Page 38 of The Bodyguard Who Came in from the Cold
“I had not even noticed, mistress. Allow me to shoot again.”
As he aimed, he felt her moving around behind him, and wondered more about what she was doing than where his arrow should go. Just as he concentrated and took serious aim, she appeared to his right, holding a strawberry tart to her lips. Her pink tongue licked at a stray crumb.
His arrow landed farther from the target heart, but not as far as hers.
She swallowed the last of the tart, then licked two of her fingers in a saucy manner before taking her bow from Wallace.
11
Margery felt a wave of excitement, which she could no longer ignore. How had an archery competition turned into something so…personal? Her heart was beating loudly in her ears, and her body seemed to vibrate with its own music whenever Gareth stepped near. Though she was suspicious of his motives, she couldn’t deny that she felt more alive than she had in months.
As she took aim, she suddenly heard his voice close behind her.
“A little higher, Margery.”
A shudder moved through her, centered low in her stomach. “Shh!”
“Such fire in your eyes.”
Her arrow landed just outside the circle that represented the heart. She barely resisted the urge to stomp her foot in frustration. Even his voice affected her!
She moved briskly behind him. “Your turn, Sir Gareth. Shall I help you align your shot?”
Again she stood at his back. She ran her hand down his right arm to lift his elbow higher, feeling pleasure in touching him. As if encouraging him, she rested her hand on his shoulder. She was close enough to see sweat trickle down his temple, and she took satisfaction from it.
Then he let fly the arrow, and it hit one side of the heart. Margery wanted to groan. It would all come down to her last shot.
She picked up her bow and stepped into position. She fitted the arrow in place, pulling the string back toward her cheek. There was nothing stopping her from making a perfect shot, of which she knew she was capable. But a sudden movement at her left made her glance that way.
Gareth was smiling at her. His eyes seemed to glow, as if he knew her every secret, and none of it mattered.
It was all feigned. Sheknewit was. She crushed the warmth that lit her from the inside. He was only a guard who remained merely because she would be paying him.
Margery’s arrow hit straw.
By God, he’d won. With a glower she could barely hide, she watched him make his way back to her side, then stand close enough that their sleeves brushed.
He pointedly looked at the target. “I don’t see your arrow,” he said in an amused voice.
“A fly bit me.”
He chuckled. “Is that your excuse?”
“No excuses.”
As Gareth went to the table and took a slice of cake from the giggling twins, Margery saw Sir Humphrey giving Gareth a venomous stare.
A chill moved through her, darkening the day and her confidence. Gareth’s presence was supposed to keep her safe, not endanger him.
She was distracted by a rider on horseback emerging from the gatehouse. Shielding her eyes from the sunlight, she felt her stomach clench when she recognized the colors the man was wearing. He was a servant of Viscount Peter Fitzwilliam: the one man who knew all her shameful secrets. With just a well-placed word, Peter could guarantee that she was never again accepted by her friends at court, that her brothers would be disappointed and dishonored by her. She didn’t need this, just when she’d finally decided on a course for her life. Her hands started trembling, and she clutched them together.
The servant dismounted before her and gave a little bow. He held out a folded piece of parchment, sealed with the wax symbol of the earldom of Kent.
“From Lord Fitzwilliam,” the man said, his high-pitched voice a startling contrast to his wide, stocky body.
Unnerved, Margery let him put the letter into her hands. The man turned around and remounted his horse.
Her eyes widened. “Come, sir, surely you would like a meal for your effort. And does not the letter require a reply?”
