Page 69 of The Bodyguard Who Came in from the Cold
She wanted to groan. He knew just what he was doing, what he did to her. She gave a reluctant laugh, and they both got down on their knees. In the dim firelight they searched for the beads. When their fingers brushed and connected near one, Margery lingered.
“Ah, ah, ah; this one’s mine,” she said, snatching it from his palm.
“Then this one’s mine.”
His fingers slid beneath her shin and she giggled. Soon they were each scrambling for the most beads they could carry. She only knew the warm breathlessness of their bodies straining, brushing. She picked up his foot to find a bead; he reached over her back for another one.
Finally they knelt facing each other, two piles of beads before them. Margery felt her breath catch as she looked up at him, and watched his gaze drop almost lazily down to her breasts. She froze, waiting, hoping, but he merely gathered up all the beads, placed the pile on her bed table, then stood looking down at her.
“Did the messenger today carry good news?” he asked.
She smiled. “My brothers will be here tomorrow.” For just a moment before he turned away, she could swear that his face darkened with anger. She had to be imagining it.
“I haven’t seen them in so many months. And they said Peter has already gone on to London. This is wonderful news! I’ve even planned a hunt in their honor.”
Gareth leaned his shoulder against the windowsill and looked out over the dark countryside. Meeting her brothers again had always seemed like a distant nightmare, far in the future, where he’d demand satisfaction and vengefully pummel them into unconsciousness.
But tomorrow they would come, and everything Gareth had worked toward with Margery would be in jeopardy. Bolton and Welles would take one look at him—a man who brutalized people at tournaments, who was followed by a murderous curse and strange visions—and cast him out of their sister’s life.
But Margery was no longer a child, he thought, watching as she slipped behind the screen. She was a grown woman, with strong opinions and needs. And right now she needed him. He was her personal guard, the man she wanted in her bed before she married. He could not imagine her meekly agreeing with whatever her brothers said. She’d been a grief-stricken young girl when she’d last behaved like that.
He turned around as Margery reappeared, wearing her nightdress. Her long hair covered much of her body, but the gown was so fine that when she walked he could see the curve of her hip and the pale shadow of her nipples.
She glanced at him, then stared, her face serious. He didn’t know what expression he betrayed; he was beyond caring. He watched her climb into the four-poster bed, and she eyed him almost warily as she pulled up the blankets and coverlet.
He should take Margery tonight. He walked slowly toward the bed, and her eyes grew wider and wider as she looked up at him. He saw the excitement, the knowledge in her gaze. She wanted him.
If he did take her, then when her brothers arrived, Gareth would have an even stronger hold over her. His seed would already be in her belly. Nothing could stop him from claiming his right to marry her.
He halted beside the bed, unlacing his tunic and shirt. She let the blankets slip down to her waist. She was breathing fast, and her eyes sparkled with that wildness that made him boil inside with need of her.
Unbidden, an image rose of her face if he claimed her as wife before her brothers. He tried to thrust the thought away, but it took hold and grew. She would be the one humiliated, not her brothers—because she would not have chosen him freely as husband.
He closed his eyes. Was this panic that he was feeling? He, who approached every battle with eager bloodlust? Her brothers loomed as vividly in his mind as cold-blooded monsters, yet they were only men. They’d been tamed by wives and children, whom they were anxious to get back to. They wouldn’t be visiting Margery for long. All Gareth had to do was make them extremely uncomfortable, and then wait until they left. This time around, he would be the one with all the power.
Margery leaned back on her hands, and her nightdress slid off one shoulder. He could see her fragile collarbone, where he wanted to place his lips. But not tonight.
He sighed, kissed the top of her head, and walked toward his pallet.
“Gareth?” Her voice was quiet.
He paused, but didn’t turn around.
“Why can’t we?”
Over his shoulder, he said, “Because you would look at your brothers tomorrow and regret it. I will not be your bad memory.”
“You are wrong,” she said with conviction.
He sighed. “I’ve been wrong before.” He stretched out on his hard pallet and flung his arm over his eyes.
~oOo~
In the great hall, Gareth sat beside Margery to break his fast. Though he was exhausted from little sleep, she could hardly keep still. Even at Mass she had constantly looked over her shoulder, as if her brothers would arrive at any moment. She was bursting with excitement, and he found himself more and more angry. Everything in both their lives came back to her brothers.
He left Margery to her preparations and went out to the tiltyard. Under Wallace’s tutelage, the solders and knights had become a fine fighting force. There were even a few whom Gareth thought he could take on and actually enjoy the fight.
But today he leaned against a rail and glowered at everyone.
