Desire

by Amanda Quick

  He reached out and caught hold of Clare’s arm in what no doubt appeared to onlookers to be a husbandly gesture of affection. Clare, however, was acutely aware of the inflexibility of his fingers. He was not hurting her, but his grasp was unshakable.

  “Dallan and William are not under your command, sir,” she said.

  “I believe there is some misunderstanding here.” Gareth’s eyes were polite but unyielding. “‘Tis nothing that cannot be cleared up immediately. If you will come with me, madam, I shall explain everything to your satisfaction.”

  Clare frowned. “I doubt that. My lord, I have not given my permission for William and Dallan to train with weapons.”

  “Nay, but I have given mine, so all is well.”

  Clare opened her mouth in astonishment. “You have no right—”

  “As to my rights, I believe it would be best if we discussed those in private.” Gareth looked at Ulrich. “Continue with the sword practice while I explain matters to my lady wife.”

  “Aye, my lord.” Gareth turned to William and Dallan. “Let’s get back to the business at hand, lads. We have a great deal of work ahead of us if we are to make useful knights out of you.”

  “Lady Clare,” Dallan yelped like an abandoned puppy. “Aren’t you going to save us?”

  Gareth’s hand tightened around Clare’s arm before she could reply. “Get on with your training, minstrel. Who knows? If you work very hard, you may soon learn how to save yourself when you get into unpleasant situations. You will no longer need to hide behind a woman’s skirts.”

  Dallan turned a dull shade of red. His eyes glittered with helpless rage.

  Gareth paid no attention. He led Clare back across the courtyard toward the drying shed.

  “Gareth, how could you do such a thing?” Clare snapped furiously.

  “’Tis the truth. The boy must become a man. The sooner the better, in his case.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Young Dallan tells me that he is a bastard. I suspect that he recently fled the household where he was raised. He is alone in the world, more so than he yet realizes. And he is of an anxious nature.”

  “Aye, but—”

  “If he is going to survive, he must learn how to take care of himself. From what I have heard of his wretched poetry, he cannot depend upon his skill with a harp to make his way in the world.”

  Clare heard the grim conviction in Gareth’s voice. It effectively forestalled the remainder of her angry tirade. “You know whereof you speak, do you not, my lord?”

  “Aye. ‘Tis true that unlike young Dallan, I had the advantage of being raised in my father’s household. But I am still a bastard, for all of that, and nothing can change the fact. A man born into this world without a name must make his own.”

  The chill in his words told Clare a great deal. Gareth may indeed have been raised in his father’s house, but he had never felt welcome there.

  At least she had always had Desire, she thought. Even through the worst of times she had always had a home. She had had a place where people wanted her and needed her, a place where she knew she belonged.

  She resisted an odd, almost overpowering urge to touch Gareth’s fierce jaw and tell him that he now had a home, too. She knew he would not welcome the sympathy.

  “I appreciate your concern for my minstrel, but Dallan is safe enough here on Desire.” she said briskly.

  “Is he?”

  “Of course he is. And so is William. There has never been any violence on this isle. No one has ever had to defend the hall or the village. The only reason we need a company of armed men at all is to protect the shipments we send elsewhere.”

  Gareth’s mouth tightened. “I am well aware that you view my role here as a very limited one. But as it is my task to protect this isle, you must allow me to make the decisions that deal with such matters.”

  Clare slanted him an uncertain glance. She wondered if she had somehow offended him. “Surely you do not need William’s or Dallan’s assistance for the defense of Desire.”

  “As to that, who can say? I believe in being prepared for all eventualities.”

  “Aye, but—”

  “Come, Clare. Be reasonable. Young William needs exercise. He is in immediate danger of either being smothered to death by his well-meaning mother or of turning into a stuffed pork pie.”

  Clare knew he was right, but she could hardly admit it. To do so would be to abandon her present battle. “I do not dispute that William needs more physical activity,” she managed austerely. “However—”

  “He also craves a man’s guidance. So does Dallan.”

  That was too much. “I am aware that young William has become Sir Ulrich’s shadow of late, but Dallan has been quite content in this household.”

  “Too much so.” Gareth looked thoughtful. “I believe your minstrel clings to your skirts and starts at every small sound because he has been badly frightened by his previous master. To combat that fear, he must gain confidence in his own ability to defend himself.”

  Clare gave Gareth a disgruntled look. He had assessed the situation accurately, confirming some of her own conclusions.

  But there was another, much more significant issue involved here, Clare knew. It had to do with the question of who gave the orders on the manor.

  “I will not deny that William and Dallan could do with a man’s guidance,” Clare said cautiously. “And I agree that exercise is of great benefit in restoring balance to the body’s humors. But there is no need for either boy to undergo the dangerous and rigorous training of a knight in order to accomplish that.”

  “They will be safe enough under Ulrich’s supervision.”

  “Joanna will fret.”

  “She will soon adjust to the situation. That is not the real issue here, is it?”

  “Nay.” Clare came to a halt and swung around to confront him. “Let us be clear on something here, my lord. I will make the decisions that affect the members of this household.”

