“Nay! I beg not,” Dunstan replied, his eyes narrowing.
“Mercy! You are a stubborn fool!” Marion said, pushing a long, thick strand of hair from her face. Dunstan wondered what it would feel like between his fingers. A man could bury his hands in a mane like that….
“They would never step in to help you without being asked, Dunstan de Burgh! They think you are invincible and need them not. Do you know how thrilled Simon would be to aid you?”
Dunstan tore his gaze from her curls and looked at her earnest face, astounded that the little wren was working herself up in such a fashion.
“He is always trying to live up to your example, yet he finds no chance for glory in serving Campion, for it is well defended. I know that he has asked to join King Edward’s forces, but your father is reluctant to let him go. Although your sire would admit it not, he likes having his sons around him. Simon needs a chance to prove himself, and what better way than by your side? Then, mayhap, he would see you are no god, but only mortal man, like himself.”
Dunstan struggled to take it all in. Simon, cold and competent beyond reason, saw him as a god? Dunstan found that hard to believe, just as he did the notion of his father hoarding his brothers.
“And Stephen and Reynold, too,” Marion added. “They need challenges. They have become less than they should be, kicking their heels at Campion. Stephen gets himself into mischief while Reynold broods in bitterness. Yet they are good men, brave knights all, who would be proud to stand by you. With such men as these, who would dare harry you?”
Dunstan shook his head, wary of her words, and yet, amazing as it might seem, they made sense. He imagined Simon, clearheaded and capable of fending off the most vicious threat, standing guard at his gates, and Geoffrey…Marion had not mentioned him, but Geoffrey had more sense than all of them. Geoffrey could see that the fallow land at Wessex produced double its measure.
Perhaps she was right. What good would come of remaining aloof and alone? Would he rather lose Wessex than ask his own family for assistance? He had already proved himself aplenty to his sire and his siblings. Mayhap it was time they proved themselves to him.
“When you return, you must confide in your father,” Marion said. “‘Tis no sign of weakness to call upon your brothers. They need you as much as you need them, Dunstan.”
“I will consider it,” Dunstan promised as he looked at Marion with new respect. She answered his regard with that beautiful, open smile that dimpled both her cheeks, and for an instant, Dunstan felt a dizzy sort of longing that had nothing to do with sex. Then his jaw tightened.
“You will excuse me, lady,” he said abruptly, wheeling his horse out of the line and forward. Suddenly, he was overwhelmed with the need to get away from the only woman who had the power to twist and turn his thoughts into directions he found too disturbing for his comfort.
* * *
Marion passed the rest of the day in peace, glad to be left alone. Although she had enjoyed her brief conversation with Walter Avery, she found his sudden attention dismaying, and she had no desire for further complications. The fewer people interested in her the better. And she certainly had not cared to hear Dunstan’s dire warnings, especially when she was planning to disregard them soon enough.
Although he did not seek her out again, Marion often sensed the Wolf’s eyes upon her. Sometimes she would look up only to catch him quickly glancing away, that perpetual scowl marring his handsome features. Presumably, he was simply guarding her well, Marion thought, with no little disgruntlement.
When she had ridden beside him, Marion had briefly thought she saw longing in those green eyes of his, but it must have been indigestion—or loathing, she decided. Dunstan had no cause to like her, that was certain, especially since she had delayed this trip more than once.
No wonder he was so grumpy. Even though she did not understand why he had accepted this errand, Marion could see what drove him to hurry. Dunstan was worried about his lands and his people, and she could not fault him for that.
Watching his mounted figure, Marion felt a twinge of admiration for the man she had once despised so thoroughly. Could the feeling be mutual? Dunstan had always treated her as less than nothing, but today she had sensed a change in him. Had she imagined it, or had the Wolf of Wessex finally eyed her with some respect? At least he believed her about her memory loss—a small step that, but a significant one. Perhaps there was hope for the eldest de Burgh, after all, Marion thought with a smile.
With some surprise, Marion realized that she would not mind getting to know him better, to discover exactly what lay beneath that rough hide of his perhaps to change his snarls to smiles. She nearly laughed at the absurdity of such a scheme. Surely, it would be doomed to failure, for a wolf could no more change his nature than a leopard his spots.
No matter. She would have to ignore Dunstan’s increasing appeal, for, though he might more readily believe some of her words, he was still intent upon returning her to Baddersly. And Marion had no intention of being left behind in that dark and dreadful place while the Wolf went on to resume his life.
Escape was never far from her thoughts. All day she had watched for a chance to ease her mount away from the rest of the train, but no opportunity had arisen. The men stayed close to her for her own protection, as did Cedric, who seemed doubly attentive after receiving his reprimand from Dunstan. And Marion’s small but sturdy horse would be no match for the huge destriers ridden by the Wolf and his men.
No, Marion knew that she must somehow gain time, enough time to get far ahead of any pursuit. Longingly, she looked at the forest that rose upon the hills to their right, dipping closer here and farther there as the road curved and twisted. She could lose herself in those woods, if only she could slip away undetected. She had but to find her chance.
It came at supper.
It seemed the Wolf was avoiding her again, so she was spared his company. Eating but little, she excused herself early from Cedric’s company. “But, my lady, ‘tis not even dark yet,” the boy protested, glancing up at the setting sun.
“I know, but I am tired,” Marion explained with an apologetic smile. Would the boy forgive her deception? She felt sadly regretful for getting Cedric into trouble yet again, but she had to think of herself. And she knew that Dunstan was a fair master; he would not hurt the boy.
“Good night,” she whispered.
“Good night, my lady,” he answered, too kind and open to suspect her of anything but weariness.
And in truth, Marion was weary, but it was not to rest that she entered her tent. She knew that once she was inside it, Cedric would relax his guard, and that was when she planned to escape. She waited patiently, hoping that Agnes would stay out by the fire until late, helping the men with their meal. Of Dunstan, she had seen little, but she suspected that he, too, would leave her be, for had he not lectured her long and vehemently against the follies of fleeing? He did not think she would, and that was exactly how she would manage to, once again.
Peeking out from under the edge of the tent, Marion saw that Cedric had, indeed, left for the companionable glow of the fire, where most of the men still gathered. Agnes and Dunstan, too, must be there, for no one was near her tent. Wrapping the servant’s tattered cloak around her, Marion slipped out from under the other side and moved calmly toward the trees.
She was nearly under the first heavy shadows of their leaves when a voice called after her, “Hey, old woman, don’t go far.”
