"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 stone 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?"