My Lady's Guardian (20 page)

"You would let me do this," he began, his voice husky, "here, on your lands?"

She pulled his head down and kissed him, sliding her tongue inside his mouth to taste him. He took her shoulders and held her away.

"Is this about anger?" he asked seriously. "I know something about that: you'd do anything to forget. I understand, but don't use me to forget."

Margery sat up in his lap. "Are you not using me? You don't love me, I don't love you. We're two people doing what we have to do in life, and neither of us is happy about it. If I want to snatch a moment's pleasure with you"—she ran her thumb gently over his lips—"what is to stop me?"

Gareth searched her face, lingering on her mouth. She was willful and impulsive, still certain of her ability to do what she wanted. But she ignited a fierce excitement inside him that he'd never imagined. She came up on her knees and straddled his hips, kissing him hard. The way she rubbed

against him, he could have easily taken her right now.

He imagined the release of being inside her body.. .then decided against it. He was trying to woo her into marriage, not make her feel guilty over a quick toss in the grass. She was so angry at Fitzwilliam's betrayal that she would do anything to forget—even bed a man she didn't love.

She loosened the laces of his shirt, spreading it wide and placing the palms of her hands on his chest. Gareth held his breath as she pressed a kiss against his hot skin. With a groan, he lifted her head and covered her mouth one last time with his, all the while remembering the look on her face as she'd told him about Fitzwilliam. She still wasn't telling the entire truth.

He held her shoulders to push her away. "We must stop."

She sat back on his thighs and stared at him angrily. "I do not understand you. I can feel that you want me."

She rubbed her hips against his and he groaned.

"Margery," he whispered, "sometimes I can think of nothing but wanting you. And then I remember the husband that you search for."

She stiffened.

"I imagine he wouldn't approve of this."

She scrambled off his lap and stared at him with fury darkening her blue eyes. "Why do you think I care? How can I respect a man who is only after my fortune?"

Gareth sat up straighter. He told himself he felt no remorse for his own modvations where Margery was concerned.

"Such is always the way among the nobility," he said sofdy. "Did not you learn such lessons in your childhood? A woman of privilege is seldom given the freedom to many at will, as you have."

"But a man of privilege—what am I saying? Any man has more freedom than a woman. I am doing nothing more than a man would. I have made no commitments to a husband, therefore I am not bound in any way."

He gathered up their fishing poles, removing the fishhooks and string. "You are bound to yourself, just as I am. And I know this isn't what you truly want."

She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. He watched the anger die away until there was only vulnerability. She sighed and rose to her feet.

"I won't argue with you anymore, Gareth. You must be starving, and I did not catch you a meal."

He watched her spread a blanket on the ground, then cover it with meat pies and cheese and berries.

She broke open a round loaf of bread, and he heard his stomach rumble.

Margery glanced at him, but her smile was distracted. He was already regretting his words. At this very moment, he could have been inside her.

But he had to think of his distant goals—not the immediate ones. His vision told him he would have Margery in time.

In the middle of the night, Gareth woke out of a sound sleep and felt panicked. He sat up in bed, rubbing his face with both hands. Even his impending sword fight with Townsend had not made him feel like this. He was sweating, and his breathing felt labored, as the certainty of danger suddenly swept over him.

Margery.

He bounded out of bed and pulled on boots and his leather jerkin, grabbed his sword, and tore open the door. He ran down the corridor and opened Margery's door.

Her bedchamber was empty, her bed rumpled. On the edge of the sheets, he saw a spattering of blood.

Chapter 18

The shock that slammed through Gareth stole his breath. Someone had taken Margery. He was her personal guard, and he'd failed.

And there was blood on the sheets.

He could almost hear her father, Lord Welles, speak the words that had shaped the significant moments of Gareth's life. You must protect her.

What had he allowed to happen?

He ran back to his room, pulled on more clothing and a plated brigandine, then strapped on his sword and a dagger. He ran down the corridor, from one circle of light to the next, then took the stairs two at a time.

