It was exhilarating.
Leaning forward, she tried to ignore it. After all, she was not enamored of the man. Quite the contrary! Dunstan, with his arrogant attitude and bullying tactics, was responsible for all her misfortune. It was bad enough that he had found her, foiling her clever escape, but to taunt her and scare her with that ferocious roar…That was beyond pardon. And so, the fact that she was riding in front of him, his body touching hers until his presence surrounded her, enveloping her like a cloak, should have no effect upon her at all.
But it did. It would help if he were not so deliciously warm, Marion decided. Heat seemed to pour from the man like a forge. He smelled of it even—of warm skin, horses and leather, and some kind of soap. Marion, who was always cold and could ever be found in front of a fire, felt blessedly toasted for the first time in her life.
Suddenly pulled more tightly against him, Marion was awed by the hardness of him, the steel of his thighs and arms and alien form. Dark male strength was apparent in every inch of him, in every breath he took. It was daunting. Almost frightening.
Definitely thrilling.
Like a swimmer about to dive beneath the surface, Marion closed her eyes, took a deep draft of air and leaned back into that massive chest. For a few brief moments, she seemed to merge with the eldest de Burgh, drawn into his heat and scent and vigor as the great beast beneath them surged forward. And then, like a fleeting but vivid dream, it was over. Too quickly.
In what seemed like an instant, Dunstan’s destrier reached the others, and Marion found herself the object of attention. Although none asked where she had been found, she caught questioning looks from some of the men and unkind glances from those who had not liked searching for her.
Ignoring them, Marion lifted her chin, secure in the protection of Dunstan’s embrace. The eldest de Burgh might be more her enemy than her friend, but who would not feel safe before him? Despite their discord, Marion sensed that he would let no harm come to her, and she stayed where she was until the boy who served as Dunstan’s squire darted forward to assist her down.
Marion told herself she was not disappointed to leave the haven of Dunstan’s arms, especially when he thrust her away none too gently, just as if she were a hedgehog that pricked him sorely. “Put her back on her palfrey. And keep watch upon her,” he ordered his squire curtly. Then, without another word or glance, he was off, barking orders to his men, a remote, dark figure atop his massive warhorse.
Annoyed that he could so quickly forget her when the touch of him still lingered on her skin, Marion stared after him until the young squire touched her arm gently. “Please, my lady, we had best hurry.”
Yes, better hurry, better dance to Dunstan’s tune, Marion thought churlishly. When the boy helped her mount, she concentrated very hard on just how much she disliked the eldest de Burgh brother. The biggest and fiercest of Campion’s boys was nothing but a brute, she told herself. And yet…
“Well, a fine chase you led us all!” said Agnes. Although Marion heard the elderly servant Campion had sent along to attend her, she did not respond. Apparently, the old woman was the only female the earl could recruit for the journey, but Marion thought them ill-suited. Agnes seemed to doze most of the time, even while riding, and she was far too outspoken for Marion’s taste. Disregarding the rude comment, Marion looked away.
But Agnes was not to be deterred. “You look no worse for it. Did he not beat you?” she asked, in a shrill, penetrating voice.
Marion’s eyes flew back to the servant. “Beat me?” she squeaked.
“Aye! A big giant of a man, dark and fierce, is the earl’s eldest. He looks like he would give no quarter. Did he beat you?”
Appalled by Agnes’s loud questions, Marion tried to put the conversation to rest. “My lord Wessex has no right or reason to abuse me.”
The old woman made a noise and then blew her nose. “Mayhap he is not so ferocious as he looks then, if he let a wee slip of a thing like you rile him so and did not lay a hand on you.”
Lay a hand on you.The words hung in the air, making Marion turn her face away, for Dunstan had put his hand on her. Color, bright and hot, raced up from her throat at the memory. He had touched her, had gripped her wrists and pinned her up against the tree with his body, and then…
Marion’s breath came quickly at the recollection of his palm skimming her waist and his hard thighs rubbing against her stomach. Mercy, but when his hand had moved, his thumb had brushed underneath her breast!
For one, long, incredible instant she had thought he might kiss her. Had she ever seen the hot flash of desire in a man’s eyes? Marion doubted it, but she suspected that was exactly what had darkened Dunstan’s green gaze, holding her in thrall. She could not have moved or protested if she had wanted to, and she had not wanted the moment to end. Ever. Marion shut her eyes against the wave of strange, restless yearning that consumed her.
“Ah, so he did do something!” Agnes’s cackling laugh brought Marion out of her thoughts abruptly.
“Enough!” she said, blushing even more brightly at the old woman’s astute guess. “Tend to your business and leave me in peace.”
The cackling became a gravelly chuckle. “Many a maid’s head has been turned by that one,” Agnes said. “‘Tis said at court that they call him the Wolf of Wessex, and not just because of his family’s device.”
Marion drew in a deep breath. This was something she did not care to hear!
“Why, a man that big—”
“Enough!” Marion’s voice rose. “I am not interested in Lord Wessex’s reputation or aught else about him! He is a mannerless brute, and he will not bend me to his will!” Just saying the words aloud seemed to strengthen Marion’s resolve.
And why not? She was not chattel to be driven before him. The loss of her memory did not make her stupid. She had been clever enough to nearly escape him once. Just because she had failed this time did not mean she must meekly accept her fate.
She would try again. And again and again—until she succeeded. Marion felt that small spark in her ignite as new plans, half-formed, danced before her. She glanced over at Agnes. Apparently, her sharp words had been heeded, for the old woman was slumped in the saddle, as if dozing again. Marion relaxed—until she heard Agnes speak again.
“Do not tell me what you are about, lady, for I do not wish to know,” the old woman said. She opened one eye to gaze at Marion cannily, then closed it again, a smile cracking her lips.
Biting back a sound of dismay, Marion looked away, ruing the day that Campion had given her such a companion. Apparently, Agnes saw much more than she should have. But the servant would not stand in her way, Marion told herself firmly. Despite Agnes’s often astute comments, the old woman knew nothing and could not inform anyone of her schemes.
