Read My Lady's Guardian Online
Authors: Gayle Callen
Tags: #Romance, #Fiction, #General, #Love Stories, #Contemporary, #Historical, #Historical Fiction, #England, #England - Social Life and Customs - 1066-1485
My Lady's Guardian (15 page)
"I hope you realize," she said, gasping as she flopped onto her back in the grass, "that a gentleman would not laugh."
"I have never claimed to be a gentleman." He tried to speak solemnly, but the corners of his lips kept twitching uncontrollably.
He sat down beside her and started wringing the water from his sleeves, seeing from her expression that she was trying hard not to laugh herself. He didn't think it wise just yet to inform her that her face was smeared in mud, and that a fern leaf was caught in her hair.
Margery sniffed and wiped her arm across her face. "You could have pretended to be a gentleman and not pulled me in after you." When she saw the mud on her sleeve, she moaned.
"You could have been a lady and not pushed me."
She shrugged and closed her eyes, leaning back on her hands until the sun shone on her face. "I was
simply shocked that Cicely—not Anne!—had thrown herself so completely into the game, and I wanted to help her."
Gareth dropped back on his elbows, gazing at Margery's wet, clinging gown. The pale yellow fabric molded to every curve, from her hardened nipples down to the indentation between her thighs. The impulse to cover her body with his was suddenly overwhelming.
He came up on one hand and leaned over her. All he had to do was remove a piece of her clothing— almost any piece—and let themselves be discovered. The game would be over and she'd be his, married as soon as the banns could be read. She desired him; he knew it. What would she do if he licked the moisture from her skin?
She frowned. "Gareth, what are you doing?"
Yet he didn't have her trust. He needed her to choose him as her husband, to stand against her brothers.
"Forgive me, mistress. I sometimes forget I am a paid servant."
"Do not say that," she murmured, looking up at him so earnestly. "We are also friends."
"Even after what happened yesterday?"
She remained silent, and Gareth waited, searching her face.
"I was as much at fault as you," she finally whispered. "You were only trying to comfort me. I was distraught and overwhelmed at having too many choices for husband."
"I think it is more than that. What pain do you hide, Margery?"
He lightly brushed her hair from her cheek. She stared almost wildly at him as her eyes filled with tears.
"Tell me," he whispered. He cupped her face in one hand, wiping a tear away with his thumb. She closed her eyes and bit her trembling lip, and more tears escaped. He looked down into her beautiful face, so full of sorrow, and something painful lurched inside his chest.
Then familiar anger bubbled back to life inside him, and he was relieved. He could trust nothing Margery said or did. Maybe this behavior was just her way to soften a man.
She rolled away from him and rose unsteadily to her feet. "We should return and see who won." She plucked at her skirts. "My, this is heavy."
Gareth got to his feet and caught up with her.
When they finally reached the clearing where everyone else had already gathered, Margery moved farther away from him. Conversations stopped and every gaze fastened on them.
"I'm all right," she said. "I fell in the water, and Sir Gareth rescued me."
She put on a good performance, marching across the clearing with abused dignity. Her suitors surrounded her, asking what they could do.
Lady Cicely finally approached him, her smile tentative, a blanket in her hands. "Sir Gareth, please accept my apologies. In my haste to win, I did not think of the consequences to you."
He wrapped the blanket about his shoulders. "No lasting consequences, Lady Cicely. Did you win?"
"Lord Shaw caught me and the token," she admitted, a faint blush staining her freckled cheeks.
His gaze returned to Margery, and he was distracted again, wondering how Peter Fitzwilliam was connected to her secrets.
At Mass the next morning, Margery immediately noticed that Gareth was missing. She was almost through eating her morning meal when he finally entered the great hall. He was again wearing that leather jerkin he trained in, but this time he had done without the shirt. His muscled arms were tan from the sun. Though his hands seemed best suited to holding weapons, now they held wildflowers of all colors. The blossoms dropped from his arms, trailing across the hall behind him.
Margery sat back in surprise as he strewed her table with flowers. They fell into her goblet, across her plate, and into her lap.
"Did I not see these near the clearing where we ate yesterday?" she asked, feeling flustered and touched, and trying not to show it.
