Page 40 of The Bodyguard Who Came in from the Cold
“About you, of course.”
She kept a smile on her face as a shiver of apprehension worked its way up her back.
“Your ladies told me about how the three of you were attacked in the glen before I arrived.”
“It was nothing,” she said, lowering her gaze to hide her relief.
“Nothing? It was so ‘nothing’ that you had to struggle to escape. No, no, wait,” he said, lifting a hand. “I think Anne said it better. Her exact words were, ‘Margery kicked himthere.’”
She was unable to decide if he was amused or angry. “It worked.”
“How did you learn to do that?”
“My brothers.”
“Did you tell them how well it had succeeded?”
She didn’t answer.
“Of course not. You did not even tell your brothers the kind of trouble you’re in, did you?”
“I could not,” she said. “You don’t know what it’s like to be a woman, Gareth, and to finally be given a taste of freedom. Do you think I wanted to be locked up in some remote castle for my protection? Besides, my brothers are with the army.”
“But now you have me,” he said in a low voice. He remained silent for a moment, his stare skeptical. “Why do you sometimes go to the chapel twice a day?” he asked suddenly.
Her face heated. “I?—”
“I think ’tis all related. The attacks, and this thing you pray for.”
“I pray for the protection of my people, and for mercy from God.”
“Mercy for them—or for you?”
Gareth watched Margery’s face turn a sickly white. He remained silent, waiting for a grain of truth. He felt as if he uncovered another of her lies every day.
There was more going on in Hawksbury Castle than her decision about a husband. Peter Fitzwilliam’s letter had something to do with it, but it would be awkward to ask her about a man she’d almost married. He didn’t want her to think he could possibly be jealous.
“We are all sinners,” she said in a low voice. “Even you.”
The blueness of her accusing eyes pierced him like an arrow, but he felt no guilt in his attempt to marry Margery. His revenge was justified. Still, he was uncomfortable. Did she suspect something?
“I make no pretensions to sainthood,” he said. “I am farther from heaven than most. But my ability to protect you is hampered if you do not tell me the truth.”
She sighed. “Gareth, the only truth is that I didn’t want you to worry about me more than you already do. I feel smothered sometimes—by you, by Sir Wallace, and especially by these men who feel they have every right to come to my home to inspect me like a new purchase.”
“Let me help you make the decision. I know something of each of these men by now.”
She shoved back her chair and began to pace. “The choice of my husband was first my father’s, then my brothers’, then the king’s—and now you want it as well? Am I not intelligent enough to make my own decisions?”
“You know that is not what I mean,” he said. “But I can see these men in a way they won’t show you. On the tiltyard, they reveal themselves to anyone who pays attention to the signs. Humphrey Townsend?—”
“—is a greedy braggart,” she finished angrily. She stood above him, hands on her hips. “And my woman’s heart senses even more—that you put yourself in danger by crossing him.”
“Crossing him?” Gareth echoed, leaning back in his chair to study her. She was worried about him? This must be a good sign.
“Mayhap you were too busy trying to win with your bow this afternoon, but I saw Sir Humphrey’s face when you defeated me. Don’t you see that now you stand in his way?”
“That’s where I should be, between you and other men.” He came to his feet and caught hold of her upper arms. “I am your shield, Margery, not the other way around. I know what I am doing.”
