Page 18 of The Bodyguard Who Came in from the Cold
Walking beside Margery, Gareth noticed how distracted and pensive she was. She wore her hair like a maiden, with long waves of curls falling forward over her shoulders and breasts, as she kept her head bowed. He looked away.
He didn’t understand her. Hawksbury was an impressive castle, and her people already seemed loyal to her. She should be content with such wealth—he certainly would be.
But something else was bothering her, something buried so deeply she showed no one. As long as her secrets didn’t interfere with his duties, she was welcome to them. After all, what could be so terrible in her sheltered life?
They stopped before the massive double doors leading into the castle. She gave him a brisk, impersonal smile.
“I have duties to attend to, Sir Gareth,” she said.
“I will join you.”
“ ’Tis but women’s work. You would be bored.”
“Then I’ll have to be bored.”
She studied him for a moment, her blue eyes direct and assessing. He felt a surprising urge to squirm like a boy caught following a dairymaid. Though he told himself he was merely doing his duty, he was relieved when she finally led him toward the rear of the inner ward. An extensive series of gardens began as square beds of kitchen herbs and vegetables, and ended in an elaborate, tree-shaded lady’s garden, full of blooming flowers, graveled paths, and vine tunnels. Low fencing of entwined hazel branches separated the gardens.
She opened a small gate and entered, waving to her waiting ladies. Gareth stood still, caught by the overwhelming fragrance of roses. He was reminded sharply of women, of Margery.
He refused to think of her like that. She was just a problem he had to conquer before moving on, back to the solitary life he preferred.
“Sir Gareth?” Margery stared at him with a bemused expression.
Her two ladies, the twins he hadn’t bothered to notice much yet, were openly smiling at him as they flanked her.
“Sir Gareth,” she continued, “do you have an unusual fear of gardens?”
He bowed his head and gritted his teeth. “No, mistress, I was just enjoying the day.”
She turned away and started down a path. He opened the gate and found the twins waiting for him.
“You might need our guidance in such a maze,” said one of them.
The young women, both reddish blonds, took his arms to draw him forward.
“Are you wondering how to tell us apart?” the other one asked.
He wasn’t, but saw no point in telling her that.
The lady on his left slanted her green-eyed gaze up at him, showing the sparkle of wit and good humor. “I am Lady Anne, Sir Gareth, but I fear you will never be able to tell us apart. Many a good man has tried.”
The twin on his right gave a shocked gasp, clearly a more demure, responsible young woman.
“I am Lady Cicely,” she said, and gave her sister a scolding look. “Please excuse Anne for her lack of manners, Sir Gareth. I don’t think she quite knows how words can be misunderstood.”
Lady Anne stuck out her tongue at her sister.
“Ladies, you have given me all I need to know to tell you apart,” he said dryly.
A few rows away, Margery, now wearing an apron that covered her from bodice to toes, was kneeling in the dirt, plucking out weeds like any kitchen maid. Gareth guided the giggling twins to a bench in the shade of the lady’s garden, then returned to Margery. Damn, itwouldhave to be weeding.
He stood over her, deliberately casting his shadow across her body.
She looked up and shaded her eyes. “Yes, Sir Gareth? Wouldn’t you rather keep Anne and Cicely amused?”
“You are the lesser of evils,” he said, sitting down beside her.
“Should I be flattered by that?” she asked sweetly.
