Desire (17 page)

The ominous fog which gripped the isle was forgotten as the river of ale and wine took effect. The main hall was crammed with people who drank toast after toast to the bride and groom at the head table.

Out in the courtyard tables had been set up to feed those who could not be squeezed inside the hall. Braziers warded off the chill in the air.

As the night deepened, the fire in the central hall threw a warm, golden glow over the raucous scene. Although she was seated next to him, the noise and merriment made it nearly impossible for Clare to engage in conversation with her new husband. She was, however, intensely aware of his gaze sliding intimately over her from time to time.

The water clock at the far end of the hall had just marked the hour before midnight when Joanna caught Clare's eye. It was time to go upstairs to the bridal chamber.

For no apparent reason, Clare's fingers suddenly trembled as she gripped her goblet. She put her unfinished wine down very slowly and looked at Gareth.

He leaned toward her so that she would be able to hear him. "I comprehend that it is time for my bride to leave the hall?"

"Aye, so it would seem." Clare did not care for the inexplicable attack of unease that had just assailed her. There was nothing to fear tonight, she reminded herself, no reason to shiver in anticipation or dread. Nothing at all was going to happen. She had made her position clear to Gareth yesterday. He had not argued or raised an objection.

They had an understanding. They would become friends before they became lovers.

Lovers. The word sang in Clare's head. She recalled the one kiss Gareth had given her and grew warm all over.

Gareth rose to his feet. The laughter and the loud conversation ceased abruptly. A hush claimed the crowd as all eyes turned toward the head table.

Clare knew that everyone in the hall was waiting to see what would happen next. It was time for her to carry out her end of the bargain that she had struck with Gareth. She must go to the bridal chamber with the air of a willing, welcoming bride.

Gareth lifted his silver goblet and looked down at Clare. His gaze was brilliant and intent. Clare swallowed. Her smile felt shaky.

Friends first. Then lovers.

She could trust the Hellhound, she told herself. He would keep his end of the bargain.

"I drink a toast to my fair and lovely bride," Gareth said into the taut silence. He took a deep sip from the goblet.

Cheers rang through the hall. The boisterous crowd pounded tankards on the tables.

Gareth set his goblet down and drew the Window of Hell from its scabbard. The steel flashed in the firelight as he held the blade aloft just as he had the day of his arrival. A murmur of excitement rippled through the hall.

"I am a fortunate man, for I have wed a most gracious lady." Gareth's voice carried to the farthest corner of the large chamber.

A shout of agreement went up from the audience. Clare smiled wryly. The Hellhound really was very good at making the grand gesture.

"Hear me, good people of Desire," Gareth said. "Listen well, for I would have all those present here tonight witness that I give this sword, which had never been stained with dishonor, once more into the hands of my lady. This I do as a symbol of regard for her. She is now my wife. She holds my honor in her hands even as she holds my sword."

"Aye, aye."

Another round of enthusiastic shouts and yells echoed from the stone walls, the revelers slamming tankards and knife butts against the tables.

Gareth reversed the blade and presented the sword, hilt first, to Clare. "Know that I am well pleased in my wife."

The thundering yells of approval made it impossible for Clare to say a word. She did not know if she would have been able to speak had the hall been empty.

For some reason, Gareth's extravagantly chivalrous gesture, though she knew it to be carefully calculated for the effect it would have on the crowd, brought tears to her eyes.

She took the heavy, crystal-pummeled sword from his hand and rose to her feet.

Once more the hall fell silent in anticipation. Clare drew a deep breath and prepared to make a formal gesture of her own.

She nodded at William, who immediately came forward down the aisle between a row of trestle tables. He carried a large bunch of dried flowers and herbs.

"My lord," Clare said, "in exchange for the honor and strength that you bring to us this day, I give into your safekeeping the source of the prosperity of our fair isle."

William went down on one knee and handed the fragrant sheaf of dried lavender, rosemary, roses, and mug-wort to Clare. She took it from his hand and gave the ribbon-tied bundle to Gareth.

Gareth looked down at the sheaf of flowers and herbs that were symbolic of the perfumed isle. When he raised his eyes, Clare was stunned by the fierceness of his gaze.

