so easily. If you were truly the baron's heir, he would not settle this tiny little manor on you."

"Madam?"

"And why would you wish to live here in this remote place when, as Thurston's son and heir, you could have your choice of many fine holdings and great castles?"

" 'Tis true that I am Thurston of Landry's eldest son," Gareth said through set teeth. "But I am not his heir."

"How can that be?"

"I'm his natural son, not his legitimate heir." Gareth looked at her, curious to see how she would react when she learned the full truth. "To be blunt, madam, I am Thurston's bastard."

Clare was speechless for a moment. "Oh."

He saw that she was surprised, but he could not tell if she was shocked or angered or horrified to discover that she would soon be wed to a bastard. "Now mayhap you understand."

"Aye, sir, I do. Under the circumstances, Desire is no doubt as much as you can expect to receive by way of an inheritance, is it not?"

He did not like the hint of sympathy in her voice. "Tis enough. More than I expected."

Clare glowered at him and then bent her head over the letter. "This is too much. Your father states that I am to marry at once and that he hopes I will choose you, but if not, he will accept Nicholas of Seabern as the new lord of Desire."

"I told you that Thurston is most anxious to see the matter settled,"

Gareth said neutrally. "He was much alarmed to discover that this manor had been without a lord for some time."

"Ah?"

"For some reason, he did not learn of your father's death until very recently. Apparently your letter notifying him of the sad event was delayed for a few months."

"Well, as to that, aye, there was some small delay." Clare cleared her throat discreetly. "I was numbed with grief for a time, of course."

"Of course."

"And then, when I eventually recovered, I discovered that there were a great many business matters that needed to be settled."

"Naturally."

"And then, the first thing I knew, it was winter," Clare continued blithely. "I reasoned that the roads would be impassable, what with the snow and ice. I decided it would be best to wait until early spring to send a message to Thurston."

Gareth almost smiled. "And while you waited for the roads to clear, you sought to discover a way to avoid marriage."

Clare gave him a disgruntled look. "It was worth a try."

He shrugged. "But the effort failed. So now we must go forward along a new path."

"We?"

"Aye. There is no reason the marriage cannot be celebrated on the morrow, is there?"

"Impossible." Desperation flashed in Clare's eyes. "Absolutely impossible. It simply cannot be done."

"It most certainly can be done, and well you know it. All that is required is that a priest be summoned?"

"We do not have a priest here on Desire," Clare said swiftly.

"I'm sure that one can be found in Seabern. We shall make our vows in front of witnesses, and that is that."

"But there is so much more to the matter," Clare protested. "A suitable celebration must be arranged.

My marshal already has his hands full organizing the household to accommodate all of your men. He will need weeks to arrange a wedding banquet and a proper feast for the villagers."

"I am certain all can be arranged very quickly once you have made your selection. A day or two at most," Gareth conceded.

"You speak as one who has never had to organize such an event," she informed him with lofty disdain. "Great quantities of bread must be baked. Fish must be caught. Chickens plucked. Sauces prepared. Casks of wine and ale will have to be purchased. It will be necessary to send someone to Seabern to obtain some of the supplies."

Gareth came to a halt and confronted her. "Lady, I have organized entire battles with less notice. But I am willing to be patient."

"How patient?"

"Now we are to bargain on that point? I begin to comprehend that I am to marry a woman with a head for business. Very well, my terms are simple. I shall allow you a day to make your decision and to prepare."

"One day?"

"Aye. An entire day. All of tomorrow, in fact. I am feeling in an indulgent mood."

"You call that indulgent?"

"I do. We shall be married the day after tomorrow even if we are obliged to serve naught but bad ale and stale bread at the banquet. Do you comprehend me?"

"Sir, I am not one of your knights to be ordered about in such an overbearing manner."

"And I am not one of your household servants or a fawning young minstrel devoted to serving your every whim," Gareth said calmly. "Unless you have decided that you wish to wed Nicholas of Seabern?"

"I most certainly will not marry that obnoxious oaf."

"Then I will soon be your lord and the lord of this manor. Tis best that you remember that when you think to gainsay me."

"What I choose to remember is that I am the lady of Desire and I will expect to be treated with the respect that is my due."

Gareth took a single step forward. He was pleased when Clare stood her ground, but he was careful not to show his satisfaction. He was, after all, well skilled in the arts of combat. He knew better than most that it was extremely unwise to show weakness of any kind.

