Page 1 of The Bodyguard Who Came in from the Cold
PROLOGUE
ENGLAND, 1475
Through his narrow window, twelve-year-old squire Gareth Beaumont watched the inner ward burn. The night was dark, lit only by the flames. The shrieks of women and children, the groans of men as they fought the blaze, filled the air.
He hadseenthis in his nightmares and his waking visions. Everything had been muddled, but the fires had raged in his mind for days. He should have known it meant attack.
He wanted to bang his head against the wall to shake out these incomprehensible visions that haunted him. But he couldn’t escape his legacy, the Beaumont Curse.
Now Wellespring Castle’s stables and outbuildings were alive with flames. It was just like his parents’ fate all over again: they’d died three years before in a fire, leaving Gareth with nothing but painful memories.
But at least this time he could do something. He flung open the door to his room and raced down the corridor.
The inner ward was a nightmare of smoke and flames, and the screams of horses and men. The gatehouse held firm, keeping out the invaders, while fire illuminated the archers manning the battlements. At the stables, Gareth joined the line of men passing buckets of water from the well to the fire.
His eyes watered from the smoke, and his lungs ached with the need for fresh air. Although his skin was hot, a sudden chill of foreboding worked through him. Not now!
The vision began as but a sound, a child’s sob. Sometimes he could pretend he didn’t see the visions. It made the headaches worse, but that was better than knowing useless information he couldn’t understand.
But this time he knew who it was—Margery Welles, the eight-year-old daughter of the viscount.
In the mists of his mind he saw her impish face contort in a scream of terror. She wasn’t with the women, as she was supposed to be.
He broke from the line of men and raced through the inner ward, dodging soldiers. He finally saw Lord Welles by the gatehouse. The viscount was a tall, broad man with gray peppering his dark hair, and a craggy face that always looked in control.
Gareth came to a stop before him, coughing from the smoke. “My lord, your daughter—I fear she’s in danger.”
The firelit ward retreated as he was caught in the formidable gaze of Lord Welles. They stared at each other, and for an instant, fear touched his lordship’s eyes.
“Gareth, she is with the women. Do you know otherwise?”
Before Gareth could respond, he heard a great rending of wood and a sharp crack.
Lord Welles caught his arm and dragged him away from the swarm of soldiers who rushed to defend the gatehouse. “Baron Hunter and his men have broken through the first doors. There will be a battle. Saints above, I wish my sons were here—but you will do. Get Margery away.”
“But my lord, how?—”
Lord Welles leaned into Gareth’s face and spoke in a hoarse, urgent voice. “Take her into the undercroft below the great hall. You’ll find a stack of barrels in the north corner, and a hidden tunnel beneath them. Lead Margery out into the forest and await my word.”
“I’ll find the women and take them all?—”
“Margery first!” Lord Welles said, grabbing Gareth’s arms and giving him a quick shake. “If you get her out to the forest before the castle itself is invaded, then you may return for others. I can’t take the chance that Margery could be harmed. You must protect her. Promise me!”
“O-of course, my lord,” he stammered.
“Now go!”
When Gareth searched the great hall and didn’t find her, he knew Margery would go where she felt safest. He found her alone in her bedchamber, leaning out a window to watch the destruction below. He hauled her away from it and closed the shutters, weak with relief at having found her unharmed.
She looked at him solemnly, all dark hair and wide blue eyes. She wore white billowy nightclothes. “My father will win, won’t he, Gareth?”
“Of course,” he gasped, still breathing hard. He found garments hung on pegs and brought them to her. “But he wants me to take you to a safe place.”
“You have to leave while I?—”
Ignoring her protests, Gareth pulled her smock over her head. She was soon dressed and well-wrapped in a cloak. He led her down through the levels of the castle to one of the entrances to the undercroft. He lifted the trap door, grabbed a torch off the wall, and descended into the darkness below the main level, holding her hand.
Wooden beams arched overhead, dripping cobwebs. Barrels of salted meat and foodstuffs were stacked high. He led Margery to the north corner and had her hold the torch while he started to drag barrels away.