"I will guard this isle, its people, and its lady with more care than I would use to guard my own life," Gareth said so that all could hear.

Clare saw the unwavering promise in his strong face. She knew that he meant every word. Their personal relationship was far from settled, but she could be certain that her isle was in good hands.

She smiled tremulously. "I have chosen well."

"I would have you believe so."

Clare could hardly breathe. For a moment it was as if she and Gareth were alone in the hall. She could feel the unbreakable, invisible cords that now bound them together.

Friends first, Clare reminded herself. It was far too soon for her and Gareth to become lovers.

Much too soon.

They barely knew each other.

Joanna rose from her place at the table and hurried toward Clare. The movement freed Clare of the spell that had settled on her. It was time to leave the hall.

Aware of the growing curiosity and expectation of the throng, Clare gripped the heavy sword and looked at Gareth.

"I go now to prepare to welcome my husband to the bridal chamber," Clare said very distinctly.

The crowd cheered and tankards were raised.

Gareth raised his goblet once more. "I pray you will not delay a moment longer, my lady. As a gardener, you know well that some herbs are most potent when they are shriveled and dried. There are others, however, which are best used when the stalk is strong and fully erect. Tis the latter variety that I shall bring to you tonight."

Laughter shook the hall.

Clare's eyes widened as the meaning of his words sank home. "For a man who claims that he does not jest, my lord, you have an unusual turn of phrase," she muttered.

"Aye, well, a wedding is an unusual event, madam."

Joanna seized her arm. "Come. We must hurry." She tugged impatiently.

Clare sent Gareth a speaking look as she was led away.

"Have a care with my sword," Gareth called after her. "It is the only one I have."

More shouts of laughter rang through the chamber.

"I vow, I shall find some good use for it." Clare clutched the blade hilt very tightly as Joanna drew her toward the staircase. " Twill make an excellent stake from which to string pea vines in my garden."

Shouts of encouragement accompanied Clare and Joanna as they picked up their skirts and hurried toward the tower stairs.

"Take this," Joanna whispered to Clare as they went down the hall. "Hide it about your person. Do not let Lord Gareth or anyone else see it."

Clare's fingers closed around yet another small object. Let me hazard a guess. Chicken blood?"

"Aye. Sprinkle some on the sheets before morning and all will be well."

Several other women appeared in the hall. Giggling and laughing, they all crowded into the bedchamber to prepare the bride.

Within a few minutes Clare's gown had been stripped from her. A beautifully embroidered night robe of fine soft linen was dropped over her head and she was tucked into :he sweet-smelling bed.

"There, now, ye look lovely," Eunice said as she ran a comb through Clare's unbound hair. She leaned close and lowered her voice. "Don't be forgetting the chicken blood."

"Believe me, I am unlikely to forget it."

Joanna went to the door and put her ear to the wood. 'I can hear Lord Gareth and his men on the stairs."

"Grooms is always an impatient lot." Agnes elbowed her way to the side of the bed. "As yer old nurse, 'tis my right to say good night to the maid I helped raise. On the morrow, I'll greet the woman who rises from this bed."

"Hurry," Joanna said. "They're almost here."

Masculine voices and roars of mirth could be heard echoing down the corridor. The serving girls quickly poured wine into two goblets that stood on a table near the fire. Eunice dabbed a tear from her eye and smiled benignly.

Everyone's attention was on the door, waiting for it to open. Agnes leaned over the bed.

"Here, now, take this, m'lady." She pressed a small object into Clare's hand.

With a sense of resignation, Clare glanced down at yet another small vial. "Thank you, Agnes. You cannot know how much your thoughtfulness means to me."

"Hush." Agnes cast a quick look about to make certain no one had overheard. "Be sure to dab a few drops on the sheets ere morning and all will be well."

"But, Agnes—"

" Tis just a useful precaution." Agnes fussed with the bedding. "When you've lived as long as I have, ye learn it pays to help nature along now and again. Especially when a man's honor is involved."

The door crashed open before Clare could argue.

