My Lady's Guardian (3 page)

She finally turned back and raced toward him. He didn't move as she pulled up within feet of him, haughty, proud of herself.

She shouldn't be, since she couldn't even protect herself. She needed a man for that—and maybe she needed a man to teach her a lesson.

Without a word, Gareth swung up behind her. He heard her gasp softly as he squeezed into the saddle, bringing them in intimate contact. He rested his

hands on her waist, feeling the slight curve of her stomach against the tips of his fingers.

She had to learn that most men were bigger and stronger than she was.

But while he was trying to prove her frailty to her, he couldn't help but breathe in the scent of her hair. The warmth from her body melded with his. The urge to trail his lips down her neck was powerful, primitive, almost too compelling to resist. He hated feeling out of control, pulled along by a woman's wiles. If his thoughts went any further, she'd know exactly what he was thinking by the pressure of his hips against hers.

He quickly took the reins from her hands.

Chapter 2

Every roll of the horse's gait slid Margery deeper between Gareth's thighs. She simmered. She fumed. Her face burned with mortification, while he seemed unaffected, which angered her even more.

She sat as straight as possible, trying not to lean against him, but he was a large man. His clothing swayed against her, his chest touched her back when he breathed. His arms encircled her.

As he held the reins, she could see that his hands were large and tanned and scarred from training. The spurs on his boots were proof of his knighthood. He was a man with a history she knew nothing of. She didn't know what to make of him, except that he made her nervous. How did he know of her problems, especially the ones that stained her soul?

As Hawksbury Castle came within sight between swaying branches, Margery's discomfort grew. She didn't want to be seen riding so intimately with a stranger. Yet he wasn't a stranger to her, and she could hardly ask him to get down. He might rightfully take offense.

The dirt road grew steeper as they approached the castle rising from the hilltop. The curtain walls were whitewashed, with impressive towers jutting into the sky. They entered the tunnel of the gatehouse and came out into the inner ward, where people hurried between the barracks, the stables, the kitchen house. The castle residence itself sprawled with many wings and levels, with slitted arrow loops as windows on the lower floors, and glass windows above to let in the sun.

Servants and soldiers alike waved, and if they were curious, they hid it well. Margery tried to relax and experience the pride of owning such a wonderful home. Already she felt she belonged, though she'd been there only a few weeks. She looked back at Gareth, whose gaze took in everything but whose face showed nothing.

Just inside the gatehouse, they were met by Bates, the marshall of the horses. He was a large, robust man, bald but for a fringe of hair low about his head. His grizzled face relaxed into a smile.

"Mistress, yer horse came back without ye. I was gettin' worried."

She smiled, her teeth clenched together. She breathed a little easier when Gareth dismounted. "Just an accident, Bates. Where is Lord Fogge?"

"Inside. He told me to keep his horse saddled."

"I fear he's leaving," she said, and her smile became genuine. "Bates, this is Sir Gareth Beaumont. We knew each other as children."

The marshall looked Gareth up and down for a moment. "Nice to meet ye, sir," Bates finally said. "How lucky ye came along just as the mistress needed ye."

Gareth inclined his head. He put his hands around her waist, lifting her from the horse as if she were still a child. Margery stepped away from him, trying not to appear too hasty. Already she saw a group of dairymaids staring at him and whispering. They smoothed their aprons, adjusted their caps, and giggled.

Margery sighed. "Gareth, come inside. 'Tis almost time for supper."

She felt him watching her as he followed her into the great hall, and she knew she was too prideful by half. She wanted him to admire the tapestries on her walls, the gold salt cellars on the tables. All of it

proved that she was a success in her own right, without marrying a man.

Then she felt guilty, knowing that his life was much harder than hers.

Margery called for ale to be served to her guest, then joined him beside the hearth. Though she asked him to sit, he preferred not to. She felt awkward standing silently beside him, but could think of nothing else to say. Gareth certainly didn't make conversation easy; he just gazed about him with an inscrutable expression. She found herself hoping that he would see how secure she was, and leave in the morning.

