Page 79 of The Bodyguard Who Came in from the Cold
The forest grew darker, quieter, and somehow it seemed ominous. She pulled her horse to a halt and listened. The hunting party must have veered farther west than she had.
And then she heard the squeal of a boar. Her horse shied and danced. Margery grabbed her crossbow, which was already cocked, and swiftly urged the horse forward. When she dodged a last stand of trees, she came out into a clearing and saw the boar, dark and tusked and angry, about to charge toward her.
A man knelt on the ground between them. He pushed himself to his feet and staggered. He turned toward her, and the sun suddenly shone across his blond hair.
It was Gareth—and he was injured.
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Margery didn’t think of the fright or the danger; she just did what her brothers had drilled into her from childhood. She stood up in the stirrups and rode toward the boar, lifting her crossbow to aim. She heard Gareth shout her name, but it was as if he were far away.
With a hoarse squeal, the boar charged toward her. At the last second, she veered to the side and released the crossbow’s trigger. The boar crashed to the ground, her bolt firmly in its chest. It twitched once, twice, then lay still.
Breathing rapidly, she slid off the horse’s back and raced for Gareth, who limped toward her, his face pale and angry. She saw no blood on his tunic, and relief brought tears to her eyes. She would have thrown herself against him, but he grabbed her arms and held her away.
“What were you thinking?” he demanded, giving her a shake. “You could have been killed!”
“It was charging you! I couldn’t let you die. Oh, Gareth!” She flung her arms around his neck. He staggered and went down on one knee.
Off balance, she dropped down beside him. “Youarehurt!”
Blood dripped from a wound in his thigh, seeping through his hose.
“It barely touched me,” he said gruffly. “It startled my horse and I fell. As the boar charged, the horse fled, and left me with the consequences.”
“Be still.” She tore his ripped hose open, and saw that the blood had already slowed. “You are fortunate. You’ll live.”
“Are you happy about that?” he asked softly.
She unsheathed her dagger.
“I guess not,” he said wryly.
“Be quiet.” She cut strips of her linen smock into bandages, and began to wrap his leg. “Do you want to bleed to death?”
After she finished, Margery sat back on her heels to inspect her work. If the boar had gouged him any deeper, he could have lost his leg—or his life. She began to shake.
“Margery?”
She put up her hands. “I’m fine. But you were almost killed.”
They stared at each other, and suddenly there was more at stake than his wounded leg. She realized she would never have this connection to another man. With the husband she envisioned, she’d be safe, but never alive. She could make all the decisions, but none would be shared.
She had a sudden moment of clarity as she looked at Gareth. She thought of his strength, his kindness, his passion. A tentative, fragile thread of hope wound through her chest. Could he be the answer to all her problems—the husband she so desperately needed?
He didn’t care about her relationship with Peter; only that she’d been treated badly. He had no family to manipulate him; no one would use him to get to her money. Because of the Beaumont Curse, maybe he wouldn’t mind if she couldn’t bear him children.
Most importantly, he would not have to worry that she expected undying love from him. She refused to think about love, because it always left her too vulnerable. She would think about trust and friendship, and helping each other in a time of need.
She told herself that she wasn’t being selfish. He could use her aid as much as she could use his. He would never know poverty again. Together, they could manage all her lands.
Oh, why hadn’t she thought of this before?
Gareth continued to watch her, his gaze wary. She wanted to spill out her proposal, to see his face alight with joy. But now was not the time. She needed to care for his wounds, and deal with her brothers.
She smiled and leaned to kiss him. “Let us rejoin the hunting party. You can ride with me.”
He didn’t return her kiss, and she attributed that to the strain of being wounded, and the nearness of her brothers. There could be no other reason, she told herself.
