alone. But husbands, especially knights as proud as Sir Gareth, seldom see such matters in that light.'
'I disagree. I think they are quite capable of overlooking such small details when a woman's dowry is sufficiently large.'
'Heed me well, my daughter. Men, even the more intelligent among them, as I believe Lord Gareth to be, are fundamentally simple creatures.'
'So?'
'So, as long as they believe honor is satisfied, they are inclined to be generous and chivalrous, especially to a new bride. I would have you give your husband the gift that will content him most on his wedding night so that you, in turn, will find contentment in your marriage on the morrow.'
Clare patted the new vial of blood that was safely stored in her girdle purse. 'I must remember to say a prayer for all those noble chickens that have died for my honor this day.'
'You'll be eating some of them at the banquet.'
The feasting began shortly before noon and carried on without pause throughout the afternoon and long into the night. Everyone on the isle was invited, from the poorest laborer to the plumpest farmer. Even the nuns of Saint Hermione's partook of the extravagant array of food and ale along with everyone else.
Although she had given orders to spare no expense, Clare was impressed, in spite of herself, with what Eadgar and the household servants had accomplished in such a short period of time. Elaborate preserves of turnips and carrots flavored with mustard seed were sent to the tables.
Stuffed ducks, fragrant pottages, broiled fish, and honeyed chicken and pork tarts were carried to the hall in a constant stream from the kitchens.
The celebration took on the boisterous mood of a fair. Children played games in the courtyard. Men told ribald jokes. Dalian entertained everyone with his tabor, flute, and harp. William helped himself to a bite from every serving plate in sight.
The ominous fog which gripped the isle was forgotten as the river of ale and wine took effect. The main hall was crammed with people who drank toast after toast to the bride and groom at the head table.
Out in the courtyard tables had been set up to feed those who could not be squeezed inside the hall. Braziers warded off the chill in the air.
As the night deepened, the fire in the central hall threw a warm, golden glow over the raucous scene. Although she was seated next to him, the noise and merriment made it nearly impossible for Clare to engage in conversation with her new husband. She was, however, intensely aware of his gaze sliding intimately over her from time to time.
The water clock at the far end of the hall had just marked the hour before midnight when Joanna caught Clare's eye. It was time to go upstairs to the bridal chamber.
For no apparent reason, Clare's fingers suddenly trembled as she gripped her goblet. She put her unfinished wine down very slowly and looked at Gareth.
He leaned toward her so that she would be able to hear him. 'I comprehend that it is time for my bride to leave the hall?'
'Aye, so it would seem.' Clare did not care for the inexplicable attack of unease that had just assailed her. There was nothing to fear tonight, she reminded herself, no reason to shiver in anticipation or dread. Nothing at all was going to happen.
She had made her position clear to Gareth yesterday. He had not argued or raised an objection.
They had an understanding. They would become friends before they became lovers.
Lovers. The word sang in Clare's head. She recalled the one kiss Gareth had given her and grew warm all over.
Gareth rose to his feet. The laughter and the loud conversation ceased abruptly. A hush claimed the crowd as all eyes turned toward the head table.
Clare knew that everyone in the hall was waiting to see what would happen next. It was time for her to carry out her end of the bargain that she had struck with Gareth. She must go to the bridal chamber with the air of a willing, welcoming bride.
Gareth lifted his silver goblet and looked down at Clare. His gaze was brilliant and intent. Clare swallowed. Her smile felt shaky.
Friends first. Then lovers.
She could trust the Hellhound, she told herself. He would keep his end of the bargain.
'I drink a toast to my fair and lovely bride,' Gareth said into the taut silence. He took a deep sip from the goblet.
Cheers rang through the hall. The boisterous crowd pounded tankards on the tables.
Gareth set his goblet down and drew the Window of Hell from its scabbard. The steel flashed in the firelight as he held the blade aloft just as he had the day of his arrival. A murmur of excitement rippled through the hall.
'I am a fortunate man, for I have wed a most gracious lady.' Gareth's voice carried to the farthest corner of the large chamber.
A shout of agreement went up from the audience. Clare smiled wryly. The Hellhound really was very good at making the grand gesture.
'Hear me, good people of Desire,' Gareth said. 'Listen well, for I would have all those present here tonight witness that I give this sword, which had never been stained with dishonor, once more into the hands of my lady. This I do as a symbol of regard for her. She is now my wife.
She holds my honor in her hands even as she holds my sword.'
'Aye, aye.'
Another round of enthusiastic shouts and yells echoed from the stone walls, the revelers slamming tankards and knife butts against the tables.
Gareth reversed the blade and presented the sword, hilt first, to Clare.
'Know that I am well pleased in my wife.'
The thundering yells of approval made it impossible for Clare to say a word. She did not know if she would have been able to speak had the hall been empty.
For some reason, Gareth's extravagantly chivalrous gesture, though she knew it to be carefully calculated for the effect it would have on the crowd, brought tears to her eyes.
She took the heavy, crystal-pommeled sword from his hand and rose to her feet.
Once more the hall fell silent in anticipation. Clare drew a deep breath and prepared to make a formal gesture of her own.
She nodded at William, who immediately came forward down the aisle between a row of trestle tables. He carried a large bunch of dried flowers and herbs.
'My lord,' Clare said, 'in exchange for the honor and strength that you bring to us this day, I give into your safekeeping the source of the prosperity of our fair isle.'
William went down on one knee and handed the fragrant sheaf of dried lavender, rosemary, roses, and mug-wort to Clare. She took it from his hand and gave the ribbon-tied bundle to Gareth.
Gareth looked down at the sheaf of flowers and herbs that were symbolic of the perfumed isle. When he raised his eyes, Clare was stunned by the fierceness of his gaze.
'I will guard this isle, its people, and its lady with more care than I would use to guard my own life,' Gareth said so that all could hear.
Clare saw the unwavering promise in his strong face. She knew that he meant every word. Their personal relationship was far from settled, but she could be certain that her isle was in good hands.
She smiled tremulously. 'I have chosen well.'
'I would have you believe so.'
Clare could hardly breathe. For a moment it was as if she and Gareth were alone in the hall. She could feel the unbreakable, invisible cords that now bound them together.
Friends first, Clare reminded herself. It was far too soon for her and Gareth to become lovers.
