Page 7 of The Bodyguard Who Came in from the Cold (Secrets and Vows #4)

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T hat afternoon, Margery received a missive announcing the arrival the next morning of her London suitors. A dark cloud enveloped her as she supervised the household preparations for her guests. She felt as if she was still a little girl, alone and defenseless because her brothers had to foster elsewhere. Then, as well as now, she was well guarded, but that did not stop her from feeling vulnerable.

During the evening meal, she surrounded herself with her ladies and seated Gareth as far from herself as she could. She talked incessantly to the twins, but whenever there was a lull in the conversation, her mind returned to the scene in the dark corridor that morning. She relived that moment when they hadn’t spoken, when their breath had mingled, when she’d touched him. Had she imagined the look in his eyes, the shared awareness of each other?

She felt a shiver of astonishment move through her, and knew she was being ridiculous. He had pushed her away, and rightly so. She was a woman no man would ever want, let alone marry.

Shame crept up on her unannounced. Was she such a wanton that she imagined feelings for a man who openly despised her family?

Though she shouldn’t, she looked down the table at Gareth, and found him watching her. His eyes glittered above his serious mouth. Then he slowly smiled, and it was amused and devilish. Her whole body heated with a furious blush.

He was acting—oh, of course, he was acting. He was here only to complete a task, and be paid for it. She raised her chin, giving him a cool smile, then turned away as if his regard was worth nothing to her.

Instead of retreating to her solar after supper, Margery and the twins sat before the fire in the hall. She was enjoying the relative quiet of the household with only one guest—Gareth—in attendance. She kept Anne and Cicely on either side of her, and if they noticed her awkwardness, they did not mention it. One strummed a lute while the other sang in a soft, pretty voice.

Margery’s embroidery rested in her lap, untouched, as she drifted through memories of her brother James singing to her. She wanted to think about earlier times, when life had seemed so full of promise. But four years of her childhood involved Gareth, his reluctant friendship, his rescue of her.

This evening, she had thought she’d managed to keep him away by surrounding herself with her friends, but he was in her mind—unsettling her feelings, making her remember hoop games and archery and trying to make a serious boy smile.

Gareth pulled up a chair directly opposite her, startling her. With the twins, they were almost a cozy foursome. Every time she looked from one twin to the other, there he was in the center, watching her, his long legs stretched out, booted feet almost touching hers. His hose were threadbare, his plain blue tunic tattered at the hem. His white shirt had seen too many days. She had never in her life been wooed by such a man.

And she wasn’t now, she reminded herself. Gareth was a soldier she had hired, nothing more. She moved her feet away. He shifted his feet near again, like a childish game—or a suitor trying to get her attention.

She didn’t know why she was so tense; she knew his actions meant nothing. She should practice controlling her anger, for she knew tomorrow would begin a real courtship, when those wild young men came from London. Then she would be thankful for Gareth and his protection.

Cicely continued to strum the lute, but Anne stopped singing. She gave Margery a conspiratorial smile, then said, “Sir Gareth, have you come to Hawksbury Castle to better acquaint yourself with Mistress Margery?”

He linked his hands across his stomach. “Yes, my lady,” he said, his deep voice deferential.

Margery’s heart sped up with unexpected worry. She and Gareth had never discussed what story they would tell the world. He could create any wild, outlandish tale, and she could not say him wrong.

“So you have met before?” Anne continued.

“We knew one another as children, when I fostered at Wellespring Castle.”

“As children,” Anne repeated, glancing from Margery to Cicely, her eyes gleaming with wicked amusement.

He nodded. “I was a few years older, and in my youthful foolishness, thought myself quite beyond the childish games she wanted to play with me.”

The twins giggled, while Margery’s gaze was frozen on him. She had never thought he would be capable of banter.

“She followed me everywhere,” he said, glancing at her. “I confess that I often made certain she could not find me.”

She wanted to jump to her feet and defend herself, to swear that he was making up lies. But a deep part of her wondered if it was true. Had she been so annoying? Surely that couldn’t be the only reason he was bitter toward her and her family.

Then Gareth leaned forward and took her hands in his. Though she tried to pull away, he gripped them harder, uncomfortably so. Was this just another contest he needed to win?

