Page 30 of The Bodyguard Who Came in from the Cold
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 knowhowshe 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.
9
Finally the greetings were done, and Margery announced that dinner would soon be served. Her suitors followed each other into the great hall of Hawksbury Castle, laughing and gesturing as they kissed her hands. Five had gone past her, leaving the last man, Lord George Wharton, still beside his horse.
He looked about and saw Gareth nearby. She heard him say in a clipped, superior tone, “You, man, take my horse to the stables. Heaven knows where my squire has disappeared to.”
