He stared down at her openmouthed, the stunned look on his face nearly comical. “Bullying? Bullying! By faith, I saved your life, you ungrateful wench!” Tall and broad as one of the surrounding oaks, he stood with his feet apart and both hands on his hips, the scowl on his face reaching a new level of ferocity.
Marion was unmoved. “Now, if you will excuse me!” She turned to go, but his hand shot out to stop her again.
“I will not!” Dunstan’s eyes narrowed, and his fine lips tightened into a thin line. “For I cannot trust you to have the good sense not to run off again! Day of God, lady, are you witless? Know you not what those men were about last night? They would have used you and left you for dead!”
Gripping her arm tighter, Dunstan shook her roughly, as if to gain her attention, and Marion realized that she really ought to be frightened of this huge, threatening knight. She really ought to freeze where she was, uttering not a word, and hope that he tired of this game before he truly hurt her. If she did anything at all, she ought to fall to her knees and beg his forgiveness.
Marion knew what she ought to do. Instead, she spat a curse at him and stomped on his foot. It was hard as a rock and made her own ache. She hopped up and down in a one-legged jig.
Dunstan swore to himself, grimacing at her antics. “By faith, listen to me, Marion! I am trying to protect you! Even if you are so foolish as to ignore what happened to you last night, I am not! Do you know how I felt when I saw you between those men?”
Although he was shouting and he still held her arm too tightly, his words made her look up, and Marion stared in surprise. Was something besides rage fueling this fit of his? His green eyes held a hint of confusion, and Marion felt her own anger fade.
“No, I do not know,” she said softly. “What did you feel, Dunstan?”
Releasing her so suddenly that she nearly stumbled, he turned and strode restlessly away from her. “I would that you see how dangerous it is to be out here alone.” Although his voice was low and taut, the reply came too easily, as if he hid the real answer not only from her, but from himself.
Or perhaps her imagination ran away with her. Marion rubbed her bruised arm and stared at the handsome man who roamed like a wolf among the woods, avoiding her gaze, avoiding anything that might tame him, and she knew not what he really felt. “I want you to stop this foolishness and go home willingly,” he said gruffly.
“To what?” Marion asked softly. “What difference if I die here or at Baddersly?”
He swung around to face her, and she stepped back from his menacing form as he snarled at her. “Be reasonable, woman! The difference is that you will die here—and brutally—yet you do not know that death awaits you at your home.”
“It does, and I know it, Dunstan,” Marion answered calmly. Looking off into the distance, she tried to frame Baddersly in her mind, but failed. Slowly, quietly, she laid a hand over her breast. “I do not know it with my mind or my memory, but I know it with my heart. I sense it.”
Dunstan snorted loudly.
“If you refuse to believe me, then I know not what to say to convince you.” Marion disliked argument of any sort, and she knew that this exchange with the eldest de Burgh would change nothing. Obviously, he was not in a receptive mood. As filthy as herself, he had probably kept watch throughout the darkness. He was tired and surly and no doubt chafing at the delay the night had cost him.
His mouth twisted. “You try my patience, Marion. Have you no faith in Campion? He will see to it no harm comes to you.”
“Will he?” Marion scoffed. “My champion has sent me from the safety of his walls to a place I do not know, where I will be at the mercy of a man I do not even remember!” The skeptical look on his face grated her temper again, and she pointed a finger at his massive chest.
“You can have no idea how I feel, Dunstan, because you have always been surrounded by your brothers. You have a loving family, trusted retainers and soldiers who would risk their lives for you. At Baddersly naught familiar awaits me. I know naught of that place but dread!”
“You are mad,” he snarled, “either that or totally witless.”
“Fine,” Marion said with resignation. “Believe what you will. You always have. But, now, Imustattend to myself.” She stepped forward, but he was in front of her, halting her path, in a thrice, and she wondered how someone so big could move so quickly and so quietly.
“No.” Dunstan’s hands were on his hips again, his legs apart in his warrior stance as he glared down at her.
“What?” Marion’s eyes flew to his in confusion.
“No,” he said smugly. “I admit that you have tricked me more than once, wren, but I would be a fool to let you do it again. You may not have a care for that luscious body of yours, but I must. My father has charged me with returning you to Baddersly, alive and reasonably well, so I do not intend to let you out of my sight until I have delivered you into the hands of your uncle. I suggest that if you wish to relieve yourself, you had better lift your skirts, and do it. We have already wasted enough time this morn.”
Marion was taken aback. Surely, he did not mean to watch her? “But…but…” she stammered, blushing furiously. “You cannot expect me to…” Her voice trailed off as she realized there was something positively malicious in the way his lips curved into a smile that was not quite a smile.
“I do,” he said simply.
Marion flushed crimson. “How dare you? I am a gentlewoman!” she protested.
Instead of agreeing, Dunstan had the audacity to throw back his head and laugh. “You have yet to convince me of it,” he said.
For the first time in her life, Marion felt like striking someone. She smoothed her hands upon her gown, instead, and searched for some semblance of composure. Obviously, she could not assault the Wolf of Wessex. She would have to reason with him. “You are being ridiculous. I can go nowhere in these woods, and you have proven that you can find me anyway,” she said a bit bitterly.
“‘Tis true,” he said, “but I have no wish to dally further. Come, now, do what you will and let us be off.” He glanced pointedly at the dawn breaking over the treetops.
Marion opened her mouth to protest further, but something in his stance told her that it would be futile. She was rapidly learning that arguing with Dunstan de Burgh was a useless endeavor, and while she did not think him vindictive, she suspected that he was enjoying her discomfiture. Not wishing to prolong the ignominious conversation any longer, Marion bent her head. “Turn around at least,” she said softly.
