Page 19 of The Bodyguard Who Came in from the Cold (Secrets and Vows #4)

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T he shock that slammed through Gareth stole his breath. Someone had taken Margery. He was her personal guard, and he’d failed.

And there was blood on the sheets.

He could almost hear her father, Lord Welles, speak the words that had shaped the significant moments of Gareth’s life. You must protect her.

What had he allowed to happen?

He ran back to his room, pulled on more clothing and a plated brigandine, then strapped on his sword and a dagger. He ran down the corridor, from one circle of light to the next, then took the stairs two at a time.

He already knew it was useless to search the castle. He had seen the truth in his visions, but he hadn’t believed, arrogant fool that he was. Margery would be on a man’s horse, heading down into the Severn Valley.

Would they cross the Severn and head into Wales, or take ship in Gloucester?

Outside, the night was moist with a misting rain that threatened fog. He didn’t bother trying the gatehouse first. He could not explain the reason that he needed the gates opened and the portcullis raised in the middle of the night—not without risking that the entire household would discover Margery’s abduction. Instead he quietly woke Wallace, who followed him down from the barracks and out into the ward, wearing only a long shirt.

“I’m not even dressed, Gareth,” Wallace said with a grumble. “This had better be?—”

“Margery is missing,” Gareth said shortly as he entered the stables. “I need you to tell the gatehouse guards to let me out.”

“Missing? Let me sound the alarm. We’ll muster?—”

“No!” He began to saddle his stallion. “What if her captor wishes to compromise and marry her? We can’t let them be found together. I will go alone.”

“Alone? ’Tis a foolish plan.”

“Perhaps, but I know which way they are going,” Gareth said, mounting his horse and trotting toward the gatehouse. “I can travel swiftly, and bring Margery back without anyone knowing.”

Wallace ran alongside. “How do you know where they’re going?”

“I just know.”

At the gatehouse they found two soldiers unconscious, and the portcullis raised.

“They’re alive,” Wallace said as he knelt beside them.

“See to them, but don’t let them know what happened. Lie, if you must.” The horse was restless, and danced with Gareth’s tight hand on the reins. “But Wallace, keep watch on the battlements for my return. I’ll be back soon.”

Wallace stood up as Gareth’s horse entered the tunnel of the gatehouse. He called, “But how can you—right, you just know.”

Gareth rode out into the night. Soon he was damp to the skin, but the discomfort was only what he deserved. Somewhere, Margery was alone with a scoundrel. She must be frightened, maybe seriously wounded, but he had no way to know.

He deliberately chose the road to Gloucester. A ship heading out to sea was the quickest way for a man and woman to escape. He prayed he’d made the right choice.

He gave the animal its head, and tried to think of nothing beyond his mission. Yet his mind whirled with thoughts he couldn’t control.

How could he have been so arrogant as to think the vision of Margery on a man’s horse was about him? He had paid more attention to seducing her than to keeping her safe.

He concentrated hard, trying to force his mind to show him Margery—but all he got for his effort was a headache that pounded between his eyes so hard he had to squint. The Beaumont Curse had never been his to command, only his to suffer through.

An hour later, the road he followed disappeared into a small forest where, beneath the trees, the darkness was almost complete. Owls hooted above him, and his horse slowed and became skittish. Not far away, he thought he heard a woman scream.

Cold fury welled up inside him, at himself and this man who dared to take Margery for his own. He slid off the horse, tied him securely, then crept forward. The sound of a voice grew slowly louder.

“Why did you make me do it?”

It was Humphrey Townsend. Gareth had never suspected him capable of such desperation. Why hadn’t he killed Townsend when he had the chance?

Gareth suddenly realized that Margery wasn’t answering. He held his breath, sweat making his clothes stick to his back.

“I didn’t want to hit you,” Townsend continued, “but you must marry me.”

“I will not,” Margery said coldly.

Gareth lowered his head as relief eased through him. She sounded unharmed, thank God. He got down on his hands and knees and crept forward through the brush. The rain had turned the earth to mud, which oozed between his fingers and coated his skin.

He peered through the undergrowth, wet ferns sticking to his face. He could see Margery, wearing just her nightclothes and dressing gown, sitting on a log before a small, sputtering fire. One soldier guarded her back.

Townsend stood over her, then threw his hands up with impatience and stalked away. “I don’t really need your acceptance,” he said over his shoulder. “If we stay here long enough, you shall be forced to marry me.”

“I’d rather live with the shame.”

Gareth grinned, enjoying the courage she displayed. He began to work his way around the edge of the clearing, until he was directly behind the knight.

“Your brothers won’t see it that way.” Townsend squatted down before her. “I’ll treat you well, I promise.”

