Desire

by Jayne A. Krentz

  "Of course." Margaret was a stoutly built woman of middle years. The wimple of her black Benedictine habit framed sharp eyes and gently rounded features. "This is an important event."

  Clare turned to see young William hopping about in great excitement near the convent gatehouse. He waved his bag of gingered currants at her.

  A plump, brown-haired, dark-eyed lad of ten, he was a good-natured combination of lively curiosity and unquenchable enthusiasm. He and his mother, Lady Joanna, had come to live on the Isle of Desire three years earlier. Clare was very fond of both of them. As her own family had dwindled down to nothing, leaving her alone in the world, she had grown very close to William and Joanna.

  "Who is here, William?" Clare braced herself for the answer. Every inhabitant on Desire, with the exception of herself, had been eagerly anticipating this day for weeks. She was the only one who was not looking forward to the selection of a new lord for Desire.

  At least she was to have a choice of husbands, she reminded herself.

  That was more than many women in her position got.

  "Tis the first of the suitors you said Lord Thurston would send."

  William stuffed a handful of gingered currants into his mouth. "They say he appears to be a most powerful knight, Lady Clare. He brings a fine, great host of men-at-arms. I heard John Blacksmith say that it took half the boats in Seabern to get all the men and horses and baggage from the mainland to our island."

  A curious flutter of uneasiness made Clare catch her breath. She had promised herself that when the time came, she would be calm and businesslike about the matter. But now that the moment was upon her, she was suddenly vastly more anxious than she had thought to be.

  "A great host?" Clare frowned.

  "Aye." William's face glowed. "The sunlight on their helms is so bright, it hurts your eyes." He gulped down two more fistfuls of the currants.

  "And the horses are huge. There is one in particular, John says, a great gray stallion with hooves that will shake the very earth when he goes past."

  "But I did not request a great number of knights and men-at-arms," Clare said. "Desire requires only a small company of men to protect our shipments. What on earth am I to do with a large number of warriors underfoot? And all their horses, too.

  Men and horses eat a great deal of food, you know."

  "Do not fret, Clare." Margaret smiled. "Young William's notion of a vast host of fighting men is likely very different from our own. Keep in mind that the only company of armed men that he has ever seen is Sir Nicholas's small household force at Seabern."

  "I trust that you are right, madam." Clare lifted the fragrant pomander that hung from a chain on her girdle and inhaled the soothing blend of roses and herbs. The scent comforted her, as it always did.

  "Nevertheless, it will be a great nuisance having to feed and house so many men and horses. By Saint Hermione's ear, I do not like the notion of having to entertain all of these people. And this is only the first of the candidates."

  "Calm yourself, Clare," Margaret said. "Mayhap the crowd that has disembarked down at the harbor is composed of more than one suitor. The three or four you ordered may have arrived all at the same time. That would explain why there are so many men and horses."

  Clare cheered at the notion. "Aye, that must be it." She dropped the small pomander so that it dangled once more amid the folds of her gown.

  "All my suitors have arrived together. If they have each brought their own entourages, that would explain the large number of men and horses."

  "Aye."

  Another thought along the same lines struck Clare, one which immediately wiped away her momentary relief.

  "I do hope they will not stay long. It will cost a fortune to feed them all."

  "You can afford it, Clare."

  "That's not the point. At least, not entirely."

  Margaret's eyes twinkled. "Once you have made your selection from among the candidates, the others, including their men and retainers, will take their leave."

  "By Hermione's sainted toe, I shall choose quickly, then, so that we do not waste any more food and hay on this lot than is absolutely necessary."

  "A wise plan." Margaret eyed her closely. "Are you so very anxious, my child?"

  "No, no, of course not," Clare lied. "Merely eager to get the matter concluded. There is work to be done. I cannot afford to waste a great deal of time on this business of selecting a husband. I trust Lord Thurston has only sent me candidates who meet all of my requirements."

  "I'm sure he has," Margaret murmured. "You were most specific in your letter."

  "Aye." Clare had spent hours formulating her recipe for a new lord of Desire.

  Those hours had been spent after she had wasted even more time concocting dozens of clever reasons why she did not need a husband. To that end, she had called upon all the skills of rhetoric, logic, and debate that Margaret had taught her. She had been well aware that if she was to avoid the inevitable, she would need to give Lord Thurston a truly brilliant excuse for refusing marriage.

  Clare had tried out each finely reasoned argument first on Joanna and then on Prioress Margaret before committing it to parchment. Sympathetic to the cause, both of the women had considered the string of carefully crafted excuses one after the other, offering criticism and advice.

  In the months since her father's death, Clare had been developing what she was certain was an absolutely unassailable, logically graceful argument against the necessity of marriage based on the naturally secure position of the Isle of Desire when disaster had struck.

  Her neighbor on the mainland, Sir Nicholas of Seabern, had wrecked the endeavor by kidnapping her while she was on a short visit to Seabern.

  Furious with Nicholas because he had ruined everything by providing clear evidence of her personal vulnerability, Clare had proceeded to make life at Seabern Keep a living hell for him. By the end of her enforced stay, Nicholas confessed himself glad to see the last of her.

