Desire by Amanda Quick
She turned to see Gareth riding toward the anchor-hold. He was mounted on a sturdy-looking gelding, not his war-horse. He had Clare’s small white palfrey in tow.
“Saint Hermione protect us,” Beatrice whispered. “‘Tis the Hellhound himself. Quick, hide the vial.” Beatrice reached through the open window to drop the small container of chicken blood into the sack that hung from Clare’s girdle.
“Beatrice—”
“Now, then, you must heed my words, lady, if you would live through your wedding night.”
“Live through my wedding night.” Shocked, Clare spun back to face the recluse. “By Saint Hermione’s nose, this is too much nonsense to tolerate, even from you.”
“I fear for your very life, madam. I have heard that you swore to deny your husband his rights in the marriage bed.”
“Gossip travels quickly. I spoke those words less than an hour ago. Do you imply that Sir Gareth might murder me if I refuse to share his bed?”
“He is the Hellhound of Wyckmere.” Beatrice grabbed her wrist to hold her attention. “He is dangerous, Lady Clare. You must not risk his wrath by denying him his husbandly rights. Do not defy him on your wedding night.”
“But Beatrice—” Out of the corner of her eye, Clare saw Gareth draw his horse to a halt. He dismounted leisurely.
“If you defy him, he will draw his sword.” Beatrice’s eyes were grim. “I have seen it in a vision. Blood will flow in the bedchamber. I fear it will be your blood, my lady. My advice is to do your duty as a wife and then use the chicken blood.”
Gareth walked toward the window where Clare stood. “May I join this conversation?”
“It would be of little interest to you, sir.” Clare summoned a determined smile. “Beatrice was giving me advice on marriage.”
“If I were you, I would not pay any heed to advice on marriage that comes from the lips of a recluse. She is bound to have a very limited view of the estate.”
“Beatrice was merely trying to be helpful, sir.”
“For all the good it will do,” Beatrice muttered. “‘Tis pointless giving advice to young brides these days. They never listen.”
“‘Tis just as well in this case.” Gareth did not take his eyes off Clare. “I prefer to be the one who instructs my bride.”
Fresh alarm etched Beatrice’s expression. “I pray you, Hellhound, show some mercy to your lady on your wedding night. She has had no mother to guide her, and her father, God rest his soul, did not protect her as he should have done. Whatever has happened to her, bear in mind that it was not her fault.”
“Beatrice, please,” Clare hissed, exasperated. “That is quite enough advice for one day.”
“Blood and death,” Beatrice whispered as she retired deep into the shadows of her anchor-hold. “Blood will flow and violent death will come. I have seen the ghost.”
Gareth looked at Clare with deep interest. “This grows more interesting by the moment. Is my latest rival a ghost?”
Clare glared at him. “Don’t be ridiculous. Beatrice has a very lively imagination. What are you doing here, sir? I thought you were overseeing the departure of Nicholas and his men,”
“Ulrich will attend to that. I came to find you.”
“Why?”
“I wish to ask you to give me a tour of the manor.”
“Oh.” Clare could think of no immediate excuse to refuse. It was an eminently reasonable request. “But I should return to the hall as soon as possible. There is much to be done before tomorrow.”
“Ulrich and your marshal have everything well in hand at the hall, and your friend Joanna is busy, I see,” Gareth said. “Come.” He took Clare by the arm and guided her toward the white palfrey. “I am eager to acquaint myself with Desire.”
The ride to the top of the hill overlooking the village took fifteen minutes. It was accomplished in silence. Clare stole several sidelong glances at Gareth’s calm, expressionless face in an effort to determine his mood and finally concluded that he was not angry.
She did not know whether to be irritated or impressed. She had never met a man possessed of such seemingly inexhaustible self-mastery.
“Tell me how you go about concocting your perfumes and potions.” Gareth drew his gelding to a halt and looked out over the fields of spring flowers.
“Are you certain you wish to hear all the details, sir? Mayhap you will find them boring.”
Gareth surveyed the brilliant patchwork of flowers and herbs that flowed across the gentle hills and valleys of Desire. There was cool possessiveness and keen interest in his gaze. “How could I be bored with even the smallest of details? I am responsible for the safety and protection of this isle. I must learn all that I can about it.”
Clare stroked the palfrey’s neck. “Very well. But please let me know if you grow weary. I have been told that I tend to wax overly enthusiastic about my subject.”
She began to talk, slowly at first, unsure of just how much he really wanted to learn. Heretofore the only man who had ever taken a genuine interest in her work had been Raymond de Coleville.
She soon realized that Gareth was anything but bored by the topic. His intelligent questions soon caused her to forget all of the nonsense Beatrice had been spouting about ghosts and drawn swords.
“The flowers and herbs are then collected and either dried or infused in oil, according to the recipe,” she concluded a long while later. “It takes great quantities of petals to create the basic scented oils.”
“The oils are the basis of the various perfumes and soaps you create?”
