“Not too drunk to know what he’s doing,” Gareth said softly.
“Agreed.” Nicholas’s eyes glittered. “But what of you, Hellhound? Do you still have your wits about you?”
“Aye. I keep them about me at all times. You would do well to remember that.”
“Lady Clare appears to have a problem deciding which of us will make her the better husband.” Nicholas’s booming voice rang through the silent hall. “I propose that we resolve the matter for her. Here and now.”
“How?” Gareth asked gently. “Shall we play a game of chess for the hand of the lady of Desire? Very well, I suppose that is a reasonable enough solution.”
Clare was so outraged she momentarily forgot about the impending disaster. “A game of chess? For my hand? How dare you, sir?”
Nicholas smiled malevolently. “Aye, how dare you, Hellhound? Most unchivalrous.”
“I suppose there is no possibility of a fair match,” Gareth conceded. “Chess is a game that requires wit and intelligence from both players. Sir Nicholas would be at a great disadvantage.”
“By the devil, this is not a matter of wits,” Nicholas snarled. “You insult the lady by suggesting we play a game of chess for her hand.”
Clare closed her eyes briefly and sent up a frantic prayer to Saint Hermione.
“What game do you suggest that we play?” Gareth asked.
“Trial by combat. Here and now.”
“Agreed.” Gareth appeared no more concerned about that suggestion than he had about the first one, “You may choose the weapons.”
Clare leaped to her feet again. “I have had enough of this idiocy”
Everyone stared at her.
She planted both hands flat on the table to keep them from shaking and swept the hall with furious eyes. “Hear me, all you who eat and drink at my board tonight. Know that I have had my fill of this foolish business of selecting a husband. Thurston of Landry has promised me that I can make my own choice. I will do so now and put an end to the matter.”
A rustle and murmur of interest went through the hall. Men whispered to their neighbors, eager to place hasty wagers on the outcome of this new turn of events.
“My bold and noble suitors wish to play games,” Clare said with scathing emphasis. “Very well, a game it shall be. But I shall choose the sport and I shall be the only player.”
Gareth’s smoky crystalline eyes never left Clare’s face.
Nicholas smirked.
“It seems that I must choose between Sir Gareth of Wyckmere and Sir Nicholas of Seabern.” Clare gestured toward each man in turn. “Was ever a woman so fortunate in her suitors?”
There were roars of approval from the crowd in the hall. No one seemed to notice the sarcasm in Clare’s voice.
She snatched up one of the yellow primroses and held the bloom aloft in front of her so that all could see it. “I shall pluck the petals from this flower. As I do so, I will call out, by turns, the names of each of these fine, chivalrous knights who would be lord of Desire. By my oath, I will wed the man whose name I call out last.”
Nicholas’s smile vanished. “God’s eyes, Clare, you cannot mean to make such an important choice in such a haphazard manner.”
She glared at him. “’Tis no more haphazard and a good deal less bloody than the trial by combat which you proposed, Sir Nicholas.”
“Hellfire,” Gareth muttered. “Do you know what you’re doing, lady?”
“Aye.” Clare did not give anyone else time to interfere. She plucked the first petal from the primrose. “Sir Gareth.”
A stir of excitement went through the crowd. More wagers were placed.
Gareth’s gaze shifted to the primrose. He studied it intently for a few seconds and then he sat back in his chair with an expression of quiet satisfaction.
“Sir Nicholas.” Clare tore off another petal and let it flutter to the table.
Nicholas scowled at the flower. “This is an idiotic way to select a husband.”
“When one has been given a choice between idiots, one uses an idiotic method of selection.” Clare smiled sweetly and ripped off another petal. “Sir Gareth.”
There were only two petals left on the primrose. Clare plucked the next to the last one. “Sir Nicholas.”
Hisses of dismay mingled with shouts of triumph as the crowd realized who the winner would be.
Clare held up the primrose to display the single remaining petal. She tore it ruthlessly from the stalk. “Sir Gareth of Wyckmere.”
