Page 9 of The Bodyguard Who Came in from the Cold (Secrets and Vows #4)

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A s the knock sounded again, Margery jumped to her feet, wondering frantically where Gareth could hide. To be discovered like this, to ruin both their lives with her sins—she couldn’t bear it.

“Just one moment!” she called, her hands on his lower back as she pushed him toward the window.

She motioned to the draperies and he stepped behind them. She glimpsed the dark amusement in his face as she arranged the folds of fabric to fall around him, making sure his feet were covered. After walking quickly to the door, she took a deep breath and opened it.

Anne stood in the dark corridor, her hair loose, a robe and blanket around her shoulders. She gave Margery a frown and looked toward the bed. “Were you asleep? I did not mean to awaken you.”

“I wasn’t asleep yet,” she said, then gave a wide yawn. “Can I help you with something?”

Nodding, Anne walked in. Margery’s shoulders slumped in resignation as she closed the door and watched the girl curl up in the chair Gareth had recently vacated.

“Anne, I am actually quite tired. Could this wait until morning?” Margery was certain she could hear Gareth breathing. Did the draperies rise and fall with his chest?

“I promise this will take but a moment.”

Anne proceeded to talk about one of the young men who’d be arriving on the morrow. Margery painted a smile on her face and worriedly watched the draperies over Anne’s shoulder.

It suddenly occurred to her that Gareth could take advantage of this situation. He was a poor knight; just by stepping out into the room, he would have the most eligible heiress in England, and all the reward that went with it. She found herself holding her breath with anxiety, her gaze darting constantly to the windows.

Gareth’s face was covered in fabric, and he inhaled his own warm breath, trying not to feel light-headed. He longed to turn his head, but didn’t dare move. Perspiration dripped down his temples.

All he had to do was pretend to sneeze. It would seem an accident, and Margery would never have to know that it had really been deliberate.

But she would be humiliated, and might never forgive him for taking away her choice. And it wouldn’t allow him the ultimate revenge against her brothers.

No, there was still time. He would be her choice for husband.

“Margery!” Lady Anne said. “You are so tired your eyes are glazed.”

“Forgive me.” Margery didn’t sound nervous so much as distracted. “What was the last thing you said?”

“If Lord George should not take your fancy, could you guide him my way? And make sure ’tis I, not Cicely.”

“Anne, you are the daughter of an earl, and could have any young man in England. I am sure Lord George will be quite taken with you.”

“You are a dear, Margery. I must say, that new man following you about is interesting.”

“Sir Gareth?”

Margery’s voice sounded a bit faint, and Gareth’s interest intensified.

“He is blindingly handsome, wouldn’t you say?”

“I’m not sure ‘blindingly’ is the right?—”

“Oh, you know what I mean,” Lady Anne interrupted. “ ’Tis a shame he is only a knight. My father expects at least an earl from me. But you have your choice—what freedom.”

“Sometimes I wish I had let my brothers choose for me long ago.”

Gareth heard the sad wistfulness in Margery’s voice, and wondered again what secrets were hidden in her past.

“I’ll let you sleep,” Lady Anne said. “Perhaps Sir Gareth’s pursuit is tiring you.”

“I think not.”

Once he heard them move toward the door, he slowly turned his head to take a deep breath.

“Have a good night, Margery,” Lady Anne said.

He waited a few moments after he heard the door close, then stepped from behind the draperies. Margery was slumped with her back against the door, her face pensive. She looked up, and they stared at each other across the room.

“My coming to your room put you in needless danger,” he said.

“Danger?”

“If she had discovered me?—”

Margery raised a hand. “But she did not. And you were only trying to keep me safe.”

He knew he should find something light to say, some way to endear himself to her. But nothing in his experience had prepared him for trying to make a woman like him. Usually women just wanted something from him; he wanted something from them. It was simple.

He cleared his throat. “So I’m not blindingly handsome?”

Her eyes widened and she laughed, covering her mouth quickly. “Anne is young. I could not encourage her in such pursuit.”

“Then I am blindingly handsome?”

“Just go,” she said, pointing to the door behind her, her lips twitching with a smile.

He leaned against the door to listen for footsteps, but instead noticed how close she stood beside him. She was draped in thin fabric, hinting at curves he knew he would soon explore. Now that he’d decided to marry her, he could hardly keep his gaze on her face.

“Gareth, you must leave,” she whispered.

“Not until the guards pass by.”

“How do you know they will?”

“Because I planned the route myself.”

She said nothing else, and he forced his attention to the corridor. The guards should pass Margery’s bedchamber every hour. For a few minutes he remained still, listening through the wood, trying not to feel her gaze on his back. She finally moved away from him.

A while later, Gareth glanced over and found her curled in one of the hearth chairs. She was asleep, her head cocked at an awkward angle, her arms hanging limply. He went to her bed and pulled aside the coverlet and blankets. The sheets seemed to beckon him with the promise of warmth and satisfaction. Clenching his jaw, he went to stand above Margery, bracing himself for the feel of her body in his arms, for her head tucked beneath his chin. Now that he had given himself permission to think of her sexually, he had a difficult time doing anything else.

He slid one arm behind her back, and the other beneath her knees, lifting her against him. With a little sigh, she nuzzled her cheek against his chest, as if she trusted him. She was a fool. Someday she would learn to trust no one but herself.

He lowered her into the bed and pulled up the blankets. She rolled to her side, head pillowed in her hand, her forehead creased in the smallest of frowns. What worries followed her into sleep?

~oOo~

Gareth held the sword high over his head, his muscles on fire, sweat streaming from his brow. He brought the weapon down hard and Wallace met it with his own sword, parrying it and staggering to one side.

