Dunstan’s lips curved at that, and they both chuckled at the thought of the great knight prostrate before his tiny wife. From the Wolf’s smug smile, Geoffrey got the impression that whatever apology Dunstan planned would be tendered with his prick. Geoffrey shook his head, but said nothing. Sometime soon the Wolf would have to come to terms with his feelings—the ones that came from his heart and not farther down.
They walked back toward the castle walls in companionable silence, stopping only when a sentry from the battlements shouted for attention. Putting his hand over his eyes, Geoffrey looked off into the distance to see a large group of riders approaching, sporting colors he did not recognize.
“Who is it?” he asked, slanting a glance at his brother. Dunstan’s face was once again taut with fury, his jaw clenched so tightly that when he ground out his answer, Geoffrey could barely understand it.
“‘Tis Peasely, come to collect his niece,” he snapped. And then the Wolf whirled toward the gate to prepare for the arrivals.
* * *
After making sure Marion was safely tucked away with Geoffrey to guard her, Dunstan called for Stephen. After a brief search, he found his brother in the buttery, trying determinedly to get under the skirts of a comely kitchen maid.
“Stephen!” Dunstan roared, scaring the girl so that she jumped visibly and fled the room. Obviously displeased at the interruption, Stephen leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms across his chest in a recalcitrant pose.
Dunstan tried again. “Stephen,” he said more evenly. “I need you.” The words made them both pause, probably because Dunstan had never uttered them before in his life.
Stephen paled and pushed off the wall. “Me?”
With a swift glance, Dunstan assessed his black-sheep brother. At least Stephen was sober, and he had proved that when called upon he could do a job and do it well. Perhaps he was not called upon often enough. “Yes, you. I need you to man the castle defenses while I go out and meet with Peasely.”
“Me?” Stephen repeated, frankly appalled. “What of Geoffrey?”
“Geoffrey is guarding Marion,” Dunstan said. Neither of them needed to go over Dunstan’s reasons for not giving Stephen that job, although, to his credit, Stephen appeared chagrined. “Reynold can help you, of course,” Dunstan said, not giving his brother a chance to refuse. “But you shall be in charge.”
Turning his back, Dunstan strode halfway across the hall before Stephen finally caught up, his reluctance obvious. “But what if something should happen to you?”
Dunstan stopped dead and faced his brother. “If anything happens to me, your job is to defend my holding and my wife.” Then he whirled on his heel, leaving the glib-tongued Stephen looking positively stricken.
After choosing a few good men to accompany him, Dunstan rode out to greet the approaching party, now clearly within view. He listened, with some measure of relief, to the gates closing behind him, for he had no intention of inviting the group from Baddersly inside his walls. With his own depleted forces, he would be lucky to hold them off, if Peasely decided to attack; he was definitely not going to give them any advantage.
A soldier came forward to meet Dunstan, and he recognized Goodson, the head of Peasely’s guard and the man who had ordered him murdered. Tamping down the urge to kill the bastard right where he was, Dunstan remembered the large contingent that lurked behind. There was strength in numbers, he knew, and he did not have them at present.
With bitter insight, Dunstan knew this was a job for Geoffrey, for the skills of a diplomat would be needed to keep Peasely and his men from slaying them all and overrunning Wessex as surely as Fitzhugh had once done. The violent emotions churning in his gut in regard to Marion’s uncle did not help, and Dunstan struggled mightily to keep a clear head. He could not afford any mistakes.
“I look for Baron Wessex,” Goodson said in a tone so arrogant that Dunstan had to grit his teeth.
“You have found him,” Dunstan said, thinking as you know full well.
“You are he?”
“Yes, I am he, but if you believe me not, yet again, then feel free to turn around and get yourself gone.”
The words made Goodson jerk to attention. He said nothing more, but giving Dunstan an undisguised look of loathing, he whirled his warhorse around and rode back into the ranks—to report to his master, no doubt, Dunstan thought with contempt. Was Peasely sober enough to ride a horse, or did they cart him around on a litter?
