My Lady's Guardian (23 page)

In the great hall, Gareth sat beside Margery to break his fast. Though he was exhausted from little sleep, she could hardly keep still. Even at Mass she had constantly looked over her shoulder, as if her brothers would arrive at any moment. She was bursting with excitement, and he found himself more and more angry. Everything in both their lives came back to her brothers.

He left Margery to her preparations and went out to the tiltyard. Under Wallace's tutelage, the solders and knights had become a fine fighting force. There were even a few whom Gareth thought he could take on and actually enjoy the fight.

But today he leaned against a rail and glowered at everyone.

Wallace eventually strolled over and leaned beside him. "It's been a few days since you looked this mean."

"I am not mean."

"I'll reserve opinion on that. 'Tis just that lately, you've been rather...jovial."

"I am never jovial."

Wallace sighed. "However you choose to call it, I thought you had been succeeding in your courtship of Mistress Margery."

Gareth shrugged and frowned.

"Ah, you've had a problem."

"Not until today."

"What happened today?"

Gareth glanced at Wallace. "Her brothers will soon arrive."

"Oh, I see."

Gareth had a strong urge to punch that grin off Wallace's face. But he contained himself.

"Do I need to reassure you?" Wallace asked. "You have won the lady's affection. Surely her brothers cannot change that."

For a moment, Gareth almost wanted to explain all of his past with Margery's family. But he'd never had a friend who remained friendly once he learned the whole sordid truth. He had become too comfortable with the man, and that was dangerous.

Though Wallace seemed different from other men, Gareth still would not test him. "I can handle

her brothers. I just wanted to warn you to steer clear of Bolton if you can."

Wallace raised his eyebrows. "Just because I know him?"

"Why would you work as a captain of the guard if you're inheriting a barony? He might also be suspicious that two men from his past are both here with his sister. I do not mean for you to hide, but if you can avoid him..." His voice trailed off.

"I understand," Wallace said softly. "I shall do my best."

Before the midday meal, horns sounded a blast, and a dozen men on horseback came through the gatehouse. Gareth put down his blunt sword and walked to the edge of the tiltyard. He recognized the two men in the lead as Margery's brothers, Viscount Reynold Welles, and James Markham, Earl of Bolton.

They both looked hale and fit, considering they'd just returned from defeating the pretender to the throne and his supporters. They were dark-haired like Margery, but Welles was a tall, broad mountain of a man next to Bolton's thinner build. Welles wore plain, functional garments, while Bolton

dressed as if he were going to court instead of traveling from battle.

They looked around the inner ward, where Gareth stood waiting, but they didn't notice him. As the company dismounted, pages and squires ran to take their horses. The doors to the great hall opened, and Margery descended regally, followed by her ladies, wearing a smile that could have split her face. The last few steps, she gave a glad cry and ran to her brothers. They grabbed her up, passing her between them for hugs.

Gareth walked closer, needing to hear everything. His stomach roiled with anger and tension, and he was barely able to keep a fierce frown from his face.

Margery stood between her brothers, with their arms overlapping across her shoulders. "It is so good to see you both," she said happily. "I worried every day that you were with the king."

"The Irish didn't mount much of a battle," Bolton said with easy confidence. "We barely got dirty."

Welles rolled his eyes. "It was not quite that easy."

"Nevertheless, the pretender will be turning the roasdng spits in the royal kitchens from now on."

Everyone laughed, and Margery's brothers turned to introduce her to the men they'd traveled with. More knights for her to consider for husband—more

men Gareth would have to discredit. He was beginning to regret not bedding her last night.

Everyone trooped inside for dinner, so Gareth washed up and followed them. Margery had already seated her brothers at the head table, along with a few of their companions. Ladies Anne and Cicely were each seated between two men, and they looked flustered and happy.

Gareth almost sat at a lower table to give Margery and her brothers privacy, but he caught himself in time. What was the point of revenge if Welles and Bolton knew nothing of it?