"Be assured that you have my respect, madam. But you cannot avoid the facts. Lord Thurston has commanded you to wed as soon as possible."

Clare tapped Thurston's letter against her palm and regarded Gareth with narrowed eyes. "Are you quite certain that you did not overtake my other suitors on the road, do something dreadful to them, and then write this letter yourself?"

"That is Thurston of Landry's seal. Surely you recognize it."

"Seals may be stolen or duplicated and used for fraudulent purposes."

Clare brightened. "Aye. I should have thought of that immediately. 'Tis quite likely that this seal is false. I shall have to write to Lord Thurston to ascertain if he actually wrote this particular letter."

Gareth regarded her with dawning amazement. Clare certainly did not surrender easily, not even to the inevitable. "Madam?"

"Twill no doubt take several days, mayhap weeks, to receive an answer from your father. 'Tis unfortunate, of course, but we shall have to postpone the selection of a husband until he sends a message to me verifying that this letter is genuine."

"Hell's teeth."

Her eyes shone with a mock innocence that did not completely veil the underlying shrewdness. "Only think of the complications that would ensue if I were to act in haste."

Gareth caught her chin on the edge of his hand and leaned very close to brush his mouth lightly across hers.

"Give it up, lady," he said softly. "The letter is genuine. Your lord, my father, wants you safely wed as soon as possible. There is no way out of this snare. Go and see to the preparations for our marriage banquet because, unless you wish to marry Nicholas of Seabern?"

"I most definitely do not wish to wed him."

"Then come the day after tomorrow, you will be my wife."

Clare watched him in silence for a few taut seconds. A sudden crackling sound made Gareth glance down. He saw that she had crushed Thurston's letter in her hand.

Without a word, Clare whirled around and walked away from him. She did not glance back as she stalked out of the garden.

Gareth did not move until she had gone. Then he turned slowly to contemplate the well-ordered garden for a long while before he went to find Ulrich.

Clare sought the refuge of her study chamber. It was a place where she could usually find as much satisfaction as she could in her garden or in the workrooms where she concocted her perfumes and potions.

The walls of the sunny chamber were covered with beautifully worked tapestries featuring garden scenes. The air was scented by urns full of flowers that had been crushed and dried and then painstakingly mixed to yield complex fragrances.

The braziers in the corners, which provided heat on cold days, burned scented coals that delighted Clare's sensitive nose.

In the days following the death of her brother, Edmund, and again, after receiving the news of her father's death in Spain, Clare had found solace and comfort in this chamber.

A few months ago, seeking a way to take her mind off her myriad problems, she had begun a book-writing project. She determined to write down many of her intricate perfume recipes.

The task gave her a great deal of satisfaction.

Today, however, there was no escape to be found from the troubles which beset her.

She sat for a while with pen and parchment in front of her and tried to concentrate on the book of recipes, but it was no use.

After three botched attempts, she gave up the effort and tossed aside the quill. She gazed moodily out the window and thought about the feel of Gareth's mouth on hers.

His kiss had shaken her more than she wished to admit. It had been nothing like the wet, obnoxious kisses Nicholas had forced on her last month when he had carried her off to Seabern Keep.

She had disliked everything about Nicholas's embrace. When he had crushed her against his great, oversized body, she had been repelled, not only by the bulge of his aroused manhood, but by the very smell of him.

Part of the problem, of course, was the undeniable fact that Nicholas was not overly fond of bathing.

But it was not just the odor of sweat and dirt that had repulsed her; it was the personal, utterly unique scent of the man, himself. Clare knew she would never learn to ignore it, let alone accept it in the same bed with her.

She touched her lips with her fingertips and inhaled deeply, seeking a trace of Gareth's scent.

"Clare?" Joanna frowned from the doorway. "Are you all right?"

"What? Oh, aye, I'm fine, Joanna." Clare smiled reassuringly. "I was just contemplating something."

"Sir Gareth, by any chance?"

"What else?' Clare waved Joanna to a stool near the window. "Did you know that he is Lord Thurston's son?"

"Aye. I heard the news just now downstairs in the hall." Joanna studied her with a perceptive look.

"He is Thurston's bastard, to be precise."

"But still a son." Clare fiddled with the quill. "Some would say I have been honored."

"Some would say that Lord Thurston places great value on this manor,"

Joanna said dryly. "Tis obvious he wishes to be certain that he can depend upon the loyalty of its new lord. What better way to make sure of that than by seeing you wed to a man who is tied to him by blood?"

