As she shifted in her seat and picked up a bread roll, only to set it down, then pick it up again, he thought she might. And just the possibility, just the thought that someone could want him, blasted through every reason he had for staying away.
She wasn’t staying in the room as it was. When he’d stand in the corridor, and she’d walked to the garderobe and back, she’d stare out through the archways to the grounds below, and do the same again on her return towards him.
And Jeanne, as quiet and shy as she was, always kept the doors open for Margery to gain access to the corridor. He knew she’d been in his room yesterday when his worn tunic wasn’t exactly where he put it. Already the servants were taking risks against Warstone’s wishes, and that was significant.
So why shouldn’t he? Because he hadn’t done it before. There had always been something or someone to jeopardise his family. Was this woman worth it? Reason told him he didn’t know, not with any certainty. But the way he felt sitting across from her... He didn’t want to let that go. Not yet...not if he didn’t have to.
If he was intelligent there wouldn’t be much danger—at least not while Ian was away. No one would question him if he acted the way he always did. Who was to say he wasn’t guarding her still? It was safer to keep her closer. Today she’d been in the corridor; tomorrow she could be elsewhere.
If he watched her, made certain she didn’t talk to others, what harm could there be?
Also, if he was wrong. and she wasn’t trustworthy or innocent, keeping her close would allow him to extract information that he or Ian could use. It would be easier to catch her in some misdeed if he allowed her the opportunity.
It would be completely against Warstone’s wishes, though, and a risk. But he’d take it. Because he wasn’t starved for food or drink—he was starved for something he hadn’t known he was hungry for.
Her.
‘What are you thinking?’ she said.
Evrart chewed on the bread and beans that would provide him strength, but little else. The woman before him was what he needed, and whatever measly touch she gave, whatever tiny offering of kindness she pushed across the table to him, he’d take.
‘How did you get into my room?’ he asked.
Her fingers fumbled with the abused bread roll in her hand. ‘How did you know I’d got into your room.’
Because he’d felt it before he noticed his tunic hadn’t been draped over the chair the way he did. Had almost been able to smell her scent in the fabric, as if she’d didn’t just move it, but clutched it as she picked it up.
He no more wanted to threaten Jeanne than he would a small kitten. Whenever he entered a room, Jeanne always found a way to leave it. No, he couldn’t reprimand Jeanne. But Margery...
‘You only guessed that’s what I did, and I just confirmed it!’
She grinned and leaned her elbows on the table. He was all too aware it brought them closer.
‘Is this cheese your favourite?’ she asked.
Her hands were flat on the thickly textured wood table. How easy it would be to touch her!
‘Which cheese?’
Why was she talking of food when her eyes danced as they did? Had they looked this way when she’d entered his room? Now he wondered what else she touched.
‘This one.’ She laughed and pointed. ‘The newer kind—so soft you have to eat it with a spoon or spread it on a dense loaf?’
How did she...? The bowl was empty. Whilst he had sat and thought of her, he must have eaten the lot.
‘I’m willing to guess you don’t like to talk,’ she said. ‘So, if I say something wrong you could just blink twice.’
She wasn’t going to force him to speak. He could do this. Say a few words, and no one need know why he was here. He was just her guard. That was all. Simply guarding her...
‘You’re like me,’ she said. ‘Small village? Perhaps your family tilled the fields? Perhaps they’re poor and you’ve had to make the decisions that led you here?’
This was the flaw in his thoughts! He might not talk. He might be guarding her. But he would be exposed to her and her thoughts, her words and deeds...
Evrart set the roll down and brushed crumbs off his legs. Not this. They couldn’t talk of this.
She reached out. Her hand was right there.
‘I’m sorry, did I—?’
A mistake. How long had he been here? Enough time to eat a bread roll, and in that time he’d made a mistake. His proximity to her put his mother and his sister at risk, and not just because of the Warstones.
Perhaps if they were caught he could explain to Ian why he’d allowed Margery outside the room. But telling her of his family? Of himself? It was too much.
He shoved the bench away from the table and stood. ‘You aren’t to leave your room for anything or anyone. I will, however, accompany you every day on any walk that you wish to have. Your games with Jeanne must stop. They put you, and more importantly her, at risk.’
‘But if you take me out—’
‘I have no risk,’ he said. ‘Now, finish this meal and I’ll walk you upstairs.’
‘Evrart, I didn’t mean anything. I didn’t know...’ She slid to the end of the bench and stood. ‘I asked, but you didn’t answer, and now I know—’
Despite himself, despite knowing better, he said, ‘What do you know.’
‘That he’s threatening your family, too.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
Margery glanced at the man walking beside her. True to his word, he no longer trained his men all day, no longer locked her in the room all the time. Instead, for the last few days, he’d roamed the castle with her.
It was a welcome but fragmented reprieve.