Lord Fogge trooped through the hall, followed by servants carrying his baggage. He kept his nose in the air, but his face betrayed him by flushing a vivid shade of red. He halted just before the double doors, and turned to face her.

"Mistress Welles," he said, bowing shortly. "I hope I will be free to call on you again soon."

What gall! She wanted to tell him her true feelings, especially about her horse, but she was wary of angering him further. Angry men thought of desperate deeds; she didn't need him seeking misguided revenge. Instead, she nodded and smiled. He bowed his way out the door, giving Gareth one last nervous glance.

Gareth sipped his tankard of ale and watched the servants set the tables. "I do not remember this castle as being in your family. Is this a dower inheritance?"

"No, it is a gift from King Henry and his wife."

He gave her an assessing look, but she just lifted her chin and refused to defend herself. It was none of his business.

"Your family left you no dowry?" he asked in obvious disbelief.

"Of course they did!" she snapped, struggling desperately to keep hold of her temper, and failing miserably. "I have several manors from my father, and some from my brother Reynold."

"You are truly fortunate, Margery."

His words were impassive, but she sensed an undercurrent of emotion that she couldn't read. Every moment she spent with him made her feel more and more like he was a stranger, a man whose motives were unclear to her. And yet, he drew her gaze in a way that unsettled her.

Margery forced herself to look away from Gareth's penetrating stare to watch the servants, soldiers, and guests fde into the great hall for the evening meal. She led Gareth to the head table, where they were joined by Father Banbury, the casde priest, and Lady Anne and Lady Cicely

Lingard. The girls each gave her a bright smile, and Margery's heart softened. They were her companions—her dear friends—and she hadn't wanted them to accompany her when she fled the turmoil of London, but they had insisted. In another year or so they would reach full womanhood, and have no problem attracting husbands. Margery comforted herself with the knowledge that at least she would be introducing them to future suitors.

Two of Margery's suitors arrived and bade her sit between them. She was very close to telling them both she would not marry them, but she hated to hurt their feelings. And that was much of her problem. So she sat between Gareth and the priest.

Perched on her pewter plate was a small item wrapped in cloth. As her steward, Sir Jasper, appeared behind her, she said, "Another gift?"

"Yes, mistress."

Margery could tell by his warbling words that he was barely holding back a grin. She'd known him for only a few short weeks, but he had already included her as his seventh daughter, and took care of her just as well.

"Who is the gift from?" she asked.

"Sir Randolph White, mistress. He sent it with his regards."

"I see. It will be another brooch then. Please take it to the gift room."

"The gift room?"

Gareth's voice startled her, and Margery looked over her shoulder. She had forgotten he knew nothing of her predicament, and she wanted to keep it that way. He was sitting uncomfortably close to her, considering the table was only half full. He could hardly think she was in danger in her own home. But his elbow brushed against hers.

"I have been receiving so many kind gifts," she said, trying hard not to sound distracted. "Regretfully, I cannot make use of them all."

Anne and Cicely, twin sisters alike in looks but not in temperament, hid their smiles. Her two young suitors slumped in their chairs, and Margery leaned toward them.

"Please, sirs, I appreciate your gifts, too. Understand that I am grateful to be able to help those less fortunate than 1.1 use the gifts where they are most needed, whether in the casde or in the countryside. Your generosity is helping others."

She didn't look at Gareth. He must wonder why so many men were vying for her hand, but he would just have to remain curious. She would only feed him and house him and send him on his way—she didn't need anyone to solve her problems for her.

After the meal, Gareth spotted Wallace Desmond sitting alone at a table near the fire. When Gareth sat down opposite him, Desmond looked over the rim of his tankard, and slowly set it down.

"Am I allowed to speak with you now?" Desmond asked dryly.

"I do not understand your meaning," Gareth said. He nodded at a maidservant who blushed and bobbed a curtsy as she handed him a tankard. He waited while she backed away, giggling. He sighed —it had begun already.

