Desire (2 page)

"Aye. It seems Lady Clare has some very particular requirements regarding the man who will be her

lord." Thurston grinned again. "She has sent me a recipe for a husband, in fact. She wishes to select one who meets her exacting specifications, you see."

"Hell's teeth. A recipe?" Gareth muttered. "What nonsense is this? I knew there was something you were keeping from me."

"She has written her requirements out in great detail. Here, see for yourself." Thurston picked up a folded sheet of parchment that was lying on a nearby table. He handed it to Gareth.

Gareth glanced at the broken seal and saw that it was in the shape of a rose.

He read swiftly through the greeting and opening paragraph of the beautifully scripted letter. He slowed down when he reached the portion which detailed the lady's requirements in a husband. I have given your wishes and the needs of my people much thought, my lord. I regretfully accept the necessity of a marriage. To that end, I have considered die matter with extreme care. Desire is a very remote place, as you well know. I know of no eligible men in the vicinity except my neighbor, Sir Nicholas, who is unacceptable.

I therefore respectfully request that you send me a selection of at least three or four suitors. I shall choose a husband from among them. To assist you in the task of selecting the candidates for the position, I have prepared a recipe which specifies the qualifications I require.

You, my lord, obviously have an interest in these lands. I understand that you wish them to be protected, as do I. From your point of view, therefore, the future lord of Desire must be a trustworthy knight who can command a small but effective company of fighting men. I will remind you that he must bring such a company with him, as there are no trained men-at-arms here on the isle.

In addition to that obvious requirement, which I know that you will see to, I have three more requirements of my own. I wish to specify them in great detail so that you will have no trouble comprehending them.

First, as regards his physical qualities, the future lord of Desire must be a man of moderate proportions and stature. It has been my observation that extremely large men prefer to rely on brute strength to achieve their ends rather than upon their wits and learning. I do not care for men who try to overwhelm one with their physical prowess. Therefore, please keep size in mind when you make your selections for

me.

Second, my future lord must be a man of cheerful countenance and well-mannered, pleasing disposition. I am certain you will understand when I tell you that I have no wish to be bound to a man who is melancholic or given to fits of temper and foul moods. I wish my husband to have the gift of laughter, a man who will be able to take pleasure in the humble forms of entertainment which we enjoy here on the isle.

Third, it is absolutely essential that my husband be a learned man, one who is capable of reading and who enjoys intellectual discourse. I will wish to engage in much conversation with him, especially during the cold winter months when we shall both be obliged to spend a great deal of time together indoors.

I trust my three requirements are quite plain and that my recipe is clear. There should be no problem in selecting several candidates from among your acquaintances.

Please send these suitors to me at your earliest convenience. I will make my choice as quickly as possible and inform you of my decision.

Written at the manor of Desire, the seventh of April.

Gareth refolded the letter, aware of the unholy amusement in his father's eyes. "I wonder how she set about creating her recipe for a perfect lord and husband."

Thurston chuckled. "I suspect she took the basic elements from some minstrel's romantic ballad. You know the sort. They generally feature a chivalrous hero who slays evil magicians for sport and vows undying love to his lady."

"A lady who usually belongs to another man," Gareth muttered. "The hero's liege lord, for example. Aye, I know the sort of song you mean. I do not care for such, myself."

"The ladies love them."

Gareth shrugged. "How many candidates will you send, my lord?"

"I am a great believer in indulging females up to a point. I shall allow Lady Clare to make her choice from between two suitors."

Gareth's brow rose. "Not three or four?"

"Nay. In my experience one only asks for trouble when one grants a woman too many choices."

"Two suitors, then. Myself and one other."

"Aye."

"Who shall I be competing against?"

Thurston grinned. "Sir Nicholas of Seabern. Good luck to you, son. The lady's requirements are simple, are they not? Her recipe specifies a man who is of moderate size, much given to laughter, and able to read."

Gareth handed the letter back to his father. "She is fortunate, is she not? I meet one of her requirements. I can read."

1

Clare was in the convent gardens with Margaret, the Prioress of Saint Hermione, when word reached her that the first of the suitors was on the Isle of Desire.

"A grand company of men has arrived, Lady Clare. They are coming toward the village even now," William called.

Clare paused in the middle of a detailed discussion of the best method for extracting oil of roses. "I beg your pardon, madam," she said to Prioress Margaret.

"Of course." Margaret was a stoutly built woman of middle years. The wimple of her black Benedictine habit framed sharp eyes and gently rounded features. "This is an important event."

Clare turned to see young William hopping about in great excitement near the convent gatehouse. He waved his bag of gingered currants at her.

A plump, brown-haired, dark-eyed lad of ten, he was a good-natured combination of lively curiosity and unquenchable enthusiasm. He and his mother, Lady Joanna, had come to live on the Isle of Desire three years earlier. Clare was very fond of both of them. As her own family had dwindled down to nothing, leaving her alone in the world, she had grown very close to William and Joanna.

"Who is here, William?" Clare braced herself for the answer. Every inhabitant on Desire, with the exception of herself, had been eagerly anticipating this day for weeks. She was the only one who was not looking forward to the selection of a new lord for Desire.

At least she was to have a choice of husbands, she reminded herself. That was more than many women in her position got.

"Tis the first of the suitors you said Lord Thurston would send." William stuffed a handful of gingered currants into his mouth. "They say he appears to be a most powerful knight, Lady Clare. He brings a fine, great host of men-at-arms. I heard John Blacksmith say that it took half the boats in Seabern to get all the men and horses and baggage from the mainland to our island."

A curious flutter of uneasiness made Clare catch her breath. She had promised herself that when the time

came, she would be calm and businesslike about the matter. But now that the moment was upon her, she was suddenly vastly more anxious than she had thought to be.

