The men succumbed once more to uproarious laughter. Joanna and the other women shooed them back out of the chamber.
It took a minute or two to clear the room, but at last the door was firmly closed.
Clare and Gareth were alone at last.
Clare held the white linen sheets very tightly to her breast as she met Gareth's eyes.
He looked at her as she lay back against the scented linen pillows. The air of possessiveness in his eyes stole Clare's voice.
Gareth finally broke the short, taut silence. He glanced around the chamber with an inquiring expression. "My sword?"
"Over there." Clare moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. "On the window seat."
"Ah, yes. Safe and sound." Gareth did not go to the window seat to collect his blade.
Instead, he crossed the chamber to where a small table stood in front of the fire. He picked up the goblets full of wine and turned toward the bed.
Clare realized that she was clutching the sheets with such force that her knuckles were white. She made herself unclench her fingers one by one and then searched frantically for something appropriately casual to say.
This was not a real wedding night, after all.
"Well, I'm certainly glad that business is over and done." Clare shoved aside the bedding and fairly leaped out of the massive, four-posted bed.
Gareth watched impassively as she grabbed a chamber robe and flung it quickly around her shoulders. Holding the garment closed at her throat with one hand, she summoned up what she hoped was a comradely smile. "I suppose weddings are always troublesome affairs, are they not, my lord?"
"I wouldn't know." Gareth watched her intently as he offered her one of the goblets. "I have never been married before."
Clare blushed. "No, of course not. I did not mean to imply that you had." She snatched the wine from his hand and took a healthy swallow. She'd had almost nothing to eat or drink all day. For some reason she'd been too tense to partake of the feast. "I vow, I do not understand why I am feeling so odd tonight. I wonder if I am ill."
"Mayhap you are feeling some of the same things that I am feeling tonight." Gareth took a sip of his own wine.
Then he removed Clare's goblet from her fingers. He set both small vessels down on the table.
"My lord?" Clare realized that her voice had risen to a small squeak.
"Are you feeling unsettled, also?"
"Aye."
"Mayhap we both could use a draught of camomile and mint tea," she suggested helpfully. "Tis excellent for an uneasy stomach. I shall summon one of the servants."
"Nay, I know of a far better cure."
Gareth pulled her gently but relentlessly into his arms. When she stood shivering against him, still clutching the chamber robe as if it were a talisman, he claimed her mouth with his own.
8
Gareth felt Clare's undisguised shiver of surprise; a flash of confusion washed through her, causing her to tremble in his arms. He kept his mouth pressed against hers, willing her to respond the way she had the last time he kissed her.
He knew she wanted him. He had sensed the passion in her that first afternoon. All he had to do was get past the logical defenses she had erected.
Relief soared in him when he heard her tiny, half-strangled gasp of excitement.
She would be a true wife to him. The bastard of Wyckmere had got himself a bride.
And a future.
Her mouth was hesitant at first and then her lips softened deliciously beneath his own. Gareth knew for certain that he had guessed correctly.
He had not misread the feminine curiosity in her eyes, nor had he misjudged the significance of her trembling fingers.
The good fortune that had kept him alive during his years as a hunter of outlaws had followed him into his new life as a farmer of flowers. He had gained far more from this match than he had dared to hope.
Clare made a small sound of anticipation. Her fingers clutched at his shoulders. Gareth groaned. He had been enduring the torments of a half-aroused body all day. Now he was fully erect, eager for what awaited him. The time had come to claim his wife.
Gareth felt Clare shudder and press herself against him. An urge to laugh nearly overwhelmed him. He fought it back. This was not the time to succumb to mirth. Still, he reveled in the moment. It was obvious that all Clare's foolish talk of waiting until their acquaintanceship had deepened into friendship was simply that: foolish.
Clare was as eager to taste the pleasure of the marriage bed as he was.
Gareth was relieved and exultant. Now another battle lay ahead of him.
But he was accustomed to fighting for what he wanted. And he most definitely wanted Clare.
He recognized that Clare's disgust for Nicholas of Seabern was genuine.
He still was not certain what to believe about her past experience of lovemaking. But Clare's sweetly eager mouth told him that whatever had happened between her and Nicholas, it had not given her a distaste for the business.
Mayhap it was Raymond de Coleville who had taught her how much mutual pleasure a man and a woman could find together.
Whichever man had been responsible, Gareth was not particularly grateful to him.
"My lord." Clare's voice was a breathless sigh against Gareth's lips.
She was warm and soft against his chest. Her arms wound slowly around his neck. "No doubt we should not kiss in this manner yet, but I vow, I cannot seem to stop."
Her confession sent Gareth's blood pounding through his veins. The heavy beat was a distant echo of his war-horse's hoofbeats. His whole body reacted violently to the promise of Clare's gentle surrender.
The lady was ready and willing, not an anxious, innocent maid who had to be led slowly into bed.
"Be assured that I have no intention of halting these kisses yet."
Gareth stroked the edge of her mouth with the pads of his thumbs. Her lips trembled and parted. Her cheeks, flushed and glowing, were warm to the touch. Her eyes were fathomless emeralds that held the secrets of a woman's passion waiting to be unleashed.
