Gareth gave her a quizzical look. "Did you want a man you could manage easily? That requirement was not mentioned in your recipe, as I recall."

Clare glowered at him. "Do not jest with me, sir."

"I told you, I never jest."

"But you do, and in a most irritating fashion. However, that is neither here nor there at the moment. I concede that you have won your point."

She paused, thinking quickly. "It would probably be best if we gave the appearance of sharing the marriage bed."

It was Gareth's turn to grow wary. "The appearance?"

"Aye." Clare began to smile, well satisfied with her own logic. "I see no reason why we cannot share a bedchamber."

"I am pleased that you agree with my conclusion."

"But," Clare finished triumphantly, "I see absolutely no need for us to actually share a bed."

"Hell's teeth, madam, you reason like a man of law."

Clare gave him her brightest, most dulcetly innocent smile. "As far as everyone else is concerned, we two shall retire to the same chamber every night, just as would any married lord and lady. But what goes on inside that chamber is no one else's concern but our own."

"As to that," Gareth began ominously. "I do not believe?"

Clare seized the initiative. "No one else need know that we wish to become better acquainted before we consummate the marriage. It will be our private business."

"It will?"

"Aye. This way we shall both gain our objectives, sir. As far as my people will know, you will enjoy my wifely respect. I, in turn, shall have the time I want to grow better acquainted with you."

Gareth contemplated her with an expression of grudging admiration. "It occurs to me that Nicholas of Seabern does not know how truly fortunate he is to have escaped marriage to you. You would have made a minced-meat tart of him, my lady."

7

The silvery fog that shrouded Desire on the morning of Clare's wedding was seen as an ill omen by virtually everyone on the isle. The murmurs of concern began among the small group of female servants who helped Clare bathe and dress.

"The recluse said this day would be dimmed by cold smoke from the fires of hell," one of the women muttered. "She was right."

" Tis merely a bit of fog," Clare said. "It will be gone by midmorning."

She stood patiently while her best gown, a vibrant blue-green in hue, was slipped over her head. The long, deep sleeves of the dress were turned back to reveal the brilliant yellow lining. The neck and hem were embroidered in yellow and white silk thread.

"I trust my lady is correct." Eunice had been a serving maid in the household since the days of Clare's infancy. She did not hesitate to voice her opinion. She adjusted a silver circlet around Clare's hair, anchoring the delicate gold net in place.

"All will be well, Eunice."

"Do not be so certain, my lady. Everyone knows how ye threatened to deny the Hellhound his rights in the bedchamber. I warrant he'll not tolerate such defiance. I fear for yer very life."

"If you are referring to our small argument yesterday morning, calm yourself," Clare said airily. "My threat was spoken in the heat of anger. I intend to accept Sir Gareth as my husband just as I have accepted him as lord of this manor. I have already told him as much."

"Saints be praised." Eunice sighed with relief. "Everyone on the isle will be well pleased to learn that, madam. Tis for the best, y'll see."

"That's what Sir Gareth says," Clare said dryly.

"Now, then." Eunice cleared her throat. She glanced quickly to the left and then to the right, apparently assuring herself that the other servants were busy delving into the carved chest on the far side of the chamber. She leaned close and lowered her voice to a whisper. "Just in case there is a bit of a problem tonight, I want ye to take this."

Clare glanced down at the tiny, cloth-wrapped object Eunice thrust into her hand. "What is it?"

"Hush, not so loud. Tis a small vial of chicken blood."

"Oh, no, not you, too, Eunice."

"There, now, not another word, madam. Tis neither here nor there, as far as I'm concerned. What's done is done, and it weren't yer fault, whether the man was Sir Nicholas or that grand knight ye lost yer heart to last year."

"But Eunice?"

"The thing is, men as proud as the Hellhound tend to get fair exercised about this sort of thing. A man such as he will want to be assured that his lady's honor is as unstained as his own."

"An interesting thought." Clare grinned. "Mayhap I should make a speech at the feast to assure everyone that I shall go to my marriage bed at least as virginal as my husband."

"Tis nay a matter for jest," Eunice grumbled. "Just promise me y'll keep the chicken blood close to hand tonight. Sprinkle a bit on the sheets afore morning and all will be well."

"I must remember to ask Sir Gareth how he intends to prove his virginity to me."

Unfortunately, the gray mist did not evaporate by the time the wedding ceremony took place. Clare felt the chill through her wool cloak as she rode her palfrey slowly through the crowded street.

She head the murmurs on all sides and knew that Beatrice's prediction of disaster had spread far and wide. Every villager, every farmer, every member of the convent had heard it.

"Smoke from the fires that bum in hell…"

"They say the mist is the color of the crystal stone in the Window of Hell."

"The same color as the Hellhound's eyes. 'Tis an ill omen."

"Our lady should never have defied him." Alice the brewer crossed herself as Clare rode past. "I pray he will not murder her in her bed tonight."

Clare ignored the comments. She kept her eyes on the church door, where Gareth waited for her. He had ridden to the church ahead of her, accompanied by all of his men in a grand procession that had impressed the villagers.

He was good at that sort of thing, she reflected. He knew how to make his presence felt. Gareth could alarm or intimidate or amaze at will. He was adept at the extravagant, very calculated gesture when it suited him.

In spite of the chill in the air, Clare's palms grew damp on the palfrey's reins. She met Gareth's solemn, watchful gaze and prayed that she had done the right thing when she had chosen him as lord of Desire.

Her future and the future of her people hung in the balance.

Gareth did not take his eyes off her as she rode forward to meet him.

When she brought the palfrey to a halt, he dismounted and walked toward her.

His massive hands were strong and sure around her waist as he lifted Clare down from the saddle. Without a word he led her to the church door, where the priest waited.

Clare took a deep breath and prepared to say the vows that would forever link her fortunes and the fortunes of Desire with those of the Hellhound.

An hour later, in front of the large crowd that had assembled in the great hall, Ulrich opened a massive chest. He lifted out the contents with an air of solemn ceremony. A shimmering rainbow of silks spilled from his hands.

The throng gasped appreciatively.

"My lord's gifts to his esteemed bride," Ulrich announced in ringing tones.

One by one he held aloft long, lustrous lengths of rich fabric from the East. Bolts of crimson silk shot through with gold and silver threads were unwrapped and displayed.

Lengths of green silk as dark in hue as precious emeralds appeared.

Yellows and oranges the shade of brilliant sunsets streamed forth from the chest. The variety and colors of the exquisite materials seemed unending.