“No, I don’t,” she said sharply.
“Margery—”
“I’m not ready to talk about it yet.”
They were separated by the dance. As they were reunited, he softly said, “Should I ask for your forgiveness?”
“There’s nothing to forgive,” she whispered, relenting. “It was…mutual.”
They were parted again, and Gareth searched for Margery in the circle of dancers. He thought for certain she would feel guilty and ashamed of what they’d shared, that he’d have to woo her more. Instead, there was an unusual intensity about her that confused him.
They came together, linking hands and following a line of dancers. At the end of the dance, he lifted her high and spun her before setting her back on her feet, leaving her flushed and wide-eyed. But she soon left him for her next suitor.
Later in the evening, he watched her open her birthday gifts. She would be his wife; she deserved the only heirlooms of his family, so he gave her a simple chain that had been his mother’s. She looked at it the same as she looked at all the others—with politeness. He knew she was only treating him as a pretend suitor, but it was difficult to be patient and let other men ogle what he already considered his.
A voice suddenly boomed out. “Is that plain thing from Beaumont?” Humphrey Townsend asked.
Gareth had not seen Townsend for the entire day. He was amazed that the man had finally confronted him—in public, of course; Gareth had made an enemy of the knight.
“He owes you more than a cheap trinket,” Townsend continued, “for exposing you to the curse of his family.”
Gareth saw Margery’s eyes go cold. “Sir Humphrey, how could one dance expose me to such foolish superstition? I danced more with you, and my aching toes prove it.”
Townsend’s face whitened. “One dance could lead to more with a Beaumont,” he said in a controlled, furious voice. “After all, I’m sure his mother and grandmother thought they knew better, too. But they ended up trapped in marriage and dead.”
The man had slandered Gareth’s ancestors—and tried to compromise Margery. A cold rage settled in his mind. They would meet again, and this time the swords would be sharp. Gareth didn’t need a vision to tell him that.
A violent headache suddenly stabbed between his eyes. As if called forth by the thought, a vision swirled across his sight, and he did his best to keep his expression normal. He vaguely saw Margery step between him and Townsend, heard her voice as if from far away.Not now, not now,he chanted silently—but trying to force away a vision only made his headache worse.
He thought Margery was trying to talk to him. He shook his head and frowned, hoping that she would understand. Of Townsend’s words, he heard nothing. The mist before his eyes had taken on color and shape, sharpening again into the image of Margery before a shadowed man on a horse. This time, the vision was clearer. Beneath a cloudy night sky, he could see the Severn Valley stretching out behind the riders, the Cotswolds in the distance. He sensed urgency, but nothing else.
Gareth suddenly felt hands on his arms, shaking him; the vision dissolved in a swirl of mist. He blinked and shook his head, only to see Wallace’s worried face before him.
“Gareth?”
He could hear again. People nearby were staring at him, Wallace and Margery with concern, Townsend with triumph.
He gave them all a strained smile. “Forgive me, Mistress Margery. I am not feeling well. I must have eaten something that did not agree with me.”
She studied him. “Are you sure I do not need to send for the physician?”
“I’m fine.”
“Perhaps you should retire for the evening.”
And let a hall full of servants and guests and strangers have easy access to Margery? “I shall sit until I feel better. Go enjoy yourself, mistress.”
She was finally persuaded to continue dancing with her suitors, but the last glance she gave him was more puzzled than worried. One more public display of his visions, and she would demand answers he couldn’t give.
Never had Gareth felt more helpless and weak. His vision had hit him so strongly, he’d been unable to see or hear.
What if the strength and increasing frequency of the visions was a warning? Perhaps whatever danger Margery faced was approaching. She would be safer married to him, when she would be at his side, night and day.
Their shared kiss burned in his mind—and other parts of his body. Wiping his perspiring forehead, he kept his gaze locked on Margery, who again whirled about the room with one man after another. Her green skirts swayed, revealing her ankles and feet. Men touched her slim waist or her hand.
It should be him.
Maybe it was time to step up his plans for seduction. She was certainly receptive, and there couldn’t be many more days before her brothers arrived.