  Gareth’s gaze was as fathomless as the crystal in his sword. “I comprehend that you have had the sole responsibility for this household and this manor for a long time, Clare.”

  “Aye.” She eyed him with frosty challenge.

  “You are obviously accustomed to bearing the burden alone.”

  “Precisely.”

  “But you are no longer alone.”

  “There is no need to remind me of that fact,” she retorted. “I am only too well aware of it.”

  Gareth’s brows rose. “You were the one who wrote to Thurston of Landry to request a husband who could provide protection for your manor.”

  “What of it? I had little choice in the matter.”

  “My point is that you have got what you asked for, madam.”

  “Not quite.”

  “Aye, that is true enough, is it not? You have made it plain that I do not meet all the requirements of your damned recipe.”

  Clare badly wished she had not let her tongue run away with her. “I did not mean that the way it sounded, sir.”

  “Aye, you did mean it. But it matters not. Few of us get exactly what we want.” Gareth rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. “We must all make the most of whatever the winds of fortune blow our way.”

  Likely she was not the sort of wife he had dreamed of marrying, Clare thought. “My lord, I am trying to make another point entirely here.”

  “As am I, madam. To be blunt, I may not be what you ordered, but I am the only husband you have got. Allow me to perform my tasks without interference.”

  “What has training Dallan or William got to do with the defense of this manor?”

  “Clare,” Joanna called.

  Clare glanced toward the workrooms. Joanna left the doorway of the drying shed and hurried across the courtyard.

  “You must stop them,” Joanna said urgently. “William is still playing with that dangerous sword.”

  “I will deal with this,” Gareth said quietly.

/>   “She is my friend,” Clare said. “I shall deal with it.”

  “As your husband and as the lord of this manor, I must ask that you stand with me on this, madam.” Gareth’s gaze was suddenly very cold and very unyielding. “I warn you, for the sake of all concerned, do not gainsay me in front of Joanna.”

  “By Saint Hermione’s hair, this is too much.”

  “If you and I do not appear united in our decisions, we will cause confusion and discontent among our people. Do you want that?”

  Our people.

  The words brought Clare up short. She had to accept that the people of Desire were linked to Gareth now. She knew he was right when he insisted that as lord and lady of the manor, the two of them must stand together.

  “You have caught me in yet another of your crafty snares, my lord,” she muttered a few seconds before Joanna reached them. “Beware. One day I shall have my revenge.”

  “You have already had your revenge. And a most telling vengeance it is. I am a husband who has not yet had a wedding night.”

  She threw him a quelling glance as Joanna fluttered anxiously to a halt in front of them.

  “Clare, why did you not instruct Ulrich to cease the training?” Joanna asked. “William could be hurt at any moment. Just look at the way he is swinging that great wooden sword about.”

  Clare steeled herself. “Lord Gareth feels that such training will be good for both William and Dallan. My lord and I have discussed the matter and I have concluded that he is right. I agree with his decision.”

  “You agree with him?” Joanna’s eyes widened in shock.

  Clare did not dare look at Gareth. If he smiled in triumph at that moment, she was not at all certain that she would be able to keep from throttling him.

  “Rest assured that I have given my approval for William and Dallan to be taught knightly skills,” Clare said. “As a form of healthful exercise,” she added quickly.

  “But you have never approved of such activities, not even for the sake of health,” Joanna said. “After Edmund was killed, you told me that you never wanted to hear the sound of a lance striking a quintain again as long as you lived.”

  Clare winced. “I was distraught at the time.”

  “The grief my lady wife must have experienced at the time of her brother’s death no doubt prevented her taking an objective view of the benefits of exercise,” Gareth said easily.

  Joanna looked uncertain. “She was much saddened and prone to melancholy at the time. Nevertheless, I heard her say very distinctly that training a man to be a knight was a great piece of idiocy.”

  Clare saw the gleam in Gareth’s eye. She flushed.

  “At the time, my wife was not aware of the many healthful advantages of training and exercise for young men,” Gareth said. “I have explained those benefits to her, however, and she is eager for William and Dallan to receive them.”

  “What benefits?” Joanna gave him a beseeching look. “William could be seriously injured.”

  “He could be hurt climbing an apple tree or falling down a staircase, but ‘tis not likely,” Gareth said with surprising gentleness. “Your son is safer under Sir Ulrich’s eye than he is in his own bed.”

  “William has a most delicate constitution,” Joanna insisted. “Such training and exercise will exhaust him.”

  “A regimen of properly supervised exercise will strengthen his constitution and align his humors,” Gareth said. “I have seen many examples of frail young boys who have greatly improved their health through regular, vigorous activity.”

  “I am not at all certain of this.” Joanna looked at Clare, seeking support.

  Clare managed what she hoped was an encouraging smile. “We must trust that my husband and Sir Ulrich know what they are about, Joanna. They have both had a great deal of experience in such matters.”

  “Their experience is in hunting outlaws, not in educating young boys,” Joanna said desperately.

  “Nay,” Gareth said. “I have been training the men who serve under my command for years. So has Ulrich. We know what we are doing.”

  Joanna looked from Gareth to Clare and back. Some of her visible agitation subsided. She did not appear completely satisfied, but it was clear she realized she was facing a united lord and lady. In an odd way, it seemed to give her some further reassurance.

