After one more punch to Sir Humphrey’s jaw, Gareth got to his feet and stood above him. “I could kill you for this,” he said with soft menace. “But I don’t need to.”
With a groan, the knight pushed up onto his hands and knees, then sagged against the log Margery had been sitting on.
“I can tell her brothers instead,” Gareth continued.
“No,” Sir Humphrey whispered.
Margery almost felt sorry for him. Her brothers would kill him if they knew what he’d done.
Gareth grabbed Sir Humphrey’s tunic and lifted him, letting him dangle from his fist. “I will never see you near Margery again, will I?”
“No,” Sir Humphrey mumbled.
“No what?”
“No, I won’t come near her.”
He sounded defeated, despondent, and Margery wondered how many sisters he had. Gareth picked up his weapons, and as he led her away, she looked over her shoulder to see Sir Humphrey holding his head in his hands.
“Are you sure it’s safe to just…leave him?” she asked.
“I do not think he’ll bother you again.”
They reached Gareth’s horse and he lifted her into the saddle sideways. When he slid in behind her, she turned in his arms and buried her face against him, regardless of the mud and water soaking his garments. She was grateful just to hold him. The horse trotted out of the forest and headed down the road that wound into the foothills of the Cotswolds.
Even now the terror of helplessness was hard to forget. Margery had thought her plan to find the perfect husband was destroyed, that she’d be married to a crude braggart. Sir Humphrey had threatened to rape her right there, in front of his soldier, if she didn’t agree to marry him.
And then Gareth had come. She had not believed it possible that he could find her, yet he had. His face was hard and angry as he met her gaze.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
“No. You came in time.”
He closed his eyes briefly. “I should have known you were in danger. How did he—”
“Please, not now,” she interrupted, huddling against him as the chill wind penetrated her wet clothes. “Take me home first.”
When they arrived at Hawksbury, they silently entered the gatehouse and Gareth listened to the portcullis lower behind them. He rode through the tunnel, still cradling Margery. She’d been shivering uncontrollably for the last hour.
Wallace Desmond was waiting for them, his face grim as Gareth handed Margery into his arms. After Gareth dismounted, he took Margery back.
“Who did this?” Wallace asked.
“Townsend, but he won’t bother her again—and no, I didn’t kill him, though maybe I should have. How did you explain my actions to the patrols?” Gareth asked, looking up at the men walking the torchlit battlements.
“I told them the truth: that they’d already let a brigand escape and were in serious trouble. But they think this is a kitchen maid you’re rescuing.”
“That was a good idea,” Gareth said, eyeing Wallace with new respect. “I had better get inside. Wallace, please see to my horse, then help me find some hot water for Margery’s bath.”
“How are we going to keep that a secret?” Wallace asked, wiping rain from his face.
Margery stirred. “We keep cauldrons boiling in the kitchen,” she murmured. “A few buckets will do. I don’t need a full bath.”
Gareth ignored her. “We’ll fill as many buckets as we can. I’ll meet you in her bedchamber. Hurry!”
Gareth carried Margery into the castle through the garden entrance and fortunately saw no one. In her chamber he set her in a chair, where she hugged herself and shivered as he dragged her wooden tub before the hearth. He built a large fire, then lit every candle.
He turned to look at Margery, who still sat dazed. “I’m going to get the twins,” he said firmly.
“No!” She straightened with her usual authority. “No one can know what happened.”
“They will tell no one.”
“Maybe not, but then I’ll have taught them to live in fear. I will not do that. Gareth, you must promise me that only Sir Wallace will know about this.”
“But why? Do you not want Townsend punished?”
“You have already done that. Just listen to me!” She reached for his hand and held it tight. “If the king hears that I am unable to protect myself, I’ll be forced to live at Greenwich with the queen. Much as they have only my interests at heart, I won’t let them supervise the decision of my husband. And if they’re worried enough, they could force me to choose now!”
“None of this would have happened if I hadn’t failed you.” He’d never had such a shameful defeat in his life. Always he was the victor, even if he was sent away in the end. He let go of her hand and turned away. “I should have known what was happening. What is keeping Wallace?” he asked with exasperation.
“You said that before,” Margery began slowly. “That you should have known. What do you mean?”
“A good soldier would anticipate problems like this,” he answered, glancing at her to see if she believed him.
She looked suspicious, but she let it go.
After Wallace came in to dump the first buckets of water into the tub, Gareth wet a cloth and began to clean her face.
She tried to push him away. “I can do this myself. I was just cold.”
“Be still and let me see to your injuries.” He tilted her head toward the light. “Your cheek is already starting to bruise. How will you explain that?”
“I tripped in the dark,” she said immediately.
“Where else are you injured? I saw blood in your bed.”
She grinned, then winced and touched her cheek. “’Tis Sir Humphrey’s.”
He lowered the cloth and looked into her twinkling eyes.
“When I woke up and saw him, I punched him in the nose.” She started to giggle, a little too loudly.
Gareth frowned as the giggles turned to shivering, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Each tear that fell hurt him like a knife to the chest. He pulled her into his arms, confused by his own anger and pain. He had saved her; why did he still feel so bad?