He already knew it was useless to search the castle. He had seen the truth in his visions, but he hadn't believed, arrogant fool that he was. Margery

would be on a man's horse, heading down into the Severn Valley.

Would they cross the Severn and head into Wales, or take ship in Gloucester?

Outside, the night was moist with a misting rain that threatened fog. He didn't bother trying the gatehouse first. He could not explain the reason that he needed the gates opened and the portcullis raised in the middle of the night—not without risking that the entire household would discover Margery's abduction. Instead he quietly woke Desmond, who followed him down from the barracks and out into the ward, wearing only a long shirt.

"I'm not even dressed, Gareth," Desmond said with a grumble. "This had better be—"

"Margery is missing," Gareth said shortly as he entered the stables. "I need you to tell the gatehouse guards to let me out."

"Missing? Let me sound the alarm. We'll muster

"No!" He began to saddle his stallion. "What if her captor wishes to compromise and marry her? We can't let them be found together. I will go alone."

"Alone? 'Tis a foolish plan."

"Perhaps, but I know which way they are going," Gareth said, mounting his horse and trotting toward

the gatehouse. "I can travel swiftly, and bring Margery back without anyone knowing."

Desmond ran alongside. "How do you know where they're going?"

"I just know."

At the gatehouse they found two soldiers unconscious, and the portcullis raised.

"They're alive," Desmond said as he knelt beside them.

"See to them, but don't let them know what happened. Lie, if you must." The horse was restless, and danced with Gareth's tight hand on the reins. "But Wallace, keep watch on the battlements for my return. I'll be back soon."

Desmond stood up as Gareth's horse entered the tunnel of the gatehouse. He called, "But how can you—right, you just know."

Gareth rode out into the night. Soon he was damp to the skin, but the discomfort was only what he deserved. Somewhere, Margery was alone with a scoundrel. She must be frightened, maybe seriously wounded, but he had no way to know.

He deliberately chose the road to Gloucester. A ship heading out to sea was the quickest way for a man and woman to escape. He prayed he'd made the right choice.

He gave the animal its head, and tried to think of nothing beyond his mission. Yet his mind whirled with thoughts he couldn't control.

How could he have been so arrogant as to think the vision of Margery on a man's horse was about him? He had paid more attention to seducing her than to keeping her safe.

He concentrated hard, trying to force his mind to show him Margery—but all he got for his effort was a headache that pounded between his eyes so hard he had to squint. The Beaumont Curse had never been his to command, only to suffer through.

An hour later, the road Gareth followed disappeared into a small forest where, beneath the trees, the darkness was almost complete. Owls hooted above him, and his horse slowed and became skittish. Not far away, he thought he heard a woman scream.

Cold fury welled up inside him, at himself and this man who dared to take Margery for his own. He slid off the horse, tied him securely, then crept forward. The sound of a voice grew slowly louder.

"Why did you make me do it?"

It was Humphrey Townsend. Gareth had never suspected him capable of such desperation. Why hadn't he killed Townsend when he had the chance?

Gareth suddenly realized that Margery wasn't answering. He held his breath, sweat making his clothes sdck to his back.

"I didn't want to hit you," Townsend continued, "but you must marry me."

"I will not," Margery said coldly.

Gareth lowered his head as relief eased through him. She sounded unharmed, thank God. He got down on his hands and knees and crept forward through the brush. The rain had turned the earth to mud, which oozed between his fingers and coated his skin.

He peered through the undergrowth, wet ferns sticking to his face. He could see Margery, wearing just her nightclothes and dressing gown, sitting on a log before a small, sputtering fire. One soldier guarded her back.

Townsend stood over her, then threw his hands up with impatience and stalked away. "I don't really need your acceptance," he said over his shoulder. "If we stay here long enough, you shall be forced to marry me."

"I'd rather live with the shame."

Gareth grinned, enjoying the courage she displayed. He began to work his way around the edge of the clearing, undl he was directly behind the soldier.

"Your brothers won't see it that way." Townsend squatted down before her. "I'll treat you well, I promise."

"Why do you need to force me into marriage?" Margery demanded. "Surely you earn enough to live decently. Any number of girls would—"

"Any number of girls don't have the dowry I need."