Clare nodded. “They are combined with a variety of ingredients such as beeswax and honey to create different potions and creams. But I also employ dried flowers and herbs in several preparations.”
“A fascinating business.”
Clare smiled shyly. “I am writing a book of recipes which will include instructions for the making of many of the perfumes which have proven most profitable for Desire.”
“You are a woman of many talents.” Gareth’s gaze grew serious. “I am a most fortunate man.”
Some of Clare’s enthusiasm faded. It was replaced by caution. “I am pleased that you think so.”
“Tell me, Clare, do you do everything according to a recipe?”
Clare drummed her fingers on the pommel of her saddle. “You refer to Sir Nicholas’s idiotic remark about my recipe for a husband, do you not?”
“I was well aware that you had created a recipe for a husband. I did not know that you had based your list of ingredients on a living, breathing man. I believe Nicholas said that his name was Raymond de Coleville.”
Clare hesitated. “Do you know him, sir?”
“Nay. But naturally, I am interested to learn more of this pattern of perfect chivalry and knighthood.”
“He’s not exactly perfect.”
“How does he fall short?”
“He’s married.”
“Ah.” Gareth fell silent for a moment. “When did you last see him?”
“It has been nearly a year since he was last here.” Clare gazed out across the water toward the mainland. “He came to see me one last time to tell me that his father had contracted a marriage for him.”
“I see.”
“He told me that he was to wed a great heiress, one who could bring him many manors and lands in Normandy. I could offer nothing to a husband but a remote isle filled with flowers.”
“And that was not enough for Raymond de Coleville?”
Clare glanced at Gareth in astonishment. “How could it possibly compare to what a great heiress could bring him? You yourself would not be here on Desire now if you had been in a position to contract a better match.”
“And you would not have contracted any match at all if you had had a choice. Is that correct?”
“Aye.”
“Unless, of course, you could have married Raymond de Coleville.”
Clare did not like the edge she heard in Gareth’s voice. She decided it wa
“Later. At the moment, I wish to learn how you met de Coleville.”
Clare sighed. “He was a friend of my father’s, a fellow scholar. They met two years ago when my father traveled to Paris to attend the lectures on Arab treatises that are given there.”
“Raymond de Coleville was also studying in Paris?”
“Aye. Although trained as a knight, Raymond is, in truth, a very learned man.”
“Astounding.”
“He is far more interested in books and treatises than in tournaments and warfare.”
“Is he?”
“Like you, he was gracious enough to show a great curiosity about my potions and perfumes. Indeed, he and I often conversed on the subject for hours.”
“Did you?” Gareth asked softly.
“Of course his interest in the subject was purely intellectual, while yours is based on more practical reasons.”
“You think my interest is merely mercenary in nature?”
Clare flushed. “I meant no insult, sir. ‘Tis only natural that your curiosity stems from the fact that my perfumes will be the source of your future income.”
“I do not come to you a poor man, Clare. Landless, aye. But not poor. Hunting outlaws for rich lords pays well.”
Things were getting more uncomfortable by the minute. Clare sought for a way out of the quagmire. “If I offended you, I beg pardon.”
Gareth’s expression grew thoughtful. “A ghost, a neighboring lord, an obnoxious young troubadour, and now a man from your past who serves as the measure by which you judge all other men. Is there no end to the list of rivals I must defeat, madam?”
Clare had the uneasy impression that Gareth was once again amusing himself at her expense. “I do not know what you mean, sir. ‘Tis obvious that you need defeat no other man for my hand. The matter of our marriage is settled, is it not?”
“Nay, not entirely. There is something else that must be discussed.”
“What is that?”
“Our wedding night.”
“Oh, that.” Clare straightened in the saddle. “Aye, now that you mention it, mayhap we should clarify the details.”
“Mayhap.”
She took a deep breath. “I regret that the matter came out in such an awkward fashion this morning.”
“Awkward? I would term it something more than awkward.”
“Very well, embarrassing.” Clare scowled. “I assure you that I had intended to deal with it far more privately.”
“You issued a challenge this morning, madam. And you did so in front of your entire household and the lord of a neighboring manor. By now everyone on Desire is aware that you intend to deny me my rights as a husband.”
Clare cleared her throat and prepared to stand her ground. “As I said, I did not intend to make such a public spectacle of the thing. It was your fault, sir.”
“My fault?”
“Aye. The threats you made to Nicholas were insulting to my honor.”
“So you lost your temper and said things in front of the world that you had originally intended to say when the two of us were alone.”
Clare exhaled deeply. “I regret to say that I do not have as much control over my temper as you appear to have over yours, Sir Gareth.”
“Mayhap you merely lack practice.”
She met his eyes. “How is it that you have learned to hold your emotions on such a tight rein?”
“I am a bastard, remember?”
“I do not understand. What does that have to do with your skill at self-mastery?”
“An illegitimate son learns early in life that he will be offered only the leavings. And he soon discovers that he will have to do battle in order to hold on to those things to which he does succeed in laying claim. Strong emotions are dangerous for bastards.”
