Page 4 of The Bodyguard Who Came in from the Cold
Gareth Beaumont gasped for air and came up on his elbows, wide awake in an instant. He bumped his head on the tent pole, and a shower of water leaked inside to splatter across his face. He ignored it, staring into the murky darkness, the dream still fresh.
Margery.
The old bitterness welled up in his mind. Her brothers had abandoned him, setting his life on a path of desperation and loneliness.
He breathed deeply, trying to calm his pounding heart.’Tis just a dream, not a vision.
But he knew better. A dull ache groaned to life behind his forehead, and his stomach gurgled with queasiness. It was a vision all right, of Margery Welles—whom he hadn’t seen in twelve years.
She was in danger again.
He sat up, resting his head in his hands. She was not his concern; she had brothers to take care of her problems. Besides, she must be married already, even have children.
The past was dead, and he could never go back to it. Why would he want to? He certainly knew early in life that he could count on no one but himself. At his final foster home, he’d been jeered at, called Warfield’s Wizard because of the visions he couldn’t control. To earn respect, he’d become a fierce fighter. It kept people away, just like he wanted, and it also kept him from starving.
But he had become too good at his craft, and the noblemen tired of losing. He’d been forced to leave England when he was no longer allowed to enter tournaments. He’d done some mercenary work in France these past few years, but his name and his curse had followed him even there. He had no land of his own, no family, no money. He was so close to poverty that he could smell the stench. The only things he hadn’t sold were his armor and his horse, because without them, he had no chance of earning a living.
By the saints, why did he have to be reminded of Margery after all these years? He wanted to ignore this vision of danger. She already had a family, and none of them needed Gareth.
He had a sudden memory of looking into the intense gaze of her father, Lord Welles. He was the one man who had ever treated Gareth fairly.
And Gareth had promised the old man he’d always protect his daughter.
With an angry curse, he lay back on his blanket. Lord Welles deserved his loyalty, but his children did not. Yet he would go to Margery and find this danger that awaited her. He would do what was necessary to satisfy his oath, and then he would leave.
~oOo~
The sun blazed down on the rolling hillsides and low stone walls of Gloucestershire. In the distance, Gareth could see the bright spires of a castle glittering atop a hill. Hawksbury Castle. As usual, Margery and her family owned the best. He tried to put aside his resentment; only his oath to Lord Welles mattered.
Gareth’s horse plodded into the shadows of a cool wooded glen, and he could no longer see the castle. He glanced at Wallace Desmond, who for once wasn’t eyeing him suspiciously. Gareth had known it was foolish to approach this unknown danger alone, but he hated asking anyone for help. Wallace owed Gareth for saving his life at a tournament. When Gareth called in the favor, Wallace had been willing to return to his homeland to help the woman from Gareth’s past.
Though the day was unusually bright for England, Gareth felt a sudden cold chill move through him. He’d spent his whole life trying to ignore such warnings, but now he heeded it.
They were near Margery.
He pulled back on the reins, and his horse danced to a halt. He cocked his head, eyeing the woods all around them.
“Wallace, go on ahead. Hawksbury Castle is not far.”
Wallace leaned on his pommel and stared at him with narrowed eyes. “What is going on, Beaumont?”
“Nothing.” Wallace was ignorant of his visions, and Gareth planned to keep it that way as long as possible. Not for the first time, he wondered why generations of a family had been cursed for one ancestor’s crime. “I just need a moment to think on what I will say to Margery.”
Wallace grinned. “Nervous about a mere woman?”
Gareth said nothing. The longer he traveled with Wallace, the more talkative the man had become. Gareth didn’t need friends.
“Very well,” Wallace said. “I’ll leave you to your peace. Who knows, the fair Margery might take a liking to me.”
~oOo~
Margery Welles circled the clearing, keeping the stone bench between herself and a grinning Thomas Fogge. For the third time that day, she cursed her foolishness. Why ever had she thought he was different from all the others—different from Peter Fitzwilliam? Taking Lord Fogge to one of her favorite peaceful places had been the height of stupidity. Now she was forced to fend off his advances, when all she’d wanted to do was talk.
“Lord Fogge, I insist we go back to the castle.”
“Mistress Welles—Margery,” he said, with an ingratiating smile that showed his blackened teeth, “I am so enjoying our private visit. How else can you come to know me?”
“Then seat yourself, my lord, and we will converse.”
