Taming the Wolf

by Deborah Simmons

  “Ah, wren…” Dunstan’s voice, the low drawl of a man drunk or fogged with sleep, brought a smile to her lips.

  “I want to pleasure you,” she whispered, delight in the task making her words fierce. Then she bent over him again, and finding the hard nub of his nipple, took it into her mouth, as he had once done to her.

  “Day of God!” he moaned, his hands reaching for her and roving over her with fevered urgency. But Marion would not let her attention be turned away. She was too intent upon the feel of him beneath her fingers, a wondrous combination of heat and texture and form that responded to her every touch. Pressing her mouth to his hot skin, she sent her tongue over thick muscles, across ribs and down to his taut stomach while he muttered low oaths in a harsh exhalation. The murmured curses became an endless chant as he strung one after another together so roughly that she could scarcely recognize a word.

  Intoxicated by her discoveries and by her own burgeoning passions, Marion lost all modesty. Flinging her hair back over her shoulder, she tugged on his braies until his manhood sprang free, huge and erect, from the thicket of hair at his groin. A strangled sound escaped her throat as she stared, fresh exhilaration coursing through her at the sight.

  A low growl of impatience told her that the Wolf was at the end of his tether, but she evaded his hands when he reached for her and moved to pull off his boots and his hose. Then she knelt between his legs, running her hands along his thick calves and upward to the steely muscles of his thighs. They were rock hard. Her fingers tingled at the touch, sending shivers all the way to the core of her and robbing her of breath. She was panting by the time she reached his manhood, her fingers trembling as they traced the smooth tip and the thick root with loving interest.

  “Wren!” The harsh exhalation sounded like a warning.

  “Hush,” she answered. “I wish to pleasure you.” Remembering the way he had kissed that most intimate part of her, she bent her head, letting her hair flow over his stomach and thighs as she touched her lips to the tip of him. With a low oath, he jerked upward, and Marion took him in her mouth. Then his hands wound in her hair, guiding her movements, until the Wolf was growling his pleasure and shuddering violently under her.

  * * *

  He took her swiftly and masterfully. One moment, Marion knelt between his legs, wide-eyed and breathless at his surrender, and then, with the speed of a predator, he had her on her back and was poised over her, covering her body with his massive one.

  He consumed her mouth while his hands roamed her curves, stroking her through her clothes, then burrowing beneath her skirts to grip her buttocks. He bared her breasts and suckled them, and when Marion reached up to touch him, he pinned her hands to the ground, his eyes glittering, his white teeth a flash in the darkness.

  Then, when she felt his manhood pressing hard against her once more, he knelt between her thighs and lifted her up to him, impaling her in one smooth motion. He thrust deeply and drew out slowly, again and again, until she writhed beneath him, sobbing.

  “Hush, I would only pleasure you,” he whispered in a half-wicked, half-teasing tone, and Marion sensed that he must show her his own power. He had let her play with him, but he remained an untamed creature, full of fire and strength…. When she came, she cried out so loudly that he covered her mouth with his own, but still he moved within her, driving her to yet another peak. Only after she had again cried out in ecstasy did he empty himself in her, his great body shuddering before it fell upon her own.

  * * *

  Dunstan roused himself with difficulty, his eyes narrowing as he glimpsed the first light of dawn. By faith, Marion wrung him out! He had slept like the dead, and now they must make haste to be on their way. His annoyance vanished as he looked down at her, rosy-cheeked and soft and warm, and he had to fight the temptation to take her again.

  Easing himself away from her body, Dunstan decided that a quick bath would both waken him and cool off his burgeoning ardor. Pulling a sliver of soap from his pouch, he waded knee-deep into the stream and proceeded to wash himself.

  Even under the chilling effects of the water, Dunstan found his gaze returning to the bank where Marion lay, and while he watched, she awoke, rising to lean on one elbow in an innocently sensual pose. His groin hardened painfully as she sat up and stared at him, her hair a wildly tousled mane, her cheeks flushed, her lips parted. He made a sound. It was definitely not good-morning, but Marion understood clearly enough. She rose and walked toward him.

