Desire (21 page)

"Mayhap," Gareth said with surprising gentleness, "this is where I should begin to demonstrate to you my many virtues as a husband."

Clare raised her chin from her palm. "What do you mean? What are you going to do?"

"Create another kind of illusion." Gareth walked through the passageway that led into the wardrobe. "Excuse me. I shall return in a moment."

"What are you doing in there?" Clare called.

"Patience, madam, patience. Ah, here we go. This cloth will do nicely."

Clare watched anxiously as Gareth reappeared from the other chamber. He had a large rag in one hand. He crossed the room to the bed.

"First, I will blot up the excess chicken blood." He went to work with the old rag.

"But that won't get rid of the huge stain," Clare pointed out.

"Nay." Gareth finished his task and wadded the soaked rag into a small ball. "But at least the mark that is left on the sheets will no longer be readily identifiable as the remains of several dead chickens. Now it is simply a reddish stain that could have been made by human blood."

"Do you think so?" Clare was skeptical. "I had thought that there would be only a small stain. This is monstrous."

"Aye, so it is." Gareth opened a chest that contained his personal possessions, pulled our a canvas sack, and dropped the wet rag inside. "We shall get rid of this evidence when we take our morning walk along the cliffs."

"That is an excellent plan." Clare cheered momentarily and then sank back into the depths of uneasiness. "What do you propose to do about this massive stain on the sheets?"

"It will most certainly cause comment." Gareth rummaged around inside the chest. "Unless we provide a suitable explanation for it, people will likely conclude now that I was brutal and clumsy with you."

"I would not have them believe that, my lord. It would not be fair."

"Thank you. I appreciate your wifely concern for my good name."

"Never mind that. How do you propose to deal with this problem?"

Gareth straightened from the chest. He held up a small, extremely wicked-looking dagger. "I propose to provide another explanation for the amount of blood that it obviously took to stain your wedding sheets, my lady."

Clare gazed at the dagger in horror. She recalled Beatrice's prediction. Blood will flow. "I don't

understand."

"You soon will." Gareth went to the hearth, crouched down, and stoked the flames of the night's fire. "I once read a treatise written by an Arab physician. He claimed that a blade should be thoroughly heated in fire before it is used to perform any sort of surgical operation."

"Gareth." Clare sprang to her feet in alarm. "Nay, you must not."

"Calm yourself, madam. This won't hurt you a bit."

"I will not allow you to do such a thing." Clare flew across the room to stop him.

She was too late. In the blink of an eye, Gareth removed the dagger from the flames and drew the point swiftly and neatly across his upper arm.

Clare's hand went to her mouth as she watched blood well gently along the shallow cut. "By Saint Hermione's teeth."

Gareth glanced up from his handiwork. "You need not look so horrified, Clare. Tis a very minor scrape. I have had much worse, I promise you."

"Oh, Gareth."

"I would appreciate it if you went into the wardrobe and fetched a clean square of linen that I may use as a bandage."

"Oh, Gareth."

"A large square," Gareth added. "I want this bandage to be quite obvious to all and sundry."

"Oh, Gareth."

"Would you hurry, please, before I get blood on something other than the sheets?"

Clare broke free of the paralysis that gripped her. She swung around and raced madly into the wardrobe. She found what she wanted in a chest and dashed back into the bedchamber.

She grabbed a pot of herbal healing salve from a shelf and hastened over to where Gareth waited on the bed.

"How could you do this?" she wailed as she wiped the blood from his arm. "What will you tell people?"

Gareth shrugged. "That I had a small accident with my dagger."

She looked at him askance. "Do you expect people to believe that?"

"They will if we both tell the same tale." Gareth eyed her meaningfully. "I must have your word that you will not try to embroider the story or alter it in any fashion. Above all, you must not be overcome with a fit of honesty and confess the truth. Let me handle everything. Is that understood?"

She heard the soft but inflexible note of command in his voice and reacted to it unthinkingly. "Aye, my lord."

"Excellent."

"This is terrible," she whispered, hovering over his wound. "You should never have done such a thing for my sake."

