Page 32 of The Bodyguard Who Came in from the Cold
Margery took a deep breath, and this time couldn’t stop herself from glancing at Gareth. His face expressionless, he studied the other knight from under lowered brows.
“Sir Humphrey, I do not indulge in idle rumors,” she said with winter frost in her voice.
“This is no rumor, mistress, but fact. Have you not heard how Sir Gareth’s parents and grandparents died?”
Had Gareth lied about his parents dying in a fire? Well, she would not let cruel rumors be spoken in her presence. He could explain his past in his own time—in private.
“Mistress Margery,” Gareth said, raising those golden eyes to look at her.
She did not wish for him to play into the hands of this petty knight who took such pleasure in other people’s sorrows. But she was as frozen as everyone else in the hall, waiting for the words Gareth would say.
“ ’Tis no secret that my parents died in a fire when I was but a child,” he said.
“Who started the fire?” Sir Humphrey asked.
“We never knew.”
“A witness said your father drank heavily that day. Perhaps?—”
“My father drank heavily every day,” Gareth interrupted coldly. “As do many of you. Are you claiming someone saw him start the fire?”
In that emotionless voice, Margery imagined a world of suffering. So this was the curse—rumors about a sad death? She could barely swallow past the lump in her throat.
But Sir Humphrey seemed unaffected. “You do not think such a death is worthy of suspicion, considering the way your grandmothers died?”
Margery saw Gareth’s knuckles whiten where they grasped his tankard, but his face betrayed little. She couldn’t imagine being the focus of so much condemnation.
He rose to his feet, looking powerful, remote, as if his past had never touched him. The room was hushed, save for the crackling of the fire and the distant sounds of servants’ laughing voices. Margery felt raised bumps along her arms.
“My great-grandfather killed my great-grandmother,” Gareth said flatly. “My grandfather blamed himself for my grandmother’s death. None of it touches me. If you wish to make more of it, I can meet you at the tiltyard.”
Sir Humphrey surged to his feet, but two of his friends grabbed his arms. Gareth waited, wearing a curve to his lips that wasn’t really a smile.
Sir Humphrey’s voice was furious as he strained against his friends’ restraints. “You have no control over your fate, Beaumont. We’re destined for good marriages”—he shot a triumphant glance at Margery—“wealth and honor. You are destined only for madness.”
There was a collective hiss, as if just that word made Gareth a man to be shunned.
Gareth inclined his head. “If I am destined only for madness, it is truly amazing how many of your friends and family I have defeated at tournaments. Would you like to join their ranks? I will test my destiny against yours any date you choose.”
Sir Humphrey guffawed as if the challenge were worthless. But Margery saw the wariness he tried to conceal.
Gareth seemed ruthless, cold, a man who feared no one. But before it all he had been a child, and he’d been hurting, while she’d been spoiled and unthinking. She didn’t remember even asking about his family, or how he felt about it. She hadn’t a clue to anyone’s problems but her own, and that selfishness now haunted her.
Gareth sat down and opened the book. Margery picked up her embroidery, but she couldn’t stop herself from studying him, and wondering.
“Mistress Margery?” Lord George Wharton said.
She looked up into his aristocratic face, with its thin nose and arrogant eyes. She was unable to forget how frightened he’d been of Gareth. “Yes, Lord George?”
“My father the duke tells me that you have but two months left to announce your choice in husband. Is this so?”
At Lord George’s pointed reference to his noble father, the room erupted in snickers and laughter. Even his younger brother, Lord Shaw, rolled his eyes.
Margery no longer dreaded making the announcement of her husband. Now that she had a plan, surely she could find the perfect man—she just hadn’t decided yet exactly what kind of man she would need.
She glanced at Gareth, who watched her with narrowed eyes. Hadn’t she told him that the king wouldn’t wait forever for her to choose a husband? Had she been so embarrassed as she revealed all her problems to him, that this final humiliation had been forgotten?
“I have until the first day in October to name my husband,” she answered Lord George, smiling as graciously as possible.
