My Lady's Guardian by Gayle Callen Page A

man astride behind her. The vision vanished as fast as it came, leaving him with no clue to the man's face, no knowledge of her emotions. He couldn't even tell if she was in danger. Why was he sent such useless visions? A wave of self-loathing almost choked him.
    "Gareth?"
    He heard Margery's voice as if from far away. He forced himself to look at her, squinting as the sun pulsed through his eyes like his headache.
    "Gareth, are you ill? You've become so pale."
    He focused on her worried face. "I am fine. I thought I'd beheaded another parsley plant."
    Margery knew a falsehood when she heard it. His face had drained of color, the skin about his eyes was creased in the corners with sudden strain. And his gaze seemed remote, as if he no longer saw the ground—or her.
    Chapter 5
    "Gareth, I have never met a man who would admit to gardening, let alone do so in full view of the entire castle."
    For a long moment, she didn't think he'd answer. When he finally spoke, he sounded distant, preoccupied. "I've always preferred to be outdoors."
    She gave up. If he couldn't be bothered to make conversation, then neither would she. She felt so alone in the world, so weighted down by her problems and her guilt that her head was spinning in circles. The sun was hot, her eyes ached, and his presence was suddenly too unsettling.
    She stood up, and he rose to his feet beside her. She handed the basket of weeds to one of the kitchen maids. The girl bobbled the basket, she was so busy ogling Gareth. When he actually noticed the maid, she almost lost her hold on the basket completely.
    Suppressing a groan of frustration, Margery marched out of the garden, not even bothering to ask if Anne and Cicely wanted to accompany her inside. She felt irrationally angry, miserable, defeated. She would leave the twins in Gareth's capable hands.
    But when she glanced over her shoulder, he was there behind her, taking one stride to her two, looking determined—and so handsome he outshone the day. She felt like she'd never know a moment of peace again. She picked up her pace, climbing the steps two at a time into the great hall.
    She could tell by the interested expressions of the people they passed that he was still behind her. She entered a corridor, and after the first turn, the sounds of the great hall vanished. She was alone with Gareth, who followed her from one circle of torchlight to the next. He was so close she could hear his breathing.
    Suddenly, Margery could take no more. Gareth was a stunning reminder of her problem every time she looked at him. She wanted to don her armor of numbness, to pretend her problems would wait for another day.
    She whirled around and planted a hand on his chest.
    "You cannot follow me everywhere," she said. "My people will begin to talk—and not in a flattering manner."
    He pushed her hand away as if her touch repulsed him.
    "I am your guard," he insisted angrily. "I swore an oath to you—and to your father long ago. I will follow you wherever I deem necessary."
    His words and actions hurt like a betrayal. She was just an oath to him, a duty—not a real flesh and blood woman or long-ago friend. She didn't understand what had happened to change him so. Did he not even want to be near her?
    Then why was he standing so close, his breath the faintest breeze across her cheek? She was not a short woman, but he was above her, surrounding her. She couldn't make out much of his face in the windowless hall, but his intense gaze held her capdve. He was nothing like the men at court, who pranced for her favor.
    Why couldn't she look away from those searing eyes? A shot of heat through her middle made her gasp. What was wrong with her?
    She stumbled back a step to break this sudden, unwanted connection between them.
    "Margery," he said, his voice low, husky, "if I allow you out of my sight, you must promise that you will not leave the castle without telling me."
    "Very well," she murmured. "I shall be fine. These are all my