"Tis nothing."

"Nay, 'tis too much, sir." Clare smeared the herbal salve on the shallow slice. "I vow, 'tis the most noble, the most gallant, the most gloriously chivalrous action that anyone has ever performed for me."

Gareth's mouth quirked as he watched her work on his arm. "As your lord and husband, I am only too glad to be of service to my lady."

"You are too generous, sir." Clare carefully wrapped the length of clean linen around his wound. "I shall be forever in your debt. How can I repay you for this gracious gesture?"

"I'm certain I'll think of something," Gareth said.

10

Ulrich studied the white linen bandage plainly revealed by the tied-back sleeve of Gareth's gray tunic. "Dangerous things, daggers."

"Aye." Gareth flattened his hands on the table and leaned forward to study the sketch of the Isle of Desire that was spread out in front of him. "You have done excellent work on this drawing, Ulrich."

"Thank you, my lord." Ulrich's mouth kicked up at the corner. "Twas done rather hastily from notes I made during the past three days. I shall improve upon it as I grow more familiar with the isle."

"I am pleased. This map will prove useful as we plan the isle's defense."

"Judging by the gossip which had swirled through this hall all morning, it might be wise if you prepared a defense against your bride."

Gareth looked up from the parchment map. "Twas an accident, Ulrich."

"Aye. Whatever you say."

"I was entertaining my wife by demonstrating some tricks with my dagger. The damn thing slipped."

"Tricks with your dagger." Ulrich looked thoughtful. "In the marriage bed."

"Aye."

"Accidents will happen."

"Aye."

"Is dagger juggling in bed a local custom here on Desire, sir?" Ulrich asked politely.

"Tis the custom of a man who has had one too many cups of wine."

"I have never known you to drink a quantity of wine sufficient to make you careless with your dagger."

"You have never known me to get myself wed, either."

"Aye, that is true."

"There is a first time for all things, Ulrich."

"That would, mayhap, explain the laughter that is said to have been heard coming from the bridal chamber very early this morning."

"Laughter?" Gareth gave his friend a quizzical glance.

"A man's laughter. Or so gossip has it. Great peels of it, apparently. Loud enough to be heard by a pair of maids in the hall outside your bedchamber."

Gareth shrugged. "Household servants are inclined to gossip." He went back to the map.

"You would know nothing of any laughter, naturally," Ulrich said.

"Nay."

"Never having been known to laugh at anything in your entire life."

Gareth ignored that. "For the most part, Desire appears to be naturally fortified by its high cliffs."

"Aye."

"The only obvious place to bring a boat ashore is the village harbor."

"Aye. But I noticed a couple of tiny coves here along the side of the isle that looks out across the channel toward Seabern." Ulrich indicated the points with his forefinger.

"Could a boat be landed in either place?"

Ulrich glanced at the sketch. "A small fishing boat, mayhap. But the climb up to the top of the cliffs would not be easy. One definitely could not bring a party of mounted men ashore at either of those two locations. There is no cause for concern there."

"Tis often the small things that cause a man to trip and fall."

Ulrich's eyes gleamed with amusement. "Small things such as daggers?"

"Aye. Are there any other interesting features of the isle?"

"Young William is very observant. He tells me that there are some caves in the cliffs near one of the small coves."

Gareth frowned. "Could men or arms be hidden in them?"

"Nay. At least not for more than a few hours. William says that at high tides the caves are filled with seawater."

"Very well." Gareth pondered the sketch. "Let us turn to the matter of this hall. The old wooden curtain wall is weak and sagging in many places. It must be replaced."

"Surely there is no great rush. Desire has never suffered an invasion and is not likely to do so anytime soon."

"I prefer to take every precaution."

"Aye, you always do. Except in bed, apparently."

Gareth frowned. "I want the old wall replaced with one constructed of stone."

"We will need to hire stonemasons in order to do that. I doubt that Desire has any available."

"We can hire them from Seabern. Send a man there as soon as possible to see to the matter."

"Aye, my lord."

Gareth took one last look at the map. "A natural fortress. Tis a good land we have come to, Ulrich." He rolled up the parchment. "A fine land."

