Taming the Wolf

by Deborah Simmons

  “Ride me, wren,” he whispered, and she trembled in reply. His eyes were still locked with hers, his fingers dragging through her tumbling locks, when she began to rock in a gentle rhythm wholly unlike his usual fierce possession.

  Although he found the difference exotic, he was soon frantic for a fiercer union, and even the wren could not keep to such a timid pace. As she began to move faster, Dunstan grunted and ground her hips to his furiously until his hoarse shout and her wild cries blended together in perfect harmony.

  * * *

  Marion lay across her husband’s chest, thoroughly content and bemused. She should have known that despite his injury, Dunstan would find a way to join with her, for he would never be denied. As his wife, she might as well accept that truth. He might make her angry or exasperate her; he might frown and shout and argue, and sometimes he might even give in. But he would never be denied.

  When she found the strength, Marion slid from his lap and fussed over him, checking his bindings and removing some of the pillows that had propped his back. She made sure he was comfortable before she blew out the candles and curled up beside him. Then she laid a hand over his heart, thankful to feel its strong beats, and closed her eyes.

  Snuggling closer to his warmth, Marion listened to his breathing slow and even out. Usually Dunstan went to sleep with the promptness of a trained soldier. Sometimes he even snored, but she did not mind. Marion found the strangely intimate sound endearing, especially after what had happened in the hall tonight.

  She had been so terrified by the sight of him, covered with blood and staggering…. Marion squeezed her eyes shut against the memory of those long, horrible moments when she thought she might lose him. She had known then that she could never again entertain thoughts of leaving her husband.

  No matter what the future held, she would cleave to the Wolf. If he never spoke one word of affection, or learned any tender arts, she was content, for she knew, deep in her heart, that he cared for her. The Wolf might never admit as much, but the evidence was there in his eyes and his gruff behavior—if one knew him well enough to look.

  And she did. Dunstan was a man of few words, a man who found it difficult to talk about his feelings, yet he showed her in a myriad tiny ways what was going on inside him. Marion had been slow to realize just how much until her uncle’s hateful words had rung out in the hall. No, she did not believe that she had tamed the Wolf with her money, as Peasely had claimed, for Dunstan was not greedy. But he had changed.

  Dunstan did seek her out, and he did attend her, and no matter how he might scoff at her romantic notions, his actions were those of a man who cared for his wife. Marion smiled sleepily. She realized that she would always have to pay attention to all the little ways in which the Wolf spoke to her for the rest of their days. And if he never mentioned words of love, she had only to look toward his deeds to find what she sought.

  “Wren?” Thinking him asleep, Marion was surprised to feel Dunstan touch her gently. He entwined his large fingers with her smaller ones and brought her palm to his lips in an unusually sweet gesture.

  “Hmm?” Marion murmured. She rubbed her thumb against his skin, envisioning in the darkness the hand that she had come to know so well. It was just as beautiful and powerfully stimulating today as the first time she had seen it, the back dusted with his dark hair….

  “I love you.” His words were a harsh whisper, startling in their simplicity, and so unexpected that Marion froze for a moment, stunned to hear them spoken aloud.

  She felt the foolish pressure of tears, along with a thickness in her throat that forced her to swallow hard before she could reply. “I know,” she said softly. “But ‘tis good to listen to you say it.”

  Dunstan grunted then, one of those indecipherable noises that she had come to accept so readily, and Marion closed her eyes again, warm and safe in the knowledge of her husband’s love.

  “Wren?” This time his voice held an edge of roughness that hinted at his displeasure.

  “Hmm?” Marion answered, rousing herself again from the edge of sleep.

  “I would hear you speak of this,” Dunstan said gruffly.

  Hiding her wide smile in the darkness, Marion leaned close to kiss his mouth. “I love you, Dunstan de Burgh,” she whispered.

  With a growl of satisfaction, the Wolf wrapped one heavy arm around her, anchoring her to him, and soon she heard the slow, even sound of his breathing as he sank into slumber, content.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  At dawn, Dunstan rode out to Peasely’s camp with the dead man’s body. He was accompanied by a small guard from Wessex, although he knew they could do little against the larger force if it came to a battle. Most of the de Burghs remained at the castle, manning its defense, but Geoffrey had insisted upon coming, claiming his superior negotiating skills might save Dunstan’s life.