“Mistress Margery, I have learned the error of my ways.”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. His skin was warm, rough, and callused from hard work. It heated her palms, and the warmth spread up her arms to tingle through her breasts. When those golden eyes captured hers, she had a hard time disbelieving anything he said.

Cicely stopped strumming the lute to openly watch this new entertainment.

Anne said, “Sir Gareth, if you fostered with Margery’s family, why have you not visited her before? Did you think she was still a child?”

His gaze dropped down her body. Margery thought, Please let him not feel my foolish trembling.

“No, not a child,” he said, his eyes returning once more to search her face. “I have lived in Europe for the last four years. I met many women, but always, in the back of my mind, I wondered about my childhood friend.”

Such exaggerations. He hadn’t thought of her at all. “According to you, I was more of a childhood tormentor.”

Everyone laughed, and she forced her own smile.

“But that does not mean I didn’t admire your spirit.”

He finally released her hands and she quickly sat back. She felt the prickle of perspiration on her upper lip, and desperately wished to wipe it—and any trace of her reaction to him—away. How humiliating to be so affected by a man who stayed with her only out of duty. She wished that she hadn’t thrown away her innocence, that she didn’t know where such feelings could lead.

“But why return now?” Cicely asked, setting the lute aside.

Margery could see what they were doing. The twins wanted to know if he returned merely because he’d heard about the king’s bequest. She held her breath, as if she, too, needed to hear the answer.

“I grew restless in France. Battles and tournaments held little allure, so it was time to find my place in life, to look for a good English girl to marry.”

She felt herself blush again. Lies, all lies. As if he would ever trust anyone.

“Please, ladies, do not think I considered myself worthy of Mistress Margery.” Gareth leaned forward in his chair, pitching his voice lower and looking deeply into her eyes. “But I knew I had to see you again.”

Even Anne sighed.

Though it was all an illusion, Margery clung to his words. She wished that a man would want her just for herself—not her money or status or property.

But then, Peter hadn’t wanted any of that, either. He had wanted to conquer her body, to make a fool of her. Even in the spirit of make-believe, she couldn’t let another man think he was seducing her so easily.

“Then how did you find me, Sir Gareth?” she asked, rather amazed at her own cool voice.

He raised one eyebrow, then sat back. “I went to London first and asked about you at court.”

She thought she detected the first hint of wariness in his voice, and warmed to this game they played with the truth. “And what did they tell you?”

“That you had come here, to one of your new holdings.”

“And what else?”

He looked away with uneasiness. Was this another act? Why did she sense a deep mystery about him?

“Mistress Margery, I?—”

“The truth, Sir Gareth.” She wanted to laugh aloud at that.

“I heard that you are free to choose a husband.”

He suddenly dropped forward on his knees, practically in her lap. Cicely and Anne shrieked and started to giggle. He took her hands, pressing his lips against her knuckles.

“Mistress Margery,” he whispered, lifting his head to look into her face, so close she could feel the warmth of his body, “I freely admit I rejoiced on hearing that you are looking for a husband. Can you blame me? I am looking for a wife. I knew what kind of girl you were, and I thought I would see what kind of woman you had become.” He looked down her body, then back up. “A magnificent woman.”

“And very rich,” she said, her cynical smile unforced.

Gareth stiffened. She pulled her hands from his, then watched as he got to his feet. He towered above her, and the twins no longer giggled as they, too, looked up at him in awe.

“You believe the worst of me?” he asked softly.

“I do not know what to believe.”

“Even after everything that happened when we were children?”

“Men change.” She knew that from experience. Men lied, too.

He took a step backward, and his chair almost toppled to the floor. “I shall prove to you that my intentions are honorable. What would you have me do, mistress?”

“Sir Gareth, only time will tell if you are honorable.”

There was an uncomfortable silence. Gareth seemed a big man too uncivilized for lutes and singing and embroidery. When she looked up at him, she saw bonfires in the wilderness, the howl of wild animals kept at bay, the protection and warmth of a man’s body through the night.

Anne cleared her throat. “Margery, would you like to play a game with me?”

She shook away such dangerous, forbidden dreams, and quickly agreed. A contest was just the thing to distract her. Anne brought out the Tables board and playing pieces, and began to set them up at the head table.

Gareth remained still, looking down on Margery, who stared at the fire, not at him. He reluctantly admired her quick wit and intelligent responses. To his surprise, he had almost enjoyed saying just enough of the truth to make her uneasy. He couldn’t remember the last time he had had such a conversation with a woman.

