Marion was not reassured, but she knew better than to argue when he was in one of his moods. Although she wanted to fling herself into his arms and kiss him with a wolf’s own fierceness, his mind was elsewhere, and she sensed he would not appreciate her distraction. With a reluctant nod, Marion let him go, sighing softly as she watched him disappear into the thick underbrush.
She watered the horse at a spring and then sat down under a tree, methodically smoothing out her sad-looking gown. She told herself that Dunstan would call her any moment to come up and join him, to get her first view of his home. But he did not, and Marion found that she could not sit idly while the minutes dragged by.
The stillness that had given her strength before her uncle’s tempers seemed to have deserted her, and she stood up to prowl about the small clearing like the Wolf himself. She bent and splashed some water on her face, letting it dribble down her heated neck before she realized that the horse had wandered after its new master.
Mercy! She leaped to her feet, certain that Dunstan would roar his displeasure if the animal burst in upon his reverie. Scrambling through the bushes, Marion caught up with the horse before it reached the top of the hill. There, she tied it securely to a tree, and then stood, silently, for a moment, stroking the beast in a gesture designed to calm them both.
And, tilting her head upward, she listened.
Ahead, Marion could see nothing through the trees, and she could hardly believe that a great view lay just at the top of the rise. Did no one ever venture up Seer’s Hill, or had Dunstan taken a roundabout way to the top? His furtive behavior fed her anxiety, and suddenly she felt a sharp stab of fear for him. Without pausing to consider her actions, Marion moved, climbing higher to stop and listen—until finally she heard something.
Voices? Marion stopped dead. Was Dunstan meeting someone here without her knowledge? Against her will, Marion found herself picturing a clandestine rendezvous with a woman, and she realized that she knew naught of the Wolf’s private life. Perhaps he had a leman or a lover, who would be ill-pleased to discover him married.
Marion froze, hardly able to draw in breath at the dreadful implications. Perhaps she should fly now…. She could go back down the hill, take the horse and leave Dunstan to his Wessex and whatever awaited him there. Go, she told herself, before the pain of loving him destroys you!
The old Marion would have fled, unable to face her demons. But the new Marion could not. Whatever the Wolf’s failings, she knew that he did not deserve to be abandoned alone in the wilds, without a horse, especially after all he had done for her. And, the sense of danger that had driven Marion upward still lingered in the air. She could not leave him when he might be in peril.
Drawing her strength together, Marion forced herself to creep forward, until a loud laugh startled her to stillness again. With dizzying relief, she recognized the voice and realized that it was no woman who spoke, but Walter, Dunstan’s vassal. Only he sounded different. Decidedly different.
“I thought you might come crawling back here,” Walter crowed. “You are hard to kill, Dunstan, but then, I have known that for a long time. ‘Twas one of the reasons I stayed by your side so long, so that you might keep me alive, too. But now ‘tis I who wields the power of life and death, and you are long past your due, old friend.”
Walter’s normally low and even tones were loud and harsh with bitterness. “If not for that stupid wench, who kept leading you such a merry chase, you would have been killed with the rest of them. But ‘twas too late to change the plans, Dunstan, and you escaped yet again, with your bastard luck and your little heiress. Dutiful Dunstan who must not disappoint his father, who must needs always do what is right.” Walter coughed up some spittle, and Marion cringed at the sound of him releasing it contemptuously.
“Always alert, always watching, always cursed with the bastard luck of the de Burghs! If you would have but left the wench at the end of the train with me and had not stopped early, by the rood, I would have saved her myself—for myself. Not my usual style, but I would have enjoyed taking her, simply because you were so besotted with her!” Walter laughed cruelly.
Marion trembled as she heard Dunstan’s angry grunt. At least he was alive, but in what condition? Had Walter hurt him? Desperate to see, Marion could not force herself to look, for after what Walter had said about her, she had no wish to be discovered by the vassal.
“Ah, have I touched a sore spot, Dunstan?” Walter asked, goading his former lord. “Did you never get to touch her? You must be the only one, for I had it from the men that your brothers, yea, even your father, passed her around until she was well used!”
