My Lady's Guardian (29 page)

"Margery, don't do this."

He looked deep into her eyes, and she saw all the pain and anguish he had spent a lifetime learning to hide.

"It was you!" she cried. "You refused to marry me; you saw what I was doing."

"How could I marry you after everything I'd done, everything I was?"

"Tell me about the visions," she whispered suddenly.

He tried to pull away, but she threw herself against him and put her hands on either side of his face. "Tell me about the visions."

"There is nothing to tell," he said, and his misery hurt her. "They aren't even useful most of the time. I usually see minor things, like someone getting sick, or something lost. I get so nauseous that I want to understand none of it, and I pray to God to take them away from me. But He never took them away from my father or my grandfathers, and they went mad."

She held her breath for a moment, fighting tears. This was the true Beaumont Curse. "Oh, Gareth. Don't tell me that you've worried your entire life that you would be next to go mad."

"Me? My arrogance protects me from madness. I'm so foolish that even when the visions warned me you'd be riding away with a man, I thought it was I!" His laugh was full of self-hatred. "I let you get kidnapped. Do you not see, Margery? You don't deserve this."

She tried to kiss him, but he wouldn't lower his head. She leaned against his chest and pressed her lips to his throat. "But you found me. 'Tis all that matters."

"Fitzwilliam wants you back," he said coldly. "You should marry him."

She looked up into his remote face. "You want me with a man like him? Last spring, he told me he wouldn't marry me because I hadn't conceived his child. He told me that I was barren, worthless." The words tumbled from her lips like the tears from her eyes.

Gareth stared at her, wide-eyed. "You had only lain with him twice. Surely you know his words meant nothing."

"I had no one to ask," she whispered. "I know you think I'm a fool. But I had not only dishonored myself with him; I hadn't conceived."

"Margery," he whispered, wiping away her tears with his thumbs. "Some women take a long time to have children."

"But you would not care, would you?" she asked hopefully.

"Of course not. If I were your husband, I would love you no matter—" He stumbled over his words as he saw the trap. "But I will never be your husband."

"Gareth, please—"

He disentangled himself and stepped back. "If you cannot choose Fitzwilliam, choose Wallace Desmond. He's a good man. Now go back to your bed before someone discovers you here."

For a moment she wanted to melt into his arms and press kisses to his face. He loved her, he had almost admitted it. And she loved him.

"This isn't finished between us, Gareth," she said fervently.

He turned away.

Somehow, Margery would convince him that they were meant to be together. She was too close to happiness to accept less.

For the trip to Greenwich Gareth packed all his belongings, since he wouldn't be coming back to Hawksbuiy. At dawn he loaded his saddlebags, and as he stuffed the garments down as far as he could, his fingers encountered a small bulge. He pulled out a balled piece of leather.

Slowly, he unwrapped it, and found his half of Margery's crystal stone, which reflected the lantern light in a scattered pattern across the wall. He almost threw it away—then closed his fist around it dghtly. It was all he would have left of her.

Someone entered the stables behind him, and he quickly shoved the stone into the pouch hanging from his belt. He tightened the saddle, then turned and found Wallace watching him.

"Is something wrong?" Wallace asked sofdy.

Gareth shrugged.

"You haven't seemed yourself these past few weeks. In fact, you have stopped your pursuit of our fair mistress."

"I'll be leaving as soon as she chooses a husband."

Wallace put a hand on his shoulder and Gareth stared at it in surprise.

"What made you change your mind about Margery?" Wallace asked.

"You were right. I couldn't lie to her anymore."

"I think there's more to it than that." Wallace lowered his voice. "That knight who came here accusing you of wizardry—tell me about him."

Gareth knew he should keep lying; Margery had preserved his secrets with her laughter. But as he looked into Wallace's face, he could not break the trust they had begun to build between them.

"Some of it is true. I.. .see things other people don't see, though I wish I didn't. In my mind, I saw Lord Warfield's son taking ill. Then I simply forgot it hadn't happened yet, and asked after his health."

