My Lady's Guardian (4 page)

From the window in her bedchamber, Margery watched the setting sun reflect from Gareth's bright hair. She saw the looks her people gave him, wariness from the men, curiosity from the women. She could not blame them for their interest. Gareth

would stand out even at court, where his stunning handsomeness would more than make up for his plain garments. He drew people's gazes, and it annoyed her that she, too, was affected.

He and his friend Sir Wallace were pacing through the inner ward, pointing toward the battlements or the barracks. Their faces were serious as they spoke. Surely they couldn't just be discussing the design of Hawksbury Castle.

No, they were discussing her.

It made her uneasy and anxious at the same time. How did Gareth know she was in danger? He'd been in London talking to people about her—what had he heard?

She had to know exactly why he thought she needed help. If she had to tell him part of the truth, so be it.

As Margery walked down the torchlit corridor from her bedchamber, she thought she heard a noise. Looking over her shoulder, she saw no one, yet she picked up her pace. At a corner tower, she began to descend the circular staircase. Immediately above her, booted feet made the same descent, almost matching each of her footsteps.

"Who's there?" Margeiy called, looking upward.

The sounds echoed away to stillness.

"Please identify yourself!" she said sternly.

Boots appeared on the stairs just above her head, then a face peered down at her from the gloom.

"Mistress Margery, I did not mean to frighten you."

She recognized Sir Roger, one of her two suitors. She told herself to relax, but her body wouldn't obey. He was above her on the stairs, and one bad misstep could send them both tumbling to the base of the tower.

"If you didn't mean to frighten me, why have you been following me?"

"To spend a moment alone with you, mistress. I have not had enough privacy to declare my feelings for you."

He came down a few more steps, bringing his boots dangerously near her head.

"I will meet you at the bottom," she said, then quickly descended to the first floor. Her unease only increased when Sir Roger appeared beside her, blocking her way out of the tower.

"Mistress Margery," he whispered breathlessly, "your eyes shine like the sun—"

"Well, thank you, but—"

"Your hair is dark like the night—"

He came closer and closer, until her back was against the stone wall.

"Sir Roger, this is all quite lovely, but why the sudden need to woo me so.. .intensely?"

"Because I cannot stay any longer."

He put his hands against the wall on either side of her. She ducked beneath his arm and spun away— but toward the back of the tower instead of the door.

"Why can't you stay? I have been enjoying your company." The lies were starting to come too easily to her.

"Because I was told by Sir Humphrey Townsend to be gone when he and his friends arrived."

"He and his friends?" Her voice came out in a squeak of dismay. "How many?"

"At least a half dozen. But I had to be here first, to make you realize how happy we could be together."

He reached to touch her hair. Margery's thoughts were spinning through her head so fast that she let him. Men were coming—in a large group? And she was having trouble fending them off one or two at a time.

Sir Roger leaned toward her, his eyes closed, his homely face puckered for a kiss.

"Excuse me, I must leave," she said, elbowing him hard in the stomach.

He gasped, and his eyes flew wide.

"Oh, I am so clumsy!" she said, heading for the door. "Please forgive me."

Margery walked quickly through the great hall, imagining crowds of suitors taking up her time, eating her food, leering at her. She felt trapped, about to be besieged by men who thought of her as only a prize to win. How could the king do this to her?

Once outside, she took a deep breath of the warm summer air, telling herself not to panic. There had to be a way to protect herself from such an onslaught.

She saw Gareth near the barracks, watching her with brooding eyes as if he knew everything she was thinking. And suddenly, he was the only answer she could think of.

Chapter 3

Alone, Gareth walked toward her, his eyes narrowed, his expression deadly—yet fascinating. She should be afraid of him, but she wasn't, and she didn't understand why. Though he made her uneasy, Margery could not forget that he had saved her life a long time ago. Now he was a tall, muscular stranger, rumored to be so good in battle that no one would fight him. He was just the man she needed.

