Page 83 of The Bodyguard Who Came in from the Cold
“Viscount Fitzwilliam,” the man answered, his dour face transformed with speculation. “Seems like his interest in our mistress has rekindled, eh?”
Margery’s first lover—who had taken her virginity and cast her away without regard to her feelings.
Gareth shouldered aside anyone who stood between him and Margery. The anguish she so desperately tried to hide made him burn with a fury he had never felt before. He wanted to bury his sword in Fitzwilliam’s body and watch his guts spill.
Instead Gareth took Margery’s arm. She stared wide-eyed at Fitzwilliam as if Gareth wasn’t there.
“Mistress Margery,” Gareth said near her ear, “let me see you to your chamber.”
She didn’t react.
“I am sure you would like to settle in, perhaps rest before the evening’s festivities.”
Fitzwilliam gave them a jovial smile. “Margery, we haven’t even had time to talk. Come sit by the hearth with me and tell me all you’ve been doing.”
Gareth eyed him coldly. “It has been a strenuous trip. I will see her to her room.”
Margery suddenly seemed to will herself into awareness. She lifted her chin, and some of her color returned. She gave Fitzwilliam a perfunctory smile, even as she grasped Gareth’s arm with abnormal strength.
“Lord Fitzwilliam, it is good to see you again,” she said coolly. “I look forward to speaking with you later this evening. Sir Gareth, how kind of you to escort me to my chamber.”
But they could not pass the king without a bow and a curtsy. Gareth prayed that their sovereign did not ask his name, because he could very well be ordered from the tournament, leaving Margery defenseless. But King Henry’s gaze remained speculatively on her.
“Mistress Margery.” The king’s voice was soft, as if he knew he had no need to raise it. “We have missed you at court.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” she said. “Is the queen with you?”
“Alas, she had to remain at Greenwich, but she has been anxious to hear of your decision. Have you met the fine young man who is to be your husband?”
Gareth saw her blush. For someone who just a moment before seemed paralyzed with fright, she had recovered with amazing poise. “I am still considering, Your Majesty.”
The king laughed, but he was already looking beyond her to the noblemen who waited for his attention. “We shall talk, mistress. I have been spending much time with young Fitzwilliam. You could do worse than consider him.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” she murmured as he and his entourage swept past.
Gareth watched her with concern, but she never looked at him, nor did she push his arm away. Together they entered the Cabots’ home and were escorted to the chamber set aside for her. The maidservant left them alone in the corridor.
Margery released his arm. Her gaze never rose higher than his chin. “Thank you, Gareth. Have a good evening.”
“Margery, if you need to talk?—”
“Talk?” she repeated in a brittle voice. “I knew I would have to see Peter eventually, and now it has happened. What is there to talk about? After all, he is just another man I have given myself to.”
She closed the door in his face, and Gareth stood frozen, his hand flat against the wood that separated them. Was the vision of Peter and Margery kissing meant to warn him of their past, or predict the future? He was sick of always feeling helpless—useless.
And who was he to judge Fitzwilliam, when he had used Margery just as poorly?
~oOo~
During supper, Margery knew Gareth lingered near, watching over her. She had never doubted that he worried about her safety—after all, he said he’d sworn an oath to her father. Fine comfort that was.
Still, she’d made sure his bedchamber was near hers, for even now she did not want to be surprised by a greedy man.
Peter sought her out after the meal and drew her aside to a window seat, which overlooked the darkening sky and the multicolored patches of pavilions. The pain of caring for him had fled, leaving her only sad and bewildered. She felt safe enough, with hundreds of people in the hall, and Gareth standing sentinel nearby.
She just wanted to have this conversation over with. The suspense had to be worse than knowing.
For a moment she stared into her lap, where Peter’s hand held hers. She removed her fingers from his, then shivered when he let his hand rest on her knee for a moment too long.
