Page 55 of The Bodyguard Who Came in from the Cold
“Then let us go somewhere more private,” he whispered.
“No, I?—”
This was nothing she had planned, nothing she’d meant to happen. She wasn’t sure whatshouldhappen between them.
Her feelings suddenly overwhelmed and frightened her. She broke from his embrace and ran.
~oOo~
Gareth stood on the battlements overlooking the dark countryside. It was deep night, and except for the sounds of the patrols, everything was still. He had run the circle of the battlements until exhaustion cramped his legs and threatened to send him falling into the ward below. Yet nothing helped. What was wrong with him? Because of Margery’s family, he’d been forced as a boy to squire in a castle where their idea of protection against his “wizardry” was to lock him up each night, and release him to labor by day.
But when his eyes closed, Gareth didn’t remember the dark, bare rooms of his youth. Instead he saw Margery, head tilted back, lips parted in passion. Her response had been more than he’d ever imagined. With her in his arms, nothing else had existed but his need for her. He forgot her family, forgot everything she represented. He’d almost lost control—surely he hadn’t been himself.
But he had endangered his own plans. Though he longed to seduce Margery, he didn’t want the entire world to know and think her shameless. He didn’t want a marriage begun in anger.
She had more passion than he’d ever seen in a woman—but it only made him more suspicious. What had happened with Peter Fitzwilliam, and why did it haunt her so?
~oOo~
Margery couldn’t sleep. As she sat in a chair before the hearth, she clutched the crystal stone Gareth had given her. It was long past midnight. The only sounds she heard were the hourly marching of the guards past her door: the shuffle of their boots, the murmur of their voices.
She opened her palm and looked at the stone. It glittered like Gareth’s eyes, she thought, shivering. She’d squeezed it so hard she’d left indentations in her flesh. They would eventually go away, but her memories of him never would. Their lives were linked in so many ways. She felt bound to him, to this fascination and passion she felt for him.
Never in her life had she been kissed like that, like she was the only food for a starving man. She had reveled in the power of feeling desirable. He was a solitary, dangerous, fierce knight, and she’d held him in her arms and made him shudder.
For an insane moment, Margery wondered what it would be like to have a husband like Gareth, uncontrollable, mysterious. A man like him would do as he pleased, even if it meant breaking her heart.
She had vowed never again to put herself under the spell of a man who could hurt her—but damned if she wasn’t going to be as wild as a man while she still could. She deserved it.
16
The day of her birthday celebration, Margery was busy with the butler and cellarer, and overseeing the village maids who arrived to bake the pastries. She went to the tiltyard often, where extra pits had been dug to roast oxen. Once or twice she felt Gareth staring at her, but she didn’t look his way. She was afraid her face would reveal her excitement, the forbidden recklessness taking over her body. It all seemed new to her, and she didn’t want to scrutinize it just yet.
That night, hundreds of candles illuminated the hall. The scents of heavy perfume and larks’ tongue pie floated through the air. The lords and ladies were dressed in embroidered brocades and velvets, colorful silken gowns sewn with shining pearls and beads.
Margery caught her breath in amazement at how Gareth’s new blue doublet made his hair and eyes look even more golden. His white shirt was pulled through the many slits in his sleeves, in the best court fashion.
Though the noblemen ignored him, he didn’t want for company. The serving maids hovered nearby, offering food and drink just to see him smile. Margery couldn’t blame them, for whenever he turned that rare smile on her, it was like the sun coming out after a long season of storms.
When the dancing started she joined hands with one suitor after another, circling the floor until her head spun. She brushed shoulders once with Gareth, and awareness tingled through her. But before their gazes could meet, he was already swept away by his partner. Though he didn’t know the dances, that didn’t stop every woman, from villager to lady, from asking him to dance.
Later, she felt his gaze on her as she danced with yet another suitor. Gareth stood alone, watching her through the crowd. In her mind she relived the feeling of his mouth sliding down her neck, of his hands touching intimate places on her body. She felt warm and flustered and thrilled that he stared at her.
Why couldn’t she spend a few minutes dancing in his arms before the entire castle? Everyone thought he was her suitor. She stopped dancing with Lord Seabrook, claiming thirst. He brought her a goblet of wine and tried to start a conversation, but his words faded away as Gareth approached her and bowed over her hand.
She wasn’t prepared for the shock of putting her hand in his. A spark of excitement and longing shot between them. His smile vanished for a moment, and his gaze was greedy on her mouth.
Then he changed back into her adoring suitor again. “Mistress Margery, please do me the great honor of dancing with me.” He sounded no different, as if he still worshipped her from afar.
She followed him out into the center of the hall, where sweetened rushes were stirred by their feet. They bowed to each other and performed the simple steps of the dance, which other partners had obviously taught him that evening.
When they held hands and swung in circles, Gareth leaned toward her. “You ran away last night,” he said in a low voice. “Are you angry with me?”
She smiled. “Should I be?”
“So you kiss men like that every day?”
Though his expression was pleasant, his eyes studied her with a skepticism that angered her. Did even Gareth think only women had to be perfect?