"Yes, mistress," Gareth said. "I had to have them for you. I must confess, I couldn't quite remember where I had seen them, so I had to search. Forgive me for being late."
She was well aware of the grumbling of her suitors, some in amusement, some in disdain. "Thank you for your gift," she said softly.
He sat down at the end of the head table, and she watched as three giggling maidservants converged on him at once, offering food.
Before the meal was through, she managed to whisper a message to one of the servants, asking Gareth to join her in the sewing rooms. It was time to follow through on her promise.
When Gareth finally arrived, Margery looked up from the work table where she was cutting out garments. There were many tables, spread with the different fabrics needed for every kind of servant, from soldiers to serving maids to kitchen boys.
Her seamstresses stopped working to stare at Gareth, and Margery tried to pretend that it was not admiration but shock at having a knight invade their domain.
"Ethel," Margery called to the woman in charge, "Sir Gareth lost his trunks on the crossing from France, and I offered to provide him with a few new items of clothing. Would you measure him to begin?"
Ethel was a woman of middle-age, graying, stoop-shouldered from cutting and sewing fabric all day. Her manner was brisk as she circled Gareth.
"Aye, mistress, we can help the lad. Go on about yer duties."
"I'd like to help pick out the colors and—"
Ethel gave her a disapproving frown. "'Tisn't right that a lady be with a man discussin' such a subject. Go on with ye, now."
Margery thought Gareth gave her a rather irritated look as two more women circled and studied him. She could only shrug and back out into the corridor. Since no one else was about, she lingered, peeking in as the women held up cut pieces of fabric for size. He would look handsome no matter what his garment.
A hand suddenly covered her mouth. Margery gave a muffled scream, but already the man was dragging her backward. She tried to dislodge his arm, even caught her heels in the floorboards. Panic overwhelmed her and she flailed helplessly.
They didn't go far. He dragged her into the garderobe and shut the door. Only then was she turned around to face Sir Humphrey Townsend. He grinned at her.
"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded, backing up against the wall.
The knight shrugged. "I don't mean to hurt you, Mistress Margery. I never get a moment of your dme, and Beaumont always does. How does he manage that, I wonder?"
"This isn't an abduction?" she asked in shock.
"Of course not. I just needed some time to convince you that I am the perfect husband."
She didn't know whether to laugh or hit him. "Do you think it is romantic to bring me into the garderobe? The smell alone—" She broke off, red- faced, trying to look anywhere but at the two holes near the far wall.
Sir Humphrey glanced around and had the decency to seem embarrassed. "I guess this was not the best location."
"No, it most certainly was not. And the manner in which you brought me here—" She took a deep
breath, controlling herself, knowing that she shouldn't anger him.
Sir Humphrey stepped nearer. He wasn't very tall, but he was broad and muscular. He gave her a cajoling smile. "Now, Margery, can you not see how much passion I feel for you?"
As he slid his hand along her arm, Margeiy pressed so close to the wall she could feel the indentations of the mortar. Her panic was returning. Was this his clumsy attempt to compromise her? Clumsy or not, it could actually work.
Just as the knight took another step closer, and she was thinking of making a dash for freedom, the door slammed open.
Gareth stood there, hands on his hips, looking as cold and dangerous as ever. Margeiy sagged with relief, then worried that there would be immediate bloodshed. She didn't want anyone hurt.
"Townsend," Gareth said, "did you wish to speak with me? I saw you lingering outside the sewing room."
Sir Humphrey's face was mottled with red and white splotches. "Beaumont, leave now while you can."
"Leave? I cannot do that." Gareth turned to Margeiy. "Mistress, Ethel would like to speak to you. It seems I am hopeless about the colors to
choose for the garments. Remember to let me know the price."
"Of course. I'll go now," she said quickly. She didn't even look at Sir Humphrey as she escaped. She knew she should run as far away as she could, but she was curious to see how Gareth handled the situation. She had never thought he would be the kind of man who could moderate his reaction, manipulate a situation to his own advantage. She was still impressed that he was able to play the suitor while being her guard. She hid in a doorway, out of their sight.