There was a pause, and Marion sensed that Dunstan’s lack of reaction was frustrating his tormentor, for when Walter spoke again, it was in an impatient snarl. “But good son that he is, Dunstan would nay e’er touch his charge. And care he not that his men lay dead, he must deliver her safely,” Walter mocked.
“I looked for your body among the slain, but did not find it,” Dunstan said. Marion shook with relief to know that he was well enough for speech. And the Wolf’s simple statement told her what had driven his secret approach to Wessex. Not knowing whether his vassal lived or died, fled or hid or consorted with his enemies, Dunstan had come warily. But not warily enough.
“Why, Walter? Why turn against me after all these years?” Although the Wolf’s voice was calm and clear, Marion felt the pain of his vassal’s betrayal down to her bones.
“Why, for coin, of course. Money and lands and power—what every man wants, Dunstan. You see, not all of us are born to the rich, pampered life of a de Burgh, and we must struggle for all we can get. No more for this knight. I have taken enough orders.”
“And who would give you this great wealth, Walter?”
“Fitzhugh, as you should know! I shall marry his daughter and have all that I have so long desired.”
“You would wed the shrew?” Dunstan’s tone relayed disbelief.
“I will tie her to the bed and ride her till she knows her master,” Walter snapped. “And what care I for her temperament? All this will be mine!”
“Wessex?” Marion heard the small thread in Dunstan’s voice that betrayed his pain, and she wanted to weep, but Walter went on, obviously unknowing.
“Aye, Wessex. Your minion Collins was easy enough to dispatch, and now I’m in control. And when Fitzhugh is gone, I will have it all. All of it, Dunstan! Perhaps I will get some heirs on the Fitzhugh witch’s body and start my own line, to rival the dying blood of Campion!”
Dunstan snorted. “Promises aplenty! Only a fool would put his trust in Fitzhugh. He will share naught, as you well know. Before you finish bedding his daughter, he will have a knife in your back, and then he will take it all, Walter. All of it, for himself.”
“Shut up!”
“Think, Walter. Think of how Fitzhugh works,” Dunstan said. “Think of his lust for this land. He will use you to get what he wants, Walter, and then—”
“Shut up!” Marion flinched as she heard a striking sound. Dear God, what has he done to the Wolf? She put a fist to her mouth to keep from crying out and revealing herself, for what could she do against a seasoned knight?
“Shut up, and get up, Dunstan,” Walter said. “I had planned to kill you here, swiftly, in memory of our long friendship, but your speech has earned you a more interesting fate. I shall take you back to Fitzhugh and let him have at you! Perhaps a few weeks in your own dungeon will take some of the de Burgh braggart out of you.”
Walter laughed again, and the sound made Marion’s blood run cold. She heard horses, and peeking through the leaves, she saw Walter and two other men mount. At first, she could not find Dunstan. For one terrifying moment, she thought that his vassal had slain him, after all. But then she saw him, tied behind the horses, a huge, proud figure, who took away her very breath.
As she watched, horrified by the sight, Walter rode on, jerking Dunstan forward, and they left the top of the hill, half dragging the
Wolf behind them.
Marion sank to her knees, a low sob escaping. Dear God, what was she to do now? The answer came all too quickly. You must ride to Campion, Marion.
She shook her head, fear and desperation making her tremble from head to toe. Although she knew the general direction of the earl’s lands, she could become lost all too easily. It was several days’ ride way, and by now, Marion knew very well the dangers that menaced lone riders, not to mention the danger of meeting Walter or his men. She had little food and no weapons, but for a paltry dagger. How would she ever make it to Campion?
Kneeling there in shocked despair, Marion reminded herself that not too long ago she had made several attempts to flee into the wilderness alone, although ill-equipped and afraid. She told herself that this journey would be no different. But she knew that it was—for the Wolf’s life hung in the balance.
How ironic that she, Dunstan’s tiny, foolish female, was the only person in the world who could help him now. She, frail, fearful Marion Warenne. Wessex stood between him and certain death.
