Page 70 of The Bodyguard Who Came in from the Cold
Wallace eventually strolled over and leaned beside him. “It’s been a few days since you looked this mean.”
“I am not mean.”
“I’ll reserve opinion on that. ’Tis just that lately, you’ve been rather…jovial.”
“I am never jovial.”
Wallace sighed. “However you choose to call it, I thought you had been succeeding in your courtship of Mistress Margery.”
Gareth shrugged and frowned.
“Ah, you’ve had a problem.”
“Not until today.”
“What happened today?”
Gareth glanced at Wallace. “Her brothers will soon arrive.”
“Oh, I see.”
Gareth had a strong urge to punch that grin off Wallace’s face. But he contained himself.
“Do I need to reassure you?” Wallace asked. “You have won the lady’s affection. Surely her brothers cannot change that.”
For a moment, Gareth almost wanted to explain all of his past with Margery’s family. But he’d never had a friend who remained friendly once he learned the whole sordid truth. He had become too comfortable with the man, and that was dangerous.
Though Wallace seemed different from other men, Gareth still would not test him. “I can handle her brothers. I just wanted to warn you to steer clear of Bolton if you can.”
Wallace raised his eyebrows. “Just because I know him?”
“Why would you work as a captain of the guard if you’re inheriting a barony? He might also be suspicious that two men from his past are both here with his sister. I do not mean for you to hide, but if you can avoid him…” His voice trailed off.
“I understand,” Wallace said softly. “I shall do my best.”
~oOo~
Before the midday meal, horns sounded a blast, and a dozen men on horseback came through the gatehouse. Gareth put down his blunt sword and walked to the edge of the tiltyard. He recognized the two men in the lead as Margery’s brothers, Viscount Reynold Welles, and James Markham, Earl of Bolton.
They both looked hale and fit, considering they’d just returned from defeating the pretender to the throne and his supporters. They were dark-haired like Margery, but Welles was a tall, broad mountain of a man next to Bolton’s thinner build. Welles wore plain, functional garments, while Bolton dressed as if he were going to court instead of traveling from battle.
They looked around the inner ward, where Gareth stood waiting, but they didn’t notice him. As the company dismounted, pages and squires ran to take their horses. The doors to the great hall opened, and Margery descended regally, followed by her ladies, wearing a smile that could have split her face. The last few steps, she gave a glad cry and ran to her brothers. They grabbed her up, passing her between them for hugs.
Gareth walked closer, needing to hear everything. His stomach roiled with anger and tension, and he was barely able to keep a fierce frown from his face.
Margery stood between her brothers, with their arms overlapping across her shoulders. “It is so good to see you both,” she said happily. “I worried every day that you were with the king.”
“The Irish didn’t mount much of a battle,” Bolton said with easy confidence. “We barely got dirty.”
Welles rolled his eyes. “It was not quite that easy.”
“Nevertheless, the pretender will be turning the roasting spits in the royal kitchens from now on.”
Everyone laughed, and Margery’s brothers turned to introduce her to the men they’d traveled with. More knights for her to consider for husband—more men Gareth would have to discredit. He was beginning to regret not bedding her last night.
Everyone trooped inside for dinner, so Gareth washed up and followed them. Margery had already seated her brothers at the head table, along with a few of their companions. Ladies Anne and Cicely were each seated between two men, and they looked flustered and happy.
Gareth almost sat at a lower table to give Margery and her brothers privacy, but he caught himself in time. What was the point of revenge if Welles and Bolton knew nothing of it?
