Desire

'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.

Clare 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.