"True enough." Clare glanced at the letter that lay on her desk. "He claims he could not find any suitors who came close to meeting my requirements except Sir Nicholas and Sir Gareth."

"Indeed?"

"Personally, I am beginning to doubt that he tried very hard."

"Men tend to be very practical about such matters," Joanna murmured. "At least he has given you a choice."

"Tis not much of a choice, if you ask me."

Joanna clucked unsympathetically. "Tis more of a choice than I had."

Clare winced. She knew very well that at fifteen, Joanna had had no say whatsoever in the selection of a husband. "Were you very unhappy in your marriage, Joanna?"

"Lord Thomas was no better and no worse than most men," Joanna said philosophically. "He was never deliberately cruel to me or to William."

"That is something, I suppose."

"'Tis a great deal," Joanna retorted.

"Did you ever grow to love him?"

Joanna sighed. "Nay. I respected him as a wife should respect her husband, but I could not love him."

Clare tapped the quill gently on the desk. "Abbess Helen wrote in her last letter that a good man will cause his wife to fall in love with him after the marriage."

"I mean no offense, Clare, but what would Abbess Helen know of marriage?"

"Aye, you have a point." Clare glanced at the bookshelves which contained her precious books and treatises.

Two of the volumes had belonged to her mother. Some of the others Clare had obtained in her endless quest for information concerning the making of perfumes. The remainder had belonged to her father. He had returned from each journey with new ones, some of which he donated to the convent library in the village. The last, a book that he had scripted himself and was almost indecipherable, had been shipped to her shortly before his death.

One of the large, heavy volumes, a work devoted to herb lore, had been written by Abbess Helen of Ainsley. Clare had purchased a fair copy from a monastery in the south.

Clare had studied every word of Abbess Helen's treatise. She had been so impressed by Helen's book that she had boldly undertaken to write a letter to the abbess. To her astonishment the abbess had penned a response.

The correspondence between the two women, nourished by their mutual interest in flowers and herbs, had flourished during the past year. Last fall Clare had been delighted and deeply honored when Abbess Helen had journeyed to Desire for a short visit.

The Abbess had stayed at the hall, rather than at Saint Hermione's, and she and Clare had stayed up very late every night. They had talked for hours, discussing every conceivable subject.

But Joanna was right. As intelligent and learned as Abbess Helen undeniably was, she had never been a wife.

She could not know much about the intimate side of marriage.

Clare studied the tip of her quill while she tried to find a tactful way to ask her next question. "Did you ever develop any feelings of, uh, warmth for Sir Thomas, Joanna?"

Joanna snorted. "Few women find passion in the marriage bed, Clare. Nor should they seek it. Tis a frivolous thing, passion. A woman marries for other, far more important reasons."

"Aye, I'm only too well aware of that." But still, she had hoped to find some warm feelings in her marriage bed, Clare thought wistfully. And with Gareth's kiss still burning her lips, she sensed she might find such feelings with him.

How could that be? she wondered. Other than the ability to read, which Gareth claimed to possess, he did not appear to be made up of any of the ingredients she had specified in her recipe for a husband.

She could not begin to comprehend why she had responded so unquestioningly to his embrace.

"I shall be honest with you," Joanna said. "Thomas was thirty years older than me and he had little patience with a new bride. Our wedding night was unpleasant but bearable, as it is for most women.

One gets past it and it is done. After that, I grew accustomed to the business and so will you."

Clare groaned. "I know you are trying to encourage me, Joanna, but you are not succeeding."

"It is not like you to complain about your responsibilities, Clare."

"I do not complain without reason. Sir Gareth has virtually ordered the wedding to take place the day after tomorrow. Thurston's letter gives him the authority to insist."

"What did you expect?" Joanna sighed. "Tis no surprise, I suppose."

"Nay." Clare got to her feet and went to stand at the window. "I wish I had more time. It is the one thing I crave most at the moment. I would pay dearly for it."

"Do you think that time would make much difference? Sir Nicholas grows more encroaching by the day. You have lost the last two shipments of perfumes to thieves. You have said yourself that Desire needs a lord who can protect it."

"Aye. But I need a husband whom I can tolerate in my bed and at my table for the rest of my life."

A strange panic welled up inside Clare. The rest of her life.

"What makes you think it will be impossible for you to tolerate Sir Gareth?"

"That's the problem," Clare whispered. "I simply do not know yet whether he and I can come to some sort of accommodation. I have only just met the man. All I have learned about him thus far is that he meets only one of my requirements. Apparently he can read."