That day in the hall, when he’d eaten all her food, he’d seemed to come to some conclusion. But then she’d asked of his family and he became as the fortress—a wall of cold stone.
He’d stopped talking and she hadn’t known what to say or how to apologise and return to something approaching amicability between them.
By the time they’d reached her door she had been in a panic. She’d clutched at it, then at his arm. When he’d finally looked at her all she’d been able to do was apologise again. Vow not to talk of his family—or him. She’d felt the tension ease from under her hand, and she’d had the impulse to track that small movement. To feel more of him.
The next day he had been at her door, pointing not at the garderobe but towards the stairs.
And now here they were, though it still startled her to be out in the air, and that he’d allowed her suggestion for what they did. Of course he stayed close, which precluded her from attempting to run or looking for a way to escape.
Any freedom was impossible with the men at the gates. Every glance she made to the ramparts, or around the courtyard, revealed how well trained they were—and she was hardly a gifted escapist. She’d learnt to watch people to protect herself. Flinging herself into a dangerous situation wasn’t a skill she possessed.
At least by walking with Evrart she was able to observe, and maybe an opportunity would present itself. People avoided Evrart, and as a consequence her as well. She wasn’t certain Evrart would allow her to interact anyway, but to not be given the opportunity was an odd sensation. Margery was used to people running towards her. Now she received stares, but they were quickly averted, and no one dared approach them.
Unfortunately, however, the first few times she’d attempted to investigate the kitchens or greet Jeanne had been a failure. There had been no visiting Jeanne or being introduced to Thomas. As for Cook—she’d seen him, more often than not slumped in a chair asleep. She couldn’t imagine it was he who was preparing her food. Not that she minded the simple fare...
Had something happened to Cook? She didn’t know and didn’t know how to ask—not with Evrart at her back and people walking as far away from them
as possible.
It wasn’t all terrible. Being avoided gave her some freedom. She was able to roam the chapel gardens as much as she’d like.
But after a few days of walking the inner courtyard, and a day or two of access to the outer courtyard, Margery wanted more—and not only for herself. She was all too aware of the stares she garnered, but she was aware that Evrart had his fair share, too.
Did it bother him? His expression was as stoic as ever. The man truly was like the walls of the fortress. But something weighed on him. She’d touch his arm to gain his attention and he’d roll his shoulders afterwards. Or she’d stand on tiptoes to whisper closer to his ear so as not to be overheard and he’d flex his neck.
Sometimes it was the things she’d say, and he’d get a pained look on his face. Though she avoided talking of his family, and quickly told him of hers, she still bothered him.
Was it her choice of conversation? Her requests to wander farther and farther? She didn’t know. And she wouldn’t ask—not while he allowed these odd outings.
Right now, however, Evrart’s expression was as impassive as it had been when he’d greeted her this morning and she’d announced she wanted to pick quince in the orchards. He was just as quiet, too.
Despite those two things, he still gave off premonitions of his displeasure—and yet there was some eagerness in him which was at odds with his reluctance. It was odd for her, too, for she recognised her happiness to have his company. If she’d truly hated it, she would have stayed in the room.
If she told someone of Evrart, she’d say he wasn’t good company. Except he was exactly the company she wanted. He had been ordered to guard her, but she felt comfortable around him when everything about him should have repelled her. Not because of the sheer size of him, but because he was Ian’s personal guard and anything she did would be reported to him.
She’d never been comfortable or trusting with a man. Josse had coddled her; Roul had exposed her. And being ripped from that world and put into Ian’s, which was more sinister than anything she’d experienced before, should have terrorised her.
But this time with Evrart wasn’t frightening. How could it be when she teased him about his cheese or when he agreed to their picking quince?
‘The days would go much faster if we could converse, or you could give an opinion, or...’
‘I need to train.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me you needed to do something else today?’
When he said nothing more, she sighed. Maybe she was comfortable around him because he wasn’t comfortable around her. He’d said he had a duty to watch her, but she wondered again if that was the reason he allowed her out of the room.
‘We can walk after midday if you wish,’ she said.
‘No.’
There were days when Evrart was almost congenial—this didn’t seem to be one of them. Still, she did like to tease him. His expressions were always good for some amusement.
‘Because you don’t want to see me?’ she said.
‘No.’
The tenor of his denial seemed different, deeper...more raspy...and he had hesitated. She’d jested with him, but maybe there was a story here...
‘Is it because you’re not that good a guard?’ She glanced over, trying gauge his response. ‘I can understand that. You wouldn’t want me reporting your poor skills to Lord Warstone.’
‘No...’ he said slowly.
‘But he did leave you behind,’ she prodded.
He clamped his mouth shut. So much for that conversation. They continued up the small hill. It wasn’t far to the orchards, but far enough. It was also late in the morning, and there wasn’t anyone else on the winding path. This might be another dull day unless her companion—
‘You keep looking at me,’ he said.