Or the last time he had become so easily lost in a woman’s eyes. When she had stared up at him, he’d felt…strange, remote, as if there was more beneath the surface of their shared glance.

He told himself he had simply missed the company of gentlewomen for too long.

Margery stood up without warning. Her shoulder brushed his chest; her skirts surrounded his legs. As he caught her elbow, he noticed that the twins’ backs were turned.

“I taught you this game,” he whispered.

She was silent. He tried not to breathe, so as not to inhale the scent of roses that was a part of her.

“Do you remember?”

“Did we play before a hearth?” she asked, and he could hear the hesitation in her voice. She slowly turned to look up at him.

“We lay on our stomachs.”

She shook her head. “I did not remember that.”

She pulled her arm away and Gareth let her go, watching as she seated herself at the table. After a moment’s indecision, he moved to stand behind Lady Anne. The head table was on a raised dais, which put the Tables board at Gareth’s chest, and the women’s heads equal with his own.

Margery began the game. For a few minutes they played in silence, and he watched her slender fingers roll the dice. He should leave the women alone, but he was amused by Margery’s concentration. With lucky rolls of the dice, her skill should let her win.

She seemed to win at anything she attempted, just like her entire family. His humor faded, replaced by anger—anything was better than the memory of the hollow emptiness in his soul when he’d ridden away from her family home so long ago.

Gareth stepped up and slid onto the bench beside Lady Anne. When she was about to make a move, he said, “No, not that piece.”

All three women looked at him and he shrugged.

Margery glanced up at him with storm-cloud blue eyes. “Why, Sir Gareth, you’re not going to help me ?”

“You do not need my help.”

He could see why she got her way, even with her brothers. He wanted to tell her that her problems couldn’t be solved with a flutter of her eyelashes, but he’d settle for watching her soundly defeated at Tables.

He boldly studied her, and not always her face. He told himself he merely wished to fluster her, but more than once his eyes lingered on the shadowy indentation between her breasts, and his thoughts were not only of anger.

He whispered suggestions in Lady Anne’s ear, and soon Margery was floundering. They’d attracted a vocal audience of soldiers and knights, who were actively betting.

“Anne, you’ve blocked me,” Margery said pleasantly, but she was almost glaring at Gareth.

There was laughter all around them, Wallace the loudest of all.

“Gareth,” he called, “Don’t make me lose a day’s wage on Mistress Margery.”

“You should have bet on Lady Anne.” Gareth smiled. “I may not yet have convinced Mistress Margery of my worthiness as her suitor, but even she cannot doubt my skills.”

As everyone laughed, Margery’s gaze was locked with his in a contest of wills older than any table game. Couldn’t she see that her wiles were no match for his?

Yet she soon beat Anne at Tables, and the knights led her away, showering her with admiring congratulations. Gareth put the game away, and tried not to let his frustration show.

~oOo~

Later in his bedchamber, Gareth set a candleholder on the table and moved to the windows. The room was dark, shadowy, with only the single candle for light. He’d asked the maids to leave his fireplace cold, since the summer nights were warm enough.

He opened the shutters and pulled back the glass window. He’d been at Hawksbury Castle for only two days, and already he was growing used to the luxury of glass in every window. Life here was making him soft.

Outside, the landscape was illuminated by a half moon, and he could see the faint traces of the descending hillsides and wooded glens between squares of farm fields. In the southeast, the Cotswold hills jutted toward the stars.

Margery lingered on his mind. He wasn’t quite sure why he felt the need to defeat her, and why he was so disappointed that it hadn’t happened. She was just a woman he was being paid to help; just an ancient oath he had sworn to a dead man.

He heard a sudden muffled clatter in the hall and froze, listening. It wasn’t repeated. He crossed his room and opened the door to find the corridor dark, silent, empty. He walked toward Margery’s bedchamber, three rooms down from his, put his ear against the door and listened. He heard the faintest movement inside.

Could someone be with her?

Just before he touched the door latch, he heard the sound of booted feet echoing through the hall. He swore softly. It must be the patrol he’d had Wallace assign. As two men rounded the corner, Gareth nodded to them and stepped into the garderobe.

The moment they passed, he burst into Margery’s room.