"They say that there was a very large bloodstain on the bridal sheets this morning," Ulrich murmured. "Far more blood than anyone would expect to discover after the normal activities of a wedding night."

"My dagger wound caused the greater portion of it. Damned thing bled like a slaughtered chicken."

Ulrich grinned. "Gareth, you and I have been as close as two brothers for more than ten years. Surely you can tell me the truth."

"About what?"

"About your little accident with the dagger. What really happened? Is it true that your bride took offense at your lovemaking and that she attempted to fend you off with your own blade?"

Gareth scowled. "Is that what the gossips are saying?"

"Tis one of the rumors going around." Ulrich raised his brows. "There are others, but none that are nearly so amusing. Mayhap if I knew the truth, I could squelch some of the gossip."

Gareth met his friend's glinting gaze very steadily. "I told you the truth. It was an accident."

"God's eyes, man, this is your old comrade-in-arms, remember? I know how you handle weapons. Do not expect me to believe that you accidentally sliced your arm with your own dagger while acting the juggler in bed."

"As you said, accidents will happen." Gareth paused. "Especially in the marriage bed."

Ulrich swore again, under his breath. "Very well. If that is the way you would have it, so be it."

A knock on the door interrupted Gareth before he could respond.

"Enter," he called.

The heavy wooden door swung slowly inward to reveal the anxious but determined faces of William and Dalian.

"Good day to you, my lord," William said. He had a small chunk of meat pie in one hand.

"Good day." Gareth glanced at the meat pie.

William hastily concealed the pie behind his back and glanced uneasily at Dalian. It was clear he was waiting for either guidance or reinforcement from his older companion.

Dalian swallowed visibly. There were beads of perspiration on his brow. His fingers clenched and unclenched in the folds of his tunic. "We came to speak with you, my lord." He looked pointedly at Ulrich. "We wish to be private."

Gareth studied Dalian. The minstrel was plainly terrified, but apparently he was not about to flee from the confrontation. In Gareth's experience there was only one thing that could fortify a young man's frail courage to such a degree: a woman.

"I comprehend that this conversation would concern Lady Clare, then?" he asked softly.

Dalian blinked several times very rapidly. "Aye, my lord, it would."

William stared, round-eyed, up at Gareth. "Is it true that she cut your arm with a dagger last night because you tried to hurt her, sir?"

Gareth tapped the rolled-up parchment lightly against his thigh. "Is that what she told you?"

"Nay, sir," William began eagerly. "She says—"

"My lady says it was an accident," Dalian broke in angrily. "She claims that you were entertaining her with a clever juggling feat and that the dagger slipped and cut your arm. But I do not believe it."

"What do you think happened?"

"I think you attacked her and she was forced to defend herself. She has told us many times that she does not care for large, arrogant, overbearing knights. She says they are oafish and ill-mannered and they do not have the souls of poets."

Ulrich coughed a little behind one hand.

Gareth kept his gaze on Dalian. "You doubt your lady's explanation of my injury?"

Dalian's hands knotted into fists. His sullen, resentful eyes mirrored his fear, but he did not back down. "I believe that she is afraid to alarm us with the truth, my lord. 'Tis just like her to try to protect William and me."

"From what?" Gareth asked.

"From you," William said helpfully. "Dalian says that we are risking our very lives by coming here to talk to you like this. He says you'll likely be violently angry but that we have to do it in order to protect Lady Clare."

Gareth put the parchment map down. Then he leaned back against the table, folded his arms, and considered the matter in silence for a moment. No one moved. The chamber grew very quiet.

"I am not angry," he said finally.

William heaved a loud sigh and then grinned. "I did not think that you would be." He promptly brought the meat pie out from behind his back and took a large bite. "I told Dalian that you likely had not hurt Clare last night."

"I appreciate your confidence in me," Gareth said. "What makes you so certain that I did not do your lady any great harm?"

William chewed. "Nothing seems amiss with her. She's in her usual good spirits. She is even now in her workrooms as she always is in the afternoons."