A thundering din arose from the hall as the diners pounded their tankards on the tables.
Nicholas’s face contorted with fury. “Damn it to the pit, woman, what do you think you’re doing?”
“Choosing the new lord of this manor.” Clare swung around with a flourish and handed Gareth the denuded primrose. “Welcome, my lord. I trust you will be content with what you have gained.”
Gareth took the naked stalk and rose to his feet with fluid grace. “Aye, my lady.” His eyes gleamed. “I am well content.”
“God’s blood,” Nicholas surged to his feet. “I am far from satisfied. You cannot choose a husband in this fashion.”
“’Tis done. I have made my selection, as I was commanded to do by Thurston of Landry.” Clare stepped back from the table. “And now you must excuse me. I am going to my bedchamber. I find myself much wearied by the excitement.”
“God’s blood,” shouted Nicholas. “I’ll not stand for this.”
“You, sir, have nothing more to say about the matter.” Clare raised her chin. “As it is too late for you to return to Seabern, you are welcome to stay the night. Arrangements have been made.”
She picked up her skirts and started around the table. Joanna rose quickly to join her.
Clare was aware of everyone watching her as she crossed the room to the tower stairs. She paused on the first step and looked back toward the head table, where Nicholas and Gareth sat.
“Before I take my leave, sirs, I have one more thing to say.” She met Gareth’s eyes. “Know this, my future lord. There has never been violence here on this isle. I will not tolerate any tonight. Is that understood?”
“Aye, my lady,” Gareth said softly.
“If blood is shed in this hall before morning,” Clare continued through set teeth, “I vow, I will take the veil rather than wed you or any other man.”
More whispers of wonder and speculation washed over the crowd. Nicholas looked suddenly sly.
Clare glanced disdainfully at Nicholas and then she returned her attention to Gareth. “And lest both of you decide that you would be better off without me to contend with, remember that if I enter a nunnery, I will not go empty-handed. I shall take all the secrets of my perfume recipes with me. They will be my dowry to the convent.”
Another hushed silence fell on the hall as the impact of that statement made itself felt. There was not a soul on the isle who was not aware that the revenues from Desire were based on Clare’s perfume recipes. Without them the fields of flowers and herbs were useless.
Satisfied that she had made her point, Clare smiled grimly at Gareth. “Your first task, Sir Gareth, is to keep the peace in this hall. If you would enjoy future profits from my perfumes, you must accomplish the business without drawing blood. I bid you good night.”
She picked up an oil lamp that was burning on a nearby table, whirled about, and rushed up the narrow, twisting stairs. Joanna followed at her heels.
“Dear heaven, how could you make your choice in such a whimsical manner?” Joanna gasped as she flew up the steps in Clare’s wake. “What if the winner had been Sir Nicholas? You despise him after what happened last month. You said yourself that you would rather marry almost any man than him.”
“There was no way that Sir Nicholas could have been the winner. I knew who would be the new lord of Desire before I pulled the first petal off the flower.” Clare reached the upper floor and stalked down the corridor to her bedchamber. “There are only five petals o
n a primrose, after all.”
“But how did you know which name would be called out last?” Joanna’s brow cleared. “Oh, I see. You had counted the petals and reasoned it out before you started.”
“Aye.” Clare opened the heavy wooden door of her chamber. She went inside, set the lamp down on a table, and walked to the window. She took a deep, calming breath of the perfumed darkness. “I knew the answer. Indeed, I knew it hours ago.”
Joanna watched her closely. “Then why did you stage the fine performance with the primrose?”
Clare tapped one finger against the windows ill. “I was furious with both men but most especially with Sir Gareth. Nicholas is, to be blunt, simply Nicholas. He hasn’t the wit to be anything other than obnoxious.”
“And Sir Gareth?”
Clare’s mouth tightened. “Sir Gareth most certainly possesses a high degree of intelligence and common sense. It angered me that he was willing to resort to intimidation and violence to gain his ends.”
