She had thought she wanted a slender, lean man, one built like a cat, not a great war-horse. But last night, after she had gotten over the shock of seeing Gareth's unclad body, she had soon changed her mind. She had discovered that she was not nearly as opposed to the notion of a very large husband as she had once believed herself to be.
A bit worried, mayhap, by the size of certain parts of him, but definitely not put off entirely by the overall notion.
Size, Clare decided, was only a problem in a man if his brain was quite small. When a man was blessed with intelligence and self-mastery, as Gareth clearly was, his physical size did not matter much at all.
Yet another lesson learned the hard way.
Clare remembered the shattering sensations Gareth had produced in her with his kisses and the touch of his fingers. He was no oafish, heavy-handed boor such as Nicholas of Seabern. He was a man who was willing to be patient with a woman.
And while it was true that Gareth had not vowed undying love nor composed poetry for her as Raymond once had, he was at least honest. He had not deliberately misled her the way Raymond had.
There was a soft thud on the other side of the curtain. Clare stirred and pushed back the covers so that she could sit up against the pillows.
She could not hide here all day.
She put out a hand and gingerly explored the tumbled bedding. The Window of Hell was gone. It was no doubt safely stowed back in its scabbard.
Clare winced at the memory of how Gareth has used his sword to divide the bed. From now on, whenever she saw the blade, as she most certainly would every day of her life, she would recall her foolishness on her wedding night.
Some men, she knew, would have lost their tempers in a situation such as she had created last night. Some men would have turned violent.
Not Gareth. It was true that he had been furious, but he had been in full control of his anger.
She had married a man whose skill at self-mastery matched his physical power.
Clare drew a deep breath. She had to face him sometime and apologize.
Best to get the thing over and done. It had never been her way to put off a duty or an obligation.
"My lord, I would like to say how much I regret what happened last night."
"So do I."
She wished she could see his face. His tone was so cool and dry that it was impossible to tell what he was thinking. She plunged ahead with her apology. "I am well aware that I did not fulfill my duties as a wife. I had my reasons, as I explained to you, but this morning I have concluded that mayhap I did not proceed in a reasonable and logical fashion."
"In other words, you have decided that the pleasures of physical passion are more interesting than the intellectual joys of trust and friendship?"
"Oh, no, I do not mean that at all," she said quickly. "I still want our marriage to be founded on trust and friendship. Tis just that this morning I am not certain that I went about securing those things in the right way last night."
Gareth yanked the curtain aside without any warning. He stood looking down at her with a speculative gleam in his eyes. Clare noticed that he had on his undertunic, but he was still barefoot. His fingers were closed around a small object which she could not make out.
"Are you telling me that sometime during the night you developed some trust in your new husband?" he asked rather casually.
She hesitated, aware that he was deliberately taunting her. The knowledge hurt. She composed herself in quiet dignity. "I would have us start anew, my lord. I am prepared to be a proper wife to you and consummate this marriage."
"That doesn't answer my question."
"I trust you in many ways, Gareth." She waved her hand in an earnest fashion to indicate the chamber and everything that lay beyond. "I trust you to protect this manor. I trust you to fulfill your responsibilities to my people. I believe that you will be a wise and generous lord."
"Is that all?"
She gave him a hopeful smile. "It seems to me that is a great deal to start out with, sir."
"Aye. But I would have more, madam." He studied her face. "I see you have been doing some thinking on the subject of our marriage."
"I spent hours thinking about it last night," she assured him.
"I, too, spent a good portion of the night contemplating our future together. I also came to a decision and your apology this morning does not alter that decision."
She watched him warily. "What decision did you reach?"
"The sword stays between us at night until you are certain that you trust me in all ways, most especially as a husband."
"I do trust you."
"No, madam, you do not. Last night you made it plain that you believed I was incapable of controlling my passions."
Clare's cheeks burned. "You proved me wrong, sir."
"Did I?"
"Aye. I apologize for that stupidity. I believed you to be so carried away by desire that you could not recall our understanding. I know now that you are very much in control of yourself and your passions and that you are very unlikely to be swayed by them."
"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."