Page 62 of The Bodyguard Who Came in from the Cold
He deliberately chose the road to Gloucester. A ship heading out to sea was the quickest way for a man and woman to escape. He prayed he’d made the right choice.
He gave the animal its head, and tried to think of nothing beyond his mission. Yet his mind whirled with thoughts he couldn’t control.
How could he have been so arrogant as to think the vision of Margery on a man’s horse was about him? He had paid more attention to seducing her than to keeping her safe.
He concentrated hard, trying to force his mind to show him Margery—but all he got for his effort was a headache that pounded between his eyes so hard he had to squint. The Beaumont Curse had never been his to command, only his to suffer through.
An hour later, the road he followed disappeared into a small forest where, beneath the trees, the darkness was almost complete. Owls hooted above him, and his horse slowed and became skittish. Not far away, he thought he heard a woman scream.
Cold fury welled up inside him, at himself and this man who dared to take Margery for his own. He slid off the horse, tied him securely, then crept forward. The sound of a voice grew slowly louder.
“Why did you make me do it?”
It was Humphrey Townsend. Gareth had never suspected him capable of such desperation. Why hadn’t he killed Townsend when he had the chance?
Gareth suddenly realized that Margery wasn’t answering. He held his breath, sweat making his clothes stick to his back.
“I didn’t want to hit you,” Townsend continued, “but you must marry me.”
“I will not,” Margery said coldly.
Gareth lowered his head as relief eased through him. She sounded unharmed, thank God. He got down on his hands and knees and crept forward through the brush. The rain had turned the earth to mud, which oozed between his fingers and coated his skin.
He peered through the undergrowth, wet ferns sticking to his face. He could see Margery, wearing just her nightclothes and dressing gown, sitting on a log before a small, sputtering fire. One soldier guarded her back.
Townsend stood over her, then threw his hands up with impatience and stalked away. “I don’t really need your acceptance,” he said over his shoulder. “If we stay here long enough, you shall be forced to marry me.”
“I’d rather live with the shame.”
Gareth grinned, enjoying the courage she displayed. He began to work his way around the edge of the clearing, until he was directly behind the knight.
“Your brothers won’t see it that way.” Townsend squatted down before her. “I’ll treat you well, I promise.”
“Why do you need to force me into marriage?” Margery demanded. “Surely you earn enough to live decently. Any number of maidens would?—”
“Any number of maidens don’t have the dowry I need.”
“Greedy, aren’t you?” she said with sarcasm.
“No, I have sisters,” he said glumly. “Sisters with no dowries of their own.”
Gareth gave a grim smile. He and Townsend were not so different; both of them wanted to marry Margery for their own reasons. But this was hardly an amusing situation, what with the blood on her sheets, and knowing Townsend had been cowardly enough to hit a woman.
He waited until Townsend paced to the far side of the clearing. Then Gareth rose up and hit the soldier over the head, watching with satisfaction as he crumpled to the wet ground.
Margery gasped and whirled around, certain that a boar was charging her from the depths of the forest. But Sir Humphrey’s henchman was unconscious, and Gareth stood there, muddy and wet and grinning at her. She would have thrown herself in his arms and sobbed her relief, but Sir Humphrey suddenly gave a yell and came running toward them.
Gareth stepped in front of her, shielding her. He held his sword in one hand, a dagger in the other. Sir Humphrey skidded to a stop.
“Beaumont,” the man said, trying unsuccessfully to cover his dismay.
“Townsend,” Gareth answered. He threw down his weapons and rushed the other knight, who fell backward with Gareth atop him.
As they rolled around in the mud, Margery stood up and peered side to side, trying to see Gareth. She winced at a particularly hard blow, then winced again as her bruised cheek began to ache. Soon Gareth was back on top, throwing punches into Sir Humphrey’s face and stomach.
Margery began to feel sorry for her kidnapper when he covered his head with his arms. “Gareth!” she cried. “You can stop now!”
After one more punch to Sir Humphrey’s jaw, Gareth got to his feet and stood above him. “I could kill you for this,” he said with soft menace. “But I don’t need to.”