Apparently, Peasely was sober enough, for he came forward, hailing Dunstan just as though nothing ill had ever occurred between them. Just as if he had not mocked and threatened and tossed the Wolf from Baddersly. Just as if he had not given his captain orders to murder the visitor on the road. Dunstan gripped the hilt of his sword fiercely and clenched his jaw. He would like to kill Peasely for that and more, for this was the man who had taken so much from his precious Marion, who had even tried to take her life.
“You are Wessex?” Peasely was not as haughty as he had been in his own hall. Dunstan suspected it had been far easier for Marion’s uncle to taunt him when he was alone and armed only with a sword. Now they were on his property, with his castle rising behind him, and Peasely had no way of knowing whether or not it was well defended.
“I am Wessex, as I told you before,” Dunstan said evenly. “You seem to have a difficult time recognizing me. But as I told your lackey, if you care not to believe me this time, then get yourself gone from my lands.”
Peasely looked a bit taken aback. “Recognize you?” he asked, appearing momentarily baffled. “Have we met?”
Dunstan snorted loudly, for Peasely had not the skills to pretend innocence. “Yes, we met—not long ago when you threw me from your hall and ordered your man to murder me upon the road.”
Peasely blinked. “Surely you are not the man who came to Baddersly claiming to be Wessex? You must forgive me, my lord, for you looked not as you do now. And as for a plot to kill you, why, I know nothing! You must be mistaken.”
Dunstan nodded toward Goodson, who was not far away. “‘Twas no mistake. I heard your guard there telling his men to do me in.”
Peasely blinked again, and then, as if coming to a decision, he turned in the saddle. “Goodson!” he barked. “What know you of these accusations? Speak now or I shall cut out your tongue!”
Under that kind of persuasion, Goodson gave up himself, but, wisely, not his master. “I thought the man was a ruffian, an assassin sent to gain entrance to your hall and do you harm. Forgive me, sir!” he begged. Although Goodson bent his head in apology, his eyes burned bright with hatred for Dunstan, easily exposing his sham confession.
The man’s enmity mattered little to Dunstan. What interested him was Peasely’s game. Why throw Goodson to the Wolf? And what was Marion’s uncle about with his sudden friendliness?
“You there!” Peasely called to those behind him. “Relieve Goodson of his sword at once. And keep him under guard until justice can be served!” Or I am out of sight, Dunstan thought wryly.
“My lord,” Peasely said, forcing a faint smile to his lips. “Now that I have resolved that unpleasantness, I would hope that you welcome me to your hall, so that we might talk.”
“We can talk right here.”
Peasely’s smile fled. “Very well,” he said with a sniff. He sat up straight and tried to look fierce, but his face was too bloated to achieve the desired effect. “I want my niece. Now. You have no right—”
“I have every right,” Dunstan broke in. “You see, I have married her. Marion is my wife and no longer your concern.” He waited, his hand on the hilt of his weapon, for Peasely’s response.
It was immediate and extreme. Peasely’s eyes seemed to pop from his head, and his skin grew red and mottled with emotion. “You lie!”
“‘Tis legal,” Dunstan replied. “Take your objections to the church or the king.”
For a moment, Dunstan thought Marion’s uncle would try to make her a widow without dela
y, for his lips drew back from his teeth in a fierce grimace. His bulbous eyes flicked to the battlements, however, and he paused, obviously leery of the soldiers behind the walls—and those who would step forward to avenge the Wolf’s death.
Little did the coward know that his own force could easily take the poorly manned castle, and Dunstan had no intention of letting on. Quickly he seized upon Peasely’s hesitation and fears.
“My father, earl of Campion, was most pleased with the match. He longs for a grandson,” Dunstan remarked. In an instant, he reminded Peasely that the might of the de Burghs protected Marion and that she could well be with child. That child not only stood to inherit Campion and Wessex, but Baddersly as well, eliminating any lingering hopes that Peasely might have of retaining his hold on the castle.
Watching the message sink in, Dunstan thought Peasely would have an apoplexy, saving them the trouble of killing him, but after long gasps for breath, Marion’s uncle finally seemed to gain control of himself.