  After much argument over the matter, Dunstan had discovered that his quiet, studious brother had a stubborn streak as fierce as the rest of the de Burghs. It soon became apparent that the only way he was going to prevent Geoffrey from coming along was by locking him up, so Dunstan gave way.

  He urged his horse forward, trying to ignore the pain of his wound, aggravated by the ride. Suddenly, he longed for nothing more than to be flat on his back in bed, his wife hovering over him with that sweet concern shining in her great doe eyes. He let out a low oath and decided he was getting old.

  With a grimace, Dunstan realized he would have more to worry about than a small cut, if Peasely’s men proved difficult. No one had come out to greet them, and the silence of the morn made Dunstan uneasy as they approached the camp. He caught Geoffrey’s eye for a brief moment, and then they topped the slope to view the enemy soldiers.

  They were, to a man, dead to the world.

  Dunstan was dumbfounded—until he remembered how undisciplined the guard at Baddersly had been, dicing and drinking in the hall. Without Peasely or Goodson, they obviously had done as they pleased, swilling their supplies of ale and bowing to no authority. Not one of them even stood sentry for the rest. Dunstan laughed out loud.

  As they were roused and rounded up, some of the soldiers were found to be the worse for a few fights, some had slunk off, and others were too dazed with drink yet to stand. When Dunstan, as their new lord, growled out orders, however, most hastened to obey. Those who did not were either turned out or locked up, depending on how dangerous Dunstan deemed them. The rest swore their loyalty to him and waited to go back to Baddersly.

  Not one drop of blood was spilled.

  * * *

  When Nicholas told her that Dunstan had gone out to treat with Peasely’s men, Marion began sobbing, much to the dismay of the youngest de Burgh. Nicholas was plainly baffled that the same woman who had attacked her uncle so fiercely the night before could be so distraught this morning.

  Although he obviously thought she was mourning Peasely’s death, Marion was not. In fact, she felt precious little regret for her uncle’s passing. He had tried to kill her more than once, and now she felt only relief that he would pose no threat to her or her new family.

  Her tears were for Dunstan, who had left her bed without a goodbye while she still slept. Marion knew the kind of men her uncle employed, and she would not wish to lose her husband to them. After all that they had been through together—after the Wolf had finally admitted he loved her—what if he was killed out there this morning before his very gates?

  A particularly loud sob made Nicholas rush out of the hall in a panic, shouting for Robin, while Marion sank down on a bench to give vent to her fears. She had saved up many a tear during all those years at Baddersly when she had stoically survived with no one to care for and none to care for her. Now she let them flow unheeded down her cheeks, for she had good reason to give in to her worries.

  After consultation with an older woman from the village, Marion had discovered just what had turned her into a watering pot of late. Although she had said nothing as yet, she suspected that she w
as carrying the Wolf’s child, and the thought that the baby might not have a father come evening made her weep more copiously.

  When Robin and Nicholas returned with the news that both Dunstan and Geoffrey had been sighted approaching the gates, Marion would have cried anew, this time with relief, but the anxious looks the brothers were exchanging made her swipe at her cheeks and try to smile. She followed them outside to see for herself, and hardly gave her husband a chance to dismount before she launched herself into his arms.

  Apparently Dunstan and Geoffrey were well pleased with their doings, and Marion was soon tucked under the Wolf’s thick arm, while the rest of the de Burghs crowded around, pelting them with questions and congratulations. Marion resisted an urge to weep again in pure happiness.

  The morning meal was a boisterous affair, for all were relieved that Peasely and his men no longer posed a threat. After the food was cleared away, the brothers lingered, to decide what next needed to be done. Although no one expected any problems with Marion’s inheritance, the king would have to be informed of Peasely’s death, and, of course, Baddersly would have to be taken in hand. They had just begun discussing Marion’s holdings when one of the guards reported that Simon had been sighted.