"That is something."

"I need more time, Joanna."

"What will that buy? You have known from the first that you were unlikely to contract a marriage that was also a love match. Few women in your position enjoy that opportunity."

"Aye, but I had hoped for a marriage that would be based on friendship and the pleasures of shared interests." Clare chewed reflectively on her lower lip. "Perhaps that was too much to ask. Nevertheless, if I just had a bit more time, I believe I could…"

"Could what?" Joanna eyed her uneasily. "I do not like that expression on your face, Clare. You are scheming again, are you not? You are concocting plans in the same manner with which you create new perfumes.

Do not trouble yourself with the effort. In this instance I fear there is no time for such alchemic cleverness."

"Mayhap, but it occurs to me that I might be able to delay events if I could convince Sir Gareth that he must allow himself some time."

Joanna looked astonished. "Time for what?"

"Time to discover whether or not he will be truly content to settle down here as lord of Desire." Clare recalled Gareth's cautiously neutral attitude toward the rose-scented soap he had used in his bath. "I do not believe he has given much thought to what it will mean to become the lord of an isle of flowers."

"You are hoping that a man who has made his living fighting murderers and outlaws may conclude that becoming a gardener is a somewhat dull prospect?"

"It is a possibility."

Joanna shook her head. "I doubt it. At the moment, I suspect that all Sir Gareth can think about is the prospect of becoming lord of his own rich lands."

"But what if I could convince him that he himself needs time for some calm reflection V Clare swung around, suddenly enthusiastic about her new notion. "He is an intelligent man, the sort who thinks carefully and plans well before he acts."

"You are certain of this?"

"Oh, yes, absolutely." Clare did not pause to consider how she could be so sure of her analysis. "If I can convince him that he should consider long and well on the matter of this marriage, I shall be able to secure the time I want."

"How will you use that time?"

"First, to become better acquainted with him," Clare said. " 'Twill be useful if we do go forward with the marriage. I would at least know more about my husband before I am obliged to share a bedchamber with him. Second, if I discover that I simply cannot bear the thought of tying myself to Sir Gareth for life, my scheme will provide me with an opportunity to discover a way out of the dilemma."

"It will not work, Clare. From what I can learn, the Hellhound is eager to be wed. He wants to claim his bride and his new lands immediately."

"But mayhap I can persuade him to hold off for a while."

"How will you do that?"

"By telling him that I will not search for any other candidates for the position of lord of Desire while he himself is considering the post."

"You do not know much about men, Clare. Trust me, your scheme is hopeless."

"You cannot know that," Clare insisted. "At the moment, a goodly portion of the Hellhound's eagerness for this match is based on his belief that I am uneasy about the poor selections that have been offered to me. But if he can be convinced that I will not attempt to find another to replace him until he has contemplated the matter further, he might be willing to postpone the wedding."

"Highly unlikely."

"Why must you take such a gloomy view, Joanna?" Clare broke off at the sound of hoofbeats in the distance. She went back to the window.

"What is it?" Joanna asked.

"A small party of men is approaching from the village." Clare peered at the cloud of dust in the distance. She spotted a familiar yellow banner.

"Oh, no."

"Clare?"

"By the hem of Saint Hermione's gown, I have never known a man to show poorer timing. What an idiot he is."

"Who?"

"Sir Nicholas."

"Oh, no, surely not." Joanna rose from the stool and hurried to the window. Her mouth tightened at the sight of the party of mounted men. "I vow, this could prove to be somewhat awkward."

"That is putting it mildly."

"Do you think that Sir Gareth knows anything about the kidnapping?"

"How could he?" Clare frowned. "We hushed the matter up quite thoroughly. I made it clear to everyone that I had been a willing visitor to Seabern Keep. And I did not mention the incident in my letter to Lord Thurston. Sir Gareth cannot be aware of it."

"I hope you're right," Joanna said grimly. "Because if the Hellhound of Wyckmere is given cause to believe that his bride has been ravished by another man, I fear there will be the devil himself to pay."

A sudden thought struck Clare. "Do you think that he would withdraw his suit if he were to learn that I had been kidnapped?"

Joanna looked alarmed. "Now, Clare?"

"Mayhap a previously ravished bride would not be to Sir Gareth's taste.

He is a very proud man for one who was born a bastard." Clare paused.

"Or mayhap because of that fact."

Joanna scowled. "Do not even contemplate such a notion. There is no telling what would happen were Sir Gareth to suspect the worst, and I, for one, do not want to find out."