Wallace watched him solemnly. "That is how you knew Margery was in danger."

"I've always known, even when we were children. I don't know why."

"I do," Wallace said, beginning to smile. "Fate. Love."

Gareth turned back to his horse, resting a hand on its warm flank. "But that isn't enough."

"Why not? I heard her defend you. I have seen the way she looks at you. She loves you; you love her." "Love isn't enough," Gareth said in a soft, sad voice. "I lied to her, I used her against her family. Even my past is too difficult to overcome. I told her to find another man."

"I think you're wrong."

"Perhaps. But at least I'll be able to live with myself, because I've finally done the right thing."

Chapter 26

At the end of September, the palace at Greenwich came alive to celebrate the return of the king from the battle of Stoke. Hundreds of candles blazed throughout the presence chamber, where the golden thrones of King Henry VII and Queen Elizabeth were elevated. Tapestries and multihued banners of cloth were strung from the walls.

Margery stood beside her brothers, dressed in a pale blue brocade gown that shimmered with cut glass and pearls, wearing a decorated cap with the sheerest veil covering her long hair.

She knew she should be nervous, but a calm determination had come over her. Both James and Reynold eyed her with suspicion, but she merely continued to smde with confidence—and answered none of their questions.

Instead she looked over her shoulder, searching for Gareth. She had made Wallace promise to keep him in the presence chamber. She spied Gareth in the second row of the large crowd, looking grim. Their gazes caught and held until he looked away. He shone with that savage, bright beauty that almost hurt her eyes. In his royal blue doublet, he glimmered as a jewel among common stones. She offered a silent prayer that she could make everything work out.

The king and queen had not yet entered. The musicians played, and the smells of a feast wafted through the air. Margery left her brothers and moved through the crowd, searching for Peter Fitzwilliam.

She spotted him leaning close to a blushing young woman, though he straightened when he saw Margery coming.

"Mistress Margery!" he called, with the joviality of true confidence.

"Lord Fitzwilliam," she said, smiling coolly, "I would like to speak to you."

"By all means."

He walked away from the poor girl without even a farewell. His conceit sickened her, but she wouldn't have to bear it for much longer.

She led him to a window alcove hung with gold draperies and flowers. They were in sight of the hall, yet their voices would not carry far. Margery saw her brothers watching with concern. Perfect.

"You do not need to prepare me," Peter said conspiratorially. "I'll look quite pleased and surprised when you call my name."

She gave him a polite smile. "I won't be calling your name."

His smile faded. "Pardon me?"

"I won't be calling your name, Peter. You will not be my choice for husband."

He looked almost petulant, like a little boy who wouldn't be getting a new pony. "But Margery, I don't wish to tell your brothers what you and I did together. It would be such a shame to anger them."

"I won't stop you," she said, gazing calmly into his face. "Go ahead and tell them what you did to me."

He hesitated, and she held her breath. "They'll name you a harlot."

"But they'll blame you." Margery felt suddenly liberated in the face of his unease. She had been such a fool to allow this man to ruin her life. "Go ahead, they're already watching us. Tell them."

Peter glanced toward her brothers, and bless them, they were frowning darkly. And she hadn't

even prompted them. If only they'd put their hands on their sword hilts.. .but it was too much to hope for.

Peter sighed and shook his head. "We could have had an interesting marriage, you know."

She didn't trust herself to speak, so just continued to smile politely. In a moment he left, chasing after the girl she'd taken him from.

Margery closed her eyes and tried to absorb her victory without giving in to tears. She had nothing left to fear from Peter. She could now put her mistakes with him in the past, where they belonged. It was time to turn her attention to the next challenge.

"Margery!"

She recognized Anne's breathless voice as the twins came to take her hands. Margery kissed each of their cheeks, and smiled. How she would miss them when they returned to their parents.

"Oh, Margery," Cicely said, her face a study in worry, "will you not tell us whom you have chosen?"

"How can you keep us this anxious?" Anne added, her gaze still following Peter. "Is Lord Fitzwilliam the one? What about Lord Chadwick, or

Margery raised both her hands, laughing. "How can I tell you and not my brothers?"

