Page 21 of The Bodyguard Who Came in from the Cold (Secrets and Vows #4)

20

O ne day a messenger arrived, and that night Margery waited for Gareth in her room, so excited she didn’t even get ready for bed. She was no longer afraid to be alone, but she let him continue his vigil.

She was sitting cross-legged in bed, staring into a candle’s flame, when he opened the door and slipped in. He never knocked, for that might awaken someone. Instead, it was always a sudden, delicious surprise when she saw him. The pleasure that moved through her kept her warm—as did the secret that she wanted to tell him.

Gareth leaned back against the door and looked at her quizzically.

She grinned.

He walked to the trunk for his blanket, eyeing her. She crawled to the end of the bed, then flung herself into his arms, making him stagger back a step. She stared up into his intent face, and her smile died as he looked at her mouth. A shudder of pleasure, of excitement moved through her. In anticipation, she slid her hands up the back of his neck into his hair.

Yet he calmly lifted her hands away from him, and went to sit by the hearth. He didn’t seem to see the room, or her, but something far away in his thoughts.

Gritting her teeth, Margery followed him and sat in the chair beside him. She tried to imagine another man, her husband, here in this room with her, but she couldn’t. There were only images of Gareth—kneeling to make her a fire, changing his clothes behind her screen, standing beside her bed. She would have such wonderful memories to carry through her life, when her duties kept her alone. Yet she needed one final memory from him.

“Margery?” He suddenly got to his feet and came to her.

This was it. Her breathing was shallow; her heart began a wild pounding. Please, let him touch me, let him take me to bed. He leaned over her, blocking out the rest of the room, until her world was just the two of them. He lifted a hand and reached toward her.

“Margery, don’t move. Your necklace has?—”

As his fingers neared her chest, she couldn’t help but jerk. The necklace fell in a heavy loop down her body, and beads scattered everywhere.

“—broken,” Gareth finished, smiling.

She wanted to groan. He knew just what he was doing, what he did to her. She gave a reluctant laugh, and they both got down on their knees. In the dim firelight they searched for the beads. When their fingers brushed and connected near one, Margery lingered.

“Ah, ah, ah; this one’s mine,” she said, snatching it from his palm.

“Then this one’s mine.”

His fingers slid beneath her shin and she giggled. Soon they were each scrambling for the most beads they could carry. She only knew the warm breathlessness of their bodies straining, brushing. She picked up his foot to find a bead; he reached over her back for another one.

Finally they knelt facing each other, two piles of beads before them. Margery felt her breath catch as she looked up at him, and watched his gaze drop almost lazily down to her breasts. She froze, waiting, hoping, but he merely gathered up all the beads, placed the pile on her bed table, then stood looking down at her.

“Did the messenger today carry good news?” he asked.

She smiled. “My brothers will be here tomorrow.” For just a moment before he turned away, she could swear that his face darkened with anger. She had to be imagining it.

“I haven’t seen them in so many months. And they said Peter has already gone on to London. This is wonderful news! I’ve even planned a hunt in their honor.”

Gareth leaned his shoulder against the windowsill and looked out over the dark countryside. Meeting her brothers again had always seemed like a distant nightmare, far in the future, where he’d demand satisfaction and vengefully pummel them into unconsciousness.

But tomorrow they would come, and everything Gareth had worked toward with Margery would be in jeopardy. Bolton and Welles would take one look at him—a man who brutalized people at tournaments, who was followed by a murderous curse and strange visions—and cast him out of their sister’s life.

But Margery was no longer a child, he thought, watching as she slipped behind the screen. She was a grown woman, with strong opinions and needs. And right now she needed him. He was her personal guard, the man she wanted in her bed before she married. He could not imagine her meekly agreeing with whatever her brothers said. She’d been a grief-stricken young girl when she’d last behaved like that.

He turned around as Margery reappeared, wearing her nightdress. Her long hair covered much of her body, but the gown was so fine that when she walked he could see the curve of her hip and the pale shadow of her nipples.

She glanced at him, then stared, her face serious. He didn’t know what expression he betrayed; he was beyond caring. He watched her climb into the four-poster bed, and she eyed him almost warily as she pulled up the blankets and coverlet.

