Page 63 of The Bodyguard Who Came in from the Cold
With a groan, the knight pushed up onto his hands and knees, then sagged against the log Margery had been sitting on.
“I can tell her brothers instead,” Gareth continued.
“No,” Sir Humphrey whispered.
Margery almost felt sorry for him. Her brothers would kill him if they knew what he’d done.
Gareth grabbed Sir Humphrey’s tunic and lifted him, letting him dangle from his fist. “I will never see you near Margery again, will I?”
“No,” Sir Humphrey mumbled.
“No what?”
“No, I won’t come near her.”
He sounded defeated, despondent, and Margery wondered how many sisters he had. Gareth picked up his weapons, and as he led her away, she looked over her shoulder to see Sir Humphrey holding his head in his hands.
“Are you sure it’s safe to just…leave him?” she asked.
“I do not think he’ll bother you again.”
They reached Gareth’s horse and he lifted her into the saddle sideways. When he slid in behind her, she turned in his arms and buried her face against him, regardless of the mud and water soaking his garments. She was grateful just to hold him. The horse trotted out of the forest and headed down the road that wound up into the foothills of the Cotswolds.
Even now the terror of helplessness was hard to forget. Margery had thought her plan to find the perfect husband was destroyed, that she’d be married to a crude braggart. Sir Humphrey had threatened to rape her right there, in front of his soldier, if she didn’t agree to marry him.
And then Gareth had come. She had not believed it possible that he could find her, yet he had. His face was hard and angry as he met her gaze.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
“No. You came in time.”
He closed his eyes briefly. “I should have known you were in danger. How did he?—”
“Please, not now,” she interrupted, huddling against him as the chill wind penetrated her wet clothes. “Take me home first.”
When they arrived at Hawksbury, they silently entered the gatehouse and Gareth listened to the portcullis lower behind them. He rode through the tunnel, still cradling Margery. She’d been shivering uncontrollably for the last hour.
Wallace Desmond was waiting for them, his face grim as Gareth handed Margery into his arms. After Gareth dismounted, he took Margery back.
“Who did this?” Wallace asked.
“Townsend, but he won’t bother her again—and no, I didn’t kill him, though maybe I should have. How did you explain my actions to the patrols?” Gareth asked, looking up at the men walking the torchlit battlements.
“I told them the truth: that they’d already let a brigand escape and were in serious trouble. But they think this is a kitchen maid you’re rescuing.”
“That was a good idea,” Gareth said, eyeing Wallace with new respect. “I had better get inside. Wallace, please see to my horse, then help me find some hot water for Margery’s bath.”
“How are we going to keepthata secret?” Wallace asked, wiping rain from his face.
Margery stirred. “We keep cauldrons boiling in the kitchen,” she murmured. “A few buckets will do. I don’t need a full bath.”
Gareth ignored her. “We’ll fill as many buckets as we can. I’ll meet you in her bedchamber. Hurry!”
Gareth carried Margery into the castle through the garden entrance and fortunately saw no one. In her chamber he set her in a chair, where she hugged herself and shivered as he dragged her wooden tub before the hearth. He built a large fire, then lit every candle.
He turned to look at Margery, who still sat dazed. “I’m going to get the twins,” he said firmly.
“No!” She straightened with her usual authority. “No one can know what happened.”