"Then tell us all!" Anne cried with exasperation.

"In a few moments, I will," Margery said. "Trust me."

Cicely looked around the hall with shining eyes. "This is so exciting. Perhaps I, too, will get to choose my husband."

Margery took her hands, and grew serious. "It is a great responsibility. I still don't know if it will all work out in the end. Pray for me."

She returned to her brothers in time to curtsy as the king and queen and their courtiers paraded into the room. The light reflected from their glittering garments like the sun off a rippling brook. Margery returned the queen's pleased smile, then watched as they sat on their thrones.

James leaned closer to her. "Are you ready, sweetheart?"

"I hope so." She gave him an excited, happy smile.

"Are you sure you don't want to tell me whom you have chosen?"

"It has to be a surprise."

James playfully scowled, and Reynold winked at her. How she adored her brothers, she thought, as silly tears once again pricked her eyes. Even if

they'd made mistakes along the way, she was truly blessed.

King Henry rose from his throne, and as if on cue, the music and the conversations stopped. A ripple of excitement and curiosity made people surge forward. Margery saw the king search the crowd undl he found her, then he motioned for her.

The courtiers parted and she forced herself to walk slowly, smiling at the people on both sides. This was the moment, and she was nervous and excited and breathless.

Gareth watched Margery walk through the king's noble guests, and he couldn't help but feel proud of her. She looked radiant, composed, confident—how had he ever thought her spoiled or selfish? She would make her family proud.

And she had been right about him. He'd spent his whole life afraid to trust people; had pushed away any who sought his friendship. He didn't know if he would ever become used to the loneliness again, now that he'd spent so many nights in her company.

"Mistress Margery Welles," the king said, gesturing to her as she came to a stop below him. "Come stand next to me, my dear. You have provided our court with months of speculation, gossip, and true enjoyment. But it is now dme for you to reveal your choice in husband."

Gareth watched Margery and the queen share a smile, before Margery turned and faced the multitude of people in the hall. Flames from hundreds of candles and torches gleamed in her eyes. The skin above her neckline glowed with a mellow, creamy light that set off her rich, dark hair. She was a stunning beauty who could have any man she wished. She deserved only the best, and he could trust her choice.

"My dear friends," she began in a clear, strong voice, "earlier this year, I was given a great honor by their royal majesties: the freedom to choose my own husband. I met many worthy men in the next few months, and I hope I have gained several new friends. But alas, I could choose only one man."

Gareth's chest ached. He could not witness Fitzwilliam's smug victory. Besides, Margery no longer needed him—she had her brothers, and soon her betrothed. Saying good-bye would only prolong both their pain. He eased his way backward through the crowd, toward the entrance. But he couldn't take his eyes off her sweet face, couldn't block out her melodic voice.

"I have chosen a worthy man," she said, her face alight with pleasure. "He is gracious, and always kind to me, yet strong enough to defend my lands

and my people. We have loved each other for a long while."

Gareth nodded to the soldiers guarding the doors, and reached for the door latch.

"Although he is not of noble lineage, he will always be my only lord. I choose Sir Gareth Beaumont."

He froze with his fingers clutching the latch. He couldn't turn his head, couldn't look at her. What had she done? Why had she embarrassed herself like this?

He heard the shocked murmurs, then the rusde of garments as the crowd parted. He looked over his shoulder to find Margery's brothers walking toward him stiffly.

Giving him no choice, they escorted him toward the royal dais. He wanted to protest, to say it was all a mistake, but they drew him forward with a combined strength he could not hope to overcome.

Bolton leaned near and whispered, "We have some talking to do."

When they stopped before Margeiy, her two brothers backed away and left Gareth standing there alone, beneath the frown of the king and the scandalized whispers of the court.

She smiled at him with a radiance that was breathtaking. Then she knelt down before him and bowed her head.

"My lord," she murmured.

He stared down at her in shock. "Do not do this to yourself, Margery," he whispered.