Page 21 of The Bodyguard Who Came in from the Cold
“Some, but not all.”
“And…” Wallace leaned forward.
“Her problems are her own, and not to be bandied about the tiltyard.”
The smile left Wallace’s face. “You think I would tell a woman’s secrets to the world?”
Gareth said nothing.
“I know I’m not your friend,” Wallace said tiredly. “But I’m the only man here you can trust. How can I help her if I don’t know what I’m looking for?”
Gareth stared hard into Wallace’s eyes. He hadn’t trusted a soul in so many years that he was unsure who was an enemy and who was not. But Wallace had no stake in Margery’s troubles, and had been faithful—so far.
Gareth leaned against a fence, and motioned Wallace nearer. “The king recently gifted her with wealth and the power to choose her own husband. Since then various men have been trying to compromise her. Her brothers are away with the king, and she’s been dealing with this all alone.”
“So are we here to play midwife to a marriage?” Wallace asked in disbelief.
“No. She’s hired me as her personal guard. But she doesn’t want anyone to know she’s become desperate. To stay near her, I’m pretending to be another of her suitors.”
Wallace grinned. “So when I saw you earlier in the garden on your hands and knees…”
“I was acting as a suitor,” Gareth said uncomfortably.
“Haveyouever courted a woman?”
Why had he ever felt it was necessary to confide in Wallace? The man was a fool. “Is it so inconceivable?”
“Women usually crawl into your lap. I never quite understood why they would want to warm up that cold demeanor of yours, when they could have sunny, cheerful me.”
Gareth narrowed his eyes. “Wait here while I find a sword.”
Wallace shot him an amused glance. “You look…aggravated.”
“Only from lack of training.”
“I don’t think so.”
Wallace was waiting, sword drawn, when Gareth returned from the armory carrying a blunt sword. Gareth immediately attacked. With a grunt, Wallace parried the weapon aside and stepped back.
“You’re not one to waste words,” Wallace said. He thrust forward.
Gareth stepped aside. “Not when my meaning is clear. You, on the other hand, talk too much.”
Gareth let himself merge with the fury of emotions he never showed the world. Anger, frustration, bitterness, all poured down his arm to power his sword. He drove Wallace back across the tiltyard.
It took almost all his concentration to keep from wounding his opponent, yet he still noticed the soldiers and knights stepping back, wary looks on their faces. No one would bother him at Hawksbury now, for fear of igniting this consuming wrath that threatened the edge of his control.
Sweat ran in rivulets down his face and chest. He jumped to avoid Wallace’s swipe at his knees, then turned—and saw Margery.
She stood at the top of a flight of stairs near a side entrance to the castle, frozen as if she’d been watching them for quite some time.
She must be horrified. Good, let her fear him; let her never risk touching him again. He straightened and faced her, proud of his sweat and his skill and the fear he inspired.
But she didn’t run. She stared at him for a moment longer, her face unreadable. Then she walked down the stairs, carrying something in her apron. She came out from the shadow of the castle and lifted her face to the sun, which shimmered around her in a golden haze. Her skirt swayed with the movement of her feet, raising small clouds of dust that sparkled about the ground. She made clucking sounds with her tongue, and soon dozens of squawking hens clustered around her. She scattered handfuls of grain as she walked, and the chickens pecked in her wake.
Gareth had seen countless noblewomen in their finest garments, giving parties and hunts for others of their kind. He had no wish to be a part of such a world. But watching Margery do a servant’s humblest task shook everything he had known women to be. He couldn’t begin to understand her.
“Gareth!”