“But why? Surely you must feel such emotions even more keenly than most simply because you are forced to struggle harder to get what you want.”
Gareth gave her an odd look. “You are a perceptive woman. But as it happens, reason, logic, and determination are the weapons that have served me best, lady, not wild, uncontrollable passions.”
Clare searched his face and saw that he meant every word of that statement. “I understand. The nature of your temperament is your own business, sir. However, I trust you will comprehend that my temperament is somewhat different from yours.”
“Aye.” Gareth smiled one of his exceedingly rare smiles. “Yours no doubt causes you a great deal more trouble than mine causes me.”
Clare abandoned that argument. She had a more important one to pursue. “Sir, I shall be blunt. ‘Tis not merely the offense you gave my honor this morning that I wish to discuss.”
“I was preparing to defend your honor this morning, not offend it.”
“Well, I was offended,” she snapped. “But putting that aside, I must tell you that I wish to become better acquainted with you before we consummate our marriage.”
“We are as well acquainted as most husbands and wives are before marriage.”
“That may well be, but it is not saying much. I want us to learn more about each other. I want time for us to become friends, sir.”
“You were friends with Raymond de Coleville, were you not?”
“Aye, but that has nothing to do with this.” Clare grew more annoyed. The man was as slippery as a trout. “Let us return to the matter at hand. I am sorry if I embarrassed you, but I meant what I said this morning. I wish to wait before we consummate our marriage. Do you comprehend me?”
Gareth studied her in silence for a long moment. Then he turned his head and gazed out over the fields of spring flowers. “I comprehend your wishes, my lady. And I respect those wishes.”
“Excellent.” Clare felt relief well up inside her. She gave him a warm smile. “Then there is no need to continue with this discussion.”
“But I wonder if you have considered the problems you created this morning with your failure to control your temper and your tongue.”
Clare’s relief vanished. “What problems?”
“Your people will not accept me as their new lord until you do. The challenge you issued this morning will likely make things very difficult for me to assume my duties as the lord of Desire.”
“Nay, that is not true, sir.”
“I can enforce my authority through the usual methods,” Gareth agreed. “After all, the men that I brought with me are loyal only to me and they are well trained. Furthermore, they are the only armed men on the isle. They should have no great trouble making certain that my commands are carried out. But I doubt that you would care for the means by which they will do so.”
For an instant Clare was so shocked at the unsubtle threat that she couldn’t speak. Then fury swamped her. “Sir, I assure you that there is no need to employ armed men in order to establish your authority here on Desire. Nor will I allow such a thing. This is a peaceful land and I intend for it to stay that way.”
Gareth’s eyes were the color of silver and smoke. “Logic and reason would seem to dictate that the peaceful-ness of a manor must begin in the household of its lord and lady. Do you agree?”
“Aye, but—”
“If you would have your people trust me and honor me as their lord, then they must see that I enjoy your respect.”
Clare saw the trap yawning wide before her. She hated to admit it, but she was very much afraid that Gareth was right. The peace and contentment of her people were her most important consideration.
Once again, as the lady of Desire, she had no choice but to do her duty.
“You have caught me in one of your clever snares, have you not, sir?”
“Nay,” Gareth said gently. “I merely offer you a carefully reasoned argument to e
Clare gave a small, unladylike snort of sheer disgust. “And to think that I yearned for a husband who relied on his wits rather than his muscle. Something tells me that Sir Nicholas would have been easier to manage.”
Gareth gave her a quizzical look. “Did you want a man you could manage easily? That requirement was not mentioned in your recipe, as I recall.”
Clare glowered at him. “Do not jest with me, sir.”
“I told you, I never jest.”
“But you do, and in a most irritating fashion. However, that is neither here nor there at the moment. I concede that you have won your point.” She paused, thinking quickly. “It would probably be best if we gave the appearance of sharing the marriage bed.”
It was Gareth’s turn to grow wary. “The appearance?”
“Aye.” Clare began to smile, well satisfied with her own logic. “I see no reason, why we cannot share a bedchamber.”
“I am pleased that you agree with my conclusion.”
“But,” Clare finished triumphantly, “I see absolutely no need for us to actually share a bed.”
“Hell’s teeth, madam, you reason like a man of law.”
Clare gave him her brightest, most dulcetly innocent smile. “As far as everyone else is concerned, we two shall retire to the same chamber every night, just as would any married lord and lady. But what goes on inside that chamber is no one else’s concern but our own.”
“As to that,” Gareth began ominously. “I do not believe—”
Clare seized the initiative. “No one else need know that we wish to become better acquainted before we consummate the marriage. It will be our private business.”
“It will?”
“Aye. This way we shall both gain our objectives, sir. As far as my people will know, you will enjoy my wifely respect. I, in turn, shall have the time I want to grow better acquainted with you.”
Gareth contemplated her with an expression of grudging admiration. “It occurs to me that Nicholas of Seabern does not know how truly fortunate he is to have escaped marriage to you. You would have made a minced-meat tart of him, my lady.”