The villagers roundly cheered their approval as they inspected the Hellhound's costly bride gifts.

Everyone was duly impressed. The oohs and aahs cascaded through the hall. Neighbor murmured to neighbor in tones of deep satisfaction. It was clear to one and all that their lady had chosen a wealthy lord.

And apparently a generous one.

The silks were followed by casks of valuable spices. Saffron, cloves, nutmeg, cinnamon, ginger, cumin, and pepper were presented. Again the crowd roared its appreciation of the respect their new lord was showing to their beloved lady.

Clare listened to the comments of her people. They were well pleased.

The villagers knew that their lord's wealth reflected directly on the entire Isle of Desire. The inhabitants would be bathed in the glow of his prestige and power.

On a more practical level, Gareth's personal wealth was insurance that people would continue to prosper under his governance.

"A bastard born, yet he has won great riches for himself by his own hand," John Blacksmith said to a farmer. "Tis a good sign."

"Aye." The farmer bobbed his head sagely. "He'll take good care of these lands. Lady Clare chose well."

John chuckled. " Tis not clear who did the choosing. If you ask me, Lord Gareth took a hand in making her decision for her."

Clare wrinkled her nose, but she gave no other indication that she had overheard the remark. She was not entirely certain she could refute it.

When Gareth's gifts to his bride had all been properly displayed and suitably admired, yet another chest was brought forward. New murmurs of excitement rippled through the crowd. When the second chest was opened, a great pile of coins was revealed.

The cries of wonder turned to whoops of delight when it became clear that the coins were to be handed out to the villagers.

"Your husband, it would seem, does not come to this marriage a pauper,"

Prioress Margaret observed quietly. She stood next to Clare and watched as Gareth's men handed out a coin to everyone in the manor.

"Aye, he brings the wealth he earned as the Hellhound of Wyckmere,"

Clare said. "And he does not mind displaying it, does he?"

"A great lord must display his wealth and power. How else will people know of it?"

Clare sighed. "He had money enough before he married me. But he did not have lands."

"Now he has those, too." Margaret looked at her. "Are you content with this marriage, my daughter?"

" 'Tis done," Clare said quietly. "There is no point in debating the matter now."

" Tis not quite done. There is still the business of your wedding night."

"As to that, I assure you I have everything in hand."

Margaret cleared her throat. "There is gossip that you lost your temper with your new lord yesterday morn and threatened to deny him his husbandly privileges tonight."

"Twas a foolish challenge," Clare said distantly. "He made me very angry and I made certain statements which I have since withdrawn."

"I am pleased to hear that. You are a woman of strong passions. You do not always govern your emotions as well as you govern your lands. Now that you are a married woman, you must exert more control over yourself."

"Aye, my lady." She could do without an admonishing speech on the importance of self-mastery today, Clare thought glumly. She had enough weighing on her mind as it was.

"You must guard your temper whenever you are in your husband's presence," Margaret continued.

"Tis obvious that Sir Gareth is not a man who will tolerate defiance in his wife."

"I have already heard this lecture. Why is it that everyone else seems to think she knows more about managing Lord Gareth than I do?"

"Mayhap because the rest of us are older and wiser. Heed me, my child.

If you would manage your lord, you must do so with a gentle tongue and a woman's clever ways."

"Very well, madam. I shall heed your advice. You need not alarm yourself about my safety tonight.

When the time comes, I shall welcome my lord into my bedchamber."

Margaret smiled complacently. "Marriage is difficult enough without starting it off by offending your lord on your wedding night. And since we are speaking of making a good beginning, I may as well give you this now before I forget."

Clare glanced down as Margaret removed a small, carefully wrapped bundle from a pouch that hung from the girdle of her habit. "A gift, madam? How kind of you. What is it?"

"A small vial of chicken blood."

Clare choked back laughter. "I vow, I am going to be awash in the stuff."

"What do you mean?"

"You are not the first one to give me such a thoughtful gift." Clare stuffed the small packet into the little woven pouch on her own girdle.

"I thank you, madam. I shall add it to my collection."

"Keep one of the vials close by tonight. Sprinkle a bit on the sheets before your lord awakes and all will be well."

"What would you say, madam, if I were to tell you that such a precaution is unnecessary?"

"As to that, I make no comment," Margaret said briskly. "You are a woman, not a young girl. You have carried out a woman's duties and responsibilities here on this manor since you were twelve years old. I am well aware of your feelings for Raymond de Coleville and as far as I am concerned, whatever transpired between the two of you is your affair."

"Thank you," Clare said. "But in truth, Raymond was a most chivalrous knight. He and I?"

Margaret held up a hand to stop the tale. "As I said, the matter of your virginity is your business and yours 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.