He should take Margery tonight. He walked slowly toward the bed, and her eyes grew wider and wider as she looked up at him. He saw the excitement, the knowledge in her gaze. She wanted him.

If he did take her, then when her brothers arrived, Gareth would have an even stronger hold over her. His seed would already be in her belly. Nothing could stop him from claiming his right to marry her.

He halted beside the bed, unlacing his tunic and shirt. She let the blankets slip down to her waist. She was breathing fast, and her eyes sparkled with that wildness that made him boil inside with need of her.

Unbidden, an image rose of her face if he claimed her as wife before her brothers. He tried to thrust the thought away, but it took hold and grew. She would be the one humiliated, not her brothers—because she would not have chosen him freely as husband.

He closed his eyes. Was this panic that he was feeling? He, who approached every battle with eager bloodlust? Her brothers loomed as vividly in his mind as cold-blooded monsters, yet they were only men. They’d been tamed by wives and children, whom they were anxious to get back to. They wouldn’t be visiting Margery for long. All Gareth had to do was make them extremely uncomfortable, and then wait until they left. This time around, he would be the one with all the power.

Margery leaned back on her hands, and her nightdress slid off one shoulder. He could see her fragile collarbone, where he wanted to place his lips. But not tonight.

He sighed, kissed the top of her head, and walked toward his pallet.

“Gareth?” Her voice was quiet.

He paused, but didn’t turn around.

“Why can’t we?”

Over his shoulder, he said, “Because you would look at your brothers tomorrow and regret it. I will not be your bad memory.”

“You are wrong,” she said with conviction.

He sighed. “I’ve been wrong before.” He stretched out on his hard pallet and flung his arm over his eyes.

~oOo~

In the great hall, Gareth sat beside Margery to break his fast. Though he was exhausted from little sleep, she could hardly keep still. Even at Mass she had constantly looked over her shoulder, as if her brothers would arrive at any moment. She was bursting with excitement, and he found himself more and more angry. Everything in both their lives came back to her brothers.

He left Margery to her preparations and went out to the tiltyard. Under Wallace’s tutelage, the solders and knights had become a fine fighting force. There were even a few whom Gareth thought he could take on and actually enjoy the fight.

But today he leaned against a rail and glowered at everyone.

Wallace eventually strolled over and leaned beside him. “It’s been a few days since you looked this mean.”

“I am not mean.”

“I’ll reserve opinion on that. ’Tis just that lately, you’ve been rather…jovial.”

“I am never jovial.”

Wallace sighed. “However you choose to call it, I thought you had been succeeding in your courtship of Mistress Margery.”

Gareth shrugged and frowned.

“Ah, you’ve had a problem.”

“Not until today.”

“What happened today?”

Gareth glanced at Wallace. “Her brothers will soon arrive.”

“Oh, I see.”

Gareth had a strong urge to punch that grin off Wallace’s face. But he contained himself.

“Do I need to reassure you?” Wallace asked. “You have won the lady’s affection. Surely her brothers cannot change that.”

For a moment, Gareth almost wanted to explain all of his past with Margery’s family. But he’d never had a friend who remained friendly once he learned the whole sordid truth. He had become too comfortable with the man, and that was dangerous.

Though Wallace seemed different from other men, Gareth still would not test him. “I can handle her brothers. I just wanted to warn you to steer clear of Bolton if you can.”

Wallace raised his eyebrows. “Just because I know him?”

“Why would you work as a captain of the guard if you’re inheriting a barony? He might also be suspicious that two men from his past are both here with his sister. I do not mean for you to hide, but if you can avoid him…” His voice trailed off.

“I understand,” Wallace said softly. “I shall do my best.”

~oOo~

Before the midday meal, horns sounded a blast, and a dozen men on horseback came through the gatehouse. Gareth put down his blunt sword and walked to the edge of the tiltyard. He recognized the two men in the lead as Margery’s brothers, Viscount Reynold Welles, and James Markham, Earl of Bolton.

They both looked hale and fit, considering they’d just returned from defeating the pretender to the throne and his supporters. They were dark-haired like Margery, but Welles was a tall, broad mountain of a man next to Bolton’s thinner build. Welles wore plain, functional garments, while Bolton dressed as if he were going to court instead of traveling from battle.

