Taming The Wolf. Deborah Simmons
was trampled near the bole, there was no evidence of impressions away from the tree. A little thing like her would probably have a light step, though, Dunstan acknowledged.
“Lady Warenne!” Dunstan called out loudly, only to receive no answer. “Lady Warenne! Can you hear me? Are you hurt?” Silence met his words. With a low oath, Dunstan ordered his men to look in ever-widening circles until the stupid woman was found. She was, unfortunately, the sole reason for this trip, and he could not return to Wessex until she was delivered to her uncle.
As he mounted and turned his horse toward the woods, Dunstan tried not to think of the delay she was costing him. He tried not to think of how he would like to shake the foolish chit until her teeth rattled. He tried, valiantly, to control his temper.
After an hour, Dunstan was furious. They had combed the forest, the road and the fields, and had found nothing of Lady Warenne. It was as if she had disappeared without a trace. Gritting his teeth, Dunstan reined in his destrier near the spot where they had originally stopped and forced himself to admit the truth.
He did not like escorting foolhardy women to their homes, but even less did he like being bested by them. And that was what he was sure had happened. Somehow, the lady had fled of her own free will!
Dunstan chided himself for not taking his mission more seriously, for letting his thoughts drift to his own troubles at Wessex when they should have been focused solely on the business at hand. He knew the wench did not want to return to her uncle, so he should have kept a closer eye upon her. But who would have thought the little wren would rather brave the wilds of the countryside than go back to Baddersly?
Her flight had been so swiftly arranged that Dunstan could not even blame her success on outside assistance. No, he realized, the minx had outwitted him all by herself. Under normal circumstances, Dunstan might spare a fleeting moment of admiration for such a trick, but not today, when each minute spent looking for her delayed him further.
Instead, he stared at the now-familiar eating area, his eyes narrowing as he weighed the facts before him, trying to puzzle an answer from them. Finally, with one last glance at the clearing alongside the road, Dunstan shouted to Walter. “Come! Let us gather the train together and head toward Campion. Perhaps she is making her way there.” Grim-faced, his men began turning the carts around and taking their places for the trek back.
Waiting while the others rode ahead, Dunstan caught the swift look that Walter sent him, a look that said, What will your father do when you return without the lady? But his vassal knew better than to voice such concerns, and Dunstan refused to consider them. He never failed in his tasks, and he did not intend to start now.
A mile down the road, Dunstan told his men to fan out again, while he turned back toward where they had camped. When he neared the site, Dunstan slipped from his horse and walked silently, making his way in a circle through the woods until he reached a point where he could see the tree under which Lady Warenne had taken her meal. Then he leaned back against an oak, crossed his arms against his chest and watched.
He did not have long to wait. Soon there was a peculiar rustling up in the branches, and Dunstan moved forward soundlessly. By the time he saw a green slipper descending, he was underneath the tree. A shapely ankle, encased in dark hose, revealed itself, followed by a swish of emerald skirts. With a rather gleeful malice, Dunstan doffed his gauntlets, reached up and closed his fingers about her calf.
“Eeeek!” Lady Warenne shrieked like a captured fowl, lost her footing and tumbled directly into his arms.
Dunstan would never have believed that anyone so small could put up such a fight, but the little wren struggled like a falcon. Finally, he was forced to pin her up against the bole of the tree, her wrists pressed to her sides and her body stilled by the pressure of his own. “Cease, Lady Warenne,” he ordered grimly.
Her large eyes flashed recognition, and she finally stilled, but in that instant the shape of their encounter altered subtly. Those incredibly huge eyes were not a dull brown, as Dunstan had first thought, but the gentle, warm hue of a doe’s and fringed with the thickest dark lashes he had ever seen. He found himself caught by them, and, at the same time, he became aware of the feel of her against him.
She was soft and lushly curved. Her abundant breasts pressed into his chest, and his fingers grazed her generous hips. Her ever-present hood had fallen to release a mass of heavy, mahogany curls that tumbled about her shoulders as if she had just risen, tousled, from her bed. Her cheeks were flushed, a compelling, deep rose, and her lips, full and wide, were parted in silent startlement. A pulse beat at the base of her throat, and Dunstan could feel the rise and fall of her breath.
With vague surprise, he found himself spring to life against her belly. He looked down at her, trapped like a wild bird by his form, and he felt something indescribable. Without thought, he moved against her, and the tantalizing press of her body against his groin made him hot as a flame.
Dunstan closed his eyes against a realization that he would rather deny, but it formed nonetheless: he wanted her. He wanted her with a fierce desire that astonished him in its intensity. His head felt as if the blood was rushing from it, and like a man dazed, he released one of her wrists, sliding his hand along the sumptuous curve of her hip to her waist and then...
Day of God, he wanted to touch her! He wanted to slip his palm inside her bodice and cup her bare breasts, to feel the heft and weight of them. Dunstan smoothed his thumb along her ribs, underneath one fat mound, letting its heavy softness ride him, and he shuddered, his fingers poised but a hairbreadth from the taut material that covered her chest.
She made some sound, and he opened his eyes to gaze into hers, wide with some unnamed emotion. She was not afraid of him. He sensed that, but she was afraid nonetheless. Freeing her other wrist, he raised his left hand slowly, so as not to startle her. He wanted to curve it around her neck and take those parted lips with his mouth....
With a growl, Dunstan stepped back, releasing her, and she slid down the bole of the tree to collapse at his feet. Refusing to look at her, he turned and whistled for his horse. By faith, he had never taken a woman against her will! He had rarely taken one outside of the confines of her own perfumed bed. What in God’s name had possessed him to nearly force himself upon a lady his own father had entrusted to him?
Dunstan grimaced in disgust. Obviously, he had been too long without sex to react so heatedly...and to the wren, of all women! Instead of wanting to take her, he should want to strangle her after the dance she had led him!
Anger, long-suppressed, rushed through him, sluicing away the last vestiges of his desire. Just what had possessed her to try to escape him in the first place? The whole business was so ludicrous. Dunstan did not care to admit how close she had come to succeeding. He whirled on her suddenly.
“Why the devil were you up the tree?”
She stopped dusting herself off to gaze directly at him, and Dunstan noticed, not for the first time, that she possessed an oddly affecting grace. Even after such treatment as he had just given her, she held herself calmly, displaying no distress. The color in her cheeks was still high, but she gave no other sign of their strange encounter. “I...I saw a wild boar and climbed up to get out of its path.”
For a moment, Dunstan just stood there staring at her, his mouth open in astonishment. Then he threw back his head and laughed uproariously. She watched him serenely the entire time, just as if her explanation had not been the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard.
“Perhaps you would care to tell me why no one else saw or heard this animal? Or why a lady such as yourself would not scream and run away, but instead crawl up a tree? A decidedly unladylike response, I would say,” Dunstan said.
She was looking at him curiously, those enormous eyes of hers wide with something he could not identify, but that obviously had nothing whatsoever to do with what he was saying. “Well?” he prodded her.
“I was too afraid to scream,” she answered without demur. The forthright manner in which she spoke nearly made him doubt his own presumptions, but Dunstan knew better. He put his hands on his hips and assessed her.
“And