Was she even listening to him? Her head was bent, her dark curls tumbling about her face in wild disarray, and her hands were still upon the reins. Dunstan longed to shatter that composure, to grab her by the shoulders and force her to listen until she swore never to endanger herself again. But he was not so uncivilized. He had learned restraint from his father, who rarely raised a hand to anyone. Campion had earned respect through his fairness, his leadership and the rewards he bestowed on those who served him well, and Dunstan tried hard to follow in his footsteps.
Sometimes it was harder than others, Dunstan thought as he glared at the lady beside him. How could he reach her? Beneath her sometimes foolish behavior was a clever mind, as he well knew. Why would she not be sensible? Had she not been attacked before? “The world is full of threats, Marion, but then, you must know this, for is that not how you came to meet my brothers?” he asked.
Dunstan saw his taunt hit its mark, for Marion blanched, her great eyes darting toward him in horror. “I…I do not know,” she answered.
“Ah, yes, the infamous memory lapse,” Dunstan muttered.
Marion drew herself up then, the pain he had briefly glimpsed swiftly replaced by the cool, unreachable mask he well recognized. Dunstan suddenly regretted his mockery. Clenching his jaw, he told himself that the advice he gave was for her own good, and yet he felt as wretched as if he had kicked her in the teeth for no good reason.
“I really do not remember,” she said suddenly. She was staring off into the distance, and somehow, she seemed more truthful now than when she was looking him directly in the eye.
Dunstan felt something stir again inside him. The urge to take her into his arms, to protect this maddening woman from all of the world’s hurts, was overwhelming. He grunted, disgusted, but unable to stop himself from offering whatever feeble comfort he could. “I have heard of such things,” he said finally. “Back when I was a young knight, I saw a man with a head wound wander for days without his senses.”
She looked at him, and he felt as if those wonderful wide eyes would swallow him up, taking him into their depths forever. “Thank you, Dunstan,” she said. It was only a few words, gently spoken, but they touched him down to the bone. Strange, far too strange for his blood, he thought with a grimace.
“You frown too much, Dunstan.”
Dunstan glanced at her in surprise to find her smiling at him. And the world dimmed in the face of it.
Speechless, Dunstan stared at that smile. Bright with life and accompanied by two deep dimples, it was like none he had ever seen before. It seemed to encompass him, cloaking him in its warmth and lightening his heart. How would he feel to have that smile turned upon him again and again? It made him want to move his lips in return, to reach for something he had long forgotten.
Dunstan decided a man would have to be as cold as stone to be unaffected by it, and he was not made of stone. Gad, but he felt himself go all soft inside. He straightened in the saddle. “I have had little enough to please me upon this journey,” he answered.
Undiminished by his reference to her troublesome behavior, Marion’s grin deepened, and Dunstan swore he saw a sparkle in her eye. In spite of himself—in spite of all he knew of this exasperating female—he felt himself drawn to her. She seemed the embodiment of so many things he had been lacking: warmth and comfort and caring. Caring? Dunstan frowned at his own foolish thoughts. Perhaps his brainwasswelling!
“My lady, I would not have us be enemies,” he said politely. “If you and I had met under other circumstances, I might have found you pleasing. And I can assure you, you would have found me much more accommodating. But I have business that requires my attention, and this journey is wearing on me sorely.”
“What weighs upon you so?” Marion tilted her head slightly to train her great dark gaze upon him, and Dunstan felt its gentle touch like a caress.
You.Dunstan almost spoke the word aloud. You and your foolish escapades, from scaling trees to burrowing into caves. You and that bewitching smile of yours. You and the way you look and act and sound, filling my thoughts as no other woman ever has…. He stared off into the forest that rose in the distance. “I am needed at Wessex,” he said gruffly.
“What is it? Have you problems there?”
The concern in her big brown eyes tempted Dunstan to speak, but being the eldest of Campion’s sons, he had always borne the most responsibility. Long ago, he had learned to rely solely on himself in his efforts to meet his father’s standards, and he had never deigned to share his burdens with another.
“There are difficulties, yes,” he said abruptly.
“Surely ‘tis not so bad,” she murmured. Her voice, low and gentle, invited confidence. Dunstan felt himself drawn to her again, as if Marion could somehow lighten his load, free him from the weight of his worries, ease him….
“My neighbor, Fitzhugh, tries me sorely,” he said slowly. “He constantly harries my people and attacks my property under the guise of outlawry. Many had fled before I came to the holding, so there are few villeins to work the soil. I would see they put in their proper days of service, so that we have a good harvest this year and do not all starve. Beyond the field work, there are ditches to be cleared, banks to be rebuilt….” The lady must be an enchantress, Dunstan mused, for he was voicing concerns he had not even shared with Walter.
“What does your father say?”
“Of what?” Dunstan asked, surprised by her question.
“Of your burdens. I cannot believe that he would send you away from your holdings when you are so needed there.” Her heart-shaped face was tilted toward him, and the sun glowed on the heavy curls that escaped her hood.
“I doubt that he knows of them,” Dunstan replied. “‘Tis not his land, but mine own that is threatened.”
“But he is your sire, and loves you well!” Marion protested. “Surely he can help you. And what of your brothers? Why are they not watching out for your interests?”
Dunstan frowned. “They have their own concerns.”
“Nay! They have not,” she argued. “They are six grown, healthy men with little enough to do at Campion. They would welcome a change.”
“They have not been overly eager to lend me their arms,” Dunstan said.
“Have you ever asked them?”