"A great host?" Clare frowned.

"Aye." William's face glowed. "The sunlight on their helms is so bright, it hurts your eyes." He gulped down two more fistfuls of the currants. "And the horses are huge. There is one in particular, John says, a great gray stallion with hooves that will shake the very earth when he goes past."

"But I did not request a great number of knights and men-at-arms," Clare said. "Desire requires only a small company of men to protect our shipments. What on earth am I to do with a large number of warriors underfoot? And all their horses, too. Men and horses eat a great deal of food, you know."

"Do not fret, Clare." Margaret smiled. "Young William's notion of a vast host of fighting men is likely very different from our own. Keep in mind that the only company of armed men that he has ever seen is Sir Nicholas's small household force at Seabern."

"I trust that you are right, madam." Clare lifted the fragrant pomander that hung from a chain on her girdle and inhaled the soothing blend of roses and herbs. The scent comforted her, as it always did. "Nevertheless, it will be a great nuisance having to feed and house so many men and horses. By Saint Hermione's ear, I do not like the notion of having to entertain all of these people. And this is only the first of the candidates."

"Calm yourself, Clare," Margaret said. "Mayhap the crowd that has disembarked down at the harbor is composed of more than one suitor. The three or four you ordered may have arrived all at the same time. That would explain why there are so many men and horses."

Clare cheered at the notion. "Aye, that must be it." She dropped the small pomander so that it dangled once more amid the folds of her gown. "All my suitors have arrived together. If they have each brought their own entourages, that would explain the large number of men and horses."

"Aye."

Another thought along the same lines struck Clare, one which immediately wiped away her momentary relief.

"I do hope they will not stay long. It will cost a fortune to feed them all."

"You can afford it, Clare."

"That's not the point. At least, not entirely."

Margaret's eyes twinkled. "Once you have made your selection from among the candidates, the others, including their men and retainers, will take their leave."

"By Hermione's sainted toe, I shall choose quickly, then, so that we do not waste any more food and hay on this lot than is absolutely necessary."

"A wise plan." Margaret eyed her closely. "Are you so very anxious, my child?"

"No, no, of course not," Clare lied. "Merely eager to get the matter concluded. There is work to be done. I cannot afford to waste a great deal of time on this business of selecting a husband. I trust Lord Thurston has only sent me candidates who meet all of my requirements."

"I'm sure he has," Margaret murmured. "You were most specific in your letter."

"Aye." Clare had spent hours formulating her recipe for a new lord of Desire.

Those hours had been spent after she had wasted even more time concocting dozens of clever reasons why she did not need a husband. To that end, she had called upon all the skills of rhetoric, logic, and debate that Margaret had taught her. She had been well aware that if she was to avoid the inevitable, she would need to give Lord Thurston a truly brilliant excuse for refusing marriage.

Clare had tried out each finely reasoned argument first on Joanna and then on Prioress Margaret before committing it to parchment. Sympathetic to the cause, both of the women had considered the string of carefully crafted excuses one after the other, offering criticism and advice.

In the months since her father's death, Clare had been developing what she was certain was an absolutely unassailable, logically graceful argument against the necessity of marriage based on the naturally secure position of the Isle of Desire when disaster had struck.

Her neighbor on the mainland, Sir Nicholas of Seabern, had wrecked the endeavor by kidnapping her while she was on a short visit to Seabern.

Furious with Nicholas because he had ruined everything by providing clear evidence of her personal vulnerability, Clare had proceeded to make life at Seabern Keep a living hell for him. By the end of her enforced stay, Nicholas confessed himself glad to see the last of her.

But it was too late.

Coming as it did on top of the increased predations of the robbers who infested the region, the kidnapping was the last stone in the sack. Clare knew that it was only a matter of time before Lord Thurston heard the rumors. He would conclude that she was incapable of protecting Desire and he would act at once to see to the matter himself.

Outraged and frustrated by events as she was, Clare had to admit she could not entirely blame Thurston for taking such a course of action. In his position, she would have done the same. The portion of the revenues to which he was entitled as Desire's liege lord were too plump and healthy to be put at risk.

And Clare could not risk the lives of the men from the village who accompanied the shipments of perfume. Sooner or later, the robbers were going to kill someone when they attacked.

In truth, she had no choice and she knew it. She had a duty and an obligation to the people of Desire. Her mother, who had died when Clare was twelve, had taught her from the cradle that the wishes of the lady of the manor came second to the needs of her people and the lands that sustained them.

Clare knew full well that although she possessed the skills to keep Desire a fat and profitable estate, she was no trained warrior.

There were no household knights, nor even any men-at-arms left on Desire. The few who had once lived in the hall had dispersed over the years. Some had accompanied her brother Edmund to the tournaments and had not returned to the isle after he had been killed. Desire, after all, was not a very exciting place. It did not suit young knights and squires who were eager for glory and the profits to be made competing in the endless round of tournaments or by going on Crusade.

The last two men-at-arms who had lived on Desire had journeyed to Spain with Clare's father, Sir Humphrey. They had sent word back to her of her father's death, but they themselves had not returned. With their lord dead, they had been freed of their vows of fealty. They had found new masters in the south.

Clare did not have the least notion of how to go about obtaining a reliable troop of armed men, let alone how to train them and control them.

The first letter of warning from Thurston had arrived six weeks ago. It had been politely worded, full of gracious condolences on the death of Sir Humphrey. But there had been no mistaking the implications of the veiled comments concerning the defense of Desire. The second letter had made it clear that Clare must wed.

Clare, much to her annoyance, had reached the same decision.

Knowing that marriage was inevitable, Clare had done what she always did when it came to matters of duty. She had set about fulfilling her responsibilities.

In typical fashion, however, she had taken charge of the situation in her own way.