Page 7 of The Bodyguard Who Came in from the Cold
As they walked through the woods, Gareth thought again of her startled face when he’d said she’d changed. She must have been so protected behind castle walls that she thought the world’s cruelty could never touch her. How naive she was.
She came to a stop so quickly he almost bumped into her. He could see the road just ahead through the trees.
“My horse—” she began, then stopped.
It was nowhere to be found.
He quirked an eyebrow. “I assume it was tethered beside your suitor’s?”
“Of course, but Lord Fogge wouldn’t…” Her voice trailed off and she sighed.
“Your horse is probably waiting for you at the castle,” he said.
She turned around to face him, wearing another forced smile. “I seem to need your help again. Would you mind sharing your horse?”
Reluctantly, he gave a low whistle, and his gray stallion came crashing through the underbrush.
Margery raised her eyebrows. “That is very impressive,” she said dryly.
Gareth lifted his hands to help her, but she put her foot in the stirrup and swung her leg up over the saddle. As she sat down, her skirts settled over the horse like a blanket, revealing her lower legs encased in men’s boots.
“Are you coming?” she asked, wearing what was obviously a smile of pride at her horsemanship.
He stood beside her leg, looking up into her face. Unwanted memories flooded through his mind, and he felt a momentary uncertainty. In a low voice, he said, “Do you remember the last time you rode my horse?”
Her forehead wrinkled with a frown. “Yes. My father had given you your own horse, and I wanted to ride it, too. The silly animal dumped me headfirst into the pond.”
Gareth still had a vivid memory of Margery rising sputtering to the surface as he’d splashed out to rescue her. Every memory of her involved either rescuing her or escaping her.
“Well, that will not happen anymore,” she said, and with a dig of her heels rode off down the path.
He watched as she bent low over the animal’s neck. He grudgingly noticed the flare of her hips and her competent seat in the saddle. At least she was not a pointlessly dainty woman; her brothers had done something right.
She finally turned back and raced toward him. He didn’t move as she pulled up within feet of him, haughty, proud of herself.
She shouldn’t be, since she couldn’t even protect herself. She needed a man for that—and maybe she needed a man to teach her a lesson.
Without a word, Gareth swung up behind her. He heard her gasp softly as he squeezed into the saddle, bringing them in intimate contact. He rested his hands on her waist, feeling the slight curve of her stomach against the tips of his fingers.
She had to learn that most men were bigger and stronger than she was.
But while he was trying to prove her frailty to her, he couldn’t help but breathe in the scent of her hair. The warmth from her body melded with his. The urge to trail his lips down her neck was powerful, primitive, almost too compelling to resist. He hated feeling out of control, pulled along by a woman’s wiles. If his thoughts went any further, she’d know exactly what he was thinking by the pressure of his hips against hers.
He quickly took the reins from her hands.
2
Every roll of the horse’s gait slid Margery deeper between Gareth’s thighs. She simmered. She fumed. Her face burned with mortification, while he seemed unaffected, which infuriated her even more.
She sat as straight as possible, trying not to lean against him, but he was a large man. His clothing swayed against her, his chest touched her back when he breathed. His arms encircled her.
As he held the reins, she could see that his hands were large and tanned and scarred from training. The spurs on his boots were proof of his knighthood. He was a man with a history she knew nothing of. She didn’t know what to make of him, except that he made her nervous. How did he know of her problems, especially the ones that stained her soul?
As Hawksbury Castle came within sight between swaying branches, Margery’s discomfort grew. She didn’t want to be seen riding so intimately with a stranger. Yet he wasn’t a stranger to her, and she could hardly ask him to get down.
The dirt road grew steeper as they approached the castle rising from the hilltop. The curtain walls were whitewashed, with impressive towers jutting into the sky. They entered the tunnel of the gatehouse and came out into the inner ward, where people hurried between the barracks, the stables, the kitchen house. The castle residence itself sprawled with many wings and levels, with slitted arrow loops as windows on the lower floors, and glass windows above to let in the sun.
Servants and soldiers alike waved, and if they were curious, they hid it well. Margery tried to relax and experience the pride of owning such a wonderful home. Already she felt she belonged, though she’d been there only a few weeks. She looked back at Gareth, whose gaze took in everything but whose face showed nothing.
