'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?'
'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?'
'I use it to extract oil from cinnamon and roses. It is of Arab design.'
'Where did you get it?'
'It was my father's. He discovered it on his last journey to Spain. It was packed in one of the chests full of books and other items that he sent to me shortly before he died.'
Gareth poked experimentally at one of the iron screws. His expression was one of absorbed curiosity. 'Fascinating.'
'Unfortunately, it is broken at the moment. I have not been able to repair it.'
'Mayhap I can do something about it. I have studied a number of the translated Arab works that describe mechanical devices.'
'Have you?' Clare was suddenly intrigued. This was a side of Gareth that she had not seen until now.
'Aye.' Gareth jiggled one of the hinges on the press.
'Mayhap you would care to examine my father's workrooms. They are on the other side of the courtyard. I have kept them locked since he left Desire a year ago. They are full of many of the items he discovered on his various journeys.'
'I would very much like to see your father's workrooms.'
'Aye. Well, then, I shall give you the keys. Mayhap you would also enjoy studying the book he wrote.
I have it in my study chamber.'
'He wrote a book?' Gareth sounded impressed.
'It is a collection of recipes and treatises that he translated from the Arabic. Unfortunately, my father was not a skilled scribe. It is a rather difficult volume to read.'
'I shall look forward to the task.'
Clare scowled in exasperation. She suddenly realized that Gareth had successfully deflected her from the topic at hand. 'At the moment, however, I intend to have a discussion concerning the nature of our association.'
'As a man who has made his living by knowing when to fight and when to keep his sword in its scabbard, I can tell you that you do not want such a discussion. Not now, at any rate.'
'Is that so?' she challenged.
'Sometimes 'tis better not to confront a problem directly.'
'Such discretion astounds me, sir. I would have thought you would prefer open battle.'
'Nay, I have had too many battles in my time.'
'You must excuse me if I am somewhat dubious of that statement, my lord.'
'Tis true.' Gareth looked up from the press. 'I would far rather inhale the vapors of your perfumes than do