In the center of the ward, they both stopped and looked at each other. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words seemed stuck. She had always been able to solve her own problems, and now she felt defeated having to ask Gareth for help.

He didn't make it any easier. He crossed his arms over his chest and studied her, waiting for her to make the first move. The dying sun seemed to light his hair afire. He was as remote and beautiful as the god Apollo. How would she ever make him understand?

She took a deep, fortifying breath. "I need to talk to you."

"What about?"

She looked around and saw that their unusual behavior was already attracting attention.

"Come sit with me." She led him to a low bench outside the garden, in full view of the ward. They sat down, she with her back straight, he leaning forward, his arms resting on his thighs. He turned to look at her, so that their knees almost touched.

"Are you going to tell me the truth now?" Gareth asked.

"Yes." Well, part of it, she thought, already resenting his superiority. "I told you that the king gave me Hawksbuiy. I had been spending a lot of dme at court this past spring, and the king and queen grew fond of me." She tried to smile. "Together, Queen Elizabeth and I were less lonely. We spent many an evening side by side, while she talked to me of the joys and sorrows of her life. I don't think she had had many friends before me. I even kept her company through a long illness." She felt herself blushing. "Though they didn't need to, their majesties insisted on giving me a gift. Not just

a pretty box for my jewelry or a new ribbon; they gave me wealth—manors and land."

Gareth stared down at his hands clasped between his knees, as if he couldn't even look at her. What must he be thinking? She was given easy gifts, while he risked injury and death just to earn his food. Embarrassment burned inside her.

"There is more, is there not?" he asked.

She glanced quickly away, knowing all her choices were gone. "In many ways, my life would be much easier had they not given me a second gift to complement the first. They gave me the freedom to choose my own husband."

He said nothing for a moment, then he sighed. "Margery, this does not sound like a terrible thing."

"Think on my words, Gareth. Most women are told whom they shall marry by their parents or their guardians. But since I alone control my choice, every eligible man in England has decided to petition me. Worse yet, the men try to—convince me."

She saw the exact moment he understood her dilemma. His head came up and he regarded her intensely, the depths of his eyes hinting at a danger that made her shiver.

"That man was trying to compromise you for his own purposes?"

She shrugged. "I know not. I only know that lately, men are resisting the word 'no.'"

They were silent for endless minutes, listening to the warbling of birds, and the barking of the dogs racing through the inner ward. Margery tried not to think of all the things she wasn't telling him. And yet—

He had sought her out, claiming he wanted to help her. There was no one in her household she could confide in. Always, there was the worry that something would get back to the king.

But after all these years, could she trust Gareth to help her?

"Where are your brothers?" he asked.

"They are with the king's army in the north."

"Do they know of your problems?"

"How could I tell them? They would not be free to come to my aid, and that would only make them feel worse." Taking a deep breath, she blurted, "Gareth, you say you've come to help me. Would you stay and be my personal guard, at least until I've given the king my decision?"

This was just a temporary situation. She couldn't allow herself to depend on any man. For the rest of her life, she would have only herself.

The silence stretched out, and still he said nothing. He wouldn't refuse—would he?

"I know I am being forward, but Gareth, I am desperate. I promise that you would enjoy a stay at Hawksbury Castle."

"And how would you make this task easier?" he asked in a low voice. "There isn't much about you or your family that I have ever found enjoyable."

She was stunned by the bitterness in his voice, and the shock of pain that squeezed her chest. What had happened to him? And how could he blame her?

But she would deal with his problems later, if only he'd stay.

"Gareth, will you help me?"

He frowned. "A personal guard? 'Tis an interesting idea. I've done more than my share of such work."

"Then is your answer yes?"

"Where would a personal guard sleep?"

"You don't wish to sleep in the barracks?" she asked, attempting to smile. Surely he was trying to lighten the tension of their discussion.

He didn't smile back. "No."