  But it was too late.

  Coming as it did on top of the increased predations of the robbers who infested the region, the kidnapping was the last stone in the sack.

  Clare knew that it was only a matter of time before Lord Thurston heard the rumors. He would conclude that she was incapable of protecting Desire and he would act at once to see to the matter himself.

  Outraged and frustrated by events as she was, Clare had to admit she could not entirely blame Thurston for taking such a course of action. In his position, she would have done the same. The portion of the revenues to which he was entitled as Desire's liege lord were too plump and healthy to be put at risk.

  And Clare could not risk the lives of the men from the village who accompanied the shipments of perfume. Sooner or later, the robbers were going to kill someone when they attacked.

  In truth, she had no choice and she knew it. She had a duty and an obligation to the people of Desire.

  Her mother, who had died when Clare was twelve, had taught her from the cradle that the wishes of the lady of the manor came second to the needs of her people and the lands that sustained them.

  Clare knew full well that although she possessed the skills to keep Desire a fat and profitable estate, she was no trained warrior.

  There were no household knights, nor even any men-at-arms left on Desire. The few who had once lived in the hall had dispersed over the years. Some had accompanied her brother Edmund to the tournaments and had not returned to the isle after he had been killed. Desire, after all, was not a very exciting place. It did not suit young knights and squires who were eager for glory and the profits to be made competing in the endless round of tournaments or by going on Crusade.

  The last two men-at-arms who had lived on Desire had journeyed to Spain with Clare's father, Sir Humphrey. They had sent word back to her of her father's death, but they themselves had not returned. With their lord dead, they had been freed of their vows of fealty. They had found new masters in the south.

  Clar
e did not have the least notion of how to go about obtaining a reliable troop of armed men, let alone how to train them and control them.

  The first letter of warning from Thurston had arrived six weeks ago. It had been politely worded, full of gracious condolences on the death of Sir Humphrey. But there had been no mistaking the implications of the veiled comments concerning the defense of Desire. The second letter had made it clear that Clare must wed.

  Clare, much to her annoyance, had reached the same decision.

  Knowing that marriage was inevitable, Clare had done what she always did when it came to matters of duty. She had set about fulfilling her responsibilities.

  In typical fashion, however, she had taken charge of the situation in her own way.

  If she was to be saddled with the encumbrance of a husband, she had told Joanna and Margaret, she was determined to have some say about the man she would wed.

  "They are coming closer, Lady Clare," William yelled now from the gatehouse.

  Clare brushed the fine dark earth of the convent garden from her hands.

  "I pray that you will excuse me, madam. I must get back to the hall so that I can change my clothing before my guests arrive. These fancy knights from the south will no doubt expect to be received with a certain amount of ceremony."

  "As well they should," Margaret said. "I know you are not looking forward to this marriage with any enthusiasm. But be of good cheer, my child. Remember, there will most likely be three, possibly even four candidates. You will have a goodly choice."

  Clare slid her old friend and teacher a quick, searching glance. She lowered her voice so that neither William nor the porteress at the nearby gatehouse could overhear. "And if I do not care for any of the three or four suitors Lord Thurston has sent?"

  "Why, then, we shall have to ask ourselves if you are merely being extremely selective, mayhap even too particular about the choice of a lord for Desire, or if you are seeking excuses not to go through with the thing."

  Clare made a face and then gave Margaret a rueful grin. "You are always so practical and straightforward, madam. You have a way of going to the heart of the matter."

  "It has been my experience that a woman who is practical and honest in her reasoning, especially when she is arguing with herself, generally accomplishes more than one who is not."

  "Aye, so you have always taught me, madam." Clare straightened her shoulders. "I shall continue to bear your words of wisdom in mind."

  "Your mother would have been proud of you, my child."

  Clare noticed that Margaret did not mention her father. There was no need. They were both well aware that Sir Humphrey had never been interested in the management of his lands. He had left such mundane matters to his wife and later his daughter, while he himself had pursued his scholarly studies and experiments.

  A loud shout went up from the street on the other side of the convent wall. Voices rose in wonder and excitement as the villagers gathered to see the new arrivals.

  William shoved his packet of gingered currants into the pouch that hung from his belt and hastened over to a low bench that stood against the wall.

  Too late Clare realize what he had in mind. "William, don't you dare climb up on top of that wall. You know what your mother would say."

  "Don't worry, I won't fall. I just want to see the knights and their huge horses." William got up on top of the bench and started to hoist his pudgy frame atop the stone wall.

  Clare groaned and exchanged a resigned glance with Margaret. There was no doubt but that William's overpro-tective mother would have had a fit if she were present. Joanna was convinced that William was delicate and must not be allowed to take any risks.

  "Lady Joanna's not here," Margaret said dryly, as if Clare had spoken aloud. "So I suggest you ignore the matter."

  "If William falls, Joanna will never forgive me."

  "One of these days she'll have to stop coddling the lad." Margaret shrugged philosophically. "If she does not cease hovering over him like a mother hen with her chick, he's going to turn into a fearful, anxious, extremely fat young man."

  "I know, but one cannot entirely blame Joanna for wanting to protect William," Clare said quietly.