Ulrich and the other men thrust Gareth into the chamber. The serving maids shrieked.

"Here's your new lord, my lady." Ulrich swept a deep, mocking bow toward Clare. When he raised his head, he wore a distinctly lecherous grin. "He has come here tonight to practice with his sword. I trust you'll see to it that he gets a good deal of exercise with it. We would not want the Hellhound of Wyckmere to grow soft."

The men succumbed once more to uproarious laughter. Joanna and the other women shooed them back out of the chamber.

It took a minute or two to clear the room, but at last the door was firmly closed.

Clare and Gareth were alone at last.

Clare held the white linen sheets very tightly to her breast as she met Gareth's eyes.

He looked at her as she lay back against the scented linen pillows. The air of possessiveness in his eyes stole Clare's voice.

Gareth finally broke the short, taut silence. He glanced around the chamber with an inquiring expression. "My sword?"

"Over there." Clare moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. "On the window seat."

"Ah, yes. Safe and sound." Gareth did not go to the window seat to collect his blade.

Instead, he crossed the chamber to where a small table stood in front of the fire. He picked up the goblets full of wine and turned toward the bed.

Clare realized that she was clutching the sheets with such force that her knuckles were white. She made herself unclench her fingers one by one and then searched frantically for something appropriately casual to say.

This was not a real wedding night, after all.

"Well, I'm certainly glad that business is over and done." Clare shoved aside the bedding and fairly leaped out of the massive, four-posted bed.

Gareth watched impassively as she grabbed a chamber robe and flung it quickly around her shoulders. Holding the garment closed at her throat with one hand, she summoned up what she hoped was a comradely smile. "I suppose weddings are always troublesome affairs, are they not, my lord?"

"I wouldn't know." Gareth watched her intently as he offered her one of the goblets. "I have never been married before."

Clare blushed. "No, of course not. I did not mean to imply that you had." She snatched the wine from his hand and took a healthy swallow. She'd had almost nothing to eat or drink all day. For some reason she'd been too tense to partake of the feast. "I vow, I do not understand why I am feeling so odd tonight. I wonder if I am ill."

"Mayhap you are feeling some of the same things that I am feeling tonight." Gareth took a sip of his own wine.

Then he removed Clare's goblet from her fingers. He set both small vessels down on the table.

"My lord?" Clare realized that her voice had risen to a small squeak. "Are you feeling unsettled, also?"

"Aye."

"Mayhap we both could use a draught of chamomile and mint tea," she suggested helpfully. "Tis excellent for an uneasy stomach. I shall summon one of the servants."

"Nay, I know of a far better cure."

Gareth pulled her gently but relentlessly into his arms. When she stood shivering against him, still clutching the chamber robe as if it were a talisman, he claimed her mouth with his own.

8

Gareth felt Clare's undisguised shiver of surprise; a flash of confusion washed through her, causing her to tremble in his arms. He kept his mouth pressed against hers, willing her to respond the way she had the last time he kissed her.

He knew she wanted him. He had sensed the passion in her that first afternoon. All he had to do was get past the logical defenses she had erected.

Relief soared in him when he heard her tiny, half-strangled gasp of excitement.

She would be a true wife to him. The bastard of Wyckmere had got himself a bride.

And a future.

Her mouth was hesitant at first and then her lips softened deliciously beneath his own. Gareth knew for certain that he had guessed correctly. He had not misread the feminine curiosity in her eyes, nor had he misjudged the significance of her trembling fingers.

The good fortune that had kept him alive during his years as a hunter of outlaws had followed him into his new life as a farmer of flowers. He had gained far more from this match than he had dared to hope.

Clare made a small sound of anticipation. Her fingers clutched at his shoulders. Gareth groaned. He had been enduring the torments of a half-aroused body all day. Now he was fully erect, eager for what awaited him. The time had come to claim his wife.

Gareth felt Clare shudder and press herself against him. An urge to laugh nearly overwhelmed him. He fought it back. This was not the time to succumb to mirth. Still, he reveled in the moment. It was obvious that all Clare's foolish talk of waiting until their acquaintanceship had deepened into friendship was simply that: foolish.