Page 37 of The Bodyguard Who Came in from the Cold
The knight’s condescension on the subject of archery proved to be his undoing. At the end of the meal, she smiled her prettiest.
“Sir Humphrey, I well understand a bow. It was my weapon of choice when I hunted with my brothers. But alas, I’ve been at court recently, and have not had the chance to practice.”
Sir Humphrey straightened with ill-concealed self-importance. “I would be happy to assist you. I am quite skilled, you know.”
“Really?” She dropped her napkin on the table as she stood. “Then let us practice now.”
Sir Humphrey remained seated and gave her a patronizing smile. “Now, now, mistress, I’m sure you’d rather wait for a more private moment. I wouldn’t want you to feel inferior.”
Margery barely controlled her temper. Inferior to him, indeed!
Gareth stood up. “I could use some practice with the bow.”
She tried not to take pleasure at the thought of testing herself against him. “Why, Sir Gareth, I can’t believe you are not proficient at every aspect of war.”
“As a lad, I used to fish when I should have been using my bow.”
She smiled as she remembered their afternoon fishing so long ago. “I could give you some instruction at that, too.”
Sir Humphrey scowled. “He is merely trying to win your attention, mistress.”
“And aren’t you?” she asked sweetly.
He gave a stiff bow and went back to his friends, who had already risen to come watch the competition.
Margery put her hands on her hips and glanced about, wondering if the bows were stored in the armory. Sure enough, Sir Wallace came out of that building, carrying two unstrung bows and a quiver of arrows, which he handed to Gareth.
Gareth stood beside her and strung the bows. He murmured, “Mistress, I hope you don’t intend to abuse your poor guard.”
“You’ll only get what you deserve,” she said, shivering at the husky tone of his voice. Her smile died as she gazed at him with narrowed eyes. He was behaving differently, no longer quite the cold, remote stranger he had been just a few days ago. He was almost…playful. It made her suspicious.
But perhaps she wastoosuspicious lately; perhaps the last few months of her life had made her cynical. Surely he was finally relaxing into the friendship they had once shared.
Gareth watched Margery stroll away from him, the bow dangling from her hand. She looked over her shoulder, and her blue eyes glinted with mischief. The summer breeze ruffled her hair, and the sun pinkened her cheeks.
“As the challenger, you may go first, Sir Gareth.”
He nodded and positioned himself across the tiltyard from the wooden targets, which rested against mounds of straw. They were shaped crudely like men, with a circle drawn over the man’s heart. Gareth drew his arrow back.
Before he could release it, Margery walked behind him. “Are you sure you don’t need my help? Your right elbow is low.”
He realized she meant to distract him. Just like the rest of her family, she always had to win. Well, she might be skilled at Tables, but he would not let her win at games of war.
Yet she was so close to his back, if she took a deep enough breath, he’d feel her breasts. Sweat broke out on his brow. He refused to let himself be affected by her nearness. He was the one controlling this seduction, not her. But damn if he wasn’t grateful he was wearing a longer tunic this day.
He blocked her from his mind and let fly his arrow. It just missed the heart, and there was a smattering of applause—from the women, he was certain.
Gareth lowered his arms and deliberately brushed his elbow against Margery’s chest. She stepped away quickly. He raised his eyebrows in innocence, and she gave him a frown.
Then she lifted her bow. Just as she pulled back the string, he dropped to one knee in her line of sight and gazed at her with worshipful eyes. Actually, he was admiring the way her gown molded to her breasts as she aimed.
She glanced at him, and a little frown line appeared between her eyes. As she pulled back the string he let out a loud, lovesick sigh, and she jerked as the arrow was released. Though she hit the target, it was nowhere near the heart. With her back to the crowd, she glared at him.
“Mistress Margery,” he said, “your form is just wondrous.”
There was reluctant laughter from their audience.
“My arrow barely hit the target,” she said dryly.