Gareth stepped back, bringing the sword up in readiness.

Gasping for breath, Wallace bent over, hands braced on his knees. “No more!” he said, raising one hand. “What the hell…has gotten into you?”

Gareth slowly straightened, feeling his heart pound, welcoming the exhaustion that appeased his body and took his thoughts away from Margery. “We have not trained enough recently. I felt the need for it.”

“You mean you have not trained. I have done nothing but.”

Wallace set down his sword and reached for a drinking horn hung from a nearby post. He swallowed some and offered it to Gareth, who took a sip, then lifted his eyebrows in surprise.

“Water?”

Wallace shrugged. “I need my wits about me today when Mistress Margery’s next suitors arrive.”

Gareth tensed. “Who is arriving today?”

“You have not heard?” Wallace said, his stare playfully disapproving. “Your talents are slipping, Sir Gareth.”

“Just tell me.”

“A whole contingent of young swains are due from London.”

“How many?” Gareth demanded. How could she not have told him something so vitally important to her safety?

Wallace shrugged. “A half dozen, a dozen—who knows how many will take up the challenge of the wealthy Mistress Margery?”

Gareth turned to watch a baggage train emerge from the gatehouse. “Could they already be arriving?”

“Probably just the servants. I imagine their lordships are pillaging through the countryside about now.”

“You’re one of those ‘lordships.’”

Wallace sighed. “A coincidence of birth. These youngsters are far above me at court, as they’ll happily remind me.” He picked up his sword. “We’d best get back to it, then. Mustn’t let the pups show us up. Not that you should be worried. They’ll remember you, though you’ve been gone a few years.”

Gareth stiffened, but Wallace laughed.

“Do not worry so. You defeated either them or their brothers or their fathers. I’m sure your reputation will scare at least a few of them away.”

They spent another couple of hours exhausting each other and every knight and soldier on the tiltyard. Gareth kept a close watch on the gatehouse, and occasionally sent a page inside the castle to see how Margery was busying herself. She was overseeing the cleaning and the cooking, and airing out bedchambers.

Just before the noon meal, the inner ward came alive with the shouts of young men on horseback racing through the gatehouse. In a pack they galloped about, yelling and raising clouds of dust, and in general making a nuisance of themselves.

Standing beside Wallace, Gareth crossed his arms over his chest. “They’re barely old enough for whiskers,” he said with some satisfaction.

He felt Wallace’s amused regard.

“Now, Gareth, Mistress Margery is a wealthy young lady. Of course any marriageable man?—”

“Boy.”

“—man would want to woo her. You’re here to protect her from the unscrupulous ones. She is paying you for that.”

The young noblemen galloped by the henhouse, frightening the flock and sending a little serving girl running in terror.

Margery descended the steps from the great hall, her ladies behind her. She wore the vivid green of springtime, and she’d adorned her long, dark curls with flowers. He realized she’d used the daisies he’d left beside her plate that morning, which gave him some satisfaction. Wallace had been right about the flowers.

He walked toward her as the young men dismounted, handing off their reins to waiting servants. Soon a cluster of men gathered below Margery, who remained a few steps above them, smiling.

Gareth, sweaty and filthy, stood beside the elegantly clothed young men in their silks and velvets. They doffed hats and caps as they each presented Margery with a gift.

She smiled and laughed and blushed as she handed the gifts to her ladies, obviously basking in the adoration of all these wealthy men.

He would make sure none of them suited her.

Margery knew her face was going to betray her at any moment. Couldn’t they all see how forced her smile was, how ill-at-ease she felt? She was a fraud, a sinner, not an innocent maid. She wanted to shout her faults to the world, to send these men away so she could weep in lonely peace.

Their eager faces blended together before her stinging eyes. They handed her gifts and sang her praises, until their reaching hands and garbled voices threatened to overwhelm her.

Just as Margery thought she would run screaming from them all, she saw Gareth standing alone at the back of the crowd. He was an island of maturity amidst a sea of boyish faces. Surrounded by young men garbed in clothing more ostentatious than her own, Gareth wore only a sleeveless leather jerkin and carried a sword as if it were a part of his powerful arm. The sweat of hard work glistened on his body, and his stunning face was stubbled in golden whiskers. She wanted to gape in awe at him, not pretend to smile at the rising tide of suitors. She wanted to touch the flowers in her hair, knowing he’d given them to her.

She was such a fool. She didn’t know how she wanted to be treated. Shallow noblemen worshipped and fought over her for her money, while Gareth treated her as distantly as if he were only a servant.

Margery had had enough. She’d done nothing but agonize over being unable to offer her virginity to a man, but did they deserve her worry? These men treated her as a piece of property, as a font of wealth for the lucky man who won her. None of them cared for her personally.

Suddenly the answer to her problem seemed clear, and Margery’s heart lifted. Why should she worry that she wasn’t a virgin? She highly doubted that her husband would come to their marriage bed untouched by a woman. Why should she behave any differently?

The first time she had lain with Peter Fitzwilliam, there had been some discomfort. She could pretend that she felt the same thing on her wedding night. And if there had to be blood on the sheets, she would find a way to deal with that, too.

Her conscience gave a faint twinge, but she ignored it. It was true she had not conceived a child with Peter, but it was God’s will if she ever did. Surely every married couple took such a chance. Why should she make herself an outcast?

For the first time in months, Margery felt as if she could take a deep breath. The great weight of despair that had compressed her lungs was gone. She still had to find the perfect man to marry, but at least she had a plan.

Of course, love would not be a consideration. She had fallen in love once, and it had brought her nothing but heartache. No man deserved to have that much control over her. She would pick a man for the attributes she could most use, but love would not be one of them.

If that made her a cold woman, so be it.