“I would see her,” he muttered in a more restrained manner.
“She does not wish to see you.”
“Nonsense,” Peasely protested. He adopted his friendly tone again. “I would see that she lives and hear her confirm that she is your wife. Surely you would not refuse me the hospitality of your hall?”
Dunstan paused. He had no intention of letting Peasely anywhere near his wife, but neither did he long for a battle that he was ill equipped to fight. If he refused Peasely’s request, the man might strike, and then what? If the castle fell, what would become of Marion? Dunstan’s chest constricted and his head throbbed at the thought of her at the mercy of her uncle. Alone. Defeated.
The back of his neck ached, but Dunstan resisted the urge to rub it and stared stonily at Peasely. He needed time. Simon might return at any moment. And Dunstan could send a runner to Campion, asking his father for help….
Peasely waited, a sly smile on his puffy face, and Dunstan wondered if the fool thought to take his large force inside the gates, the better to attack the Wolf. Dunstan nearly laughed, for he was not so stupid. As much as he disliked the idea, he would allow Peasely in—but no one else.
Nodding toward the far hillside, Dunstan said, “Your men may camp there. You may enter alone and see my lady for yourself.”
Peasely’s eyes bulged again, and Dunstan could see him struggling with anger. Obviously, his plans had been foiled, and he was uncertain of his next move. Good. As Dunstan watched Peasely, unwaveringly, he realized that it just might be better to have the man where he could keep an eye on him. Once inside, separated from his men, Peasely could hardly order a strike against the castle.
Marion’s uncle licked his lips. “Surely you would not deny me a few attendants.”
“You alone. And your man, the one who would kill me, may know the comforts of my dungeon, until such time as you leave.”
Peasely tried to disguise his fury, but he could not hide the red stains of rage that appeared on his face. “I hardly think—” he began.
Dunstan cut him off. “Those are my terms.” He knew that Peasely’s only other option was to attack, and he hoped that Marion’s uncle, like so many bullies, had not the courage. Obviously, Peasely would rather cloak his men as outlaws to do his killing for him than face a forthright battle.
Remaining implacable under Peasely’s lethal stare, Dunstan waited until the man nodded jerkily. “Very well,” Peasely snapped. He turned his mount and spoke softly to the guards behind him. Goodson was handed over to Dunstan’s men, and then the rest of the soldiers began moving toward the slope, leaving Peasely by himself.
“I am at your mercy, my lord,” Peasely said with a smirk, as he urged his horse onward. “I trust you will not violate my confidence.”
Dunstan flicked a contemptuous glance at Marion’s uncle. As much as he would like, he did not plan to murder a guest in cold blood. The king might not approve. However, let the man hurt Marion, and he would do the deed gladly. “I give you this warning,” Dunstan said. “Do not lift a hand to my wife, or you will be a dead man.”
Peasely sneered, apparently putting little faith in the threat. For a moment, Dunstan considered elaborating, but he had been fair—far more fair than Peasely had been to him and Marion.
“I warned you,” Dunstan said, piercing those bulbous eyes with his gaze. “See that you remember it.” Then he called for the gates to open.
* * *
Marion was horrified. Although logically, she knew that Dunstan could hardly refuse her uncle admittance, nonetheless she longed to run to her room and lock the door when she heard that he was here. Right here, within the nice, safe walls of Wessex. She should have stayed at Campion.
Geoffrey took her downstairs, and she was grateful for his arm, digging her fingers into it until she was surprised he did not yelp in pain. It was either that or turn tail and run. Geoffrey murmured encouragement, but she could tell he was alarmed by her reaction. And then she was in the hall, and she could think of none except her uncle.
At the sight of him, cold terror, mindless and relentless, washed over her, and she froze, staring at him with huge eyes.
“Marion,” he said, more sweetly than he had ever spoken to her in her life. “How are you?”
For a moment, she could not speak, then she lowered her head submissively and murmured, “I am well, uncle.” Dunstan moved to her side and was saying something, but she was still too numb to understand. Her brain told her she was being foolish, but it could not seem to convince the rest of her, which remained stiff and silent. The Wolf would protect her, she told herself, and yet the Wolf had let her uncle in….