Wallace brought more hot water. Gareth wanted to help him, but Margery wouldn’t let him leave.
When the tub was near full, Wallace gave a thoughtful look to Gareth, who was kneeling with his arms around Margery. She kept her face buried in his neck.
“Do you need anything else?” Wallace asked.
He shook his head. “Thank you for your help. Go find your bed.”
Margery looked up and smiled. “Thank you, Sir Wallace.”
When they were alone, Gareth ran his hand down her hair. “I am sure you can bathe alone. Call me back when you are finished.”
She clutched his sleeves. “Don’t leave. Drag the screen before the tub. Please, just…don’t leave.”
He couldn’t go against her wishes if he wanted to. His guilt and his anger were so entwined, he didn’t know where one left off and the other began. He tried to remember the revenge he wanted, and how much he despised her family.
But none of that mattered when she huddled against his chest and shivered…all because he hadn’t protected her. She tried so hard to be brave and independent. To see her like this was almost too painful, and he didn’t understand his feelings.
Gareth leaned down and pressed a kiss against her head. “Let me get the screen. You’ll feel better in the water.”
When everything was ready for her bath, Margery gave him a shaky smile and disappeared behind the screen. He tried to stay focused on his inadequacy, on what he should have done to keep her safe.
But the rustle of her clothing as it dropped to the floor seemed to echo loudly. She was naked, and there was only thin wood between them. He heard the splash of water when she entered the tub, then her groan of pleasure as she slid into the water.
Suddenly the room was too hot; he could see steam rising above the screen. Gareth loosened the laces of his
shirt and tried not to imagine Margery in the tub, soapy water hiding and revealing her body. He sat in her chair, his elbows on his knees, his face buried in his dirty hands.
Her bath seemed to take forever. He heard her leave the tub and begin to towel herself dry.
“Gareth?” She sounded hesitant.
“Yes?”
“My dressing gown is too filthy to wear. Could you get a nightdress for me? They’re in the chest beneath the window.”
When he opened the chest, he inhaled the smell of roses. His hands shook as he lifted out a linen gown. The material was fine and thin, with lace sewn about the bodice.
What was his problem? Though he couldn’t lie with Margery tonight, surely she was beginning to depend on him. She trusted no one else to see to her. Soon he would win her to wife.
He turned around and saw her standing before him, wearing only a cloth wrapped about her body. Her wet hair fell in wavy curls to her waist. She had long supple legs, delicate shoulders and arms. She crossed her arms at her waist, which pressed her breasts so high, he thought they’d spill out.
As Gareth stared at her, dumbfounded, she said, “May I have my nightdress now?”
Chapter 19
Margery tried not to smile as Gareth dropped the garment. He picked it up and handed it to her, his eyes glowing in the candlelight.
Her anger at this whole situation was returning, along with the recklessness that made her long for pleasure before she was forced to choose a husband. The look on Gareth’s face just fueled the emotions that coursed through her.
She took her nightdress and disappeared behind the screen. For a moment her thoughts returned to Sir Humphrey, and she shivered at how close she’d come to forcibly becoming his wife.
Margery had needs of her own, none of which would be fulfilled in her marriage vows. She dropped the towel and pulled the nightdress over her head. Soon she would have memories of passion that didn’t involve Peter Fitzwilliam.
She mulled over what she would do. Should she approach Gareth and blatantly kiss him again? He was a man; she didn’t think he’d refuse her offer a second time. She imagined his shocked stare, and then his wondrous eyes would heat and—
Margery gave a little shiver. She could persuade Gareth to enjoy himself, at least this once.
Taking a deep breath, she came out from behind the screen. He stood beside the bed, his jerkin discarded, his shirt hanging loose at his neck. Her mouth fell open in surprise and rising anger. Did he think seducing her would be so easy? All right, she had meant to kiss him—but she would not be so quickly won.
Gareth said mildly, “Would you mind if I used the tub before I leave? I am covered in mud from my toes to my ears.”
Her lips moved for a moment, but nothing came out. This wasn’t going at all as she expected.
“Use my tub?” It came out like a squeak. “But…the water is dirty.”
He shrugged and drew his shirt over his head, then leaned over to drop the garment on a chair. His bare chest was enough to take any woman’s breath away.
Gareth smiled. “You were mostly cold and wet, not dirty—unless you hadn’t bathed in months.”
“I take frequent baths,” she said, frowning. She should look away, but he was half naked, and he was standing right beside her bed. He still had yellowish-green bruises from his first battle with Sir Humphrey, and there would probably be more after today.
She blatantly stared at him, at his broad, muscular shoulders, narrow hips, and heavy thighs. He wore a codpiece over his hose, and she blushed as she realized her interest.
He grinned as he walked toward her. “So may I use your tub, or would you like to stare at me for the rest of the night?”
Margery groaned and closed her eyes, knowing her face was bright red. “Forgive me. I do not normally—I mean I never—Oh, just use the tub.” She turned away and covered her face.
He had the audacity to chuckle as he moved behind the screen.
