Page 78 of The Bodyguard Who Came in from the Cold
He rolled on top of her, hushing her disappointed cry with his lips. He kissed his way down her body, nibbling between her breasts, trailing his tongue in a long line down her stomach. He spread her trembling thighs and felt her stiffen.
“Gareth—”
“Shh.”
He kissed the most intimate part of her. She gave a hoarse cry, then shuddered in his arms. When his own body ached beyond all his restraint, he buried himself inside her, pillowed his chest against hers, and cupped her face in his hands. He looked into her eyes as he moved ever deeper. Memorizing the passion on her face, he closed his eyes and tumbled with her into the brilliant abyss they’d made together.
~oOo~
An hour before dawn Gareth was wide awake, with Margery sleeping against his side. He tried to tell himself that everything had gone according to plan, yet he still felt sick inside.
What had he done? He’d used her to assuage a life’s worth of loneliness, just as he’d meant to use her against her brothers. He’d been manipulating her as her brothers had done to both of them.
He was no better than Peter Fitzwilliam.
She’d been so hurt. Gareth kissed the top of her head, caressed her bare shoulder. He would have cruelly married her regardless of her feelings, regardless of the fact that he hadn’t loved her.
When he looked on her wondrous, innocent face, he ached for what she’d suffered, for what he’d done to her. He’d seduced her for his own purposes, for money and revenge.
He couldn’t hurt her anymore. She deserved a world of happiness, and that meant a good, honest husband. That would never be he.
A sudden sharp stab of pain in his skull made him shudder. Margery stirred, and he was able to slide his arm out from beneath her before another pain overtook him. He stood up, and the room whirled as the colors of a vision formed in his mind.
This time Margery appeared, looking happy and in love. She wound her arms around a man and kissed him.
But it wasn’t Gareth. It was a stranger, someone who would make her happier than Gareth ever could. The vision faded, leaving him with a pounding head and battered spirits. Even God knew that he didn’t deserve her. He dressed quickly, and allowed himself only one last look at her face, then left her chamber before the castle awoke.
~oOo~
When Margery opened her eyes, the pale light of dawn flooded her room. Gareth was gone. She hadn’t expected anything else; he was always gone by morning to protect her reputation.
She dropped her head back on the pillow. She was tired of always being protected, like a fragile doll people set on a shelf and didn’t play with. Last night she had determined her own destiny, and it felt…good…maybe.
Or did it only remind her of everything she’d never have?
As she dressed she told herself it would be easy to face her brothers; they never had to know that she had needs like any man.
Yet lying to them made her feel ill, even though they’d lied to her for years. Gareth had suffered because of them, so why should she feel guilty over her secrets?
At Mass, James and Reynold sat with Margery, and she noticed Gareth far back in the chapel. They all went into the great hall to break their fast, and again, her brothers were near her, and Gareth far away. She didn’t know what to say to any of them. Her brothers seemed soft-spoken, abashed at their mistakes. And theyhadapologized. When she finally gave them a strained smile, they looked relieved.
Margery tried to meet Gareth’s eyes, but he never lifted his head. What was he thinking? Surely he didn’t regret their night together. Or was he worried that he’d reveal too much by simply gazing at her?
She felt uneasy sitting apart from him. She enjoyed his wit, the way she’d finally gotten him to laugh, how safe she felt near him.
She enjoyed him too much. Maybe it was better if they remained apart for a while.
An hour later, her guests and household met in the inner ward for the coming hunt. The houndsmen restrained the greyhounds, who barked and strained at their leashes. People were armed with bows and swords. A crossbow hung on her own saddle, and a dagger rested in its sheath on her belt.
The servants departed the castle early: the grooms to drive the boar and deer toward the hunting party, and the kitchen servants to set up pavilions and food for the meal. Soon the hunting party set off on horseback for the journey to Margery’s forested land—the same woods where Gareth had rescued her from Humphrey Townsend.
Reynold and James rode on either side of her, talking about their children, their wives, the army, anything they could think of. They still seemed uncertain of her and themselves, but she didn’t have the time to worry about their feelings. She had to coordinate the hunt and all the men who ogled her and talked to her—and still try to keep Gareth in her sights.
But he eluded her. Why was she allowing herself to feel hurt? She had gone into their relationship knowing it would be brief and only physical. But suddenly she didn’t know if she wanted to behave like a man, if that meant pretending their night together was meaningless.
Horns sounded for the start of the hunt. The dogs were finally unleashed, and with a riotous barking they dashed into the forest. The hunting party spread out and entered the line of trees.
Margery left her brothers behind, following the same path Gareth took. She heard the barking of the hounds before her, inhaled the cool earthy smells of the forest, and rode as if no root or tree could trip her horse.
