My Lady's Guardian (5 page)

Her two suitors crossed their arms over their chests and glared. At the same moment, they said, "Mistress Margery—"

She held up her hand, never taking her gaze from Gareth, who raised her other hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. A shock of astonishment surged through her. What was he doing? Had he planned all along to court her, and be paid as a bodyguard at the same time?

Her disappointment grew until she could no longer look into his face. Had she trusted the wrong man?

Margery pulled her hand away, struggling to remember every rumor she'd ever heard. Her brother James had once tried to tell her about Gareth's disgrace and his flight from the country. She hadn't believed James, but now she wished she'd paid more attention.

She looked into Gareth's golden eyes. They were narrowed, and seemed to be studying her intently. Was he looking for weaknesses?

He would find none. He was just one more man in a long parade of suitors she could never marry.

Grief threatened to overwhelm her at the futility of her life. But in these last trying months, she had learned to be strong—or at least to pretend she was. She called on that strength now and met his intensity with a smile.

"How sweet of you to promise gifts, Sir Gareth. But it is most certainly not the way to my heart. You would only be one of many."

The twins glanced away, their smiles bolder. Her two suitors looked baffled, uneasy.

Gareth said, "I promise you, mistress, that you shall not put aside my gifts. They will be humble, yet from my heart."

For the first time since childhood, Margery experienced the blinding power of his smile. But she saw it now for what it was: an imitation of an emotion he could not begin to grasp.

When the jugglers were finished, she had Gareth shown to a bedchamber. A few moments later she said her own good-nights and went to her room, but Gareth's behavior would not leave her mind. She waited for a brief time, pacing before the hearth, then peeked down the corridor. There were no servants in sight.

She tiptoed past Anne's and Cicely's closed doors until she reached the chamber she had assigned Gareth. She put her ear against the wood,

heard no sounds, then burst in and leaned back to close the door.

Gareth already had his sword drawn. When he saw her, he slammed it back into the scabbard. "Margeiy, never do something so foolish again. You will need protection for the rest of your life if you continue to make such thoughtless mistakes." He threw his saddle bag on the bed and leaned over to open it.

"So now it is protection again?" She strode toward him, hands on her hips. "Make up your mind. After all, if you're my suitor, I shall need protection from you!"

He straightened, and she took a step backward. He seemed suddenly as tall and wild as the Viking ancestors he resembled. And she'd come in here alone?

"Protection from me?" he said. "You have already hired me as your guard. Did you think—"

He broke off and studied her for an uncomfortable moment, while she began to think she'd miscalculated.

"I was worried my acting would not be skilled enough." He looked down her body. "I've never had to make an effort to court a woman before."

Acting? A blush of mortification swept from her chest to her forehead. When he'd kissed her fingers, when he'd spoken of her beauty, he'd been acting?

"You asked me to come up with something to hide my true purpose here," Gareth said calmly. "I'm going to pretend to be another of your suitors. What better way can I be near you, keeping you from any danger?"

Margery remembered the heat of his gaze, the touch of his lips on her hand. Of course it was all an act. She donned a grudging smile, and buried the dny pain that touched her heart. "I did suggest we keep your position a secret, but I never thought of— of this."

"Then you approve?"

She hesitated. "I can think of nothing better." She slowly frowned as she watched him remove garments from his bag. "Gareth, are you planning to court me wearing those clothes?"

He stilled, and the gaze he lifted to her was even colder. She'd made a mistake.

"I work hard for everything I have."

"I know that!" she quickly said. "But you're in disguise now. I could have my brother Reynold send along some clothes. They might be a bit large for you, but James would certainly never part with any garments."

Gareth shook his head. "Sounds like the James I remember."

"Be easy on him. He has changed for the better since his marriage. He just.. .likes his clothes."

He leaned against the bedpost, folding his arms across his chest. "You don't think your brothers would be suspicious as to why you're sending for good quality male garments?"

