Page 46 of The Bodyguard Who Came in from the Cold
“Tell me,” he whispered. He cupped her face in one hand, wiping a tear away with his thumb. She closed her eyes and bit her trembling lip, and more tears escaped. He looked down into her beautiful face, so full of sorrow, and something painful lurched inside his chest.
He reminded himself that he could trust nothing Margery said or did. Maybe this behavior was just her way to soften a man.
She rolled away from him and rose unsteadily to her feet, plucking at her wet skirts. “We should return and see who won.”
Gareth got to his feet and caught up with her.
When they finally reached the clearing where everyone else had already gathered, Margery moved farther away from him. Conversations stopped and every gaze fastened on them.
“I’m all right,” she said. “I fell in the water, and Sir Gareth rescued me.”
She put on a good performance, marching across the clearing with abused dignity. Her suitors surrounded her, asking what they could do.
Lady Cicely finally approached him, her smile tentative. “Sir Gareth, please accept my apologies. In my haste to win, I did not think of the consequences to you.”
“No lasting consequences, Lady Cicely. Did you win?”
“Lord Shaw caught me and the token,” she admitted, a faint blush staining her freckled cheeks.
His gaze returned to Margery, and he was distracted again, wondering how Peter Fitzwilliam was connected to her secrets.
~oOo~
At Mass the next morning, Margery immediately noticed that Gareth was missing. She was almost through eating her morning meal when he finally entered the great hall. He was again wearing that leather jerkin he trained in, but this time he had done without the shirt. His muscled arms were tan from the sun. Though his hands seemed best suited to holding weapons, now they held wildflowers of all colors. The blossoms dropped from his arms, trailing across the hall behind him.
Margery sat back in surprise as he strewed her table with flowers. They fell into her goblet, across her plate, and into her lap.
“Did I not see these near the clearing where we ate yesterday?” she asked, feeling flustered and touched, and trying not to show it.
“Yes, mistress,” Gareth said. “I had to have them for you. I must confess, I couldn’t quite remember where I had seen them, so I had to search. Forgive me for being late.”
She was well aware of the grumbling of her suitors, some in amusement, some in disdain. “Thank you for your gift,” she said softly.
He sat down at the end of the head table, and she watched as three giggling maidservants converged on him at once, offering food.
Before the meal was through, she managed to whisper a message to one of the servants, asking Gareth to join her in the sewing rooms. It was time to follow through on her promise.
When Gareth finally arrived, Margery looked up from the work table where she was cutting out garments. There were many tables, spread with the different fabrics needed for every kind of servant, from soldiers to serving maids to kitchen boys.
Her seamstresses stopped working to stare at Gareth, and Margery tried to pretend that it was not admiration but shock at having a knight invade their domain.
“Ethel,” Margery called to the woman in charge, “Sir Gareth lost his trunks on the crossing from France, and I offered to provide him with a few new items of clothing. Would you measure him to begin?”
Ethel was a woman of middle-age, graying, stoop-shouldered from cutting and sewing fabric all day. Her manner was brisk as she circled Gareth.
“Aye, mistress, we can help the lad. Go on about yer duties.”
“I’d like to help pick out the colors and?—”
Ethel gave her a disapproving frown. “’Tisn’t right that a lady be with a man discussin’ such a subject. Go on with ye, now.”
Margery thought Gareth gave her a rather irritated look as two more women circled and studied him. She could only shrug and back out into the corridor. Since no one else was about, she lingered, peeking in as the women held up cut pieces of fabric for size. He would look handsome no matter what his garment.
A hand suddenly covered her mouth. Margery gave a muffled scream, but already the man was dragging her backward. She tried to dislodge his arm, even caught her heels in the floorboards.
They didn’t go far. He dragged her into the garderobe and shut the door. Only then was she turned around to face Sir Humphrey Townsend. He grinned at her.
“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded, backing up against the wall.
