"I doubt that they were. Mayhap if they could have seen you now, as I do, caught in such an interesting dilemma, they would have felt better about the matter. By my oath, madam, those poor chickens have surely had their revenge."

Clare groaned. "What am I going to do? This is a terrible situation.

Everyone will gossip about it. I cannot possibly explain it. What will people think?"

"That the lady of Desire has some very exotic tastes in bed."

Clare beetled her brows at him. "I would like to remind you, my lord, that you are as involved in this as I am."

"Aye."

"Mayhap everyone will think that you did something quite dreadful to me last night. They will likely blame you for this."

"I doubt it. I suspect that whoever changes these sheets will recognize such vast quantities of chicken blood when she sees it."

Clare groaned. "Everyone will conclude that I botched the business of creating an illusion of virginity, will they not?"

"Aye, madam. Very likely. In this sort of thing, as in so many things in life, discretion and restraint are the keys one must use if one wishes to succeed."

Clare collapsed into a sitting position at the foot of the bed. She folded her legs under her, propped her elbow on one knee, and rested her chin in her hand. Glumly she studied the mess on the bed.

"I am going to look like a perfect fool, aren't I?" Clare said.

Gareth's laughter faded into a grin. His eyes remained quite brilliant, however. "Aye, madam. This business will likely prove a stimulating topic of conversation for our people for the next several months. Mayhap for the next several years."

"By Saint Hermoine's?"

Gareth held up a hand. "Not her maidenhead, I pray you. Anything but that."

"By her sainted brow." Clare sighed. "This is the most humiliating moment of my entire life."

"Nay, madam. I expect that will occur when you are obliged to face a hall full of people today at dinner."

Clare flinched at the thought. "What are we going to do?"

Gareth arched one brow. "We?"

"Tis your fault, sir," she muttered. "All of it. If you hadn't made me lose my temper, this would never have happened."

"Mayhap," Gareth said with surprising gentleness, "this is where I should begin to demonstrate to you my many virtues as a husband."

Clare raised her chin from her palm. "What do you mean? What are you going to do?"

"Create another kind of illusion." Gareth walked through the passageway that led into the wardrobe. "Excuse me. I shall return in a moment."

"What are you doing in there?" Clare called.

"Patience, madam, patience. Ah, here we go. This cloth will do nicely."

Clare watched anxiously as Gareth reappeared from the other chamber. He had a large rag in one hand. He crossed the room to the bed.

"First, I will blot up the excess chicken blood." He went to work with the old rag.

"But that won't get rid of the huge stain," Clare pointed out.

"Nay." Gareth finished his task and wadded the soaked rag into a small ball. "But at least the mark that is left on the sheets will no longer be readily identifiable as the remains of several dead chickens. Now it is simply a reddish stain that could have been made by human blood."

"Do you think so?" Clare was skeptical. "I had thought that there would be only a small stain. This is monstrous."

"Aye, so it is." Gareth opened a chest that contained his personal possessions, pulled our a canvas sack, and dropped the wet rag inside.

"We shall get rid of this evidence when we take our morning walk along the cliffs."

"That is an excellent plan." Clare cheered momentarily and then sank back into the depths of uneasiness. "What do you propose to do about this massive stain on the sheets?"

"It will most certainly cause comment." Gareth rummaged around inside the chest. "Unless we provide a suitable explanation for it, people will likely conclude now that I was brutal and clumsy with you."

"I would not have them believe that, my lord. It would not be fair."

"Thank you. I appreciate your wifely concern for my good name."

"Never mind that. How do you propose to deal with this problem?"

Gareth straightened from the chest. He held up a small, extremely wicked-looking dagger. "I propose to provide another explanation for the amount of blood that it obviously took to stain your wedding sheets, my lady."

Clare gazed at the dagger in horror. She recalled Beatrice's prediction.

Blood will flow. "I don't understand."

"You soon will." Gareth went to the hearth, crouched down, and stoked the flames of the night's fire.

"I once read a treatise written by an Arab physician. He claimed that a blade should be thoroughly heated in fire before it is used to perform any sort of surgical operation."

"Gareth." Clare sprang to her feet in alarm. "Nay, you must not."

"Calm yourself, madam. This won't hurt you a bit."

"I will not allow you to do such a thing." Clare flew across the room to stop him.

She was too late. In the blink of an eye, Gareth removed the dagger from the flames and drew the point swiftly and neatly across his upper arm.

Clare's hand went to her mouth as she watched blood well gently along the shallow cut. "By Saint Hermione's teeth."

Gareth glanced up from his handiwork. "You need not look so horrified, Clare. Tis a very minor scrape.

I have had much worse, I promise you."

"Oh, Gareth."

"I would appreciate it if you went into the wardrobe and fetched a clean square of linen that I may use as a bandage."

"Oh, Gareth."

"A large square," Gareth added. "I want this bandage to be quite obvious to all and sundry."

"Oh, Gareth."

"Would you hurry, please, before I get blood on something other than the sheets?"

Clare broke free of the paralysis that gripped her. She swung around and raced madly into the wardrobe. She found what she wanted in a chest and dashed back into the bedchamber.

She grabbed a pot of herbal healing salve from a shelf and hastened over to where Gareth waited on the bed.

"How could you do this?" she wailed as she wiped the blood from his arm.

"What will you tell people?"

Gareth shrugged. "That I had a small accident with my dagger."

She looked at him askance. "Do you expect people to believe that?"

"They will if we both tell the same tale." Gareth eyed her meaningfully.

"I must have your word that you will not try to embroider the story or alter it in any fashion.

Above all, you must not be overcome with a fit of honesty and confess the truth. Let me handle everything. Is that understood?"

She heard the soft but inflexible note of command in his voice and reacted to it unthinkingly. "Aye, my lord."

"Excellent."

"This is terrible," she whispered, hovering over his wound. "You should never have done such a thing for my sake."

"Tis nothing."

"Nay, 'tis too much, sir." Clare smeared the herbal salve on the shallow slice. "I vow, 'tis the most noble, the most gallant, the most gloriously chivalrous action that anyone has ever performed for me."

Gareth's mouth quirked as he watched her work on his arm. "As your lord and husband, I am only too glad to be of service to my lady."

"You are too generous, sir." Clare carefully wrapped the length of clean linen around his wound. "I shall be forever in your debt. How can I repay you for this gracious gesture?"

"I'm certain I'll think of something," Gareth said.