“Why do you need to force me into marriage?” Margery demanded. “Surely you earn enough to live decently. Any number of maidens would?—”

“Any number of maidens don’t have the dowry I need.”

“Greedy, aren’t you?” she said with sarcasm.

“No, I have sisters,” he said glumly. “Sisters with no dowries of their own.”

Gareth gave a grim smile. He and Townsend were not so different; both of them wanted to marry Margery for their own reasons. But this was hardly an amusing situation, what with the blood on her sheets, and knowing Townsend had been cowardly enough to hit a woman.

He waited until Townsend paced to the far side of the clearing. Then Gareth rose up and hit the soldier over the head, watching with satisfaction as he crumpled to the wet ground.

Margery gasped and whirled around, certain that a boar was charging her from the depths of the forest. But Sir Humphrey’s henchman was unconscious, and Gareth stood there, muddy and wet and grinning at her. She would have thrown herself in his arms and sobbed her relief, but Sir Humphrey suddenly gave a yell and came running toward them.

Gareth stepped in front of her, shielding her. He held his sword in one hand, a dagger in the other. Sir Humphrey skidded to a stop.

“Beaumont,” the man said, trying unsuccessfully to cover his dismay.

“Townsend,” Gareth answered. He threw down his weapons and rushed the other knight, who fell backward with Gareth atop him.

As they rolled around in the mud, Margery stood up and peered side to side, trying to see Gareth. She winced at a particularly hard blow, then winced again as her bruised cheek began to ache. Soon Gareth was back on top, throwing punches into Sir Humphrey’s face and stomach.

Margery began to feel sorry for her kidnapper when he covered his head with his arms. “Gareth!” she cried. “You can stop now!”

After one more punch to Sir Humphrey’s jaw, Gareth got to his feet and stood above him. “I could kill you for this,” he said with soft menace. “But I don’t need to.”

With a groan, the knight pushed up onto his hands and knees, then sagged against the log Margery had been sitting on.

“I can tell her brothers instead,” Gareth continued.

“No,” Sir Humphrey whispered.

Margery almost felt sorry for him. Her brothers would kill him if they knew what he’d done.

Gareth grabbed Sir Humphrey’s tunic and lifted him, letting him dangle from his fist. “I will never see you near Margery again, will I?”

“No,” Sir Humphrey mumbled.

“No what?”

“No, I won’t come near her.”

He sounded defeated, despondent, and Margery wondered how many sisters he had. Gareth picked up his weapons, and as he led her away, she looked over her shoulder to see Sir Humphrey holding his head in his hands.

“Are you sure it’s safe to just…leave him?” she asked.

“I do not think he’ll bother you again.”

They reached Gareth’s horse and he lifted her into the saddle sideways. When he slid in behind her, she turned in his arms and buried her face against him, regardless of the mud and water soaking his garments. She was grateful just to hold him. The horse trotted out of the forest and headed down the road that wound up into the foothills of the Cotswolds.

Even now the terror of helplessness was hard to forget. Margery had thought her plan to find the perfect husband was destroyed, that she’d be married to a crude braggart. Sir Humphrey had threatened to rape her right there, in front of his soldier, if she didn’t agree to marry him.

And then Gareth had come. She had not believed it possible that he could find her, yet he had. His face was hard and angry as he met her gaze.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

“No. You came in time.”

He closed his eyes briefly. “I should have known you were in danger. How did he?—”

“Please, not now,” she interrupted, huddling against him as the chill wind penetrated her wet clothes. “Take me home first.”

When they arrived at Hawksbury, they silently entered the gatehouse and Gareth listened to the portcullis lower behind them. He rode through the tunnel, still cradling Margery. She’d been shivering uncontrollably for the last hour.

Wallace Desmond was waiting for them, his face grim as Gareth handed Margery into his arms. After Gareth dismounted, he took Margery back.

“Who did this?” Wallace asked.

“Townsend, but he won’t bother her again—and no, I didn’t kill him, though maybe I should have. How did you explain my actions to the patrols?” Gareth asked, looking up at the men walking the torchlit battlements.

“I told them the truth: that they’d already let a brigand escape and were in serious trouble. But they think this is a kitchen maid you’re rescuing.”

“That was a good idea,” Gareth said, eyeing Wallace with new respect. “I had better get inside. Wallace, please see to my horse, then help me find some hot water for Margery’s bath.”

“How are we going to keep that a secret?” Wallace asked, wiping rain from his face.

Margery stirred. “We keep cauldrons boiling in the kitchen,” she murmured. “A few buckets will do. I don’t need a full bath.”

Gareth ignored her. “We’ll fill as many buckets as we can. I’ll meet you in her bedchamber. Hurry!”

