Desire

Do not trouble yourself with the effort. In this instance I fear there is no time for such alchemic cleverness."

"Mayhap, but it occurs to me that I might be able to delay events if I could convince Sir Gareth that he must allow himself some time."

Joanna looked astonished. "Time for what?"

"Time to discover whether or not he will be truly content to settle down here as lord of Desire." Clare recalled Gareth's cautiously neutral attitude toward the rose-scented soap he had used in his bath. "I do not believe he has given much thought to what it will mean to become the lord of an isle of flowers."

"You are hoping that a man who has made his living fighting murderers and outlaws may conclude that becoming a gardener is a somewhat dull prospect?"

"It is a possibility."

Joanna shook her head. "I doubt it. At the moment, I suspect that all Sir Gareth can think about is the prospect of becoming lord of his own rich lands."

"But what if I could convince him that he himself needs time for some calm reflection V Clare swung around, suddenly enthusiastic about her new notion. "He is an intelligent man, the sort who thinks carefully and plans well before he acts."

"You are certain of this?"

"Oh, yes, absolutely." Clare did not pause to consider how she could be so sure of her analysis. "If I can convince him that he should consider long and well on the matter of this marriage, I shall be able to secure the time I want."

"How will you use that time?"

"First, to become better acquainted with him," Clare said. " 'Twill be useful if we do go forward with the marriage. I would at least know more about my husband before I am obliged to share a bedchamber with him. Second, if I discover that I simply cannot bear the thought of tying myself to Sir Gareth for life, my scheme will provide me with an opportunity to discover a way out of the dilemma."

"It will not work, Clare. From what I can learn, the Hellhound is eager to be wed. He wants to claim his bride and his new lands immediately."

"But mayhap I can persuade him to hold off for a while."

"How will you do that?"

"By telling him that I will not search for any other candidates for the position of lord of Desire while he himself is considering the post."

"You do not know much about men, Clare. Trust me, your scheme is hopeless."

"You cannot know that," Clare insisted. "At the moment, a goodly portion of the Hellhound's eagerness for this match is based on his belief that I am uneasy about the poor selections that have been offered to me. But if he can be convinced that I will not attempt to find another to replace him until he has contemplated the matter further, he might be willing to postpone the wedding."

"Highly unlikely."

"Why must you take such a gloomy view, Joanna?" Clare broke off at the sound of hoofbeats in the distance. She went back to the window.

"What is it?" Joanna asked.

"A small party of men is approaching from the village." Clare peered at the cloud of dust in the distance. She spotted a familiar yellow banner.

"Oh, no."

"Clare?"

"By the hem of Saint Hermione's gown, I have never known a man to show poorer timing. What an idiot he is."

"Who?"

"Sir Nicholas."

"Oh, no, surely not." Joanna rose from the stool and hurried to the window. Her mouth tightened at the sight of the party of mounted men. "I vow, this could prove to be somewhat awkward."

"That is putting it mildly."

"Do you think that Sir Gareth knows anything about the kidnapping?"

"How could he?" Clare frowned. "We hushed the matter up quite thoroughly. I made it clear to everyone that I had been a willing visitor to Seabern Keep. And I did not mention the incident in my letter to Lord Thurston. Sir Gareth cannot be aware of it."

"I hope you're right," Joanna said grimly. "Because if the Hellhound of Wyckmere is given cause to believe that his bride has been ravished by another man, I fear there will be the devil himself to pay."

A sudden thought struck Clare. "Do you think that he would withdraw his suit if he were to learn that I had been kidnapped?"

Joanna looked alarmed. "Now, Clare?"

"Mayhap a previously ravished bride would not be to Sir Gareth's taste.

He is a very proud man for one who was born a bastard." Clare paused.

"Or mayhap because of that fact."

Joanna scowled. "Do not even contemplate such a notion. There is no telling what would happen were Sir Gareth to suspect the worst, and I, for one, do not want to find out."

"Hmmm," Clare said. She turned toward the door.

"What are you going to do?" Joanna called after her.

"I am going to welcome our visitors, of course. What else?"

"Clare, I beg of you, promise me that you will not do anything rash."

"I vow, you are beginning to sound just like Beatrice the recluse with all your warnings and dire prophecies."

Clare gave her a quick, reassuring smile. "Do not fret. I shall consider carefully before I move the next piece in this game of chess."

She hurried out the door and along the corridor to the stone steps in the corner tower. She flew down them to the great room of the hall, where confusion and alarm seemed to reign.

Eadgar came up to her, his face creased in lines of grave anxiety. "Tis Sir Nicholas and several of his household knights, my lady. They are already in the courtyard. What am I to do with them?"

"We shall first determine why they have come from Seabern without any notice. Then we shall invite them to sup with us and stay the night."

"The night?" Eadgar looked almost faint at the thought. "But we have a house full of guests. There is no room for any more."

"I am certain we can find space for a few more pallets here in the hall."

Clare crossed the hall and went outside to stand on the steps. The courtyard was even busier than the hall. Grooms ran from the stables to take the horses as the newcomers dismounted. Several of Gareth's men appeared. Their eyes were watchful and they held their hands close to the hilts of their swords.

A large, familiar figure flung his helm to his squire and climbed down from his horse.

"Greetings, my lady." Nicholas's voice boomed across the courtyard.

Clare groaned.

Sandy-haired and blue-eyed, Nicholas of Seabern was not an unhandsome man. Clare thought his features rather coarse, but she knew that some woman found his thick neck, bulging chest, and sturdy thighs appealing.

She had once overheard a giggling maid confide to a friend that Nicholas's male member was as well muscled as the rest of him.

Clare had no desire to discover the truth of that statement.

"Welcome, Sir Nicholas," she said coolly. "We were not expecting you."

"Word has reached me that the chase is on." Nicholas smacked his hand into his palm with great relish. "I've always enjoyed the sport to be had from a rousing hunt."

"What hunt?" Clare glared at him. "What are you talking about, sir?"

"I hear that you have finally been cornered and forced to choose a husband. Past time, if you ask me."

"No one did?"

"What's more, I have it on good authority that a suitor for your hand has arrived on Desire." Nicholas chuckled. "I could scarcely let a stranger have the field to himself."

"This is not a hunt, sir, and I am not a helpless hart to be run to earth and captured. I have a choice in the matter."

Nicholas chuckled. "And have you made your choice, madam?"

"Nay, I have not."

"Excellent. Then it is not too late. I shall join the chase."

"I fear the lady jests." Gareth materialized behind Clare. He stood with arrogant ease on the top step, one big hand resting lightly on the hilt of the Window of Hell. "The hunt is over."