Page 72 of The Bodyguard Who Came in from the Cold
Reynold gave James a warning look. “ ’Tis good to see you in England again,” Reynold said.
Margery thought even Reynold’s politeness sounded forced. What was wrong with her brothers? They were usually never rude.
“So why have you come to see Margery?” James asked.
She wanted to groan. There, it was out: the question she had been dreading. She could hardly tell them she’d felt the need to hire a personal guard. “He was traveling through, and I asked him to visit for a while.”
“Let Beaumont answer,” James said in a low, tense voice.
How dare James question Gareth, a man who’d saved her life and helped her whenever she needed it! As if James should even talk, considering that he used to treat his own wife with disrespect.
Again she felt Gareth stroking her hand, calming her.
“Margery,” Gareth said, “it is not necessary for you to speak for me. I am not hiding the fact that I came back from France specifically to see you. Lord Bolton, do you have trouble with that?”
James got to his feet, and Reynold grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him back down.
Reynold said calmly, “Margery, we are both tired from travel and fighting, and being away from home. If we are overprotective, it is because we love and care for you. At least judge us knowing that.”
Margery forced herself to calm down. She motioned for the jugglers and musicians to begin their entertainment—anything to get the table’s obsessive focus off her and Gareth. She felt her brothers’ disapproval as a palpable thing. Did even James and Reynold put stock in something as foolish as the Beaumont Curse?
Margery spent the afternoon preparing for the hunt, talking to her brothers about their families, and getting to know some of the friends they’d brought to meet her. She was meeting so many new men that soon she’d have to create a list. However was she to keep track of which men fit her standards?
For she was certainly not going to let the king choose one for her.
~oOo~
After supper, while the musicians played and couples danced, James sat alone with Reynold at the head table, watching his sister be courted by the men he’d brought for her. He’d thought it would make him happy to be helping her—but it didn’t.
He sighed and swallowed more ale. He felt Reynold’s amused gaze.
“Doesn’t this make you feel ill?” James asked.
Reynold smiled. “Uncomfortable, perhaps.”
“I always knew she would marry. I’ve met many a man who’s asked to court her, but I never actually watched them do it.”
He glowered as Margery was swept from one dancing partner to another.
“It almost makes me want to draw my sword,” Reynold said in bemusement.
“Exactly.” James gazed about the room until he found Gareth Beaumont. The man was dressed in the plainest brown tunic, as if he were a soldier instead of a knight. He sat alone at a table and watched the festivities. One after another, pretty serving girls approached his table, and one after another he sent them away distractedly. James knew damned well whom Beaumont watched. But Margery did not dance with him.
“You do see whom Margery is avoiding,” James said as he slammed his tankard down a bit too hard.
“Gareth Beaumont.”
James eyed his amused brother. “This is not funny. He never takes his eyes off her, the big ox.”
Reynold glanced at him. “I think I object to that.”
“Well, you’re not an ox—a giant maybe, but that is off the subject.”
“Which is Gareth Beaumont.”
“Yes.”
“Margery may be avoiding him, but she watches him.”
