Desire by Amanda Quick

off to Seabern Keep.

    She had disliked everything about Nicholas's embrace. When he had crushed her against his great, oversized body, she had been repelled, not only by the bulge of his aroused manhood, but by the very smell of him.

    Part of the problem, of course, was the undeniable fact that Nicholas was not overly fond of bathing. But it was not just the odor of sweat and dirt that had repulsed her; it was the personal, utterly unique scent of the man, himself. Clare knew she would never learn to ignore it, let alone accept it in the same bed with her.

    She touched her lips with her fingertips and inhaled deeply, seeking a trace of Gareth's scent.

    "Clare?" Joanna frowned from the doorway. "Are you all right?"

    "What? Oh, aye, I'm fine, Joanna." Clare smiled reassuringly. "I was just contemplating something."

    "Sir Gareth, by any chance?"
    "What else?' Clare waved Joanna to a stool near the window. "Did you know that he is Lord Thurston's son?"

    "Aye. I heard the news just now downstairs in the hall." Joanna studied her with a perceptive look. "He is Thurston's bastard, to be precise."

    "But still a son." Clare fiddled with the quill. "Some would say I have been honored."

    "Some would say that Lord Thurston places great value on this manor," Joanna said dryly. "Tis obvious he wishes to be certain that he can depend upon the loyalty of its new lord. What better way to make sure of that than by seeing you wed to a man who is tied to him by blood?"

    "True enough." Clare glanced at the letter that lay on her desk. "He claims he could not find any suitors who came close to meeting my requirements except Sir Nicholas and Sir Gareth."

    "Indeed?"

    "Personally, I am beginning to doubt that he tried very hard."

    "Men tend to be very practical about such matters," Joanna murmured. "At least he has given you a choice."

    "Tis not much of a choice, if you ask me."

    Joanna clucked unsympathetically. "Tis more of a choice than I had."

    Clare winced. She knew very well that at fifteen, Joanna had had no say whatsoever in the selection of a husband. "Were you very unhappy in your marriage, Joanna?"

    "Lord Thomas was no better and no worse than most men," Joanna said philosophically. "He was never deliberately cruel to me or to William."

    "That is something, I suppose."

    "'Tis a great deal," Joanna retorted.

    "Did you ever grow to love him?"

    Joanna sighed. "Nay. I respected him as a wife should respect her husband, but I could not love him."

    Clare tapped the quill gently on the desk. "Abbess Helen wrote in her last letter that a good man will cause his wife to fall in love with him after the marriage."

    "I mean no offense, Clare, but what would Abbess Helen know of marriage?"

    "Aye, you have a point." Clare glanced at the bookshelves which contained her precious books and treatises.

    Two of the volumes had belonged to her mother. Some of the others Clare had obtained in her endless quest for information concerning the making of perfumes. The remainder had belonged to her father. He had returned from each journey with new ones, some of which he donated to the convent library in the village. The last, a book that he had scripted himself and was almost indecipherable, had been shipped to her shortly before his death.

    One of the large, heavy volumes, a work devoted to herb lore, had been written by Abbess Helen of Ainsley. Clare had purchased a fair copy from a monastery in the south.
    Clare had studied every word of Abbess Helen's treatise. She had been so impressed by Helen's book that she had boldly undertaken to write a letter to the abbess. To her astonishment the abbess had penned a response.

    The correspondence between the two women, nourished by their mutual interest in flowers and herbs, had flourished during the past year. Last fall Clare had been delighted and deeply honored when Abbess Helen had journeyed to Desire for a short visit.

    The Abbess had stayed at the hall, rather than at Saint Hermione's,