‘You are walking next to me.’ She switched her bucket to the other hand. ‘Of course, that’s all you’re doing.’
‘You’re not doing it.’
‘Doing what?’
‘Looking around.’
What a peculiar topic—but it was conversation from her recalcitrant guard. ‘Because it’s easier not to walk into walls if I’m looking ahead.’
He shook his head once. ‘You look forward rarely. To the sides often, and every twenty steps you look behind you. But right now you’re looking at me.’
Margery stopped. That was very specific. Had she stopped doing the most basic thing to protect herself?
‘You won’t talk of picking fruit in an orchard, but you want to talk about me looking around.’ Did he know why she always observed her surroundings? She needed to be more careful. Any sign of weakness and her previous two lovers had taken advantage of her. Did she feel safe around Evrart? Yes, she did. But when Ian of Warstone returned...
‘Maybe I’m not used to my surroundings, and I am curious,’ she said.
‘But you came to the fortress this way.’
‘I came this way?’
Her legs wobbled and she grabbed his forearm. He didn’t acknowledge her forwardness, but a muscle in his arm flexed and her own fingers gripped tighter before she let go. It was almost as if she didn’t want to let go... No, she knew she didn’t want to let go. She wanted to touch him.
What she didn’t want was this conversation.
‘Did you change the subject because you didn’t want to discuss how terrible a swordsman you are?’ She hoped he wouldn’t notice her voice breaking.
He stared until his eyes narrowed, until whatever it was he was determining eased. ‘Yes.’
He was lying, but he said it anyway. A jest? Or a way to make her more comfortable? She didn’t care. What it was, was kindness, and she was grateful. This giant of a man had observed her, seen she was wary, and been considerate enough to let her change the subject.
She patted his arm, gave him a smile, and decided to forget everything else as they continued their walk.
‘It isn’t far, is it? I thought the quince trees would be near the other gardens.’
He grunted. ‘There are servants for what you want to do.’
‘There are servants for everything at this fortress,’ Margery replied. ‘If I let the servants do it all, then there’d be nothing for me.’
He kept his steps small and even with hers, so she didn’t miss the side-glance he gave her.
‘I know that’s what Lord Warstone wanted of me,’ she said. ‘But we’ve already been through this, so that argument is finished.’
‘Finished?’ Evrart said. ‘Not when he returns.’
‘Are you intending to tell him?’
‘Won’t have to with you roaming about—someone else will.’
She stopped swinging her basket. ‘You told me you weren’t at risk.’
He didn’t say anything.
She should have known better! ‘Let’s go back.’
‘Too late,’ he said. ‘You’ve been roaming for days. This is just one of many.’
‘What will he do?’ she asked.
If she was to be the cause of his punishment, she needed to know what it was so she could mitigate Ian’s response. And if she couldn’t, she needed to suffer the same, or at least be brave enough to face it. Ian was a Warstone—they were meant to be bloodhungry.
‘He will do what he has always done,’ Evrart said.
His deep, pleasing voice was not softening his words at all for her.
‘That sounds...dire.’
‘It is nothing but truth,’ he said.
‘That’s worse,’ she said. ‘That has to be worse. You are talking as if he’s done this many times in the past.’
‘He has to others, and I expect no less for myself,’ he said. ‘I made a vow to him, and I am breaking it.’
‘What argument, then, to defend yourself?’ she said.
‘I won’t.’
Evrart was right when he said she looked around all the time. She did so because there was danger everywhere for her. If she did not pay attention while walking down a corridor a sudden hand might appear and drag her into a dark room. If she did not look behind her a reckless horseman might run her over before he ever impressed her with his skills.
She looked around her because all her life she had been stolen. Her sister had told her of the times when she was an infant, when she’d disappear from her basket, only to be found at a neighbour’s home, being passed around.
She was always trying to protect herself, and now this man told her he would simply take his punishment. Not while she breathed. Did he do it because he was large, because he felt unworthy?
Something changed within her.
Men weren’t like this. They took and demanded. She’d never known, hadn’t known a man could be like him. Evrart was strong, invulnerable, and yet...
‘Evrart, you listen to me,’ she said. ‘You must defend yourself.’
‘I am Lord Warstone’s guard,’ he said. ‘If I have gone against his rules, he is within his rights—’
‘No!’ She slashed her arm in front of her.
This she had heard all her life. She had lavender eyes, therefore the neighbours were within their rights to take her. They couldn’t help themselves. Her hair was like the stars, therefore she had no right to protest when another child pulled on it.
She had made one decision in her life. It hadn’t been a good one in hindsight, but it was the one she’d taken. When Josse had come through and wanted her for himself, she’d accepted. He hadn’t snatched her or stolen her. She’d gone with him in order not to be burden on her family anymore. And she wasn’t. She was a burden on herself—but that was beside the matter.
‘No?’ Evrart repeated slowly, with heavy measure, as if the word couldn’t be the one he’d heard.
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