Lifting her head slowly, Marion rose gracefully to her feet—and to the challenge of being the Wolf’s wife.
* * *
The first night was the worst. Mortally afraid of predators, but unwilling to risk a fire, Marion climbed a tree. She huddled there, uncomfortable, remembering the time she had shared such a nest with Dunstan, and though she thought never to close her eyes, she fell into an exhausted sleep.
She rode all the next day, grateful for the sun, from which she took her bearings. Her provisions gone, she dined on whatever nuts and berries she could find and prayed for the strength to carry on. And when she felt it wavering, she thought of her husband locked in some dark, dank, unwholesome place, with little food and water, and she continued.
The third day dawned cloudy, and although Marion hesitated to go in the wrong direction, she could not stay still, so she rode on. When she could, she took a sighting from the sun in the way Dunstan had, while she tried to rouse her fading hopes. Once, she came upon a road and a group of travelers, but fearful that they would do her harm, she went around them, out of her way.
When the sky grew dark with the threat of rain, Marion began to court despair. She had no idea where she might be, and the thought of an impending storm preyed upon her last reserves of strength. Topping a rise, she saw a field below and the dark figures of people working there, but this time, she did not turn back. Weary and hungry and frightened, she sent her mount toward the tallest of the men, intent upon begging him for direction, food and shelter.
She still had her jewels, and if these fellows were not ruffians, she could pay them handsomely. And if they were…it could not be helped, for she was running out of time and alternatives. Eyeing the brewing clouds, and laying one hand upon her dagger, Marion approached.
The tall man noticed her, stopping his work to stare, and Marion was heartened to see him draw no weapon. Then a glint of errant sunshine pierced the clouds to light his face, dancing over his mane of thick, dark hair, and Marion cried out, trembling with the force of her relief.
“Geoffrey!”
Hearing his name, he looked at her more intently and opened his mouth in astonishment when recognition came.
“Geoffrey!” With a last surge of strength, Marion urged the horse forward until, weeping uncontrollably, she tumbled into the waiting arms of her husband’s brother.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
When Marion saw the golden towers rising into the darkening sky, she felt the hope that had dwindled down to nothing resurge, for to her, at least, Campion was invincible. Beauty, majesty and power were reflected in its warm stone, while supreme male confidence radiated from all who dwelled within.
They gathered the other brothers to them along the way, Nicholas from another field, Reynold from the forest, the rest swarming about her in the yard, rushing through the great doors of the hall to meet her just as the heavens opened, drenching them all. And once inside, Marion trembled—not from the soaking wet state of her clothing, but from the knowledge that she was safe at last. And yet her mission had just begun, and in the warm, throbbing emotion of her homecoming, she had not forgotten it.
She had tried to tell her story to Geoffrey in between her tears of relief, but he had been too sensible to listen. “Save your strength,” he had told her. “To tell Campion.”
Geoffrey fended off the pounding questions of his siblings, too, wrapping her in his protective embrace, and half-carrying her through the massive doors of the hall as the noisy tumult of the de Burgh brothers and their dogs surrounded them.
Mercy, but Marion had forgotten what a welcome was here! Once, she had longed for nothing more than to be a part of this family, and now they greeted her just as if she were—without even knowing that, in truth, she was a de Burgh. New tears arose at the thought. What would they say to know she had married their brother, the Wolf?
Looking up through a haze of sentiment, Marion saw the earl of Campion, her father by marriage, coming down the steps in stately elegance. His wise eyes were bright with concern as they lit upon her, and seized by a sudden heedless urge, she ran across the tiles to throw herself into his arms.
“Marion, Marion, my child.” He murmured soft, comforting words as he led her to a chair and settled her in, just as if she were a child. Indeed, she felt like one again, enveloped in warmth and strength. “Wilda! Fetch some wine and food for the lady, and a dry cloak.”
