He finally sighed and closed his eyes for a brief moment. His voice sounded strained. “Margery, you knew I could not stay here. I must return to France. I’ve never wanted the responsibilities of a wife. I am sorry if you thought otherwise.”
Margery’s throat seemed to close up, and no other words would escape. He didn’t want a wife; he didn’t want her. She had never expected rejection—not after the intimate things they’d shared in her bed, not after the easy way they’d had with each other.
What had she expected? She had pursued him, not asking for promises or love. She had wanted one last reckless, passionate evening to remember forever.
And that was all she got.
Her last chance at a decent marriage withered and died, taking with it the scattered remnants of her girlhood dreams.
Though the strain almost broke her, she smiled. “I understand.”
Frowning, he reached a hand to her, then stopped. “Margery?—”
“No, ’tis all right. I knew we didn’t love each other. I knew you were not a man to marry.” She backed away, wearing her ridiculous grimace of a smile. “There are still plenty of men to choose from. I’ve even begun a list, you know.” She suddenly could take no more, and turned back toward her lonely bed. “Good night, Gareth.”
She would have sobbed if he attempted to touch her. He didn’t, and that was worse. He simply made a pallet of blankets before the hearth and turned his back on her.
Margery lay down in bed, fighting tears, then fighting to keep them silent. What was wrong with her, that every man she thought she loved, rejected her?
Gareth could hear her crying. The sound was like broken glass being raked through his heart.
He told himself it was better this way. She wouldn’t know how he’d used her for revenge, for his own gain. Even forgetting all his sins, how could he make her the wife of Warfield’s Wizard, a man scorned for visions he couldn’t control? Sooner or later she would know he wasn’t like everyone else, and she’d hate and fear him.
At least she’d already begun to hate him. Maybe that would help her in the end. He closed his eyes and tried not to hear the pain he’d caused.
~oOo~
Before Mass the next morning, Margery stood in the inner ward with James and Reynold, who were mounted and ready to leave with their company of men. She understood their urgency. They had wives and children they hadn’t seen in months; they had people who loved them.
She felt so alone, drained of the emotions she’d cried her way through. For her husband, she would have to choose a man she’d barely known, and share the intimacies of marriage. Her chance at the happiness her brothers had, was gone.
She heard a sudden clash of steel coming from the tiltyard. Through the mist of an early fog, she saw Gareth and Sir Wallace practicing. She steeled herself against the ache of pain, but it came anyway. Gareth worked his partner hard, driving him back slowly and steadily. His limp from the boar’s wound was barely noticeable. Even when Sir Wallace stumbled, Gareth didn’t let up.
“What a fine display,” James said dryly.
Margery glanced up at him. He leaned on the pommel of his saddle and watched the battle with narrowed blue eyes.
“Only by practicing does one get better,” Reynold offered, but James paid him no heed.
“Are you watching him, Margery?” James asked softly.
She bit her lip, but turned toward the combatants. She heard the grunts of labor as Gareth sliced and thrust until he drove Sir Wallace against the wall.
“Look how Beaumont treats a training partner.”
She had seen Gareth practice with Sir Wallace many a time. He had always been fair and honorable; today he looked like a man possessed. Was he angry that she had turned theiraffaireinto something more serious? Was he even now desperate to get away, but unable to, out of a sense of honor to his oath?
“James,” Reynold scolded softly. “You know nothing of the man’s mood.”
She turned her back on the tiltyard and smiled resolutely up at her brothers. She didn’t want to discuss Gareth again. They each leaned down to give her a kiss.
“Say hello to Katherine and Isabel for me,” she said. “You will both come to Greenwich to hear my decision, won’t you?”
“Of course.” James’s gaze lifted to the tiltyard again and he frowned. “But as for husbands?—”
“Godspeed, James,” Margery interrupted.
He gave her a reluctant grin. “Very well. Make a good choice.”