Joanna frowned. “Do you think that was what he was doing?”
“Aye. Did you not see the way he toyed with the flower while Dallan played ‘The Key’?”
“‘Twas merely a flower, Clare. What made you deem the gesture intimidating?”
“I cannot explain it. ‘Twas something about the manner in which he stroked the petals that alarmed me.” Clare gazed out at the moonlit sea. “He was telling me quite clearly that he could be gentle or he could be dangerous. He wanted me to know that the choice was mine.”
Joanna stared at her. “Do you really believe that was his intent?”
“I believe that he has created a very nasty reputation for himself and is not above using it on occasion. He is a practical man, no doubt given to expediency. If he is to be the lord of this manor, he must learn that we do things differently here. I want no violence on Desire.”
“He is a man who is very familiar with violence, Clare. ‘Tis likely natural for him to use violent methods when he deems it necessary.”
“Aye, he will use them if need be.” Clare hesitated. “But I do not believe that he takes pleasure in violence. At least, he has assured me that he does not. That is his saving grace. If we get through this night without a brawl downstairs, I shall have cause to hope that I have made the right choice.”
Two hours later Ulrich heaved a sigh of relief and grinned at Gareth. “My congratulations on your successful completion of your first task as lord of this manor.”
“Thank you.”
“I confess I was not certain we would get through the evening without a bit of bloodshed. But as always, you proved as swift with your wits as you are with the Window of Hell.”
“‘Twas not difficult to persuade Nicholas and his men to drink themselves into oblivion. They were already halfway there when my lady quit the hall.” Gareth prowled his chamber with a restlessness that was unusual for him. “You have assigned the guards?”
“Aye. If any of Nicholas’s men awake before dawn, he will be given another cup of wine.”
“And Nicholas?”
“Fast asleep as a newborn babe, thanks to his efforts to defeat you in the contest to see who could down the most wine.” Ulrich chuckled. “Speaking of that bloodless tournament you staged with your rival, I have a question.”
“Aye?”
“What did you do with all the wine that you were supposedly downing?”
“I poured it into the rushes beneath the table whenever Nicholas turned his head.”
“I thought as much.” Ulrich’s mouth turned down wryly. “The hall will not be a pretty sight tomorrow morning when Lady Clare’s guests awake with splitting headaches and heaving stomachs, but there will be no bloodshed tonight.”
“And that is the important thing.” Gareth felt the odd tugging sensation around the corners of his mouth. He almost smiled. “My lady’s wishes will be carried out insofar as possible until she is safely wed to me. I would not want her to think that she made the wrong choice.”
“You are surprisingly pleased with yourself for a man whose destiny was recently linked to the fragile petals of a flower and a woman’s whim.”
“It is not the first time that my future has been decided by fortune and fate. I doubt it will be the last.”
“I thought you would be as enraged as Nicholas was when you saw the method Lady Clare intended to use to make her choice.”
Gareth halted in front of the window. He braced a hand against the stone sill. “I knew I would win the contest as soon as she plucked the first petal and called my name. More to the point, so did she. Given her knowledge of flowers, ‘tis certain that she knew the answer before she began.”
Ulrich frowned. “How do you know that?”
Gareth remembered the primrose he had examined while Dallan defiantly played the bawdy ballad. “There are only five petals on yellow primroses. Or at least there were only five on the flowers that were scattered about on the table tonight.”
“Ah.” Ulrich smiled. “I take your meaning. Given the uneven number of petals, it was inevitable that whichever name Lady Clare started with, that name would be the one she called out last.”
“Aye.”
“Why do you think she went to the trouble of acting out the small play? Why not merely announce that you were her choice and be done with it?”
Gareth gave in to the smile that hovered at the edge of his mouth. “She finds me arrogant. I believe that she was attempting to teach me a lesson.”
“A lesson?”
“She wanted me to think that as far as she was concerned, there was little difference between Sir Nicholas and myself. It was her way of letting me know that I have yet to prove to her that I am the better choice.”