She winced. "I hadn't thought of that."

"I shall just tell everyone I lost most of my clothes in a storm off the coast."

"You were never very good at telling stories."

"When I chose to, I could be." His voice was suddenly low and gruff, not quite so cold. "The marshall once bribed me with gingerbread to keep you out of the stables so they could get some work done. How else do you think I amused you?"

She didn't remember that. Unexpected tears pricked her eyes. Life was so uncomplicated then. She had spent her days following Gareth around, trying to get his attention.

But everything had changed. He would be following her—and he was angry about it.

"Regardless of how you feel, you still need some new clothes," she said awkwardly as she moved toward the door. "I'll talk to my seamstresses."

"Hold!"

Anger overwhelmed her sadness. "I am not one of your soldiers!"

"One of my soldiers would make sure the corridor was empty if he didn't want to be seen leaving a certain room."

She felt a momentary weakness at her stupidity. She had almost walked out of a man's bedchamber, regardless of who might be watching. Gareth opened the door, looked outside, then closed it again.

'"Tis clear."

Margery swallowed. "Thank you."

He leaned against the door, too close to her, studying her face with that coolness she hated. "Perhaps you need a keeper more than a guard."

She controlled the hurt that suffused her. "I'm not paying you for insults. Move away from the door."

After Margery had gone, Gareth told himself that she deserved every cruel remark he had made. She and her family had thrown him away when he was no longer useful, like an enfeebled dog. Even his clothing wasn't fine enough for her.

She was sdll a spoiled little girl, who had the "terrible" task of picking any man she wanted. If she thought this was such a dreadful problem, she didn't know what life was really like.

But he had sworn an oath to protect her, and he could not turn his back on that. At least now he would be getting paid for it.

Chapter 4

After her argument with Gareth, Margery was too upset to return to the great hall. Her bedchamber usually soothed her; it was decorated with colorful tapestries, cushions, and draperies, things she brought with her wherever she traveled. And though she'd resigned herself to sleeping alone for the rest of her life, tonight she felt especially sad and uncertain. The king's bequest had changed her entire life—and not for the better, as he'd hoped.

But then again, King Henry thought she was a normal young woman, with dreams of the perfect husband to fall in love with. He didn't know that she would never marry.

How could she tell him without exposing all her sins? How could she tell him that she and Peter Fitzwilliam had—

Margery burst into tears. She clutched her fists to her chest, trying to ease the ache that never went away.

How could she have been so foolish? She had been the envy of every woman because of her wonderful family and her wealth. She could have chosen any man who'd pleased her. But she'd chosen Peter Fitzwilliam, who revealed himself to be nothing more than a scoundrel, a slave to his family.

She'd let herself be charmed by his good looks, his easy manner. And then she'd let herself be seduced.

She had a sudden memory of lying naked in a garden, and Peter looking at her body.

Margery shook with humiliation. Oh, they'd exchanged heartfelt vows of love—or so she'd thought. They spent every spare moment together, whispering of betrothal and marriage and children. She had thought her perfect life was just getting better and better.

She'd been a gullible fool. After Peter's talk of a quick betrothal the moment his father was back in London, she'd agreed to meet him in the garden late one night. They were so in love, she'd thought, they didn't need to wait for the formality of a contract. Margery let him take her virginity.

And the shame of it was—she'd enjoyed it! She sank into a chair and rubbed her arms, feeling like she could never get warm again. Tears continued to fall down her cheeks, and she wiped them away with both hands.

Peter had been considerate and gentle, and she'd felt no embarrassment whatsoever. When he'd suggested they meet again, she had gladly sneaked away a week later. After that they couldn't manage to be alone, but she'd thought about Peter every moment of every day, thrilled to be in love with the man she was mariying, when so many of her friends were being forced into loveless marriages. When she realized she wasn't with child, she'd thought her unending luck had continued.

