Page 80 of The Bodyguard Who Came in from the Cold
Gareth got to his feet without Margery’s help and mounted the horse behind her, trying to stay as far away as possible. Her fleeting, happy kiss haunted him, left a pain in his gut that wouldn’t go away. He wished she would hate him, and be ashamed of the sin they’d committed. It would make leaving her more bearable.
But she looked over her shoulder, giving him a sultry smile rife with sensual promise.
Hehadto see her married to someone else—quickly. He was too much the coward to tell her of his betrayal.
There wasn’t a cowardly bone in Margery’s body. He still felt the horror that had invaded his heart when she’d charged the boar alone, armed with only the lightest crossbow. She had been determined and skillful and brave, and his admiration only made him feel lower than any scoundrel. She had risked her life—for him.
They reached the clearing, with its bright pavilions and streamers and colorful blankets scattered with food. Margery sent a few grooms back for the boar, then tried to help Gareth dismount. He brushed her aside, but before everyone, she slid beneath his arm to help him walk. He couldn’t pull away without embarrassing her, so he used her capable shoulders for support just as he’d used her body for revenge.
He wished she would stop looking so concerned, so vulnerable. It would be apparent to everyone that they had been intimate.
And then she’d be stuck with him, when she could have had a good life with a man who deserved her.
Her brothers stared hard, their faces closed, emotionless. They had spent their whole lives concerned about their sister, trying to do what was best for her. At least they’d had a decent motivation for the mistakes they’d made.
Gareth had only selfishness and greed for his.
Margery knelt beside him while her ladies Anne and Cicely stood behind her looking concerned. As she checked the bleeding in his leg, her brothers sat down on either side of him, like armed guards.
“So what happened?” Bolton asked, eyeing him suspiciously.
Before he could answer, Margery said, “A boar attacked him.”
Welles peered at the wound. “ ’Tis not bad. Since you are here, I assume you killed it?” he asked Gareth.
“Your sister did.” He saw her blush. “She came riding into the clearing like an avenging angel.”For me, a man who doesn’t deserve her concern.
Bolton scowled. “I don’t think I appreciate your?—”
Margery knocked her brother’s foot aside, and he closed his mouth.
During their dinner Margery did her best to ignore her worry for Gareth, and her excitement about asking him to marry her. The suitors who surrounded her blurred into faceless men whom she no longer had to consider. She had found her solution, and shestillcouldn’t believe her future showed promise!
She knew her brothers watched every move she made. Let them. They had no say in her decision; why should they care if she married a man who had nothing? She had more than enough wealth—she only needed to satisfy herself and the king.
They spent the rest of the day outdoors, eating and drinking, dancing and laughing, except for Gareth, whose wound seemed to be bothering him. She wanted to sit at his side, but that would only attract suspicion.
She joined in the frivolity, nervous with anticipation. The celebration continued when they returned to Hawksbury. In each dance, she was passed from man to man. She took extra time with her brothers, knowing that they would be leaving in the morning.
Gareth sat with his leg up, his face unreadable. She didn’t know what he was thinking; she only knew that she would make him happy. They would solve each other’s problems.
~oOo~
That night Margery tried to stay awake until Gareth arrived, though she had barely slept the night before. When she heard the latch raise, she opened her eyes to smile sleepily at him as he came through the door. He didn’t meet her gaze.
“Gareth?” She sat up and patted the bed beside her. “Come sit with me. I need to talk with you.”
He hesitated. “My leg has grown stiff this day. I’d rather stand.”
She felt an inkling of worry, but dismissed it. She rose to her feet and watched his gaze drop down to the sheer nightdress she wore. When he looked away, expressionless, she almost faltered. What was wrong?
“Gareth, you know I’ve been searching for a husband.” She walked slowly toward him, then stopped and rested her palms against his chest. He was warm, solid, capable. She wanted to lean against him, to absorb his strength.
He didn’t embrace her, and the room suddenly seemed too hot. Something was dreadfully wrong. She talked faster and faster, like a fool, as if by sheer volume of words she could make everything work out.
“I have more than enough wealth,” she said, “so I do not need to choose for that reason. I was looking for a man whom I could get along with, whom I enjoyed. I thought of—you. Would you marry me?”
His face remained blank, like a stranger’s—like he’d been when he first arrived at Hawksbury Castle. Margery’s hands started to tremble. She wanted to clutch his doublet and shake him, demanding that he act like her Gareth. Why didn’t he speak?