Ulrich eyed Gareth’s curved mouth with great caution. “You are amused by this?”
Gareth considered the matter more closely. “I believe I am.”
Ulrich swore. “I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times I have seen you amused.”
“You exaggerate.”
“Nay, my memory is clear because on each occasion you came within a hair’s breadth of getting us both killed.”
5
Clare held her tiny scented pomander to her nose as she gingerly made her way through the ruin of her main hall the next morning.
Even the fragrant herbs that had been scattered amid the rushes could not disguise the odor of brimming chamber pots, spilled wine, and stale bodies.
It would take hours to get the hall cleaned. Fresh rushes would have to be put down before the chamber was habitable. Clare wrinkled her nose in dismay. The servants could not even begin the task of sweeping out the hall until the sleeping men, who were sprawled everywhere, were removed.
She picked her way among the pallets, ignoring the snores of her guests, and managed to reach the front steps without getting ill. The young guard who stood there nodded respectfully.
“Good morning, my lady.”
“Good morning.” Clare dropped the pomander to let it dangle from her girdle. “You’re one of Sir Gareth’s men, aren’t you?”
“Aye, my lady. My name is Ranulf.”
“How is it that you look clear-eyed this morning, Ranulf? The others appear to be sleeping so soundly that it will likely take the crack of doom to awaken them.”
Ranulf smiled. “The men who are still asleep in the hall are all in Sir Nicholas’s employ. You may be certain that those of us who follow Sir Gareth are awake and at our assigned tasks. Most are in the stables at the moment.”
“What makes Sir Gareth’s men immune to the effects of too much wine and ale?”
Ranulf chuckled. “The Hellhound forbids any man in his service to drink so deeply that he cannot rise betimes in the morning and perform his duties.”
Clare approved of the rule, but Ranulf’s words aroused a sudden new concern. “Sir Gareth is a harsh master?”
Ranulf stared at her in astonishment. “Nay, madam. He is a most just and honorable knight. I m
eant only that he does not tolerate disobedience or laziness from those who serve him. He says such things can get others killed.”
Clare relaxed slightly. The guard appeared sincere. “I could not tolerate a harsh master for this manor, no matter how intelligent he happened to be,” she said under her breath. Better a fool such as Nicholas than a clever but vicious man.
“I pray your pardon, my lady?”
“Nothing.” She smiled at Ranulf. “I trust there were no serious problems last night?”
Ranulf blinked. He seemed momentarily dazzled by her smile. He blushed furiously. “Nay, my lady.”
“No one was hurt?”
“I belive Sir Ulrich may have used a tankard on one or two thick skulls when the wine failed to take effect, but no one was seriously injured. Sir Gareth gave strict instructions that there was to be no bloodshed.” Ranulf shrugged. “So none was shed.”
Clare was pleased that Gareth had harkened to her orders. It boded well for the future. “Am I right to conclude that Sir Gareth deliberately got Nicholas and his men drunk?”
“Aye, my lady. He said it was the easiest way to deal with the matter.”
“Very clever.” Clare smiled more broadly. Her smile turned into a chuckle as she recalled the very similar tactics she had used to deal with Nicholas during the precarious nights at Seabern. “Sir Gareth appears to be every bit as shrewd as I believed him to be.”
Ranulf grinned proudly. “‘Twas merely a hall full of feasting men, my lady. Hardly a difficult battle for the Hellhound of Wyckmere. You should have seen him deal with the pack of murderous robbers who were laying waste to Galtonsea last fall. Now, there was a sight to behold. Sir Gareth had us set a trap and when the cutthroats fell into it we—”
“I’m sure it was all very exciting,” Clare interrupted quickly. The last thing she wanted to hear about this morning was Gareth’s more bloodthirsty skills. She wanted to suppress the realization that she was to marry a man who had, until recently, made his living in a violent manner.
Dallan emerged from the kitchens on the other side of the courtyard. He was munching on a large wedge of freshly baked bread.