He approached the head table. Margery's smile softened as she looked at him. "Gareth, come sit with us. You remember my brothers."

Gareth could tell that at first the younger brother did not remember who he was. Welles wore a polite smile as he rose to his feet. But Bolton had been a man when he'd forced Gareth to leave his home. He remembered. His smile died, and his eyes narrowed as he looked between Gareth and Margery.

"Gareth Beaumont?" Bolton said to Margery.

"Yes. Do you not remember? He fostered with us."

Gareth saw Welles's quick frown, and he knew how their minds were working. They were remembering his family curse, the tournaments

where he had crushed every opponent, how he'd been driven from England. They took in his plain jerkin and simple boots.

When Margery gave Gareth the place beside her, Welles's eyebrows rose, and Bolton frowned. It was a good, satisfying moment.

Margery could barely contain her excitement. Her brothers were whole and well, and their service to King Henry was temporarily over. She knew their wives must be missing them terribly. And imagine, they each had a child to return to! Somedmes it was incredible how things had changed.

She suddenly felt Gareth's thigh along the length of hers, and she struggled not to blush. Things had changed for her, as well. She passed him a loaf of bread and he smiled that devilish smile at her.

"So, Margery," began her brother James, "how goes the husband hunt?"

She sighed, regretting that James was ever to the point. Every young man they'd traveled with turned his curious gaze on her. With a sinking feeling, she realized her brothers had brought these men for her to look over, like sheep at the market. She rescued her faltering smile when Gareth rested his hand on her thigh.

"James," she said, "that is hardly polite dinner conversation. I am meeting men, I am not 'hunting.'"

Everyone laughed, but she had to force her laughter. How dare her brothers assume she needed their help? They had each made a few foolish choices, and somehow each had come out happy. Why couldn't they leave her alone?

"If we cannot discuss your life, Margery," Reynold said, "then what kind of brothers are we? We are only concerned for you."

She smiled sweetly through gritted teeth. "Then let us discuss this later in private."

James arched an eyebrow as he looked at her. "We go away for a few months, and you've become your own woman."

"I've always been my own woman. And how is your new daughter?"

Throughout the meal, she kept the conversation away from herself. She knew James and Reynold watched her with concern—and watched Gareth with suspicion. Let them look. She wanted Gareth beside her, and she took strength from the comfort of his hand touching her. He was a reminder that she could live her own life, make her own decisions, even where he was concerned.

As the maidservants were carrying out tarts and pies and puddings for dessert, James pushed back his bench and looked thoughtfully at her. She braced herself; then his gaze turned on Gareth.

"Beaumont," he began, "I heard you've been out of the country these past few years."

Chapter 21

Margery held her breath as she turned to look at Gareth.

"I have most recently lived in France," he said.

James rested his elbow on the table. "What did you do there?"

It was her turn to lay her hand on Gareth's thigh.

"Mostly tournaments and mercenary work," he said.

"You could not do that here?"

Margery saw her brothers' friends eyeing Gareth, whispering to one another and frowning. She could not imagine what it must be like to be treated this way. She used to fear it, and lived her life with the worry of it, but now it only angered her. She opened her mouth to defend him, but he squeezed her hand in warning.

"I couldn't earn my living here," he said calmly, his gaze intent on James.

"And why is that?"

"Because every tournament I entered, I won. My opponents were upset by that. In fact, I am sure I remember some of your friends here." He glanced around the table pointedly, and Margery wanted to cheer.

Reynold gave James a warning look. "'Tis good to see you in England again," Reynold said.

Margery thought even Reynold's politeness sounded forced. What was wrong with her brothers? They were usually never rude.

"So why have you come to see Margery?" James asked.

She wanted to groan. There, it was out: the question she had been dreading. She could hardly tell them she'd felt the need to hire a personal guard. "He was traveling through, and I asked him to visit for a while."

"Let Beaumont answer," James said in a low, tense voice.