"Greedy, aren't you?" she said with sarcasm.

"No, I have sisters," he said glumly. "Sisters with no dowries of their own."

Gareth gave a grim smile. He and Townsend were not so different; both of them wanted to marry Margery for their own reasons. But this was hardly an amusing situation, what with the blood on her sheets, and knowing Townsend had been cowardly enough to hit a woman.

He waited until Townsend paced to the far side of the clearing. Then Gareth rose up and hit the soldier over the head, watching with satisfaction as he crumpled to the wet ground.

Margery gasped and whirled around, certain that a boar was charging her from the depths of the forest. But Sir Humphrey's henchman was unconscious, and Gareth stood there, muddy and wet and grinning at her. She would have thrown herself in his arms and sobbed her relief, but Sir

Humphrey suddenly gave a yell and came running toward them.

Gareth stepped in front of her, shielding her. He held his sword in one hand, a dagger in the other. Sir Humphrey skidded to a stop.

"Beaumont," the man said, trying unsuccessfully to cover his dismay.

"Townsend," Gareth answered. He threw down his weapons and rushed the other knight, who fell backward with Gareth atop him.

As they rolled around in the mud, Margery stood up and peered side to side, trying to see Gareth. She winced at a particularly hard blow, then winced again as her bruised cheek began to ache. Soon Gareth was back on top, throwing punches into Sir Humphrey's face and stomach.

Margery began to feel sorry for her kidnapper when he covered his head with his arms. "Gareth!" she cried. "You can stop now!"

After one more punch to Sir Humphrey's jaw, Gareth got to his feet and stood above him. "I could kill you for this," he said with soft menace. "But I don't need to."

With a groan, the knight pushed up onto his hands and knees, then sagged against the log Margery had been sitting on.

"I can tell her brothers instead," Gareth continued.

"No," Sir Humphrey whispered.

Margery almost felt sorry for him. Her brothers would kill him if they knew what he'd done.

Gareth grabbed Sir Humphrey's tunic and lifted him, letting him dangle from his fist. "I will never see you near Margery again, will I?"

"No," Sir Humphrey mumbled.

"No what?"

"No, I won't come near her."

He sounded defeated, despondent, and Margery wondered how many sisters he had. Gareth picked up his weapons, and as he led her away, she looked over her shoulder to see Sir Humphrey holding his head in his hands.

"Are you sure it's safe to just.. .leave him?" she asked.

"I do not think he'll bother you again."

They reached Gareth's horse and he lifted her into the saddle sideways. When he slid in behind her, she turned in his arms and buried her face against him, regardless of the mud and water soaking his garments. She was grateful just to hold him. The horse trotted out of the forest and headed down the road that wound into the foothills of the Cotswolds.

Even now the terror of helplessness was hard to forget. Margery had thought her plan to find the perfect husband was destroyed, that she'd be married to a crude braggart. Sir Humphrey had threatened to rape her right there, in front of his soldier, if she didn't agree to marry him.

And then Gareth had come. She had not believed it possible that he could find her, yet he had. His face was hard and angry as he met her gaze.

"Are you hurt?" he asked.

"No. You came in time."

He closed his eyes briefly. "I should have known you were in danger. How did he—"

"Please, not now," she interrupted, huddling against him as the chill wind penetrated her wet clothes. "Take me home first."

When they arrived at Hawksbury, they silently entered the gatehouse and Gareth listened to the portcullis lower behind them. He rode through the tunnel, still cradling Margery. She'd been shivering uncontrollably for the last hour.

Wallace Desmond was waiting for them, his face grim as Gareth handed Margery into his arms. After Gareth dismounted, he took Margery back.

"Who did this?" Wallace asked.

"Townsend, but he won't bother her again—and no, I didn't kill him, though maybe I should have.

How did you explain my actions to the patrols?" Gareth asked, looking up at the men walking the torchlit battlements.

"I told them the truth: that they'd already let a brigand escape and were in serious trouble. But they think this is a kitchen maid you're rescuing."