His gaze was thoughtful as he watched Dalian scurry away. "Your minstrel and I are going to have to have a long talk."

"Dalian means no harm, sir. He is merely concerned on my behalf." Clare frowned. "I trust you will not make a practice of frightening the members of my household?"

"It won't hurt your pet poet to learn a few manners. He is not merely protective of you, madam. I believe he is jealous."

"Jealous." Clare's mouth fell open in disbelief.

"Aye. 'Tis not difficult to comprehend."

Clare blushed. "Thank you, sir, but in truth I have had little experience with jealous men."

"'Tis not an uncommon malady. Many men fall victim to the fever when they are Dalian's age."

"The fever?"

"Love sickness. The symptoms are easily recognized. When the disease strikes, young males become overly earnest and passionate, determined to worship the very hem of their beloved's gown."

"I see."

"Dalian has obviously devoted himself to your service with the whole of his pure young heart and he does not wish to share your attentions."

"Are you certain? I hadn't realized his feelings were of such an intense nature."

Gareth shrugged. "As I said, 'tis a common enough jroblem in boys his age. Tis nothing he will not outgrow."

Clare crossed her arms beneath her breasts. "Tell me, sir, were you ever prey to the sort of fever you describe?"

"There was a brief time in my life during which I succumbed to the hellfires of unrequited passion. But that was long ago." Gareth's eyes gleamed. "I decided there was no profit in it and soon wearied of the pangs. I have no talent for worshiping a lady from afar."

"A pity." Clare did not want to admit it to herself, but he truth was that Gareth's easy dismissal of gallant love and pure passion was disheartening. She must remember that this marriage was as much a matter of business for him is it was for her.

"I trust you do not expect me to fall ill with love sickness at my age,"

Gareth said softly.

Clare looked into his crystal eyes and realized with a sense of startled wonder that he was once again amused, the knowledge did much to lift her flagging spirits. Gareth was a man of well-concealed emotions, but at least he assessed some. Yesterday she had not been entirely certain of that.

She reminded herself that she had never expected to gain a passionate lover in this marriage. All she could hope or was a husband who would make an intelligent friend and companion.

She needed time.

She cleared her throat and decided to seize the?pportunity. "Although you speak in jest, Sir Gareth, I would?"

"Never, madam."

She blinked in confusion. "I pray your pardon?"

"I merely said that I never speak in jest."

She brushed that aside. "Nonsense, of course you do. however, your last comment raises a rather delicate issue, one that I wish to address before our marriage takes place."

"Later, if you do not object. There are one or two matters I must deal with before Nicholas and his men awake." Gareth glanced across the courtyard and raised a hand to catch Ulrich's attention.

"But Sir Gareth, the matter I wish to speak to you about is quite important."

"So is sweeping out the refuse from your hall."

Clare was distracted by that remark. "Well, that is certainly true. Do you propose to take charge of the task?"

"How could I do anything less? I am the one who caused the mess."

She swallowed a smile. "Aye, so you are. But under the circumstances, I am prepared to overlook the matter."

"You are indeed a most gracious and generous lady."

"I am pleased that you think as much." She frowned thoughtfully. "I suppose our discussion can wait. Mayhap you will be free sometime this afternoon?"

"I am always available to you, madam."

"Except when you are in the process of cleaning out a hall?"

"Aye."

A groom chose that moment to lead one of the massive war-horses across the courtyard. The animal's steel-shod feet rang on the stones. The horse and groom were followed by a clattering cart full of hay.

A pained groan sounded from just inside the hall.

"In the name of the devil and all his minions, what is all that damnable noise?" Nicholas lurched into view from the shadowed doorway behind Gareth. He absently scratched the stubble on his cheeks as he peered, bleary-eyed, into the courtyard. "Oh, it's you, Clare."

Clare tried to ignore the stench that emanated from him. "Good day to you, sir."

"Is it? I hadn't noticed."

She scowled. "You appear ill."

"I am." Nicholas winced. "My head feels as if some fool used it for quintain practice."

"Do not expect sympathy from me," Clare said. "After your extremely annoying behavior last night, you do not deserve any pity."

Nicholas gave Gareth a beseeching look. "You have won the lady's hand.

She's all yours with my blessing. The least you can do is protect me from the sharp edge of her tongue."

Gareth glanced at Clare. "Lady Clare was just about to take a brisk walk along the cliffs."

"I was?" Clare gazed at him in astonishment.

"I think it would be for the best," Gareth said. "By the time you return, your hall will be swept clean."

Clare hesitated. "Mayhap a walk is not such a bad notion. I often take one in the mornings. As it happens, I have an errand in the village."

She brightened. "I'll just run upstairs and fetch an item that I promised to take to Beatrice the recluse. I pray you will both excuse me, sirs."

"Aye," Nicholas muttered. "You're excused. Good riddance."

Clare glowered at him as she went past. "Really, Sir Nicholas, you should be ashamed of yourself for the way you acted last night."

"I pray you will read me no lectures," Nicholas said. "This sore skull of mine is punishment enough for any offense I may have committed last night. You are welcome to your Hellhound if he is, indeed, your choice."

"He is no longer the Hellhound of Wyckmere," Clare said forcefully. "On the morrow he will become Gareth, lord of Desire, and I would have you show him proper respect."

Gareth raised one brow and watched Clare with mild curiosity, as if she were an odd and unfamiliar creature.

Nicholas cradled his head between his hands. "I will call him by any name you wish, if you will cease screeching, lady."

"I am not screeching." Clare stepped around him and went toward the tower stairs.

" 'Tis a matter of opinion."

Clare ignored him. But halfway up the curving staircase, she realized that she had forgotten to inquire as to whether or not Nicholas intended to stay for the wedding. If he and his men were going to spend another night under her roof, she would have to alert poor Eadgar.

Lifting the skirts of her gown, she hurried back down the stone steps.

She evaded a snoring man who had slid halfway off his pallet into the stinking rushes, and crossed the shadowed hall to the main entrance.

Gareth and Nicholas still stood talking quietly in the doorway. Neither man noticed her as she came to a halt at the sound of her own name.

"Nay, by all that's holy, I have no desire to stay another day to see lady Clare wed," Nicholas said.

"She's yours and I wish you joy of her."

"That is generous of you under the circumstances," Gareth said.

"Tis true that she brings a fine, fat manor as her dowry. I felt obliged to try to get my hands on it, but to be honest, I'm not sorry I lost to you. The man who takes Clare as wife will pay a high price. You'll discover that soon enough."

" Tis no concern of yours," Gareth said.

"Aye, and I confess that this morning I am eternally grateful for that."

Nicholas rubbed his temples.

"God save me from clever women."

"Rest assured that you have been saved from this particular woman."

"The difficulty is that she's had the running of this manor ever since she was a young girl," Nicholas complained. "She's grown far too accustomed to command. I warn you, Hellhound, she'll not tolerate any man's hand on the reins."