  “Well, if you are certain William will not be hurt, I suppose it will be all right to try an exercise program.”

  “Why don’t you discuss the particulars of William’s training at supper with Sir Ulrich?” Clare suggested to Joanna. “I believe that he will answer all of your questions.”

  Joanna brightened. “Aye, I will do that. Sir Ulrich is a very kind and courteous knight. And very knowledgeable.”

  “He will be an excellent example for young William and for Dallan.” Gareth’s eyes gleamed. “He is not one of your typical thick-skulled, ill-mannered, foul-tempered knights.”

  Clare rolled her eyes heavenward and called on Saint Hermione for strength.

  “Aye, mayhap Sir Ulrich will, indeed, be a good influence on William.” Joanna inclined her head politely to Gareth. “Pray, excuse me, my lord. I believe I shall go and observe the training.”

  “Do it from a distance,” Gareth advised. “Otherwise you will divert your son’s attention and he will lose much of the benefit.”

  “Aye.”

  Clare watched Joanna walk toward the hall steps to join a handful of other people who had gathered to observe the training practice.

  “Well done, madam,” Gareth muttered. “I know that was not easy for you. But in truth ‘tis time she stopped coddling the lad. She cannot protect him forever.”

  Clare narrowed her eyes against the bright sunlight and turned to face Gareth. “You have had your way in this, my lord. I trust you are satisfied. Next time, you will consult me before you make any decisions which affect those in my charge, is that quite clear?”

  “You and I must share the responsibilities for the decisions that affect the people of this manor now, Clare.”

  “All the more reason for you to discuss things with me first before you make sweeping decisions.”

  Gareth took her arm again and started toward the drying shed. “I think it would be best if we finished this conversation in private. I have been the subject of enough speculation and gossip today.”

  Clare’s gaze went to the linen bandage on his arm. Guilt shot through her. “I am aware of that, my lord, and I cannot tell you how much I regret it.”

  “Try.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I said, try to tell me how much regret my act of personal sacrifice has caused you.” Gareth urged her through the door into the fragrant, shadowed interior of the shed.

  “Are you teasing me, my lord?” she demanded suspiciously.

  “Nay, madam.” Gareth stopped just inside the shed and surveyed the long rows of flowers that hung from the drying racks. “So this is where you produce the wealth of Desire.”

  Clare frowned. “This is one of my workrooms, yes.”

  “I would see the rest of your facilities.” Gareth started slowly down an aisle created by several long benches. He stopped in front of a pot filled with elderflowers, rose petals, and oak moss.

  He scooped out a large handful and held the mixture to his nose. “Sweet. Rich. A woman’s scent, no doubt. One of your more profitable recipes?”

  “Aye. It will sell well at the spring fair.” Clare planted her hands on her hips and tapped one toe as Gareth moved on to another bowl.

  “I like this one,” he said as he held another handful of dried ingredients to his nose. “Clean and fresh. It smells of the sea.”

  Clare crossed her arms under her breasts. “’Tis a mixture of spices and mint that is much favored by the wealthy men of London.”

  Gareth nodded and dropped the mix back into the bowl. He wandered down the row of tables to where several sprays of dried flowers were set out. “And these?”

&n
bsp; “Violets, roses, and orris root. I blend them with beeswax to create a scented balm. Twice a year I ship quantities of it to the South. ‘Tis quite popular.”

  Gareth glanced toward the door at the far end of the shed. “What is in the adjoining workroom?”

  “That is the place where I create my scented oils. It is where I work with fresh flowers and herbs instead of the dried ones. My lord, I believe you are attempting to distract me.”

  “Do you find my interest in your work unusual?” Gareth strode toward the connecting door.

  “Under the circumstances, I do, sir.”

  Gareth opened the door and went through into the next workroom. “You cannot blame me for being curious. Now that I have given up the business of hunting cutthroats, my fortunes are in your hands, madam.” He halted just inside the room. “It smells like all the flowers on the earth are collected in here.”

  Clare scowled and hurried after him. “I told you, that workroom is full of fresh petals and other ingredients.”

  Gareth walked over to a huge covered urn and lifted the lid. He took a deep whiff of the contents. “Hell’s teeth. ‘Tis enough to make a man light-headed.”

  “Oil of roses,” Clare explained.

  “And this?” Gareth lifted another lid.

  “’Tis an oil mixture composed of fresh lavender, cloves, and a great many other ingredients. My lord, forgive me if I doubt the extent of your interest in my creations. We both know that you are attempting to avoid a discussion.”

  “An argument.” Gareth took a deep breath of the lavender and clove oil.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I am attempting to avoid an argument.” He put the lid back on the urn and surveyed three large pots that stood on a table. “What’s in these vessels?”

  “Honey, beeswax, and vinegar.” Clare hung on to her fraying temper with sheer willpower. “I mix various flowers and herbs into them to create different lotions and creams. My lord, I do not wish to argue with you, but—”

  “Excellent.” Gareth removed the lid from the honey jar. “I am not fond of arguments.” He touched a large, heavy press made of wood and iron. “What is this mechanical device?”