worsening rapidly. Mayhap if she could get both men sufficiently drunk, they would both fall into stupors. "Would either of you care for more wine?"
Nicholas ignored her. He kept his narrowed gaze on Gareth. "Do you believe that you can please the lady better than I, Hellhound?"
"Aye."
"Tis highly doubtful, if you ask me. Why would she give the key to her chamber to a bastard after she has known the touch of a well-born knight?"
A shocked silence fell like molten lead on the hall. Clare saw Joanna's eyes widen in horror at the insult. Ulrich sat grim-faced beside her.
Dalian fumbled with the strings of his harp. He ceased playing and jumped to his feet. He glanced wildly around the hall, as though seeking a place to hide.
Eadgar paused in the doorway, a fresh flask of wine in his hand, and gazed helplessly at Clare.
Clare found her voice. "That is quite enough, Sir Nicholas. I believe you are drunk."
"Not too drunk to know what he's doing," Gareth said softly.
"Agreed." Nicholas's eyes glittered. "But what of you, Hellhound? Do you still have your wits about you?"
"Aye. I keep them about me at all times. You would do well to remember that."
"Lady Clare appears to have a problem deciding which of us will make her the better husband." Nicholas's booming voice rang through the silent hall. "I propose that we resolve the matter for her. Here and now."
"How?" Gareth asked gently. "Shall we play a game of chess for the hand of the lady of Desire? Very well, I suppose that is a reasonable enough solution."
Clare was so outraged she momentarily forgot about the impending disaster. "A game of chess? For my hand? How dare you, sir?"
Nicholas smiled malevolently. "Aye, how dare you, Hellhound? Most unchivalrous."
"I suppose there is no possibility of a fair match," Gareth conceded.
"Chess is a game that requires wit and intelligence from both players.
Sir Nicholas would be at a great disadvantage."
"By the devil, this is not a matter of wits," Nicholas snarled. "You insult the lady by suggesting we play a game of chess for her hand."
Clare closed her eyes briefly and sent up a frantic prayer to Saint Hermione.
"What game do you suggest that we play?' Gareth asked.
"Trial by combat. Here and now."
"Agreed." Gareth appeared no more concerned about that suggestion than he had about the first one. "You may choose the weapons."
Clare leaped to her feet again. "I have had enough of this idiocy."
Everyone stared at her.
She planted both hands flat on the table to keep them from shaking and swept the hall with furious eyes. "Hear me, all you who eat and drink at my board tonight. Know that I have had my fill of this foolish business of selecting a husband. Thurston of Landry has promised me that I can make my own choice.
I will do so now and put an end to the matter."
A rustle and murmur of interest went through the hall. Men whispered to their neighbors, eager to place hasty wagers on the outcome of this new turn of events.
"My bold and noble suitors wish to play games," Clare said with scathing emphasis. "Very well, a game it shall be. But I shall choose the sport and I shall be the only player."
Gareth's smoky crystalline eyes never left Clare's face.
Nicholas smirked.
"It seems that I must choose between Sir Gareth of Wyckmere and Sir Nicholas of Seabern." Clare gestured toward each man in turn. "Was ever a woman so fortunate in her suitors?"
There were roars of approval from the crowd in the hall. No one seemed to notice the sarcasm in Clare's voice.
She snatched up one of the yellow primroses and held the bloom aloft in front of her so that all could see it. "I shall pluck the petals from this flower. As I do so, I will call out, by turns, the names of each of these fine, chivalrous knights who would be lord of Desire. By my oath, I will wed the man whose name I call out last."
Nicholas's smile vanished. "God's eyes, Clare, you cannot mean to make such an important choice in such a haphazard manner."
She
Nicholas ignored her. He kept his narrowed gaze on Gareth. "Do you believe that you can please the lady better than I, Hellhound?"
"Aye."
"Tis highly doubtful, if you ask me. Why would she give the key to her chamber to a bastard after she has known the touch of a well-born knight?"
A shocked silence fell like molten lead on the hall. Clare saw Joanna's eyes widen in horror at the insult. Ulrich sat grim-faced beside her.
Dalian fumbled with the strings of his harp. He ceased playing and jumped to his feet. He glanced wildly around the hall, as though seeking a place to hide.
Eadgar paused in the doorway, a fresh flask of wine in his hand, and gazed helplessly at Clare.
Clare found her voice. "That is quite enough, Sir Nicholas. I believe you are drunk."
"Not too drunk to know what he's doing," Gareth said softly.
"Agreed." Nicholas's eyes glittered. "But what of you, Hellhound? Do you still have your wits about you?"
"Aye. I keep them about me at all times. You would do well to remember that."
"Lady Clare appears to have a problem deciding which of us will make her the better husband." Nicholas's booming voice rang through the silent hall. "I propose that we resolve the matter for her. Here and now."
"How?" Gareth asked gently. "Shall we play a game of chess for the hand of the lady of Desire? Very well, I suppose that is a reasonable enough solution."
Clare was so outraged she momentarily forgot about the impending disaster. "A game of chess? For my hand? How dare you, sir?"
Nicholas smiled malevolently. "Aye, how dare you, Hellhound? Most unchivalrous."
"I suppose there is no possibility of a fair match," Gareth conceded.
"Chess is a game that requires wit and intelligence from both players.
Sir Nicholas would be at a great disadvantage."
"By the devil, this is not a matter of wits," Nicholas snarled. "You insult the lady by suggesting we play a game of chess for her hand."
Clare closed her eyes briefly and sent up a frantic prayer to Saint Hermione.
"What game do you suggest that we play?' Gareth asked.
"Trial by combat. Here and now."
"Agreed." Gareth appeared no more concerned about that suggestion than he had about the first one. "You may choose the weapons."
Clare leaped to her feet again. "I have had enough of this idiocy."
Everyone stared at her.
She planted both hands flat on the table to keep them from shaking and swept the hall with furious eyes. "Hear me, all you who eat and drink at my board tonight. Know that I have had my fill of this foolish business of selecting a husband. Thurston of Landry has promised me that I can make my own choice.
I will do so now and put an end to the matter."
A rustle and murmur of interest went through the hall. Men whispered to their neighbors, eager to place hasty wagers on the outcome of this new turn of events.
"My bold and noble suitors wish to play games," Clare said with scathing emphasis. "Very well, a game it shall be. But I shall choose the sport and I shall be the only player."
Gareth's smoky crystalline eyes never left Clare's face.
Nicholas smirked.
"It seems that I must choose between Sir Gareth of Wyckmere and Sir Nicholas of Seabern." Clare gestured toward each man in turn. "Was ever a woman so fortunate in her suitors?"
There were roars of approval from the crowd in the hall. No one seemed to notice the sarcasm in Clare's voice.
She snatched up one of the yellow primroses and held the bloom aloft in front of her so that all could see it. "I shall pluck the petals from this flower. As I do so, I will call out, by turns, the names of each of these fine, chivalrous knights who would be lord of Desire. By my oath, I will wed the man whose name I call out last."
Nicholas's smile vanished. "God's eyes, Clare, you cannot mean to make such an important choice in such a haphazard manner."
She
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