If it wasn't Nicholas who had taught Clare the arts of love, Gareth thought, then it had most likely been Raymond de Coleville, her much-vaunted pattern of chivalry. Damn his soul.
Which one had it been? he wondered.
Or had she taken two lovers?
In that moment Gareth could cheerfully have given each of his unknown rivals a view of the Window of Hell.
Having made the acquaintance of Nicholas, Gareth concluded that it was the mysterious Raymond de Coleville who worried him the most.
Yet another challenge for the Hellhound of Wyckmere to conquer, he told himself. He had never been one to back down from a challenge.
He deepened the kiss, knowing that he had no right to resent the fact that Clare had lain in the arms of another man. He was no virgin, either, Gareth thought. And he was a bastard into the bargain: no great prize for any lady of her station.
Clare was a healthy young woman of three and twenty years who had been on her own and burdened with the responsibilities of managing the manor for much of her life.
She was also a very curious and obviously intelligent woman who had never planned to wed. Such a woman would not have been averse to tasting the forbidden fruit when the opportunity presented itself in the guise of a handsome young knight.
Gareth knew he was swiftly driving himself mad. It struck him that he had never before known the knife-sharp pangs of raw jealousy.
Jealousy?
The realization brought him back to his senses.
He tore his mouth from Clare's and framed her face between his hands.
Her eyes were luminous and full of wonder as she looked up at him.
"What's done is done," Gareth muttered.
"I do not understand, my lord."
"It matters not. From this night forward, you are mine. You are my lady wife, the future mother of my children. I vow, I will make you forget Nicholas and Raymond de Co
leville and any other man who has come before me."
Her brows drew together in a quizzical expression. "But why would I wish to forget Nicholas and Raymond? One is a neighbor and the other was a friend."
"Enough. Do not speak of either of them again tonight." Gareth ensured her silence with another kiss.
She mumbled something unintelligible which sounded very much like a protest, or at the very least an attempt to start a spirited argument.
Gareth did not want to listen. He eased her lips apart and sank his tongue into her mouth.
Clare made another odd, somewhat strangled sound. Then she tightened her arms around his neck and touched her tongue to his.
Gareth sucked in a savage breath, swept her up into his arms, and tumbled her onto the bed. The hunger to be inside her nearly consumed him. He lowered himself heavily down onto the white linen sheets and reached for Clare.
"My lord."
"Hush." He flung one leg over her thighs. Conscious of his great weight and her much smaller size, he braced himself on his arms as he leaned over her. "We will discuss the matter later. Right now I only want to kiss you."
"Oh." The frowning uncertainty vanished from her eyes. She touched his cheek with her fingertip.
"Well, I suppose there is no great harm in mere kissing, is there?"
"None. And even if there were, I doubt the knowing would stop me tonight."
He gazed, enthralled, at the sight of her dark hair flowing across the herb-laced pillows. Slowly he fisted one hand in it and looped the silken skein around his fingers. He brought the stuff to his nose and inhaled deeply. "You smell of flowers, just like everything else on the isle."
"I expect that you'll grow accustomed to it, my lord."
"Aye." He bent his head to nibble at the elegant line of her throat. "I expect I will."
He eased aside the edge of her chamber robe and listened with deep pleasure to her quickly indrawn breath.
He moved his mouth downward to the swell of her breast, which was partially revealed by her white linen night robe.
"My lord?"
"My name is Gareth." She was so amazingly soft. Her skin was finer than the costly silks he had given her as a wedding gift.
"Gareth." She sounded breathless. "You said you only wished to kiss me."
"Aye. Everywhere." The pure, perfect curve of her small breast was the most alluring sight Gareth had ever seen in his life. He ached to see the nipple that was still concealed beneath the daintily embroidered neckline of her gown. The outline of the small, ripe bud was plain. He stroked one finger across it, delighting in its shape.
"Gareth." Clare froze at the caress. She stared up at him, wide-eyed.
Her hands gripped his shoulders as if she would push him away. "Sir, I do not think this is a sound notion. You said there was no harm in kisses and I agreed. But this is too much."
"You want kisses, my lady?" He deftly unfastened the laces at the front of the robe. "Kisses you shall have. A hundred of them. A thousand."
"Gareth." She batted ineffectually at his big hands. "I do not think?"
"Aye, madam. Do not try to think. Not tonight. The devil knows well that I certainly cannot."
Her rosy nipples looked even more enticing than he had imagined, and his imagination was very powerful. The crowns that graced Clare's breasts were puckered and firm and full of promise. Gareth put his mouth to one and sucked it gently between his teeth.
Clare's reaction was a small shriek. Her fingers dug into his shoulders.
"By Saint Hermion's elbow, my lord. You call this kissing?"
"Aye. Although 'tis more like drinking nectar made of honey and almonds."
"Are you?" Clare seemed to have difficulty getting the words out. She clutched at him. "Are you speaking the truth, sir?"
"The absolute truth."
Gareth wondered if Raymond de Coleville had not bothered to sample Clare's breasts when he'd helped himself to the other delectable dishes she'd offered. It occurred to him then that his rivals had no doubt been obliged to work in haste when they had gone about the business of seducing Clare.