She threw herself on the bed and covered her head with a cushion. But she could still hear him—the splash of the water as he entered the tub, his tuneless whistle.
She and her husband would most certainly have separate chambers. She wanted to control how much time they spent together.
But listening to Gareth splash about in the water, she imagined sitting before the fire with her husband each evening, climbing into bed together, doing…intimate things in that bed together. And waking up in each other’s arms.
But then she would grow close to her husband, and he would sleep with a maidservant, or whatever men were wont to do. She couldn’t bear to have her expectations crushed, so she wouldn’t have any expectations at all beyond a civil, comfortable relationship—more like a partnership.
“Margery?”
She came up on one elbow. “Yes?”
“I hope I have not offended you by being so forward as to use your tub.”
“Why, no, Gareth.”
“Do not worry so. I am sure your husband would never dream of doing such a thing.”
With a groan, she covered her face again. How had he known what she was thinking? She lay still, and as she listened to the sounds of him bathing, soon she was imagining touching him again.
Margery suddenly sat up. What was she waiting for? He was a man. He wouldn’t refuse her—although he already had. Surely that was just on principle.
She stood up and walked slowly toward the screen, biting her lip. She put a hand on the wood and stopped, unsure of what to say. Then taking a deep breath, she stepped around the screen.
“Can I help you wash your back?”
Gareth stiffened at the sound of her voice, his back to her, his wet shoulders gleaming in the candlelight. His hair was damp, darker, slicked back. He looked over his shoulder at her with wary eyes, but didn’t answer.
Silently she walked around to the front. He was almost too big for her tub. Soapy, cloudy water lapped at his bent knees. His lower body was a vague, rippling outline beneath the surface. He lifted his arms out and rested them on the edge of the tub, where they dripped water in soft spatters onto the floor.
The moment felt almost like a dream, where Margery did things she’d never do by day. Everything was forbidden, yet the intoxication of it lured her forward. At the foot of the tub she leaned over him, resting her hands on the rim. There were mysterious shadows flickering over his hips. She wanted to submerge her hands and explore.
He tilted his head back to look up at her. “Isn’t this…dangerous?”
“Yes.” Her voice was almost a whisper.
“If someone saw this—”
“They won’t.”
“I’m not sure why you’re—”
“Shh.” Margery slowly pushed her sleeves above her elbows. She glanced at the small table where the dish of soap and extra towel lay, but there was no washcloth. She spied it in the depths of the tub, next to his hip. She reached down into the water, making sure to brush along his flesh as she brought the cloth out.
He closed his eyes for a moment, and she felt wild and powerful. Did he tremble like she did? Gareth had lived many places, done many things. Surely her nearness did not affect him so much.
She wrung out the cloth, dipped it into the soft soap, then walked around to his back to kneel down. When she saw his hands grip the rim of the tub, she smiled with satisfaction.
Spreading the cloth across her hand, she murmured, “Lean forward.”
There was a long pause and she thought for a moment that Gareth would refuse. She didn’t know she was holding her breath until he finally did as she asked. Before she could change her mind, she began to wash his back in slow circles, being gentle where she saw bruises. His body was hard and so different from hers.
She didn’t remember even having time to truly look at Peter like this. Their moments together had been quick and furtive and exciting, nothing like this slow, languorous danger that now moved through her. She dropped the cloth, lathered her bare hands, and began wash
ing his neck beneath his hair.
He propped his head in his hands. She didn’t know whether she was putting him to sleep or if he was enjoying her touch. She moved lower on his back, feeling his hot, wet skin and each muscle beneath the surface. As her hands dipped beneath the water, her fingers moving just past his waist, she felt him shudder.
Gareth pressed his fingers hard into his skull, trying to hold on to his sanity. Margery was doing her best to seduce him. Any moment now, his control would crack and he would drag her into the tub and thrust up inside her.
But he was determined that he would bed her only when she loved him, when she was choosing him as husband and they were bound together.
Women usually played coy and shy with him. He was supposed to guess their feelings and take action, so whatever they did sexually would be his fault, not theirs. All they would allow themselves was pretending to submit to his desires.
Never had a woman treated him like Margery did, like he was worth her time and attention.
He tried to tell himself that she always went after what she wanted because she was spoiled. She had her marriage plan all worked out, and it didn’t include an unpredictable husband she desired too much.
He suddenly realized he was playing the woman’s part in this seduction: flirting, responding, but not letting things go too far. He wanted her to become so frustrated that she had no choice but to marry him.
She gently pulled him back until his shoulders relaxed into her breasts, and he wanted to groan. She felt so good.
“I can see soap in your hair,” she said softly, her mouth close to his ear. “I’ll have to rinse you.”
“Yes.” Gareth could whisper nothing else. He was pillowed against her breasts while her soapy hands slid down over his chest. Her fingertips flicked against his nipples and he jerked in her arms.
“Margery, don’t do that.” His voice was an awkward imitation of itself.
“Why not?” Her tongue traced his ear. “I want you to do the same thing to me.”
Gayle Callen Page 17