  Pandemonium broke out again, and the din of de Burgh voices did not fade until Simon was also seated at the table, ready to present his report to Dunstan. Marion studied him closely, with an anxious eye for his well-being, but Simon seemed none the worse for his mission. Indeed, he seemed stronger and more confident and more mature than ever, and Marion felt a sister’s own pride in him.

  When they had all quieted, Simon told them that he was met at Fitzhugh’s primary manor by the steward, who did not allow him inside, but assured him there would be no further unpleasantness. Looking a bit disappointed by the prospect of peace, Simon continued speaking in his own terse way. He told them that Walter Avery had fled to the manor from the battle at Wessex and had promptly taken Fitzhugh’s daughter to wife.

  Dunstan’s low grunt told Marion that he was not pleased by that news. “I am surprised Walter did not cut you down at the gates. What treachery does he plan now?” Dunstan growled.

  “None,” Simon answered grimly, “for he is dead.”

  Glancing at her husband, Marion saw that he remained skeptical, but Simon nodded in assurance. “‘Tis true,” Simon said. “Fitzhugh’s daughter did not take well to her husband. On their wedding night she stabbed him to death…in their marriage bed.”

  Marion gasped aloud, while the de Burghs uttered several foul oaths and muttered among themselves. “‘Tis one way to bloody the sheets,” Stephen quipped.

  Dunstan snorted. “I trust them not. How can we be sure?”

  “I am sure. They sent out the body to me,” Simon said. He cleared his throat. “She…she had ordered it left for the scavengers, but the steward gave it over to us. We buried him.”

  Astounded by the tale, Marion was even more astonished to see all the huge, brave de Burgh knights shudder visibly at the doings of the Fitzhugh woman. Who was she? What was she?

  “Well,” Dunstan said, heaving a sigh. “It seems she has done our work for us—”

  His words were interrupted by a new shout, announcing the arrival of Campion himself. The brothers surged to their feet as one, while Marion, too, rose to greet her husband’s father.

  He entered the hall with his usual grace and dignity, tall and straight and drawing respect by his very demeanor. Seeming untouched by the events of the past few weeks, the earl was a steady source of intelligence and power, Marion thought. Would her Wolf ever be the same? She smiled, doubting it, for Dunstan did not have his father’s even temperament.

  Glancing swiftly up at her husband, Marion admired his now familiar features. He had his own strength and majesty that made men look to him, too, and that proclaimed him a fit heir to the earl. Watching the play of emotions across his face at the sight of his father, Marion felt her love for Dunstan become a wellspring, showering over them and nurturing the child she carried.

  Perhaps he would never possess Campion’s quiet wisdom, but Marion loved the Wolf just as he was—huge and handsome, gruff and tender, quick to rage and just as quick to burn with passion. She smiled her own secret smile to know that he returned her feelings.

  Suddenly, everyone was talking at once, and Marion laughed with pleasure to see the way each son vied for Campion’s attention. They all had a tale to share, and she called for wine and ale so that the afternoon could be spent in the telling.

  Like a good father, Campion listened to them all, giving each man his attention and his praise. He seemed most impressed by the way Marion had attacked her uncle, and he rubbed his chin in that thoughtful way of his until Marion had the impression he was looking right inside her.

  “Now,” Dunstan said, when Campion had been informed of all their doings, “I must go to Baddersly to take control of Marion’s property and get an accounting—”

  Marion cut him off with a gasp of protest. “No! I care not for anything from my old life.”

  Dunstan snorted, and his brothers scoffed loudly, giving her several choice de Burgh looks that scorned her words as female foolishness. “Well, then,” Marion said more firmly, “send someone else. Simon would love to go, I am sure.”

  A brief, telling expression of excitement passed over Simon’s face before Dunstan grunted angrily and said, “My brothers have done enough for me, Marion. ‘Tis time I took control of my affairs—”

  “Then stay here,” Marion said.

  Dunstan growled. “Do not interrupt me, wren!”

  “Do not scold me, Dunstan!”

  “I will not have you gainsay me, wife!”