  Would he ever get his fill of her? “If you want a bath, you must hurry, for I would be off at once,” Dunstan snapped, knowing full well that he should finish his own and get dressed instead of lingering in the stream like some randy peasant lad.

  She took off her clothes.

  “Marion! You rob me of my good sense!” he growled when she reached him. Instead of retreating, she gave him one of her glorious smiles, dimples and all, and he felt light-headed. “Quickly now, for we must go,” he murmured, before taking her mouth with his own. He lifted her up in his arms, wrapped her legs around his hips and entered her swiftly as he stood knee-deep in the stream, the sun rising around them.

  After only a few deep thrusts, she was crying out with pleasure, her body milking his seed, and Dunstan was shuddering violently in a protracted release that made him want to stay buried inside her always.

  It was a long time before he breathed evenly again. By faith, he had never known the like before. Dunstan had thought their first experience together unusually good—a product of her innocence and the startling attraction between them—but last night had been even better. And now, in what amounted to only several minutes, he found himself more satisfied than after spending hours with the most experienced of harlots.

  He felt as if he had been wrung inside out. Without pausing to examine the why or wherefore or how, Dunstan knew he had to have this—whatever it was—between them, again and again. He wanted to rock some soft bed every night with the incredible passion they shared, but he realized that even that would not be enough. He wanted the same driving, hot ecstasy under a tree or in a stream in broad daylight whenever he might sneak away from his duties.

  By faith, he wanted it forever, for the rest of his days and nights. It was overwhelming. It was unbelievable.

  He had to have it.

  * * *

  Dunstan seemed to know where they were going, so Marion followed as best she could behind him, along the edge of the river. Although the going was difficult, she was too euphoric to complain. After the past few weeks of unhappiness and terror, these idyllic hours spent with Dunstan were like a dream.

  Although she flushed at the boldness she had displayed last night, obviously her eagerness had pleased the Wolf. And this morning, their tryst in the water had been brief, but intense, especially when he had pushed back her hair with a large hand, pinned her with his fierce green stare and whispered, “Ah, wren, how I burn for you….”

  The memory made her weak at the knees, and Marion had to hurry to catch up to him. The Wolf walked silently, with the grace of his namesake, prowling ahead, stopping and then listening before moving on, his caution apparent. Obviously, he did not think they were safe yet from her uncle’s soldiers, and the thought made Marion nervous.

  She said nothing, however, and in truth they had talked very little. All the questions that Marion had brought with her from Baddersly remained unasked and unanswered by their fevered lovemaking and in the rush to be off again. Eventually, Marion knew they would have to settle things more prosaically between them. At the very least, she ought to prod Dunstan for their destination.

  And yet she was not eager to do so. Although she longed to return to Campion, Marion knew that might not be wise, and she hesitated to examine the alternatives. Once, she had begged Dunstan to leave her in the nearest town. Would he? She cleared her throat, but words did not come. With a sinking feeling, Marion realized that she did not want this dream to end. She would rather wander through the wild, the Wolf a
t her side, indefinitely, than face a future without him.

  When Marion’s stomach began growling loudly, Dunstan called a halt, that smile that was not quite a smile gracing his wonderful mouth. They stopped under the shade of a great willow, and he handed her a chunk of bread from his pouch.

  “By faith, I long for a real meal myself,” he said gruffly, as if to take away any of her embarrassment, and her heart warmed at his unexpected thoughtfulness.

  He ate quickly, then leaned back against the tree, his elbows upon his knees in a relaxed pose. “The river should take us up to Stile, where we can get horses, decent food and even a bed at an inn. That, I am thinking, will be a pleasure beyond price,” he noted with a weary sigh.

  His casual mention of a room for them filled Marion with yearning. Mercy, but she loved him! She let her gaze wander over his handsome features as he rested his head back against the rough bark. His eyes drifted shut, the small surrender softening his features. Suddenly, Marion felt a lump in her throat. “You came for me,” she whispered.