"Hmmm," Clare said. She turned toward the door.

"What are you going to do?" Joanna called after her.

"I am going to welcome our visitors, of course. What else?"

"Clare, I beg of you, promise me that you will not do anything rash."

"I vow, you are beginning to sound just like Beatrice the recluse with all your warnings and dire prophecies."

Clare gave her a quick, reassuring smile. "Do not fret. I shall consider carefully before I move the next piece in this game of chess."

She hurried out the door and along the corridor to the stone steps in the corner tower. She flew down them to the great room of the hall, where confusion and alarm seemed to reign.

Eadgar came up to her, his face creased in lines of grave anxiety. "Tis Sir Nicholas and several of his household knights, my lady. They are already in the courtyard. What am I to do with them?"

"We shall first determine why they have come from Seabern without any notice. Then we shall invite them to sup with us and stay the night."

"The night?" Eadgar looked almost faint at the thought. "But we have a house full of guests. There is no room for any more."

"I am certain we can find space for a few more pallets here in the hall."

Clare crossed the hall and went outside to stand on the steps. The courtyard was even busier than the hall. Grooms ran from the stables to take the horses as the newcomers dismounted. Several of Gareth's men appeared. Their eyes were watchful and they held their hands close to the hilts of their swords.

A large, familiar figure flung his helm to his squire and climbed down from his horse.

"Greetings, my lady." Nicholas's voice boomed across the courtyard.

Clare groaned.

Sandy-haired and blue-eyed, Nicholas of Seabern was not an unhandsome man. Clare thought his features rather coarse, but she knew that some woman found his thick neck, bulging chest, and sturdy thighs appealing.

She had once overheard a giggling maid confide to a friend that Nicholas's male member was as well muscled as the rest of him.

Clare had no desire to discover the truth of that statement.

"Welcome, Sir Nicholas," she said coolly. "We were not expecting you."

"Word has reached me that the chase is on." Nicholas smacked his hand into his palm with great relish. "I've always enjoyed the sport to be had from a rousing hunt."

"What hunt?" Clare glared at him. "What are you talking about, sir?"

"I hear that you have finally been cornered and forced to choose a husband. Past time, if you ask me."

"No one did?"

"What's more, I have it on good authority that a suitor for your hand has arrived on Desire." Nicholas chuckled. "I could scarcely let a stranger have the field to himself."

"This is not a hunt, sir, and I am not a helpless hart to be run to earth and captured. I have a choice in the matter."

Nicholas chuckled. "And have you made your choice, madam?"

"Nay, I have not."

"Excellent. Then it is not too late. I shall join the chase."

"I fear the lady jests." Gareth materialized behind Clare. He stood with arrogant ease on the top step, one big hand resting lightly on the hilt of the Window of Hell. "The hunt is over."

"Who are you?" Nicholas demanded.

"Gareth of Wyckmere."

"The one they call the Hellhound." Nicholas grinned. "I have heard of you, sir."

"Have you?"

"Aye, you've got a reputation that would do credit to the devil. So you're here to woo the lady, eh?"

"She finds it amusing to pretend that she has not yet selected a husband. Who can blame her for attempting to prolong the entertaining game of courtship? But in truth the matter has been decided.

I am the only suitor who meets any of her requirements."

"Not necessarily," Clare muttered. She was annoyed by the way the two men towered over her.

Between the two of them they managed to block out the spring sunshine.

She found herself standing in the shade.

Nicholas's eyes narrowed as he took Gareth's measure. "I know well that Lady Clare has certain very specific requirements in a husband. I would not want to see her settle for less than she deserves."

"You need not concern yourself with the matter," Gareth said.

"But I must." Nicholas switched his attention back to Clare. "We have been friends and neighbors for years, is that not right, madam?"

"We have certainly been neighbors for years," Clare said.

"Aye, and because of that close relationship, I feel it is my duty to be certain that any husband of your choosing knows exactly what he is getting in the bargain." Nicholas smirked. "A man should not be surprised on his wedding night."

A deep sense of alarm unfurled within Clare. She sniffed delicately and smelled the heavy, dangerous tension in the air between Gareth and Nicholas.

There had never been violence of any kind on her fair isle. She would not allow it to flare up now.

In that moment Clare knew that she would have to abandon her half-formed plan to turn the situation to her own advantage. She was suddenly faced with another, more pressing problem.

She had to find a way to keep Gareth and Nicholas from each other's throats.