  "She's lost everyone else. She cannot bear the risk of losing her son, too."

  "I can see them." William swung one leg over the top of the wall.

  "They're already in the street." He shaded his eyes against the spring sunlight. "The giant gray horse is in front of the rest. I vow, the knight who rides the beast is almost as big as his horse."

  Clare frowned. "I requested candidates of moderate size and stature."

  "He is wearing a shiny helm and a mail hauberk," William exclaimed. "And he carries a silvery shield that glitters like a great mirror in the sun."

  "A great mirror?" Intrigued, Clare hurried forward along the garden path to see the newcomers for herself.

  "It is very strange, my lady. Everything about the knight is silver or gray?even his clothing and his horse's trappings are gray. It is as though he and his stallion were fashioned entirely of silver and smoke."

  "Silver and smoke V Clare looked up at William. "Your imagination is running off with your wits."

  "Tis true, I swear it." William sounded genuinely awed by the sight he was witnessing.

  Clare's curiosity grew swiftly. "Just how big is this smoke and silver knight?"

  "He is very, very big," William reported from his perch. "And the knight who rides behind him is almost as large."

  "That will not do at all." Clare went to the gate and peered out into the street. Her view was blocked by the throng of excited villagers.

  Word of the newcomers' arrival had spread quickly. Virtually everyone had turned out to witness the grand spectacle of a troop of mounted knights on Desire. John Blacksmith, Robert Cooper, Alice the brewer, and three muscular farmers stood in Clare's way. All of them were taller than she was.

  "Do not alarm yourself about the matter of this gray knight's size."

  Margaret came up to stand beside Clare. Her eyes gleamed with amusement.

  "Once again, we must allow for young William's somewhat limited experience of the world. Any knight astride a horse would appear huge to him. It's all that armor that makes them seem so large."

  "Yes, I know. Still, I would like very much to see this gray knight for myself." Clare measured the height from the bench to the top of the wall with her eyes. "William, prepare to give me a hand."

  William tore his gaze away from the sights long enough to glance down at her. "Do you wish to sit up here on the wall with me, Lady Clare?"

  "Aye. If I remain down here, I shall be the last person on the isle to see the invasion." Clare lifted the skirts of her long-waisted overtunic and stepped up onto the bench.

  Margaret gave a small snort of disapproval. "Really, Clare, this is extremely unseemly. Only think how embarrassed you will be if one of your suitors sees you comporting yourself like a village hoyden up there on the wall. He might chance to recognize you later at your hall."

  "No one will notice me sitting up here. From the sound of it, our visitors are far too occupied with putting on a fine show for the village. I mean to see the performance for myself."

  Clare grasped the edge of the wall, found a chink in the stones with the toe of her soft leather boot, and struggled to pull herself up beside William.

  "Have a care, my lady." William leaned down to catch hold of her arm.

  "Do not concern yourself," Clare panted as she swung first one leg and then the other over the broad stone wall. "I may be a spinster of three and twenty, but I can still climb walls." She grinned at William as she righted herself and adjusted her skirts. "There, you see? I did it. Now, then, where is this knight made of silver and smoke?"

  "He's at the top of the street." William pointed toward the harbor.

  "Listen to the thunder of the horses' hooves. Tis as if a great, howling tempest were blowing in off the sea."

  "They are certa
inly making sufficient noise to wake the dead." Clare pushed back the hood of her mantle and turned to look toward the top of the narrow street.

  The rumble and thunder of hooves was closer now. The villagers grew quiet in anticipation.

  And then Clare saw the knight and the stallion fashioned of silver and smoke. She caught her breath, suddenly comprehending William's awe.

  Man and horse alike appeared to be composed of all the elements of a magnificent storm: wind, rain, and lightning made solid flesh. It needed only a single glance to know that this bleak, gray fury, once roused, would be capable of destroying anything that lay in its path.

  For a moment the sight of the silver-and-smoke knight left Clare as speechless as it had the villagers in the street below. A desperate sinking sensation seized her stomach as she realized that she was undoubtedly looking at one of her suitors.

  Too big, she thought. Much too large. And too dangerous. Definitely the wrong man.

  The gray knight rode at the head of a company of seven men. The group was made up of knights, men-at' arms, and one or two servants. Clare gazed curiously at the warriors who rode behind the great gray war machine. She had seen very few fighting men in her time, but she knew enough to be aware that most of them favored strong, brilliant hues in their attire.

  These men all followed the fashion of their leader.

  They were dressed in somber shades of gray and brown and black, which somehow made them seem all the more lethal.

  The new arrivals were very close now. They filled the narrow street.

  Banners snapped in the breeze. Clare could hear the squeak and glide of steel on leather. Harness and armor moved together in well-oiled rhythms.

  The heavily shod horses came forward like the huge engines of battle that they were. They moved at a slow, relentless pace that underscored their power and made certain that all those present had ample opportunity to view the spectacle.

  Clare stared at the strange sight with the same degree of amazement as everyone else. She was vaguely aware of low-voiced whispers rising and falling across the crowd in a wave that had its starting point at the small stone cell that housed the village recluse.