Taming The Wolf. Deborah Simmons
my past is a mystery to me, but I know this much—something there was very wrong. I cannot even try to remember but that I am filled with dread. I beg you, my lord, do not send me back.”
She let the plea hang in the air while Campion rubbed his chin and studied her thoughtfully. Although panic threatened to consume her, Marion betrayed nothing and made no movement. Her back remained straight as a rod while she perched on the edge of the settle, her hands in her lap.
Finally, the earl sighed regretfully. “I am sorry, Marion, but news of your stay here has reached your uncle, and he has threatened war if we do not return you to Baddersly at once.”
War! Marion’s heart sank, along with the very last of her hopes, for she could not blame Campion for his decision. Despite her distress, she had no wish to endanger the men who had taken her in and treated her so kindly. She could not see their blood spilled simply because she felt more at home here than at a castle she no longer recalled.
“Although I am not moved by his intimidation, I fear, my dear, that we have no legal right to you,” Campion explained.
Marion listened, still and quiet, as she felt blackness descend, taking her to a place where she had not been for many months. When she spoke, it was from a distance, detached from them all. “I see,” she said softly. She did not nod or smile, but only eyed the earl gravely. “When do we leave?”
For the first time since Marion had known him, the dignified Campion looked uncomfortable. “As soon as your things are packed,” he answered. “Dunstan is eager to be off. He is well versed with the roadways, having served Edward for many years before receiving his own barony. He will see that you come to no harm.”
As if in answer, Dunstan stepped out of the shadows, a huge, intimidating presence. He was as big as the bole of an oak tree, and right now he looked to be just about as feeling. He moved in front of the window, so that Marion blinked, unable to see him well. And in that instant, she hated him.
“Come, Lady Warenne,” he said, eyeing her disdainfully. “We had best be on our way.”
Marion rose to find the other de Burghs crowding around her. Robin and Geoffrey exchanged glances, both of them looking guilty and ill at ease.
“Dunstan will take good care of you,” Geoffrey offered.
“Yes. He is the very best,” Robin said. He held out his hands to take hers. “Godspeed.”
“Keep well,” Geoffrey added.
Marion nodded, then turned to Stephen, who raised his cup in salute. “Goodbye, Stephen,” she said, surprised at the lump in her throat. She sought again the numbness that would shield her, reaching into the blackness for a place she had been to before coming to Campion.
“Marion.” Simon’s face was taut, his farewell terse.
Reynold did not even speak, but jerked his head and rubbed his bad leg. “Reynold,” she said.
Nicholas stepped toward her then, hanging his head and looking miserable. “I am sorry, Marion,” he muttered. “Dunstan will take care of you, though. He will not let any harm come to you!”
“Thank you for your kindness, all of you,” she said evenly.
Campion took her hands. “Farewell for now, Lady Marion. I hope that we shall meet again soon.”
Despite her best efforts, Marion felt a pressure behind her eyes as she pulled away. Then Dunstan moved forward to escort her out of the room, and she was spared the ignominy of losing her control. A swift glance at his hard features set her own, so that she left the others behind without a glance.
* * *
Since Marion did not turn back, she did not see the de Burghs fling themselves down in disgust. For long moments, silence reigned in the solar. Then Stephen finally spoke. “I would have preferred ranting and raving to that noble acceptance,” he noted before taking a long drink from his replenished cup.
“Aye,” said Campion, frowning thoughtfully. “‘Twould have been easier if she had cursed you all for the cowards that you are.”
“Aye,” Geoffrey whispered softly. And for once, no argument ensued. The de Burghs were all in agreement again.
Chapter Three
Dunstan was not pleased. He had come to Campion for...well, he was not sure exactly why he had come, but it was not to be saddled with such a ridiculous errand. Not now, when there was so much to be done at Wessex. He rubbed the back of his neck and strode into the yard without even glancing at the woman at his side.
While the wench was packing, he had hastily washed, changed his travel-stained garments and devoured some food. Now, he looked toward a few of his father’s men to supplement his own force before leaving. Although they would make only a few miles before sunset, that would put them a few miles closer to their destination—and the completion of his task.
“Dunstan!” He turned at the call from his vassal. Walter Avery, a beefy blond knight who had been with him since his first days serving King Edward, loped across the yard, looking decidedly annoyed to have been snatched from his leisure.
“Wait here,” Dunstan curtly told the woman. Without staying for an answer, he walked over to meet his vassal.
“What is afoot?” Walter asked. “Have you news of Fitzhugh?”
“Nay,” Dunstan said, frowning at the mention of his bastard neighbor. “Campion would have me escort one of his guests back to her home,” he explained curtly.
Walter’s heavy brows lifted in surprise. “And you agreed?”
Dunstan glanced at the walls of the keep that rose behind them and realized, belatedly, that he could have refused his father. But that course had never even crossed his mind. As the eldest, he had always shouldered the most responsibility; as a de Burgh, he bore it without complaint.
“It should not take long, a few weeks, no more,” Dunstan said absently. Walter shook his head. Obviously, he could not understand why a baron with his own property and its attendant problems would take on a commission from Campion—especially when there were at least five other brothers who could do the job.
Dunstan was wondering the same thing himself.
“See that we have sufficient men for the trip,” he ordered. “I want to travel quickly and light, but most of all, I want this to be a safe, uneventful journey.”
When Walter nodded grudgingly and stalked across the yard to see to the men, Dunstan turned back toward the girl, but she was not where he had left her. Unaccustomed to having his orders disobeyed, Dunstan clenched his jaw in annoyance and looked around. Although he soon spotted her not far away, surrounded by a group of urchins, his temper was unappeased. A lifetime of hard work, skilled fighting and book study, and he was playing nursemaid to a female!
And what a female! As Dunstan strode toward the brown daub of a creature, he wondered how she had ever wormed her way into his family’s good graces. He had little use for women himself and had never known his brothers to claim aught but carnal interest in them, either. And yet he had witnessed the battle-hardened de Burghs fawning over this one in wrenching farewells that had made his stomach turn.
As he approached her, she reached down to pat one of the children, and he studied her in earnest. The woman was not even beautiful! She was short and dark and too voluptuous for his taste, which ran more to willowy blondes. A certain widow from Edward’s court, who had been free with her favors, came to mind. Yes, Melissande, pale and cool and glittering with expensive gems, was to his liking—not this moppet. He scowled at her.
She was stooping, making herself even smaller to speak to the children who crowded happily around her, when Dunstan reached her. He did not pause or wait for her to acknowledge his presence. He simply grabbed her by the arm and hauled her up. “I told you to stay put!” he snapped.
For