Desire

by Jayne A. Krentz

  "At this rate, your manner of reasoning will have us both twisted into knots. We will talk about it some other time. As you are wide awake, you may as well rise and get dressed."

  "Gareth, I think we should discuss this further."

  "Nay, I am in no mood to continue this idiotic conversation this morning."

  "You are still deeply offended by my actions last night, are you not?"

  He motioned her to quit the bed. "Rise, madam. As I said, we will discuss this later."

  Still she hesitated. A startling thought struck her. "Gareth, were you more than offended last night?

  Were you hurt because you believed that I was rejecting you after you had given me so much pleasure?"

  "Will you kindly get out of this damned bed before I remove you from it myself?"

  Clare gazed at him in confusion. "Why must I rush from the bed?"

  Gareth's mouth thinned with the expression of a man who is very much put upon but doing his best to be patient. "I thought we might take an early morning stroll together along the cliffs."

  Clare brightened immediately. "That would be wonderful. I do love an early morning walk."

  "Dress warmly," he muttered. "The fog has lifted, but there is a chill in the air."

  "Aye, I will."

  Clare scrambled quickly out of bed. She threw Gareth a tremulous smile and then hurried toward the wardrobe chamber which adjoined the main bedchamber.

  The room was empty at this early hour, save for the usual chests of clothing and the baskets of needles and thread the maids kept there.

  Clare sent up a small prayer of thanks that it was still too early for any of the servants to be at their work.

  She had opened one of the chests and was reaching for a warm gown when she had a sudden inspiration. Clutching the garment in front of her, she padded quickly back into the bedchamber.

  "Gareth, mayhap you would like to ride out rather than walk? I very much enjoyed our… By Saint Hermione's eyes." She broke off in outraged shock. "What are you doing?"

  Gareth had one knee on the bed. He was in the process of emptying the contents of a small vial onto the sheets. He looked up. Something he saw in her expression must have alerted him. "Now, Clare, I am doing this for your sake."

  "My sake?" She pointed a finger that shook with the force of her fury.

  "That's chicken blood in that vial, is it not?"

  "Clare, listen to me."

  "You are putting chicken blood on the sheets."

  "Aye. I have heard that it's a common substitute for… ah, well, you know."

  She folded her arms beneath her breasts and slitted her eyes. "I know very well what it's used for, my lord."

  "Clare, the servants who come to change the sheets will be looking for evidence of our wedding night. Gossip about the blood on the linen or the lack of it will be all over the isle by this afternoon. You know that as well as I do."

  "So you are going to see to it that your honor as a man remains untarnished, is that it?"

  "Hell's teeth. 'Tis your honor that I am concerned with, madam. I would not have everyone speculating on why there is no stain on the wedding sheets."

  "Hah! I do not believe that for a moment. Tis your pride that concerns you. You cannot bear to have the world think that you got saddled with a bride who had given herself to another before the wedding, can you?"

  "You believe that 'tis my pride that's involved here?" he demanded incredulously.

  "Aye, that is precisely what I believe."

  Clare stormed across the chamber, bent down, and dragged a small chest out from under the bed. It was the chest in which she had concealed all of the vials of chicken blood that she had been given on her wedding day.

  Gareth scowled as he watched her jerk open the lid of the chest. "What are you doing?"

  "You want blood on the sheets?" She straightened, her hands full of the vials. "You'll get blood on the sheets, my lord. Indeed, I shall see to it that you get all the blood any man could possibly want."

  He eyed her warily as she stalked toward the bed. "Ah, Clare, mayhap your temper is running off with your wits."

  "Oh, no, my lord, I assure you that I am thinking quite clearly at the moment." She gave him a honey-and-steel smile and then clambered up to stand in the middle of the big bed. "In fact, I venture to say that my wits have never been sharper or more clear than they are right now."

  He looked at the collection of vials she was juggling. "Then why do I have the suspicion that we are both going to regret what you are about to do next?"

  "I cannot imagine, my lord." Clare unstoppered the first vial and held it aloft. "Behold, sir, you are not the only person to doubt my word of honor."

  "I do not doubt your word of honor, Clare. I am merely trying to protect you from gossip."

  "Bah. You didn't mean a thing you said last night about trusting me. You will be pleased to know that you are in excellent company. Herewith, the chicken blood that was graciously supplied to me by Beatrice the recluse."

  Clare turned the open vial upside down and dumped the contents onto the sheets. The old chicken blood, thick and clotted after being stored in the vial for nearly two days, made a nasty reddish brown puddle in the center of the white linen. It completely obliterated the few discreet drops of red that Gareth had sprinkled about.

  Gareth looked at the unsightly blob and then regarded Clare with an expression of polite curiosity.

  "Are you finished?"

  "Not at all. We are just beginning, my lord." Clare selected another vial and held it aloft for Gareth's inspection. "Here we have the chicken blood that was so kindly bestowed upon me by Prioress Margaret. I'm sure it was from a very pure chicken. A virgin chicken, mayhap."