  Dunstan’s response was a noncommittal grunt, so familiar and dear that Marion smiled, but she would not be deterred. “After dragging me forcibly, mile after wretched mile, to that horrible place, you turned around and rescued me from it.”

  Although his eyes remained closed, Dunstan answered her gruffly. “I followed your trail to Baddersly, but I had to see for myself if you had arrived safely.” The brief explanation, devoid of any emotion, reminded Marion that she was his charge. A piece of baggage to be delivered. Faithful Dunstan, still trying to fulfill his father’s mission, Marion thought, surprised at the bitter taste the knowledge left in her mouth.

  “Your uncle denied that you were there.” That comment, uttered in a rough voice, brought Marion up short. So, her uncle had planned to dispose of her quickly, claim that she was still missing…and blame Campion. Marion felt disappointment, hot and heavy, weigh upon her chest as her myriad questions were answered in one fell swoop.

  Dunstan had come for her to protect his father’s good name. He had not climbed the south tower because he cared for her or because he had lain with her. He had risked his life to retrieve a troublesome package for which he was responsible. Marion’s throat went dry at the discovery, and the bread she had eaten sank like a stone in her belly.

  Wiping her hands upon her skirt, over and over, she sought a composure that was difficult to find anymore. What had once come so easily now seemed out of reach. Slaughter, mayhem and the return of her memory had taken toll of her. Days of trudging through the wilderness, living hand to mouth, had strained her, as had the nights, especially the last one, spent in Dunstan’s arms. Joining with the Wolf had been folly, for more than any of the mishaps that had plagued her, it had laid her bare and made her vulnerable to a pain more powerful than any other.

  Marion drew in a ragged breath as she sought a calm demeanor. She was struck suddenly by the image of a vase she had once seen. Its surface was riddled with cracks, but it remained intact, and she realized that was the way she felt—as if she might break apart at the slightest touch.

  “One of your women, an old lady with white hair, told me where to find you,” Dunstan said, blithely unaware of the havoc his words had wrought, and Marion could only be grateful for that.

  “Fenella,” she noted, surprised and gratified that anyone at Baddersly had seen fit to help her. She sent up a fervent prayer that her uncle never discover the brave servant’s complicity, for the woman had undoubtedly saved her life. But for what? What did her future hold now?

  Her pleasant dream was over. It was time to face the cold, harsh truth. “I am grateful to her, and to you, for saving my life,” Marion said, hating the way her voice wavered. “But I would know what to do with it. Where are you taking me, Dunstan?”

  “We go to Wessex,” he answered. A scowl descended, and he opened his eyes, revealing a haunted look at the mention of his holding.

  He was probably angry, yet again, at the delays that had kept him from his lands, Marion thought. And although she appreciated his eagerness to return home, she had no wish to join him there. What would she do at Wessex, but long for a life she could never have? She shook her head sadly. “My uncle will surely look for me there and do you ill.”

  Dunstan smiled grimly. “Ah, but this time we shall make sure he has no right to you.”

  “How?”

  “We shall wed,” he said. Then, as if he had mentioned nothing of consequence, the Wolf tilted back his head and closed his eyes.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Wed the Wolf? Marion stared at him, her cheeks flaming. Was he mad? Surely he did not take his duty so seriously that he would sacrifice himself for it? She wanted to scream, to pummel him with her fists for being so cold about taking a wife—and so fiendishly devoted to his father’s errand.

  It was ridiculous, of course. He did not truly desire her hand, and she…Mercy, but the very thought of marrying him sent pain dancing through her so starkly that it robbed her of breath. How could she spend the rest of her life looking at the face she loved and knowing that he cared naught for her? How would she bear it when he looked right through her? Away from him, she might be able to remain intact, like that long-ago vase, but married to him, she would surely shatter irrevocably….

  “No,” she said softly.

  “What?” Dunstan muttered, as though he had not heard her correctly.

  “No,” she repeated.

