"She said Dalian was to remember that he was safe now," William explained. "When Dalian first came here, he could not sleep at all at night and he was very anxious."
"That is not true," Dalian hissed.
"Aye, 'tis true." William turned back to Gareth. "Poor Dalian was always jumping at the smallest sounds. I came around the corner once and surprised him in the hall outside Clare's study and he nearly fainted.
Is that not so, Dalian?"
"Say no more." Dalian whirled furiously on William. "That is enough. My health is no concern of Lord Gareth's."
"But it is my concern," Gareth said. "As is the state of the health of every man under my command.
Only men in good health can carry out their duties properly."
"My health is excellent." Dalian raised his chin in open defiance. "And I am not under your command."
"Aye, but you are, as is William." Gareth straightened away from the table. "The first thing we must do is see to your training. Ulrich, take both of these future knights downstairs to the courtyard and get them started in their careers.
William and Dalian are to begin practicing with arms immediately."
"Aye, my lord," Ulrich said. He grinned at William. "Are you ready, lad?"
William looked dazzled. "I am to learn how to use a sword?"
"That you are." Ulrich strode across the room and ruffled William's hair. "And how to care for armor and a good war-horse and how to defend your hall. Do you think you will enjoy learning all that?"
"Aye." William looked up at him with glowing eyes. "I shall enjoy that very much."
"Come along, then." Ulrich glanced at Dalian. "You, too, minstrel."
"Nay, you cannot force us to learn such things." Dalian turned a desperate gaze on Gareth. "Lady Clare will never permit it."
Some of the enthusiasm faded from William's eyes. "He's right, my lord.
Lady Clare will never allow us to begin a knight's training."
"Lady Clare wanted a husband who could see to the defense of her isle,"
Gareth said. "She has got one who can do that. I trust that she has sense enough to allow me to get on with the task."
Clare, are you truly all right?" Joanna looked up from the bunch of lavender and mint that she was binding with a cord.
"Of course I'm all right." Clare stood on tiptoe to hang another fresh bouquet upside down from the overhead drying rack.
The long shed where she and Joanna were working was one of a series of workrooms built against the curtain wall. It was filled with bunches of flowers and herbs in various stages of preparation. Many, such as the lavender and mint, were being allowed to dry. When the process was complete, they would be carefully composed into perfumes according to Clare's recipes.
Some of the complex mixtures made from dried flowers and herbs would be used to fill sweet bags for linen chests. Others would go into small, lidded pots designed to add a pleasant fragrance to chambers. Still others would be combined with oil and honey to create lush perfumes, lotions, and balms.
Clare loved the drying shed. She often walked through it as she did through her garden, delighting in one scent after another. She liked to close her eyes in the midst of the fragrant blossoms and create perfumes in her mind the way Dalian created ballads.
There was a very large bin at the far end of the shed where the dried blossoms and leaves were combined in huge batches. There they were mixed according to Clare's specifications.
Today the bin was heaped full of dried petals from early roses, mugwort, lavender, mint, and rosemary. Clare was still fussing with the concoction, deliberating whether to add cinnamon oil or oil of cloves to fix the scent.
Once she had made her decision, the dried materials would be stuffed into hundreds of small, exquisitely embroidered bags. The sweet bags would be taken to the spring fair in Seabern in a few days, along with the new batch of soaps that was being readied. There they would be sold to eager merchants.
"I have been concerned about you," Joanna said.
"Why?" Clare slung another bunch of lavender onto a drying rack hook.
"There has been gossip all morning in the hall. By now it has no doubt reached the village."
"I am well aware that everyone is overly curious to know the details of my wedding night," Clare muttered, "but I have no intention of discussing it. Some matters are private between husband and wife."
"Clare, you must know that it is not normal for a husband to appear wearing a large white bandage the morning after his wedding." Joanna threw her an exasperated glance. "What really happened last night?"
"'Twas an accident."
"Did you actually use the Hellhound's dagger in an attempt to defend yourself from his embrace?"
"Nay, I most certainly did not. Is that what the gossips are saying?"
Clare demanded.
"Aye." Joanna sighed. "I knew you were not looking forward to the duties of a wife, but I did not believe you would do something so outrageous as to stab your husband on your wedding night. How did you dare?"
"I didn't."
"Lord Gareth must have been furious with you." Joanna shuddered. " Tis a wonder he did not beat you." She frowned in sudden alarm. "Or did he?"
"Do not be ridiculous, Joanna. Do I appear to have been beaten?"
"Nay."
"Do you think that I would tolerate such treatment?"
"Nay, but he is a very large man, Clare. Much bigger than you."
"Do not forget that I have successfully defended myself against large men in the past."
"Aye, but Lord Gareth is not a fool like Sir Nicholas."
"A fact for which I am extremely grateful." Clare glanced over her shoulder. "Joanna, I did not use my husband's dagger against him last night. There was no need. Sir Gareth behaved himself in a most chivalrous fashion."
Clare felt herself grow warm at the memory of how Gareth had cut his own arm in order to protect her from humiliation and gossip. No man had ever done anything so chivalrous for her, not even Raymond de Coleville.
It was unfair that Gareth had become the object of so much sly speculation and rumor today. After his noble actions, he deserved better. Unfortunately, there was no way to explain that to Joanna.
"A juggling accident," Joanna murmured.
"Aye."
"Forgive me, but that is difficult to believe, Clare."
"Ask Lord Gareth yourself, if you do not believe me."
"You know very well that I could never do such a thing. If I did, he would no doubt merely confirm your version of the tale, just as you are confirming his. For some reason the two of you appear to be as one on this matter."
Joanna was right, Clare thought. More right than Clare had even realized until this moment. Somehow, whether he had intended to do so or not, Gareth had succeeded in binding Clare to him in a wholly unexpected fashion.
Together they shared a secret. A most intimate secret. A secret that, in its own way, was as intimate as the manner in which Gareth had touched her last night.
Clare stilled, one hand frozen around a bundle of lavender and roses.
She gazed unseeing at the rows of flowers and herbs hung from the ceiling.
It occurred to her that Gareth had no doubt known exactly what he was doing when he had slashed his arm for her. He had likely foreseen everything, including the way in which it would affect her feelings toward him.
He was very good at making carefully calculated gestures, Clare reminded herself. But even allowing for that, this particular gesture had been undeniably gallant. Moreover, it was a gesture that he could not have planned, she thought. Gareth had had no way of knowing about the vials of chicken blood she had been given on her wedding day. He'd come to the bridal bed equipped with his own supply.
Another calculated gesture. And one that had most definitely been well planned.