“Just another of my suitors,” she answered with careful indifference.
“He seems…protective of you.”
“‘Jealous’ would be a better word.”
Peter glanced back at her, but before he could speak, she said, “I shall give your proposal consideration, Peter.”
His smile brightened. “I can be patient.”
“You will have to wait until I present my decision to the king.”
He took her hand again and she allowed it, with a sad resignation that she knew would forever be part of her life.
As Gareth watched Margery and Fitzwilliam, he knew only too well that he had no right to feel angry, frustrated, and worried. Whom she married was none of his concern.
Yet it hurt to think she might go back to a man who had used her so cruelly. Could Fitzwilliam have changed? Not much, by her sad expression.
She rose and left Fitzwilliam, and Gareth fell into place beside her. He wanted her to confide in him, to trust him with her secrets, to seek his advice as she had once done. He so badly wanted her happiness. But she said nothing, and he no longer had the right to ask.
For the rest of the week, Gareth watched Margery from afar. She kept to her large circle of friends wherever she went, but her face looked strained as one man after another took turns approaching her.
She was remote and polite to Gareth. The sparkle of laughter that used to linger in her eyes when they were together had gone out.
In a lifetime of disappointments, never had he felt this lost, this discouraged. For Margery, he had destroyed all the walls he’d used to keep people away. Now his heart felt battered, unprotected—and it was his own fault. He tried to remember what it was like to despise her and her family, but all he felt was a profound loneliness. He didn’t understand his own confusion. He ached as if everything worth living for had gone when he’d lost Margery.
Fitzwilliam never strayed far from her side, and after a few days, she ceased to look miserable. She was not happy either, but Gareth hoped that would come with time. His vision had shown him that Margery and Fitzwilliam would be together.
What made it worse was that she continued to look out for Gareth. When he entered the tournament there were grumbles of anger from his opponents, but she smoothed things over with King Henry.
She had been proclaimed the tournament’s captive princess, and the final champion would win her release and perhaps her favor. King Henry made great sport of this playacting. Margery went along with the game amiably, but Gareth knew she only concealed her suffering.
Soon he was competing in archery, horse racing, and especially the joust. He won good sums of money at everything he did, but there was no satisfaction or joy in victory. It was only money to survive on after he’d left Margery. He couldn’t imagine that day. It was as if his true life had begun with her, and when he left, it would all be over.
The final joust for Margery’s favor was between Gareth and Fitzwilliam. Gareth had continued to play the suitor, and he knew Fitzwilliam considered him his main rival.
At his end of the lists, Gareth sat on his stallion, fully armored and carrying his lance, waiting as Fitzwilliam rode past the crowd for their adulation. The king had seated Margery beside him, and then obviously urged her to tie her scarf to Fitzwilliam’s lance.
It should have been a terrible moment for Gareth. But as he looked across the tournament field, past the crowds cheering for Fitzwilliam and booing Gareth himself, an incredible calm descended over him.
He loved Margery.
She made the best of every situation with a courage he could never begin to imitate. She had intelligence, and a gift for enjoying life to its fullest. She cared for other people more than herself. And he finally understood and accepted that he would do anything for her happiness.
Fitzwilliam was obviously the king’s favorite, and Margery would have a better life with a man such as he, of her own class. Gareth and his problems would only make her miserable.
The rest was easy. As his horse thundered down the lists, Gareth let Fitzwilliam’s lance hit his shield. He let go of the reins and tumbled backward onto the ground. The impact stunned him for a moment; then he rolled over and sat up. He’d have new bruises, but nothing was broken. After removing his helmet, he got to his feet.
The cheers were deafening as Fitzwilliam approached the royal stand. The king brought Margery to Fitzwilliam and put their hands together, and Gareth turned and went back to his tent—alone.
~oOo~
Margery had been home at Hawksbury for a sennight. No matter what task she was performing, the image of Gareth falling from his horse constantly flashed in her mind. The terror had lodged so deeply in her throat that she thought she’d never breathe again. She had barely noticed Peter or the king or the cheering celebration. Only when Gareth had gotten stiffly to his feet had life returned to her heart and soul with a wave of relief.
As she lay in bed late one night, she still didn’t understand why Gareth had done it. Only she seemed to realize he had fallen deliberately. It was as if he was releasing her back to Peter. What did it matter to Gareth who she chose?
Something wasn’t making sense, but she couldn’t figure it out.
There was only a week remaining until she met again with the king. Margery had gone over her list of potential husbands, and realized with dismay that she could either choose a man she was uncertain about, or she could choose Peter—who held no illusions for her.