  He was silent for so long that Marion wondered if he had fallen asleep, but then his eyes shot open and she saw the stunned look in them. The de Burghs were all full of themselves, as she well knew, and the Wolf more so than most. Undoubtedly, the thought of anyone refusing him was incomprehensible. He would want to know why…. Marion felt like squirming as his fierce green gaze sought her own, but she schooled herself to return his regard without flinching.

  “‘Tis too dangerous. I would not have you risk your life any further,” she explained, staring directly at him. “With the jewels, I can buy a new life in some town along your route. It will be much simpler, Dunstan. You will have discharged your duty to Campion and you may see to your own business.”

  Marion finished, proud of her control, and even managed to conjure up some semblance of a smile. However, all of her efforts appeared to have been for naught, because Dunstan gave her a long-suffering glance that told her he dismissed every word as female foolishness.

  “Stop your chattering, wren,” he said, shutting his eyes again.

  “Dunstan de Burgh! Listen to me,” Marion cried, a bit desperately. “I will not wed you!”

  Without lifting his lids, he smiled smugly in that exasperating way of his. “Save your shrieks for our marriage bed,” he whispered.

  Marion began to protest, but thought better of it. How quickly she had forgotten the uselessness of arguing with the Wolf. He would always have his own way, right or wrong, great bully that he was! How dare he force her to marry him when he acted only out of honor or pity—or some such emotion?

  Marion’s nails dug into her palms as she struggled with her own despair. She could not wed him! There had to be a way out of this…. She glanced over at him suddenly. He was breathing in a low, even rhythm, as if he dozed, and Marion knew that he caught snatches of sleep here and there when he could.

  If he truly slumbered… Marion’s agile mind grasped a plan, spinning out the possibilities. It would not be the first time she had fled from Dunstan’s wardship, and now, since they no longer traveled to Baddersly, he would not expect her to try again. They were all alone out here. All she had to do was get up and go. She would head east to one of the coastal towns, and present herself as the widow of a soldier. It would not be easy, without protection, but perhaps she could hire a manservant….

  Money! She would need her jewels, which were in a small pouch attached to Dunstan’s belt. Marion had never asked for them back, and why should she, when they were safe where they were? Marion bit back one of Dunstan’s foul
curses at her own foolishness. Well, she would just have to get them now, before she left. The thought of retrieving them from where they lay, against the top of one of Dunstan’s steely thighs, set her cheeks to burning, but she would have to do it, and without disturbing him, either.

  Drawing in a deep breath, Marion inched closer. Dunstan’s visage remained unchanged, his long lashes still and flush against his broad cheeks. The beauty of the man struck her to the bone, and she faltered, but then she bent over him, her fingers reaching toward it….

  His hand flashed so quickly that Marion blinked, dazedly surprised to find him grasping her wrist in a tight hold. She looked up into his eyes, fierce and alert, glaring at her with obvious menace. “You desire something, Marion?”

  He was angry, and so big and dangerous that Marion nearly quailed before him, but somehow she summoned the courage to respond. “I was but after my jewels,” she whispered.

  His lips curved in a wicked, feral smile. “You disappoint me, wren. I thought ‘twas my jewels you were after.”

  When she eyed him blankly, he loosed her and swore, long and harshly. Absently, Marion rubbed her wrist, while she stared at him, wide-eyed and uncertain.

  “Did I not warn you never to flee from me again, Marion?” he asked.

  She nodded mutely before finding her voice. “But, Dunstan, it is different now. You rescued me from my uncle, and I am grateful, but you need do no more, truly.” She backed away from the murderous scowl on his face and raised her palms in supplication.

  “Do not glare at me so. I was but trying to save you from yourself! From the very beginning, you have complained that you wanted to be rid of me, a troublesome piece of baggage.” To her horror, Marion felt her lips tremble and tears press at the back of her eyes. Not now…she could not break now. Silently, Marion willed herself to go on firmly, but she could not meet his gaze. “Surely, you do not want to bind yourself to me forever?”