The evening meal was a strange affair, which marked the first time Marion had ever eaten with her uncle. She had dined in her room at Baddersly, for Peasely had always said that women should keep to themselves. It all came back now, with frightful clarity, how he had let her have nothing, do nothing…be nothing. And despite the presence of her husband and his brothers, Marion found herself shrinking away in an effort to stay out of her uncle’s sight.
Vaguely, she could hear him, his voice more cordial than she had ever heard it, as he questioned Dunstan about the marriage, stopping just short of accusing the Wolf of perpetrating some trickery. Dimly, she heard the other de Burghs, their tones harsh and angry, standing up for their brother, while Dunstan remained quiet beside her. Sometimes, she could feel her uncle’s gaze, intent upon her, but she kept her own lowered, picked at her food and begged an early excuse to escape.
She was glad when Dunstan joined her, putting one of his strong arms around her as they quit the hall. He said nothing while they made their way to the great chamber, but she was thankful for his protecting presence. In their room, she was aware of Dunstan watching her, but not with his usual lusty enthusiasm. She undressed silently, while he took off his own gear and dropped it to the floor with a loud thud.
“I will send him away,” the Wolf growled.
Marion slipped beneath the covers, pulling them over her despite the evening’s warmth, and huddled by the edge of the bed. “Nay. Do what you must. I am fine,” she said.
Dunstan whirled toward her, eyes narrowed, jaw clenched and chest bared. “The devil you are! You are not fine. You are not you. By faith, you are not even as lively as a wren. You are like a wraith, a ghost of yourself, and I will not have it,” he added stubbornly.
“Peasely goes,” he said, stripping off his hose. He climbed into bed, and although it was vast enough to more than accommodate his great bulk, he moved over to her side. She welcomed the heat that poured from him when he pulled her close, pressing her back against him.
With some surprise, Marion realized that for the first night since she had arrived at Wessex, Dunstan was not rolling her beneath him. Although she could feel his desire, a hard brand against her buttocks, he simply held her, and the tender gesture made her want to weep.
He nuzzled her hair softly and muttered, “I would have you happy, Marion.” She dr
ew in a ragged breath and tried not to cry at his gruff admission. How she loved him! It welled up in her like a great flood, washing away her fears and bathing her in comfort.
She recognized how hard the Wolf tried, in his own rough way, to make things right between them. Mercy, but he had changed from the fierce beast who had thought of her as naught but a piece of baggage to be delivered. He had come to respect her, to listen to her and to worry about her. Now, he even professed to want her happy!
Ever since his release from the dungeon, Dunstan had seemed more attentive, almost as if he…cherished her. During the nights, he lavished on her his passion; during the days he often sought her out for no reason other than to be near her.
Tears wet Marion’s lashes as she realized just how very much this man granted her. He said he did not believe in love, but was that so very important? Perhaps she should quit wishing for something that could not be and accept what was. Even if Dunstan loved her, there was no guarantee that it would last forever, and what she had right now seemed to be awfully close.
Maybe, Marion thought, just maybe the Wolf was giving her all that he could, and she would be a fool not to be content with it.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Marion did not want any more battles at Wessex, so she forced a smile to her lips and insisted that Dunstan let her uncle stay, at least for a little while—long enough perhaps to discover what he was about. She kept to her room, however, joining the others only to eat.
After a peaceful afternoon spent working upon a new tapestry, Marion stood and stretched, mindful that she must go down soon for the evening meal, when there was a knock on the chamber door. Thinking it Geoffrey or Nicholas come to escort her below, she called out an invitation to enter.
But it was neither Geoffrey nor Nicholas, nor any of the de Burghs. It was her uncle who walked in and shut the door behind him, and Marion froze in horror. “So, here you are, Marion. I have missed you today. How rude of you to treat a guest with so little hospitality,” he said. He stalked around the room, examining the tapestries and spare furnishings with a look of contempt before turning toward her suddenly. “But, then, you never did know how to do your duty, did you?”
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