Desire

'Agreed.' Gareth appeared no more concerned about that suggestion than he had about the first one. 'You may choose the weapons.'

Clare leaped to her feet again. 'I have had enough of this idiocy.'

Everyone stared at her.

She planted both hands flat on the table to keep them from shaking and swept the hall with furious eyes. 'Hear me, all you who eat and drink at my board tonight. Know that I have had my fill of this foolish business of selecting a husband. Thurston of Landry has promised me that I can make my own choice.

I will do so now and put an end to the matter.'

A rustle and murmur of interest went through the hall. Men whispered to their neighbors, eager to place hasty wagers on the outcome of this new turn of events.

'My bold and noble suitors wish to play games,' Clare said with scathing emphasis. 'Very well, a game it shall be. But I shall choose the sport and I shall be the only player.'

Gareth's smoky crystalline eyes never left Clare's face.

Nicholas smirked.

'It seems that I must choose between Sir Gareth of Wyckmere and Sir Nicholas of Seabern.' Clare gestured toward each man in turn. 'Was ever a woman so fortunate in her suitors?'

There were roars of approval from the crowd in the hall. No one seemed to notice the sarcasm in Clare's voice.

She snatched up one of the yellow primroses and held the bloom aloft in front of her so that all could see it. 'I shall pluck the petals from this flower. As I do so, I will call out, by turns, the names of each of these fine, chivalrous knights who would be lord of Desire. By my oath, I will wed the man whose name I call out last.'

Nicholas's smile vanished. 'God's eyes, Clare, you cannot mean to make such an important choice in such a haphazard manner.'

She glared at him. ''Tis no more haphazard and a good deal less bloody than the trial by combat which you proposed, Sir Nicholas.'

'Hellfire,' Gareth muttered. 'Do you know what you're doing, lady?'

'Aye.' Clare did not give anyone else time to interfere. She plucked the first petal from the primrose.

'Sir Gareth.'

A stir of excitement went through the crowd. More wagers were placed.

Gareth's gaze shifted to the primrose. He studied it intently for a few seconds and then he sat back in his chair with an expression of quiet satisfaction.

'Sir Nicholas.' Clare tore off another petal and let it flutter to the table.

Nicholas scowled at the flower. 'This is an idiotic way to select a husband.'

'When one has been given a choice between idiots, one uses an idiotic method of selection.' Clare smiled sweetly and ripped off another petal.

'Sir Gareth.'

There were only two petals left on the primrose. Clare plucked the next to the last one. 'Sir Nicholas.'

Hisses of dismay mingled with shouts of triumph as the crowd realized who the winner would be.

Clare held up the primrose to display the single remaining petal. She tore it ruthlessly from the stalk.

'Sir Gareth of Wyckmere.'

A thundering din arose from the hall as the diners pounded their tankards on the tables.

Nicholas's face contorted with fury. 'Damn it to the pit, woman, what do you think you're doing?'

'Choosing the new lord of this manor.' Clare swung around with a flourish and handed Gareth the denuded primrose. 'Welcome, my lord. I trust you will be content with what you have gained.'

Gareth took the naked stalk and rose to his feet with fluid grace. 'Aye, my lady.' His eyes gleamed.

'I am well content.'

'God's blood,' Nicholas surged to his feet. 'I am far from satisfied.

You cannot choose a husband in this fashion.'

'Tis done. I have made my selection, as I was commanded to do by Thurston of Landry.' Clare stepped back from the table. 'And now you must excuse me. I am going to my bedchamber. I find myself much wearied by the excitement.'

'God's blood,' shouted Nicholas. 'I'll not stand for this.'

'You, sir, have nothing more to say about the matter.' Clare raised her chin. 'As it is too late for you to return to Seabern, you are welcome to stay the night. Arrangements have been made.'

She picked up her skirts and started around the table. Joanna rose quickly to join her.

Clare was aware of everyone watching her as she crossed the room to the tower stairs. She paused on the first step and looked back toward the head table, where Nicholas and Gareth sat.

'Before I take my leave, sirs, I have one more thing to say.' She met Gareth's eyes. 'Know this, my future lord. There has never been violence here on this isle. I will not tolerate any tonight. Is that understood?'

'Aye, my lady,' Gareth said softly.

'If blood is shed in this hall before morning,' Clare continued through set teeth, 'I vow, I will take the veil rather than wed you or any other man.'

More whispers of wonder and speculation washed over the crowd. Nicholas looked suddenly sly.

Clare glanced disdainfully at Nicholas and then she returned her attention to Gareth. 'And lest both of you decide that you would be better off without me to contend with, remember that if I enter a nunnery, I will not go empty-handed. I shall take all the secrets of my perfume recipes with me. They will be my dowry to the convent.'

Another hushed silence fell on the hall as the impact of that statement made itself felt. There was not a soul on the isle who was not aware that the revenues from Desire were based on Clare's perfume recipes.

Without them the fields of flowers and herbs were useless.

Satisfied that she had made her point, Clare smiled grimly at Gareth.

'Your first task, Sir Gareth, is to keep the peace in this hall. If you would enjoy future profits from my perfumes, you must accomplish the business without drawing blood. I bid you good night.'

She picked up an oil lamp that was burning on a nearby table, whirled about, and rushed up the narrow, twisting stairs. Joanna followed at her heels.

'Dear heaven, how could you make your choice in such a whimsical manner?' Joanna gasped as she flew up the steps in Clare's wake. 'What if the winner had been Sir Nicholas? You despise him after what happened last month. You said yourself that you would rather marry almost any man than him.'

'There was no way that Sir Nicholas could have been the winner. I knew who would be the new lord of Desire before I pulled the first petal off the flower.' Clare reached the upper floor and stalked down the corridor to her bedchamber. 'There are only five petals on a primrose, after all.'

'But how did you know which name would be called out last?' Joanna's brow cleared. 'Oh, I see. You had counted the petals and reasoned it out before you started.'

'Aye.' Clare opened the heavy wooden door of her chamber. She went inside, set the lamp down on a table, and walked to the window. She took a deep, calming breath of the perfumed darkness. 'I knew the answer. Indeed, I knew it hours ago.'

Joanna watched her closely. 'Then why did you stage the fine performance with the primrose?'

Clare tapped one finger against the windowsill. 'I was furious with both men but most especially with Sir Gareth. Nicholas is, to be blunt, simply Nicholas. He hasn't the wit to be anything other than obnoxious.'

'And Sir Gareth?'

Clare's mouth tightened. 'Sir Gareth most certainly possesses a high degree of intelligence and common sense. It angered me that he was willing to resort to intimidation and violence to gain his ends.'

Joanna frowned. 'Do you think that was what he was doing?'

'Aye. Did you not see the way he toyed with the flower while Dalian played 'The Key'?'

'Twas merely a flower, Clare. What made you deem the gesture intimidating?'

'I cannot explain it. Twas something about the manner in which he stroked the petals that alarmed me.' Clare gazed out at the moonlit sea.

'He was telling me quite clearly that he could be gentle or he could be dangerous. He wanted me to know that the choice was mine.'