She’d been a gullible fool. After Peter’s talk of a quick betrothal the moment his father was back in London, she’d agreed to meet him in the garden late one night. They were so in love, she’d thought, they didn’t need to wait for the formality of a contract. Margery let him take her virginity.
And the shame of it was—she’d enjoyed it! She sank into a chair and rubbed her arms, feeling like she could never get warm again. Tears continued to fall down her cheeks, and she wiped them away with both hands.
Peter had been considerate and gentle, and she’d felt no embarrassment whatsoever. When he’d suggested they meet again, she had gladly sneaked away a week later. After that they couldn’t manage to be alone, but she’d thought about Peter every moment of every day, thrilled to be in love with the man she was marrying, when so many of her friends were being forced into loveless marriages. When she realized she wasn’t with child, she’d thought her unending luck had continued.
My lord, she’d been so naive. When Peter asked her if she carried his child, she’d been happy to ease his mind by saying no. And then her whole world had tilted, spilling her into the abyss. Peter had told her he couldn’t marry a barren woman, that he needed an heir to carry on as earl.
She remembered staring at him, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks at the enormity of what she’d done. Could it be true? She had no mother to ask, no true friends she could confide her sins to.
So she’d let Peter go. A man who’d say such a thing obviously didn’t love her, and his betrayal hurt as much as if he’d stabbed her. She’d given him her love, her respect, her trust—her body. And he hadn’t wanted any of it, if it meant disappointing his family.
She’d thought briefly of telling her brothers, ofmakingPeter marry her after he’d taken her maidenhead. But they’d want to kill him, and her terrible shame would become public knowledge. Everyone would know what a sinful woman she was, and she and Peter would despise each other for the rest of their lives.
So she had picked herself up out of her sorrow, and resolved never to marry. She was luckier than most, with a few manors and a small inheritance at her disposal. She would live well, alone.
But then the king had decided to gift her with more land and wealth, and her own choice of husband. How could she refuse it? She certainly couldn’t tell him the truth. So here she was, trying to figure a way out of marriage, something she’d wanted all her life, but now could never have. No man would want another man’s leavings. If she lied and married some poor man, she would be found out eventually, and her husband could annul the marriage and reveal her shame to all. And if it were true that she was barren, she couldn’t let a man think he could have heirs.
No matter how hard she prayed at Mass or did penance, nothing helped the endless guilt that tore apart her soul. She also had to live with the constant worry that Peter would tell someone what she’d done.
And now she’d hired Gareth, another man she had to circumvent. And she only had two months left to do it, for the king had given her until the beginning of October to choose—or he would choose for her.
~oOo~
Margery awoke before dawn and lay still in bed, prepared to face another dreaded day—one day less for her to solve her problems.
And now she had Gareth to deal with.
With a groan, she pushed aside the blankets and coverlet, and rose to her feet. She couldn’t deny that it was good to know that he was alive and unharmed. After what he’d done for her when they were children, he was the one man she thought she could trust to help her. Yet he had changed; the wary watchfulness that had always been a part of him in childhood had grown.
She didn’t relish the coming days of outwitting him, as she’d been forced to do with so many of her friends and family. Here in this castle, she’d become numb, existing day to day during the brief respite she’d allowed herself. Sometimes she could almost forget the king’s decree looming over her.
Why did she feel that Gareth’s presence could change all that?
After she’d washed and dressed, Margery left the keep to attend Mass at the peaceful stone chapel tucked in a corner of the inner ward. She walked across the packed earth, absorbing yesterday’s warmth beneath her feet, listening to the early morning sounds of roosters crowing and the welcoming bark of a dog.
As she entered the building, she looked up at the cut-glass window high in the wall. In direct sunlight, one could stand beneath it and feel bathed in the magic of colors and the warmth of God’s love. But with the gray dawn, the window looked as lifeless as Margery felt. Some mornings, her guilt almost choked her.
At the completion of Mass, she introduced Sir Wallace, the new captain of the guard, to the company of soldiers and knights employed at Hawksbury Castle. Afterward she found Gareth waiting for her. She came to a halt and looked up into his eyes, where there was no emotion, only a perception that made her feel exposed, vulnerable. If he knew what kind of a woman she was, he’d think she deserved her fate.
When everyone had gone past them, he spoke in a low, controlled voice. “Apparently I need to make the rules clearer.”
“I did not know there were rules.” She raised her chin as she walked by him.
He moved to her side.
As people called good morning, Margery smiled at each. “I thought I had hired you to do a service for me,” she said quietly to Gareth.
“You hired me to protect you. If you want me to do my task successfully, I need to know where you are at all times. You cannot leave the castle without telling me.”
She risked a glance at him. He looked straight ahead, his eyes scanning the inner ward. At least he took his task seriously; she would be well cared for.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “You are right—I’m too used to controlling my own fate.”
“I thought that was your brothers’ task.”
Again she heard that edge of bitterness, but his face showed nothing.
“They trust me; they trust my judgment.” And they were wrong.