Desmond leaned forward. "What is going on? I have not met Mistress Margery yet, but I can tell she is not all that comfortable with your presence. Does she need our help or not? I could be visiting my family right now."

Gareth sat back on his bench. "There is something wrong, but she is not forthcoming. I'll persuade her to reveal everything soon. Regardless of her wishes, I must protect her. Did you have any problems entering the castle?"

Desmond fixed him with a bland stare. '"Regardless of her wishes'? It must be wonderful to know what's best for everyone."

"Did you have any problems entering the castle?" Gareth repeated sternly.

Desmond frowned. "None. My name helps." He glanced at Margery, who was smiling as she watched the jugglers. "She doesn't look like someone in trouble. She has beauty, wealth—and I assume intelligence?"

"Not today," Gareth said dryly. "I stopped a suitor from attacking her in the woods. It might have something to do with this danger she's in."

"I wish you had let me see the missive you received." Desmond studied him with a directness he found disconcerting.

"I shall tell you but once more," Gareth said, trying to keep his frustration at bay. "I don't know who sent the letter."

Desmond gave a mock frown. "How unusual! So, one of her retainers or family members sent a request for help to a man no one has seen in twelve years. Why you and not Margery's brothers? And how did they know where you were? This is a puzzle."

Gareth shot him a dark look and Desmond raised a hand. "Forgive me. I know 'tis none of my business, but you've dragged me back to England. I can't help but be curious."

It was so hard to keep anything from Desmond, but Gareth wasn't about to reveal the visions he'd

had all his life. He had learned not to trust anyone with that secret.

"How did you know she'd be in the woods?" Desmond asked.

Gareth took another sip of ale. "I accidentally stumbled on her."

"Did you now?"

There was a speculative look in his eye, so a distraction was called for. "How were the defenses when you arrived?"

"Careless. I rode up just as the guards were changing, and there was a good amount of time when no one was watching the road."

"What did you find out?"

"Well, since you insisted Margery was in danger, I did manage to speak with a few soldiers. They have a new captain of the guard. The last choked on a fishbone."

Gareth raised an eyebrow.

"Unpleasant, but not murder. The second in command took over but he's barely out of boyhood. Though he's doing his best, he has a lot to learn."

"Then I shall suggest to Margery that he learn it under you."

"What?" Desmond almost spilled his tankard. "Me, a common soldier? I thought she didn't want help."

"Her safety is more important than her wishes. I will convince her to accept my help. But do not mention this tonight."

Desmond's gaze focused on something behind Gareth. He abruptly stood up, knocking back his bench.

Gareth glanced over his shoulder and saw Margery almost directly behind him. He, too, stood, struck again by her beauty.

"Why, Sir Gareth," Margery said, "you have not introduced me to your friend. If I hadn't known you so long, I would think he is your brother. Your hair is almost the same color."

Though she was smiling, Gareth could see the skeptical curiosity she tried to keep hidden. "Mistress Margery, allow me to introduce Sir Wallace Desmond. He traveled with me from France."

"Desmond," she repeated. "I think I have heard mention of you."

Gareth tensed. He had known this was coming.

But Desmond only smiled as Margery sat down beside him. "I met your brother, Lord Bolton, last year. I knew his wife from her childhood."

"Did you know they just had their first baby? 'Tis a girl, Elizabeth."

"Then they are doing well?"

"Better than could ever have been imagined."

There was a softness to Margery's smile, or maybe it was wistfulness. Did she long to be married? Surely she had enough suitors to choose from, since he'd heard of four already.

Gareth made no secret of the fact that he was studying her. More and more she glanced at him with uneasiness, and soon she excused herself to join her ladies.

Desmond sighed and rubbed a hand across his face. "Well, you're just full of subtlety."

"She is lying to me. I'll use any means I deem necessary to find out what's wrong here."

"Even if she doesn't need your help?"

"She needs my help," he said gruffly, wishing it weren't true. Being with her dredged up all the old bitterness toward her family he'd long since put behind him, and there was no place in his life for useless emodon. He had enough trouble just trying to survive. "Come show me these pitiful defenses."