Page 36 of The Bodyguard Who Came in from the Cold
“A good night to you, Margery,” he murmured.
When his gaze dropped to her lips, she felt a blush sweep across her face. She took a step back. “Good night, Gareth.”
She knew he watched her until she reached the entrance to the hall. It made her feel safe and uncomfortable at the same time. After a few pleasantries with her suitors she escaped to her bedchamber, where she prayed for an end to this wildness inside her.
~oOo~
Gareth was the first person in the chapel before dawn. He’d searched his bags for that stone Margery had given him so long ago, but he still couldn’t find it. It would be the perfect sentimental gift to woo her.
Things had gone surprisingly well in the garden last night. She was not unaffected by his presence, regardless of the revelation of part of the Beaumont Curse. She’d stood up to Townsend with more courage than he’d seen in many a man. Soon he’d be the only man she’d think of when she considered marriage.
But then he’d had another vision in front of her, reminding him of how little he really controlled. If this kept up, his headache excuse would no longer suffice. The same image had appeared as before—Margery seated on a horse before a shadowed man. Why couldn’t he sense her emotions? Who was this man?
Margery arrived soon after, looking shocked to see him in the chapel. He wondered if she, too, had been thinking about their evening in the garden. He himself needed no other reminder than the smell of her perfume as she neared him. What it did to his insides was best not dwelt on in church.
She gave him a strained smile as she knelt beside him. Her suitors stumbled in one at a time, and it was obvious from their bleary faces that they’d drunk and gambled the night away.
After Mass, they went into the great hall to break their fast. Gareth watched Margery’s face when she noticed the rose beside her plate, saw the half smile that touched her lips as she raised her gaze to his. Wallace was right, he grudgingly admitted again. Flowers helped.
He tried not to smile as she convinced all her young suitors that she’d keep busy while they spent the morning training at the tiltyard. He followed them outside, determined to show them all that if prowess mattered to Margery, then he had them beat. And maybe someone would think twice before trying to harm her.
He had to admit that Humphrey Townsend had good reason to boast. His skills were exceptional, and even Wallace had a difficult time fighting him.
But Gareth never had a chance that day to spar with any of her six suitors. He heard the words “Beaumont Curse” more than once, and felt many a disapproving eye on his back. He would be patient, because sooner or later one of them would want to test himself against his deadly reputation.
~oOo~
Before the noon meal, Margery and her ladies came outside, making themselves comfortable in the shade. Margery watched the men with a critical eye. Lord Seabrook held his shield too low. Sir Chester, never far from the influence of the Wharton brothers, rushed through his fight and almost was injured because of his carelessness.
She found fault with all six of her suitors, and told herself she was being too demanding. She could expect perfection from no man.
Her gaze occasionally sought Gareth. His back was to her, and he wore a plated brigantine to protect his chest. He wielded a blunt sword against one of her soldiers with a strength and skill that almost overwhelmed her, and made her feel glad to be a woman. He ducked a sword slash and whirled around, ready to fight—until he saw her. He stumbled to a halt and gave her the most devilish of grins.
My, he was good at courting her.
Though she kept trying to forget it, their evening in the garden rushed back to her. She remembered his hands gripping her arms, their bodies straining together but not quite touching. She had thankfully stopped herself from kissing him. She told herself that her lapse in judgment was because he made her feel safe for the first time in months.
But of course she felt safe—she was paying him for that.
She wondered what would have happened if Gareth had not left Wellespring Castle all those years ago. The little girl inside her still remembered feeling betrayed when she had finally realized her friend would never return.
But there was no going back in time, wondering how things could have been different. She couldn’t wish away her recent mistakes, either.
Margery watched the lists as mounted men began to gallop at the quintain, wielding blunted lances. More than one suitor had the whirling arm swing around and knock him to the ground. She kept a tally in her head.
When it was Gareth’s turn, she shifted on her bench. He glowed under the sun, and the muscles of his arm rippled as he jousted with the quintain and galloped away unscathed.
“I wonder who you could be watching,” a voice whispered in her ear.
Margery gave a start, then glanced casually at Cicely. “All of the men are very talented, are they not?”
“I quite agree.” The young woman smiled demurely as she held her headdress in place against the breeze.
With a nod to her steward, Margery signaled the beginnings of the outdoor meal she’d planned. Trestle tables and benches were brought outside, and courses of food were laid out for the hungry men and all of her people.
Gareth found a place at a table away from her, and she watched the maidservants take special care that he was pleased. The women didn’t seem at all concerned with this curse the men whispered about.
Sir Humphrey set down his plate opposite her and took a seat, blocking her view of Gareth. She gave the knight a strained smile as he expounded on his various training methods. She wanted to tell him she’d grown up with three brothers, but she held her tongue and pretended he was just fascinating. He was already off her list of possible husbands.