  Clare turned the second vial upside down with a flourish. The dark red blood spilled onto the sheets, adding to the gruesome stain.

  Gareth folded his arms and propped one shoulder against the bedpost.

  "From my good friend, Joanna." Clare emptied another vial.

  "From my loyal servant, Eunice." She smiled grimly as she unsealed the next container. More blood splashed onto the linen.

  "And last, but by no means least, the contribution made to the cause by my old nurse, Agnes."

  Clare's outrage was still in full sail as she triumphantly turned the last vial upside down and dumped the blood onto the sheets. She gave Gareth a look of defiant triumph. "Is that a sufficient quantity of blood to satisfy your honor, my lord?"

  Gareth studied the large and quite horrifying pool of thick blood which soaked the bed linen. "I am not certain what you hoped to accomplish, madam, but one thing is clear. No one who views these sheets will believe for one moment that I made love to a virgin last night."

  "And just what will they think, sir?"

  "That I sacrificed one."

  "Oh, my God." Clare stared at the awful mess she had created. Reality came back with the force of a thunderbolt. She stood, stricken, in the middle of the bed and raised her eyes helplessly to meet Gareth's gaze.

  He smiled slowly.

  "By Saint Hermione's maidenhead," Clare whispered. "What have I done?"

  Gareth's crystal gray eyes gleamed with gathering mirth.

  "This is not at all amusing, Hellhound. This is a disaster. How will I ever explain this vast amount of blood?"

  Gareth's smile curved into a grin.

  "Gareth, so help me. I'm warning you?"

  He began to chuckle.

  Outraged all over again, Clare picked up one of the herb-scented pillows and hurled it at him. It struck Gareth squarely on the chest. Clare picked up a second pillow.

  Gareth's chuckle became a roar of magnificent, full-throated, laughter.

  It was a huge sound that originated deep in his chest and poured forth with the unfettered exuberance of a waterfall.

  Clare clutched the pillow to her breast and stared at him. She realized it was the first time she had heard him laugh.

  The glorious sound boomed off the st
one walls and echoed around the chamber. Gareth unfolded his arms, took a grip on the bedpost with one hand, and doubled over with laughter.

  Clare tilted her head to one side and watched in growing wonder.

  "Gareth? Are you all right?"

  His mirth increased. His broad shoulders shook with it.

  Clare wrinkled her nose. "It isn't all that funny, sir."

  Another gale of laughter swept over him.

  "Hush." Clare glanced nervously toward the door. "Someone will hear you, my lord."

  Gareth braced his forearm against the bedpost, leaned against it, and howled.

  Clare started to smile in spite of herself. The sight of Gareth convulsed with laughter was oddly gratifying, for some strange reason.

  "I'm glad you find this a cause for such grand mirth, my lord," she said. "I doubt that any of those brave chickens that died for my honor were nearly so amused as yourself."

  "Nay." Gareth raised his head to look at her. He tried and failed to swallow another shout of laughter.

  "I doubt that they were. Mayhap if they could have seen you now, as I do, caught in such an interesting dilemma, they would have felt better about the matter. By my oath, madam, those poor chickens have surely had their revenge."

  Clare groaned. "What am I going to do? This is a terrible situation.

  Everyone will gossip about it. I cannot possibly explain it. What will people think?"

  "That the lady of Desire has some very exotic tastes in bed."

  Clare beetled her brows at him. "I would like to remind you, my lord, that you are as involved in this as I am."

  "Aye."

  "Mayhap everyone will think that you did something quite dreadful to me last night. They will likely blame you for this."

  "I doubt it. I suspect that whoever changes these sheets will recognize such vast quantities of chicken blood when she sees it."

  Clare groaned. "Everyone will conclude that I botched the business of creating an illusion of virginity, will they not?"

  "Aye, madam. Very likely. In this sort of thing, as in so many things in life, discretion and restraint are the keys one must use if one wishes to succeed."

  Clare collapsed into a sitting position at the foot of the bed. She folded her legs under her, propped her elbow on one knee, and rested her chin in her hand. Glumly she studied the mess on the bed.

  "I am going to look like a perfect fool, aren't I?" Clare said.

  Gareth's laughter faded into a grin. His eyes remained quite brilliant, however. "Aye, madam. This business will likely prove a stimulating topic of conversation for our people for the next several months. Mayhap for the next several years."

  "By Saint Hermoine's?"

  Gareth held up a hand. "Not her maidenhead, I pray you. Anything but that."

  "By her sainted brow." Clare sighed. "This is the most humiliating moment of my entire life."

  "Nay, madam. I expect that will occur when you are obliged to face a hall full of people today at dinner."

  Clare flinched at the thought. "What are we going to do?"

  Gareth arched one brow. "We?"

  "Tis your fault, sir," she muttered. "All of it. If you hadn't made me lose my temper, this would never have happened."

  "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 whisper
ed, 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."