They looked around the inner ward, where Gareth stood waiting, but they didn’t notice him. As the company dismounted, pages and squires ran to take their horses. The doors to the great hall opened, and Margery descended regally, followed by her ladies, wearing a smile that could have split her face. The last few steps, she gave a glad cry and ran to her brothers. They grabbed her up, passing her between them for hugs.

Gareth walked closer, needing to hear everything. His stomach roiled with anger and tension, and he was barely able to keep a fierce frown from his face.

Margery stood between her brothers, with their arms overlapping across her shoulders. “It is so good to see you both,” she said happily. “I worried every day that you were with the king.”

“The Irish didn’t mount much of a battle,” Bolton said with easy confidence. “We barely got dirty.”

Welles rolled his eyes. “It was not quite that easy.”

“Nevertheless, the pretender will be turning the roasting spits in the royal kitchens from now on.”

Everyone laughed, and Margery’s brothers turned to introduce her to the men they’d traveled with. More knights for her to consider for husband—more men Gareth would have to discredit. He was beginning to regret not bedding her last night.

Everyone trooped inside for dinner, so Gareth washed up and followed them. Margery had already seated her brothers at the head table, along with a few of their companions. Ladies Anne and Cicely were each seated between two men, and they looked flustered and happy.

Gareth almost sat at a lower table to give Margery and her brothers privacy, but he caught himself in time. What was the point of revenge if Welles and Bolton knew nothing of it?

He approached the head table. Margery’s smile softened as she looked at him. “Gareth, come sit with us. You remember my brothers.”

Gareth could tell that at first the younger brother did not remember who he was. Welles wore a polite smile as he rose to his feet. But Bolton had been a man when he’d forced Gareth to leave his home. He remembered. His smile died, and his eyes narrowed as he looked between Gareth and Margery.

“Gareth Beaumont?” Bolton said to Margery.

“Yes. Do you not remember? He fostered with us.”

Gareth saw Welles’s quick frown, and he knew how their minds were working. They were remembering his family curse, the tournaments where he had crushed every opponent, how he’d been driven from England. They took in his plain jerkin and simple boots.

When Margery gave Gareth the place beside her, Welles’s eyebrows rose, and Bolton frowned. It was a good, satisfying moment.

Margery could barely contain her excitement. Her brothers were whole and well, and their service to King Henry was temporarily over. She knew their wives must be missing them terribly. And imagine, they each had a child to return to! Sometimes it was incredible how things had changed.

She suddenly felt Gareth’s thigh along the length of hers, and she struggled not to blush. Things had changed for her, as well. She passed him a loaf of bread and he smiled that devilish smile at her.

“So, Margery,” began her brother James, “how goes the husband hunt?”

She sighed, regretting that James was ever to the point. Every young man they’d traveled with turned his curious gaze on her. With a sinking feeling, she realized her brothers had brought these men for her to look over, like sheep at the market. She rescued her faltering smile when Gareth rested his hand on her thigh.

“James,” she said, “that is hardly polite dinner conversation. I am meeting men, I am not ‘hunting.’”

Everyone laughed, but she had to force her laughter. How dare her brothers assume she needed their help? They had each made a few foolish choices, and somehow each had come out happy. Why couldn’t they leave her choice of husband alone?

“If we cannot discuss your life, Margery,” Reynold said, “then what kind of brothers are we? We are only concerned for you.”

She smiled sweetly through gritted teeth. “Then let us discuss this later in private.”

James arched an eyebrow as he looked at her. “We go away for a few months, and you’ve become your own woman.”

“I’ve always been my own woman. And how is your new daughter?”

Throughout the meal, she kept the conversation away from herself. She knew James and Reynold watched her with concern—and watched Gareth with suspicion. Let them look. She wanted Gareth beside her, and she took strength from the comfort of his hand touching her. He was a reminder that she could live her own life, make her own decisions, even where he was concerned.

As the maidservants were carrying out tarts and pies and puddings for dessert, James pushed back his bench and looked thoughtfully at her. She braced herself; then his gaze turned on Gareth.

“Beaumont,” he began, “I heard you’ve been out of the country these past few years.”