"How could he have locked her inside?" Clare asked. "The key to her door is still hanging on the inside wall of her house. And the murderer did not return to the library for the book he wanted so badly."

"He might have feared discovery," Margaret suggested.

"Aye, or the book was not what he sought, after all." Gareth studied the open volume. "If any of this is true, and we cannot be certain of it, we are left with a very interesting problem."

"You mean we must find a murderer?" Clare asked.

"Aye," Gareth said. "One who can read."

That night Gareth waited, as he always did, until Clare clutched at him, pleaded with him, lifted herself against him, nipped at his shoulder with her small, sharp teeth. Then he entered her with a sense of exultant satisfaction.

He eased himself past the initial restriction of her small, moist sheath and then drove deep. She closed around him, tight and hot and welcoming.

He fought the nightly battle to restrain himself until she shivered and cried out in his arms.

"Gareth."

He surged fully into her one last time, shuddered heavily, and finally surrendered to the crashing waves of his own release.

When he eventually rolled off of her and onto his back, the sheets were damp and the air inside the enclosed bed was heavy with the scent of spent passion.

He used his bare foot to part the curtains. Moonlight poured through the window and spilled across the bed.

Clare lay silent and unmoving for a long while. Gareth thought she had fallen asleep. He was surprised when she spoke from the circle of his arm.

"You make love to me as if you feared that, unless you exhaust me with passion, I might run off during the night," she said quietly. "Do all husbands treat their wives in such a fashion?"

Gareth went very still. "You have a complaint to make about my lovemaking?"

"I am not complaining, and well you know it." Clare propped herself on her elbow and looked down at him. Her eyes searched his face in the pale light. "There are times when I do not understand you, Gareth."

"What is there to understand?" He threaded his fingers through her hair.

"I am a newly wedded man indulging himself in the pleasures of the marriage bed. There is nothing strange or unusual about that."

"I think there is more to it. What is it you fear, my lord?"

"Not you, madam." He gave her a slow smile. "I'm not so certain of that."

Gareth dragged her mouth down to his and kissed her thoroughly. He did not release her until her lips were parted and she had softened against him.

"The only thing I fear from you, madam," he said when he was satisfied that he had successfully distracted her, "is that you will drive me mad with desire."

"You tease me, my lord."

"Do I?" He kissed her throat.

"Aye, I have noticed that you often do that when you wish to avoid a serious discussion."

"Is that what you are doing just now? Having a serious discussion?" He cupped her breast in the palm of his hand and ran his thumb lightly over her nipple. It peaked at his touch. "I had not noticed."

"You noticed. You simply chose to pretend that you did not."

"I would rather make love to you."

"You see?" Clare sat up abruptly and curled her legs under her. She propped her elbows on her knees and rested her chin on her hand. "That is exactly what I mean. Every time I try to talk to you about our marriage, you make love to me."

"Is that such a terrible sin to lay at a husband's feet?" He stroked her thigh to her knee. By the saints, her skin was soft. "If you wish to have a serious conversation, let us at least have it about an interesting subject."

"What subject would that be?" she asked suspiciously.

"Let us talk of passion, wife."

"You wish to talk of passion, my lord? Very well, we shall have such a discussion. Only this time, I shall take charge of the conversation."

"Will you?"

"Aye." She reached out and wrapped her fingers tentatively but quite determinedly around his shaft.

She tugged experimentally.

"Ah." Gareth sucked in his breath. "This promises to be a most interesting conversation." It was the first time she had initiated such intimacy. It had a stunning effect on his senses.

"I trust you will find it so." She leaned over him, cupping him carefully. Her hair brushed his thigh. "There is certainly a great deal to this topic. Indeed, it appears to be broadening by the second."

Gareth folded his arms behind his head and called on all his formidable powers of self-mastery.

"I would not want you to grow bored with the subject."

"Nay, sir, I am not likely to do that."

Without any warning she lowered her head and kissed his stirring manhood.

"Hell's teeth." Gareth was so startled by the boldness of her action that he sat bolt upright.

"Do I make you anxious, my lord? Is this subject not to your liking?"

He fell back on his elbows. "What in the name of the saints do you think you're doing?"

"Exploring the topic as thoroughly as possible. I am an excellent scholar, you know." Her small tongue touched him again, warm, moist, tantalizing. "Do you have any objection, my lord?"

Gareth groaned and collapsed back against the pillows. "Nay, madam. I trust that you will cover every detail."

"I shall endeavor to be very thorough."

So much for awkward talk of their relationship as husband and wife, Gareth thought with satisfaction. This was a much safer subject.

It was not until later, when Gareth believed that Clare had finally fallen asleep, that he allowed himself to contemplate her gentle, much too perceptive challenge.

What is it you fear, my lord?

Even had he been willing to admit to such a weakness, he could not have given her an answer. He did not have one.

On the face of it, he now possessed everything he had fought for all of his life. He had lands, a wife, a home of his own. But something was still missing. He did not understand what it was, but he sensed that Clare held the key.

In some way that he could not explain, Gareth knew that he had to bind her to him with every means at his command.

"She predicted death, you know," Clare said into the shadows.

Gareth turned on his side and cradled her against him. "Aren't you ever going to fall asleep tonight?"

"I trust so." Clare yawned. "I need my rest. We shall all be very busy at the fair."

"Who predicted death? The recluse?"

"Aye. But then, she frequently predicted gloom and disaster. This time, unfortunately, she was right." Clare shifted against him, entwining her leg with his. "How will you go about finding the murderer?"

"I shall do what I am most skilled at. I shall set a few snares."

"What do you mean?"

"It appears that the murderer did not have an opportunity to steal whatever it was he sought in the library. He may try again. When he does, we shall be ready for him."

"How?"

Gareth shrugged. "I shall post guards around the convent every night and instruct them to remain out of sight in the shadows. They will be in a position to see if anyone attempts to climb the wall or get through the gates."

"A brilliant plan, my lord."

Gareth was amused by the note of genuine admiration in her voice. Some people were easier to please than others, he reflected. They expected so little that they were overwhelmed by any sign of competency. "Thank you."

"You are certain that the murderer is a man?"

Gareth remembered the grim bruises on the recluse's throat. "Aye. Mayhap a very strong woman could have killed her. But I think a woman would have had to drag the body back to the cell. Beatrice was carried."