"Beaumont, you should not have interfered," Sir Humphrey said in a sneering voice. "I was only doing what we all are trying to do—especially you, in your poverty."
She expected Gareth to defend himself, but he simply laughed. "At least I am doing it more subtly, Townsend. In your ignorance, you frighten Margery and leave the way open for me."
Margery was beginning to wish she hadn't stayed. Gareth's voice sounded so different, so amused and cold at the same time. She told herself it was all part of his act; if he'd wanted her money in truth, he could have compromised her a half dozen times by now. But he wouldn't do such a thing.
"You will regret this, Beaumont," Sir Humphrey said.
Gareth's voice grew softer, deadlier. "Will I? You obviously still wish to test your skills on me. Are you asking to name a time?"
Without hesitating, the knight said, "I am. But I'd understand if you thought you weren't up to the... challenge."
Margery couldn't believe what was happening. Gareth had been controlling the situation, but then a line had been crossed, one visible only to men. She held her breath, thinking how foolhardy men could be.
"I am quite ready for you," Gareth said. "I shall be at the tiltyard, an hour past dawn tomorrow."
Chills danced along Margery's arms as she fled down the hall.
Gareth spent the rest of the morning training at the tiltyard. There were dozens of men in groups at the quintain, the archery targets, and the jousting lists. They perspired in the sun, groaned as they exerted themselves.
Everything made sense in a man's world. But inside the castle, where women manipulated lives, Gareth was adrift. He had tried to handle Margery's
dilemma this morn in a civilized fashion, but he still ended up challenging Townsend. Deep inside him, he knew he'd disappointed her.
Why did he care? She had hired him to guard her, and he'd kept her safe. He would never be the kind of man she wanted, but he was the kind of man she desired. That was all that mattered. His plans were succeeding—she depended on him more each day.
As Gareth worked with the bow, he knew Humphrey Townsend watched him constantly, even tried to intimidate him by beating up on poor Lord Chadwick, whose skills as an earl were better than his skills on the field.
Gareth ignored Townsend. Now that a time was set, he didn't care what the man did. But he still felt distracted, uneasy, and he wasn't sure why.
He had performed his duty well; Margery had been unhurt. So why did he wonder what she was thinking and feeling? She must have been frightened by Townsend's attack, yet she'd gone on with her day's business as if it hadn't happened. Even now, she was meeting with one of the village bailiffs about the coming harvest. She was a woman who did what was necessary. At least that was something to admire.
That night, Margery was determined to retire early to her bedchamber. Throughout supper she had avoided looking at Sir Humphrey, because just the sight of his sly, knowing gaze made her shudder. It was as if he knew something of her secrets. Was it so easy to tell what kind of a woman she was?
Sir Humphrey and Gareth would meet in the morning, perhaps injure each other grievously. It was all she could think about. She told herself that she was worried about her guard being injured, but deep inside, she knew it was more than that. She had begun to count on Gareth, which she knew was ridiculous. When she chose her husband, Gareth would go back to his own life.
It would be better that way. He made her feel reckless, needy, whenever he touched her, and she had promised herself she would never experience those emotions again. She would live a sedate, proper life.
But the danger in his golden eyes called to her. He would gladly pit his strength against an enemy, even if he died in the attempt. Or maybe his arrogance was so great, he didn't think anyone was capable of defeating him. He was too confident, too self-assured—all the qualities that made her wary.
She said good night to Anne and Cicely, who both gave her concerned looks. She glanced toward the hearth and saw Gareth pacing, his hands clasped behind his back. His big body moved with the usual easy assurance, but he wore an intent frown. He took a step toward her, but she shook her head. If they talked about his duel with Sir Humphrey, Gareth would know that she was concerned for him. She wouldn't give him that kind of power over her.
The great double doors to the inner ward were suddenly thrown open. "Mistress Margery!" cried a soldier as he skidded to a stop. "The queen's minstrels have come. I can hear them singin' outside the gates. Should I let 'em in?"
Margery forced a smile as Anne and Cicely led her outside. The night was still warm; the stars glistened in the dark sky high above the torchlit battlements. A hush settled over the ward, and she could suddenly hear many voices raised in song.