She wanted to wilt at his seriousness. "Very well. I shall give you a bedchamber just down the hall from mine. I assume you are not going to sleep in front of my door; that would be a bit obvious."

"If I'm not to be obvious, then what do you expect of me? Why do you not want anyone to know that you have hired protection?"

"It is.. .complicated," she said, looking down at her clenched fingers. "The king must not know his gift is causing me problems."

"Are you afraid he'll take the gifts back?" He didn't even look at her as he said such cold words.

"No, I'm afraid he'll make me come to court, where he could watch over me personally. All of my freedom would be gone then."

Margery forced herself to look into his penetrating eyes. "Will you do it, Gareth? It will only be for a few months' time. I can begin your payment now."

"No, at the end you can pay me what you think I've earned." He hesitated. "Or maybe your husband can pay me."

"Fine," she said crisply, holding out her hand. "Then we have an agreement?"

He looked down at her hand, but didn't touch it. "Not yet. As a guard, I would be with you at all dmes. Yet you complicate matters by insisting this be kept private between us. What reason will you give your servants and guests for my presence at your side?"

Gareth couldn't miss the panic in Margery's eyes. She was a desperate woman, and hadn't thought through this new plan. He had a hard time believing that all she was frightened of were suitors pressing their courtship a bit too far. Glancing down her body, he reluctantly thought that he couldn't blame the men.

She sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Can you come up with a reason, Gareth? Let me know what you feel would be best."

"Very well. I have another suggestion to protect you. Wallace Desmond will become your new captain of the guard."

She stiffened. "I already have a captain."

"A youngster, is he not?" he asked.

"Well—"

"I'm sure he will be honored to train under Desmond."

She hesitated, and he could almost read her thoughts. He could tell she agreed with his assessment, but she didn't like being told what to do. That would have to change.

"Very well, Gareth. I accept the offer—if you're certain Sir Wallace doesn't mind."

"He doesn't mind."

"But please allow me to introduce him to the soldiers tomorrow. Then he and I can discuss his payment with my steward."

"Very well."

She got to her feet and Gareth leaned back on his hands to look up at her. He kept his pose relaxed, casual, though he felt anything but. He told himself this was just another task he was being paid to do. So why did some deep part of him relish looking up at her in the sunlight? He flustered her, perturbed her, and the feeling was not unpleasant.

"Come inside when you like," Margery said. "A juggling troupe arrived today."

"Oh, I'll be inside soon enough. You will no longer be alone much, remember?"

He deliberately reminded her of the consequences of her request. Her face stiffened as she gave him a polite nod and walked away.

Gareth told himself he was beyond the anger that had consumed him for years after Margery's family had dispensed with him. He was at Hawksbury to do a task, then leave. Yet he took such grim pleasure in annoying her.

He sat in the stillness of the early evening and came up with the perfect way to stay near her. She would not like it, but she would learn soon enough that he would rule this business between them.

While the jugglers were performing, Margery bit her lip and stared into the distance. What had she done by inviting Gareth into her life? She could barely get him to speak to her, and now he would be following her about indefinitely, a large, unsettling shadow at her back.

He entered the great hall, and though he was dressed as the plainest of knights, his good looks attracted every eye. But beneath that was a cold man, warped by whatever experiences he'd had.

When he approached the head table she was sitting across from her two suitors, who were desperately trying to win her attention on this last night of their visit.

Gareth sat down beside her, so close her skirts were caught beneath him. Before she could ask him to move, he suddenly slid his hand over hers. Margery gaped at their fingers, then looked up into his face. His hot eyes were rife with intimate promises. A more fainted-hearted woman would surely swoon from his beauty, but all she could do was let her mouth fall open, fishlike.

"Mistress Margery," he said, in a voice low and smooth as honey.

He leaned forward, and she leaned away, wide- eyed.

"I was thinking about your gift room. I hope you will never have cause to relegate my gifts to such a place. They are given in homage to your beauty."