Margery's fury rose to new heights. How dare James question Gareth, a man who'd saved her life and helped her whenever she needed it! As if James should even talk, considering that he used to treat his own wife with disrespect.

Again she felt Gareth stroking her hand, calming her.

"Margery," Gareth said, "it is not necessary for you to speak for me. I am not hiding the fact that I came back from France specifically to see you. Lord Bolton, do you have trouble with that?"

James got to his feet, and Reynold grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him back down.

Reynold said calmly, "Margery, we are both tired from travel and fighting, and being away from home. If we are overprotective, it is because we love and care for you. At least judge us knowing that."

Margery forced herself to calm down. She motioned for the jugglers and musicians to begin their entertainment—anything to get the table's focus off her and Gareth. She felt her brothers' disapproval as a palpable thing. Did even James and Reynold put stock in something as foolish as the Beaumont Curse?

Margery spent the afternoon preparing for the hunt, talking to her brothers about their families, and getting to know some of the friends they'd brought to meet her. She was meeting so many new men that soon she'd have to create a list. However was she to keep track of which men fit her standards?

For she was certainly not going to let the king choose one for her.

After supper, while the musicians played and couples danced, James sat alone with Reynold at the head table, watching his sister be courted by the men he'd brought for her. He'd thought it would make him happy to be helping her—but it didn't.

He sighed and swallowed more ale. He felt Reynold's amused gaze.

"Doesn't this make you feel ill?" James asked.

Reynold smiled. "Uncomfortable, perhaps."

"I always knew she would marry. I've met many a man who's asked to court her, but I never actually watched them do it."

He glowered as Margery was swept from one dancing partner to another.

"It almost makes me want to draw my sword," Reynold said in bemusement.

"Exactly." James gazed about the room until he found Gareth Beaumont. The man was dressed in the plainest brown tunic, as if he were a soldier instead of a knight. He sat alone at a table and watched the festivities. One after another, pretty serving girls approached his table, and one after another he sent them away distractedly. James knew

damned well whom Beaumont watched. But Margery did not dance with him.

"You do see whom Margery is avoiding," James said as he slammed his tankard down a bit too hard.

"Gareth Beaumont."

James eyed his amused brother. "This is not funny. He never takes his eyes off her, the big ox."

Reynold glanced at him. "I think I object to that."

"Well, you're not an ox—a giant maybe, but that is off the subject."

"Which is Gareth Beaumont."

"Yes."

"Margery may be avoiding him, but she watches him."

"She does not," James quickly said.

"Oh yes. Do you not remember them as children? I know you were not around as much as I, but—"

"I was there enough. But I don't want to remember."

"He was good to her," Reynold said quietly. "He saved her life. And then we sent him away. Maybe we made a mistake."

"We had to protect her," James insisted. "I am her guardian; I will not second guess my every decision where Beaumont is concerned. His family, his lack of wealth or lands—hell, have you ever seen him fight? He can be vicious."

"But it is her choice now," Reynold said, "thanks to your friend the king."

James only grunted his response. He watched as Margery went to Beaumont's table and leaned down to speak to him. Their heads were close together, and James didn't like the way they smiled at each other. Beaumont stood up and they walked to the center of the floor.

Reynold caught James's arm. "Leave them be. We have raised her well, and she shall make the right decision."

"But he has nothing to offer her!" James said, watching with distaste as Beaumont put his hands on Margery's waist to lift her during a dance. They didn't take their eyes off each other. "I can't look anymore."

"Just sit there. It will get easier."

"Are they sdll watching us?" Margery asked, as she and Gareth linked hands for the dance.

"Of course they are. What did you expect?"

She sighed. "That they would realize that I'm an adult, and can make my own decisions."

"They're simply protective," he said, and she thought he sounded reluctant.

"You are my protector now."

"But you won't tell them that."

"If they thought I was in danger, they would make me return to one of their homes. I cannot live under that kind of scrutiny."