My lord, she'd been so naive. When Peter asked her if she carried his child, she'd been happy to ease his mind by saying no. And then her whole world had tilted, spilling her into the abyss. Peter had told her he couldn't marry a barren woman, that he needed an heir to carry on as earl.

She remembered staring at him, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks at the enormity of what she'd done. Could it be true? She had no mother to ask, no true friends she could confide her sins to.

With a sob, Margery covered her face and leaned over her lap. So she'd let Peter go. A man who'd

say such a thing obviously didn't love her, and his betrayal hurt as much as if he'd stabbed her. She'd given him her love, her respect, her trust—her body. And he hadn't wanted any of it, if it meant disappointing his family.

She'd thought briefly of telling her brothers, of making Peter marry her after he'd taken her maidenhead. But they'd want to kill him, and her terrible shame would become public knowledge. Everyone would know what a sinful woman she was, and she and Peter would despise each other for the rest of their lives.

So she had picked herself up out of her sorrow, and resolved never to marry. She was luckier than most, with a few manors and a small inheritance at her disposal. She would live well, alone.

But then the king had decided to gift her with more land and wealth, and her own choice of husband. How could she refuse it? She certainly couldn't tell him the truth. So here she was, trying to figure a way out of marriage, something she'd wanted all her life, but now could never have. No man would want another man's leavings. If she lied and married some poor man, she would be found out eventually, and her husband could annul the marriage and reveal her shame to all. And if it were

true that she was barren, she couldn't let a man think he could have heirs.

No matter how hard she prayed at Mass or did penance, nothing helped the endless guilt that tore apart her soul. She also had to live with the constant worry that Peter would tell someone what she'd done.

And now she'd hired Gareth, another man she had to circumvent. And she only had two months left to do it, for the king had given her until the beginning of October to choose—or he would choose for her.

Margery awoke before dawn and lay still in bed, prepared to face another dreaded day—one day less for her to solve her problems.

And now she had Gareth to deal with.

With a groan, she pushed aside the blankets and coverlet, and rose to her feet.

She couldn't deny that it was good to know that he was alive and unharmed. After what he'd done for her when they were children, he was the one man she thought she could trust to help her. Yet he had changed. The wary watchfulness that had always been a part of him in childhood had grown.

She didn't relish the coming days of outwitting him, as she'd been forced to do with so many of her friends and family. Here in this castle, she'd become numb, existing day to day during the brief respite she'd allowed herself. Sometimes she could almost forget the king's decree looming over her.

Why did she feel that Gareth's presence could change all that?

After she'd washed and dressed, Margery left the keep to attend Mass at the peaceful stone chapel tucked in a corner of the inner ward. She walked across the packed earth, absorbing yesterday's warmth beneath her feet, listening to the early morning sounds of roosters crowing and the welcoming bark of a dog.

As she entered the building, she looked up at the cut-glass window high in the wall. In direct sunlight, one could stand beneath it and feel bathed in the magic of colors and the warmth of God's love. But with the gray dawn, the window looked as lifeless as Margery felt. Some mornings, her guilt almost choked her.

At the completion of Mass, she introduced Sir Wallace, the new captain of the guard, to the company of soldiers and knights employed at Hawksbury Castle. Afterward she found Gareth waiting for her. She came to a halt and looked up

into his eyes, where there was no emotion, only a perception that made her feel exposed, vulnerable. If he knew what kind of a woman she was, he'd think she deserved her fate.

When everyone had gone past them, Gareth spoke in a low, angry voice. "Apparently I need to make the rules clearer."

"I did not know there were rules." She raised her chin as she walked by him.

He moved to her side.

As people called good morning, Margery smiled at each. "I thought I had hired you to do a service for me," she said quietly to Gareth.

"You hired me to protect you. If you want me to do my task successfully, I need to know where you are at all times. You cannot leave the castle without telling me."

She bit her lip and risked a glance at him. He looked straight ahead, his eyes scanning the inner ward. At least he took his task seriously; she would be well cared for.