Gayle Callen

by My Lady’s Guardian

  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 file into the great hall for the evening meal. She led Gareth to the head table, where they were joined by Father Banbury, the castle 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 I. I use the gifts where they are most needed, whether in the castle 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 secon
d 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 emotion. He had enough trouble just trying to survive. “Come show me these pitiful defenses.”

  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?” Margery 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 turn
ed 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 Hawksbury. I had been spending a lot of time 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—