Like a drowned rat, Marion sat shivering with the intensity of the emotions whirling through her, but when she tried to speak, a look from the earl silenced her. “Wait, my dear, until you have had a bite. And then, you must begin at the beginning, when you left us.”
Nodding her agreement, Marion waited, letting herself absorb the sights and sounds of the beloved hall around her—and the faces! Although she spoke not, her companions did, and she welcomed the babble of familiar voices and the dear features, all topped by that thick, dark hair that named every one of them Campion’s son.
The earl signaled his readiness without a word, and Marion managed a slight smile. She had forgotten his great dignity, his easy command. How different he was from his firstborn! Marion’s mouth dipped precariously at the thought of Campion’s eldest son, and she folded her hands neatly in her lap in an effort to keep herself calm. Although she wanted nothing more than to drag the boys off to Wessex at once, she knew she needed to tell her tale slowly and coherently. Taking a deep breath, she began to speak.
Although ashamed to admit that she had not completely complied with the earl’s wishes when Dunstan tried to take her home, Marion dutifully related the truth. “I am sorry, my lord, for repaying you in such a fashion, but I was afraid to go to Baddersly, so I fled the train you so kindly provided as my escort.”
Seven pairs of eyes met over her bent head before Geoffrey cleared his throat. “You…escaped from…Dunstan?” At Marion’s nod, there were several groans, a laugh from Stephen, and one whoop, as Nicholas relayed his astonishment.
“Yes. He always found me, but he was not very pleased,” Marion admitted. The seven pairs of eyes met again, in silent accord, at what had to be an understatement. “The third time—”
“What?” A flurry of voices erupted around her as the de Burgh brothers protested that she could not have thrice managed to leave their oldest sibling, the largest, most skilled and most ferocious knight among them.
Marion waited until the denials died away before continuing. “The third time, we were forced to spend the night in the woods, and the next morning, when we returned to camp,” she said, her voice breaking, “we found everyone slain.”
“Where was this?”
“Everyone?”
“By faith, we shall be avenged!”
Marion ignored the outburst as each de Burgh brother spoke at once until a gesture from their father silenced them. With a flick of his gaze, Campion motioned for her to proceed. “When I saw the…bodies, my memory returned…because ‘t
was so much like what happened to me. Remember, when you found me, Simon, Geoffrey?” She glanced at each of them, touched by the gentle compassion on Geoffrey’s face, and the fierce outrage that twisted Simon’s features.
“When I remembered, I knew not only who I was, but that ‘twas my uncle’s men who had attacked my train. And so I thought this new massacre was his doing, too, to kill me.” Although Marion tried to speak slowly, she could not dam the pulsing tide of agitation that grew within her. Every moment signified a delay that might cost the Wolf his life, and she rushed to finish.
“But Dunstan recognized something about one of the arrows and knew it to be from his neighbor, Fitzhugh. And now Fitzhugh has him, imprisoned in his own castle. Oh, you must go, at once!”
Around her, the babble of voices exploded again, but Campion stopped it swiftly. “Marion,” he said softly, his brow furrowed. “What of your uncle?”
“He would still kill me! He locked me up in the tower, but Dunstan rescued me.”
“Now, wait a moment,” Campion said, even his gentle demeanor showing a strain. “You are telling me that after taking you all the way home, Dunstan turned around and freed you?”
“Yes, my uncle tried to have him killed, too! We were pursued at every turn, and ofttimes knew not who was after us.”
“Just you and Dunstan?”
Marion nodded. She opened her mouth to speak, but Campion held up his hand to halt the flood he obviously knew was waiting to issue forth. “So you came back here.”
She faltered for a moment at that, wishing that for once the Wolf had considered her opinion, but he had not, and now he was held. “We went to Wessex, but Walter, one of Dunstan’s most trusted men, was waiting. He betrayed Dunstan. And he and his men took him, my lord! They tied him to the back of a horse and dragged him away!”
Marion lifted her hands to her face, a sob escaping into the deadly silence of the hall. Either the de Burgh brothers had been struck speechless or Campion was keeping his sons quiet. “They did not see you?” the earl asked gently.
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