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."
"Aye. There were no signs of her being dragged across the flower beds."
"Or along the graveled paths. The pebbles were undisturbed."
"You are a keen observer, my lord."
"You mean for a thick-skulled, overly muscled knight?"
"Hush." She covered his mouth with her fingertips. "I never actually called you that."
"I beg your pardon. My mistake. I do not know how I came by that impression."
"No more of your teasing, sir. I have had quite enough."
"Aye, madam."
Clare fell silent for a few seconds and then she sighed. "It is so difficult to imagine anyone killing a harmless old woman like Beatrice."
Gareth thought back on his years spent hunting violent men.
"Unfortunately, 'tis only too easy to imagine someone committing murder. The real question is why."
"To steal a book?"
"Books are valuable, 'tis true, but only to scholars. I do not believe there are many such who would actually kill for one. And even if a man were determined to lay hands on a book, you must admit that Desire is a very distant, out-of-the-way place to travel merely to steal one."
"Many scholars have braved the perils of the roads all the way to Spain and Italy just to get hold of certain books. In a sense my father died because of his thirst for the treasures stored up in the Arab treatises he hunted."
"I had not thought of it in that fashion, but you're right. Sir Humphrey risked his life to seek out books. Mayhap someone else is prepared to do the same."
"It is at times such as this," Nicholas of Seabern said mournfully,
"that I comprehend the true extent of all that I lost when I failed to win the hand of the lady of Desire. I trust you appreciate your good fortune, Hellhound."
Gareth followed his gaze to where Clare stood outside a yellow-and-white-striped tent. She was haggling with a merchant. From the few words that reached him, it was obvious that his wife was driving a hard bargain. She appeared to be enjoying herself immensely.