Gareth carried Margery into the castle through the garden entrance and fortunately saw no one. In her chamber he set her in a chair, where she hugged herself and shivered as he dragged her wooden tub before the hearth. He built a large fire, then lit every candle.

He turned to look at Margery, who still sat dazed. “I’m going to get the twins,” he said firmly.

“No!” She straightened with her usual authority. “No one can know what happened.”

“They will tell no one.”

“Maybe not, but then I’ll have taught them to live in fear. I will not do that. Gareth, you must promise me that only Sir Wallace will know about this.”

“But why? Do you not want Townsend punished?”

“You have already done that. Just listen to me!” She reached for his hand and held it tight. “If the king hears that I am unable to protect myself, I’ll be forced to live at Greenwich with the queen. Much as they have only my interests at heart, I won’t let them supervise the decision of my husband. And if they’re worried enough, they could force me to choose now!”

“None of this would have happened if I hadn’t failed you.” He’d never had such a shameful defeat in his life. Always, he was the victor, even if he was sent away in the end. He let go of her hand and turned away. “I should have known what was happening. What is keeping Wallace?” he asked with exasperation.

“You said that before,” Margery began slowly. “That you should have known. What do you mean?”

“A good soldier would anticipate problems like this,” he answered, glancing at her to see if she believed him.

She looked suspicious, but she let it go.

After Wallace came in to dump the first buckets of water into the tub, Gareth wet a cloth and began to clean her face.

She tried to push him away. “I can do this myself. I was just cold.”

“Be still and let me see to your injuries.” He tilted her head towards the light. “Your cheek is already starting to bruise. How will you explain that?”

“I tripped in the dark,” she said immediately.

“Where else are you injured? I saw blood in your bed.”

She grinned, then winced and touched her cheek. “ ’Tis Sir Humphrey’s.”

He lowered the cloth and looked into her twinkling eyes.

“When I woke up and saw him, I punched him in the nose.” She started to giggle, a little too loudly.

Gareth frowned as the giggles turned to shivering, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Each tear that fell hurt him like a knife to the chest. He pulled her into his arms, confused by his own anger and pain. He had saved her; why did he still feel so bad?

Wallace brought more hot water. Gareth wanted to help him, but Margery wouldn’t let him leave.

When the tub was near full, Wallace gave a thoughtful look to Gareth, who was kneeling with his arms around Margery. She kept her face buried in his neck.

“Do you need anything else?” Wallace asked.

He shook his head. “Thank you for your help. Go find your bed.”

Margery looked up and smiled. “Thank you, Sir Wallace.”

When they were alone, Gareth ran his hand down her hair. “I am sure you can bathe alone. Call me back when you are finished.”

She clutched his sleeves. “Don’t leave. Drag the screen before the tub. Please, just…don’t leave.”

He couldn’t go against her wishes if he wanted to. His guilt and his anger were so entwined, he didn’t know where one left off and the other began. He tried to remember the revenge he wanted, and how much he despised her family.

But none of that mattered when she huddled against his chest and shivered…all because he hadn’t protected her. She tried so hard to be brave and independent. To see her like this was almost too painful, and he didn’t understand his feelings.

Gareth leaned down and pressed a kiss against her head. “Let me get the screen. You’ll feel better in the water.”

When everything was ready for her bath, Margery gave him a shaky smile and disappeared behind the screen. He tried to stay focused on his inadequacy, on what he should have done to keep her safe.

But the rustle of her clothing as it dropped to the floor seemed to echo loudly. She was naked, and there was only thin wood between them. He heard the splash of water when she entered the tub, then her groan of pleasure as she slid into the water.

Suddenly the room was too hot; he could see steam rising above the screen. He loosened the laces of his shirt and tried not to imagine Margery in the tub, soapy water hiding and revealing her body. He sat in her chair, his elbows on his knees, his face buried in his dirty hands.

Her bath seemed to take forever. He heard her leave the tub and begin to towel herself dry.

“Gareth?” She sounded hesitant.

“Yes?”

“My dressing gown is too filthy to wear. Could you get a nightdress for me? They’re in the chest beneath the window.”

When he opened the chest, he inhaled the smell of roses. His hands shook as he lifted out a linen gown. The material was fine and thin, with lace sewn about the bodice.

What was his problem? Though he couldn’t lie with Margery tonight, surely she was beginning to depend on him. She trusted no one else to see to her. Soon he would win her to wife.

He turned around and saw her standing before him, wearing only a cloth wrapped about her body. Her wet hair fell in wavy curls to her waist. She had long supple legs, delicate shoulders and arms. She crossed her arms at her waist, which pressed her breasts so high, he thought they’d spill out.

As Gareth stared at her, dumbfounded, she said, “May I have my nightdress now?”