Page 29 of The Bodyguard Who Came in from the Cold
Her eyes widened and she laughed, covering her mouth quickly. “Anne is young. I could not encourage her in such pursuit.”
“Then Iamblindingly 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 meanyouhave 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.’”