Nicholas had been bent on forcing a marriage.
Raymond's undertaking had been a more perilous affair. He had no doubt been well aware at the time that he had no intention of offering marriage. Mayhap the need for secrecy and haste had made him careless and clumsy.
Gareth kissed the valley between Clare's breasts and decided there was a great advantage to being a husband. A man had all the time in the world to seduce his wife in the privacy of the marriage bed.
Gareth trained his kisses lower, easing apart the night robe as he traveled slowly toward his goal. The scent of Clare's womanly arousal, far more intoxicating than the rose and lavender of her perfume, drew him now. She was responding to him and the knowledge sent another wave of desire crashing through him.
"Sir. My lord. Garett." Clare squeezed her eyes shut and arched up off the bed. "You must not kiss me anymore. I fear my senses are as scattered as bees in the wind."
"As are mine." Gareth raised his head to look down into her flushed face. He watched her closely as he slid his hand beneath the hem of her shift.
Her eyes flew open. She shook her head once in a gesture that could have meant anything. "Please."
"Aye. I shall do my best to please you. You will forget both of them long before dawn." He leaned down and took her mouth as he moved his hand along the inside of her thigh.
"Forget who? I… oh, Gareth, I do not think this is wise. I am concerned for you, my lord."
He had no notion of what she was talking about and was not inclined to ask. Gareth had other things on his mind at the moment. His hand closed over the warm, damp flesh between her thighs.
Clare went rigid beneath his touch. She shut her eyes again and appeared to stop breathing for a few tense seconds. Her short nails were clenched so deeply into his shoulders he knew he would find marks there in the morning. The thought pleased him.
Gareth probed gently, slowly, tenderly. He parted soft, honeyed flesh as if he were parting the leaves of a lush and fragile flower until he discovered the hidden treasure he sought. Clare moaned when he stroked the gem with fingers that had been moistened in her own dew.
He went to work with great care, circling, teasing, tugging, and pressing.
Clare was obviously incapable of further protest. Gareth knew that she was now helplessly lost in the pleasure he gave her. She shivered and twisted and clung. The realization that she was responding to his touch with such passion gave him more satisfaction than anything he had ever known.
She was so caught up in the sensual spell he had woven that she did not even notice when he lowered his head once more to kiss the taut little bud that he had coaxed into full arousal.
He knew the precise instant when she did become aware of what was happening to her.
She convulsed as though she had been struck by lightning.
Gareth vowed that he could see the sparks.
Her lips parted on a high, shocked screech of amazement. The cry of feminine discovery and boundless wonder was choked off almost as soon as it had begun, but it verified what Gareth had begun to suspect. Whatever Clare had experienced at the hands of her previous lovers, she had not learned the pleasures of her own release.
Her response was more than he had dared hope to inspire. She trembled in the throes of it. And so did Gareth. She lifted herself, opened herself, offered herself to him. She was a mystical, magical creature who enthralled his senses. He was literally fascinated by her swiftly approaching release.
She shivered like a blossom in the wind.
Gareth very nearly spilled his seed as the hot satisfaction roared through him. By tomorrow morning, both Nicholas and Raymond de Coleville would be distant dull memories for Clare.
"Gareth, Gareth." Clare gulped air. "What have you done to me? What have you done?"
"Nothing that cannot be repeated many, many times before dawn."
He w
aited until she went limp. When the last tiny shiver had ended, Gareth eased himself up the length of Clare's boneless body until he was once more braced on his elbows.
He looked down into her stunned face.
He smiled.
She stared up at him, apparently silenced at last by the enormity of what she had experienced. The play of emotions in her eyes was entrancing. Confusion, wonder, amazed delight, curiosity, and feminine speculation all blended together to render her mute.
It was the first time that Gareth had ever seen her bereft of speech.
His smile turned into a knowing grin.
Gareth would have laughed in that moment if he had not been so uncomfortable. He was as hard and unyielding as the steel of the Window of Hell, but he was not nearly so cold as his blade. Just the opposite, Gareth thought. He was on fire and there was only one way to quench the flames that burned in his loins this night.
He sat up with his back to Clare and began to strip off his clothing. He was ruefully aware that his hands were shaking with the force of his need as he unbuckled his belt. He tossed the heavy leather strap aside.
"Did you… did you feel the same things I felt?" Clare asked. She sounded weak and breathless.
"Not yet. On my oath, it was a near thing, but I managed to keep from disgracing myself on your fine white sheets. Be assured that I have saved myself for you, madam."
Gareth pulled off his outer tunic and hurled it in the same general direction as his belt.
"You mean that you have not yet experienced these strange feelings?"
He hooked one ankle over his knee and jerked off a leather boot. "Have no fear, madam, you'll be well aware of my release when I sheath myself in your silken scabbard." His mouth quirked upward at one corner again.
"Unless, of course, you're too preoccupied with your own pleasure at that particular moment to notice."
Clare sat up abruptly. "By Hermione's sainted slipper, this marriage business is far more confusing than I had thought it would be."
"We shall reason it out together."
"But this is impossible."
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