  “And I will not have you go to Baddersly!”

  While all the de Burghs watched in fascination, Marion rose from her seat. Even standing, she was little higher than her seated husband, but that seemed not to matter to her. She planted her legs apart in a stance not unlike the Wolf’s and poked a tiny finger into his wide chest. “You are sick of traveling, and you know it!”

  Dunstan surged to his feet, his face darkened with a fury that boded ill for his wife.

  “Now, Marion…” Geoffrey began, trying to forestall an argument.

  She heeded him not. She simply leaned her head back to stare up at the giant of a man looming over her. “Let Simon go, Dunstan, for ‘tis time for you to tend to Wessex.”

  “And what is wrong with Wessex?” Dunstan asked. “Why must I stay here?” Six pairs of de Burgh eyes met anxiously, while the brothers wondered if their little Marion was going to assault the huge knight in front of her, or if the Wolf was going to erupt in rage. Nicholas and Robin scooted back, wary of the look on the face of the eldest de Burgh, while Geoffrey and Simon moved closer, determined to protect the woman who had become a sister to them.

  “You must stay here because I am here,” Marion announced boldly. “And so is your heir.” She put a dainty hand to her stomach, and stared, unflinching, up at her fierce husband.

  Growling suddenly, Dunstan grabbed his wife by the shoulders, plunging the hall into anxious silence. Then Marion threw her arms around his neck, and in front of all the de Burghs, the two shared a kiss that threatened to consume them both.

  The stunned brothers were shaken from their gaping by the sound of Campion’s soft voice offering congratulations. Then the room erupted with the movement of the brothers, their dark heads bobbing in agreement, their deep bellows and shouts of praise ringing in the hall.

  Through the press of tall, muscular bodies, Marion’s eyes met Campion’s, and she saw him rub his chin thoughtfully. “It seems I was wrong,” he remarked.

  “Wrong? About what?” she asked curiously.

  “I thought that you must have tamed the Wolf, but to my mind, ‘tis the other way around.”

  The earl had everyone’s attention now, and Nicholas, casting a puzzled look at Dunstan and his wife, asked, “How so?”

  “‘Tis plain that Duns
tan has imbued our gentle, little Marion with some of the fierce, unrestrained spirit that earned him his name,” Campion answered, with a smile. “She makes a fitting wife for the Wolf.”

  * * *

  Marion thought her heart would surely burst with happiness at the sight of the familiar tall towers rising regally into the white winter sky. Although she had come to love Wessex, Campion would always be home to her, too, for it was the first place that she had come into her own—and it was a shining example of the strength of family bonds and affection.

  That notion had been a little hard to explain to her husband, who, having grown up in the luxurious castle, was unimpressed by it, and, having been surrounded by his brothers for months, was not exactly pining to see them. The Wolf, Marion had discovered, jealously guarded her love for him and for his holdings; he was not thrilled by her feelings for the rest of the de Burghs and their residence. But all of the earl’s sons were returning to the fold for Christmas, and Marion wanted to be there, too.

  It had taken her a week to convince her husband.

  The Wolf had complained that he hated traveling, that he had seen his family more this year than during the past three combined and that he did not want to endanger the child his wife carried.

  Marion had argued that Campion was only a couple of days’ ride away, that she was but a few months pregnant and that it would be ill-mannered to refuse an invitation from the earl. When she sensed her husband weakening, Marion begged the journey as her gift, and, finally, after much grumbling and growling, Dunstan had acceded to her wishes.

  Now, cozily settled by the fire in the solar, Marion knew a bone-deep satisfaction in his capitulation. Resting a hand upon her slightly rounded stomach, she let her eyes roam the room, lighting lovingly on the men she had come to view as brothers.

  They were all here, the six of them, plus her husband. Even Simon had returned from Baddersly, where he had taken control of Marion’s holdings for Dunstan. Having rid the castle of Peasely’s corrupt associates, he had chosen a new steward, reorganized the defenses and had come back eager for more challenges. Although Marion knew a sister’s pride in his deeds, she worried that his need to prove himself exceeded even his elder brother’s and would someday put him in danger.