“I will not.”
“Dunstan!” Her eyes snapped up to forest-green ones.
“I will look away,” he conceded. “I have no intention of watching you closely, wren, but I mean to keep a bit of your skirts in sight ere you climb up the nearest tree or lead me upon some new dance. Hear me now, Marion, you have made your last escape from me.”
Utterly mortified, at first Marion simply gave him her back, but nature’s call was too strong. Somehow, she managed to squat carefully, arranging her skirts as best she good, and go about her business. Of course, she knew he could not reallyseeanything, but it was little comfort.
“I do not suppose there is a stream nearby in which to wash,” she said as she turned again to face him.
“I do not suppose there is, Marion,” he answered. “‘Tis one of the disadvantages of running away into the wild.”
He motioned for her to walk with him, back to camp, and Marion calmly did as he bade, wrapping her cloak tightly around her as if to ward off his ill humor. She lifted her chin and straightened her shoulders.
“I shall never forgive you for that, Dunstan de Burgh,” she said as they moved forward.
He did not even grunt in response, and Marion concentrated on making her way through the heavy undergrowth. Really, the man was impossible! Obviously, Campion had spoiled him unforgivably and everyone let him run roughshod over them, but she would not!
Handsome and strong and vital he might be, but she could not excuse his behavior. Well, some of it was, of course, due to her penchant for tricking him. And some seemed to stem from the Wolf’s concern for her—which she still found difficult to believe. But most of it was rudeness, plain and simple. The man really needed to be taken in hand….
Although outwardly composed, Marion was still out of sorts. While walking along, she recalled every bit of their conversation, adding pithy comments she wished she had thought of at the time. They had reached the path before she slanted a shocked look up at the man beside her and nearly stumbled.
Had the Wolf of Wessex really called her body “luscious”?
CHAPTER NINE
Marion trudged along the path, wondering what she had done in her life to deserve the trials she had recently undergone—especially the trial who strode easily beside her over the uneven ground. Despite being twice her size, Dunstan was much more graceful than she would ever be, which was another example of the injustice of the world, Marion decided. As if she needed another example to add to her already lengthy list! Losing her memory was bad enough. Then Campion had tossed her out, and now… Now she had done the most ridiculous thing she could recall.
Out of all seven of the de Burgh brothers, she had to pick the least likable, most recalcitrant one with whom to fall in love.
It was obvious to her now, although she was not quite sure when it had happened. Sometime during their days on the road together, she had begun to care for the huge, surly knight at her side. Last night, when he had come to her rescue, Marion had felt it—a warm, rush of feeling unlike anything she could remember. It had filled her up so completely that it threatened to spill out of her, perhaps onto Dunstan himself.
Foolishness. Marion slanted a glance at him and nearly stumbled. His hand shot out and gripped her arm—too tightly—but she did not protest. In his own way, he was trying his best to help her, even though he was scowling ferociously at her plodding, bumbling pace. Marion noted idly that she was in desperate straits. She was not only accustomed to his grimace; she had grown to like it.
Foolishness! None of it mattered because in a few days he would leave her to her fate, without a backward glance. And she… She had no business mooning over the Wolf; she had her very life to think about. The closer they drew to Baddersly, the more imperative it became that she manage to escape. Yet how could she, when Dunstan would not let her out of his sight even to relieve herself?
Would he continue to haunt her? What of tonight? Did he intend to sleep beside her in her small tent? Marion tried to ignore the heated rush of bodily humors that the very thought of such closeness engendered. She shut her eyes, suddenly, painfully aware of his presence beside her—and his touch.
“Dunstan, you are hurting me,” she finally said softly. It struck her then as to just how truly she spoke, though her arm suffered the least of it. The Wolf was making her ache from her head right down to her heart.
“What?” He threw a sharp look at her and then loosened his grip, but he kept his hand upon her sleeve, and Marion felt the warmth all through her. He did not apologize, and she smiled, certain that he never would. He was Dunstan, beloved to her, despite all his rough edges, and she would cherish him, if she could.
But she could not.
They would have to part soon, and that would be best, for she knew as surely as she drew breath that the Wolf would never return her regard. Oh, he might think her body “luscious” and he might look at her at times with the flare of desire shining in his green eyes, but he could not give her what she wanted: love and a home and a family.
He would not even give her freedom.
The thought was sobering, and Marion went still for a moment before Dunstan urged her on with a jerk. He did not hurt her, though, until they finally neared the edge of the forest, when his fingers dug into her arm again with more pressure than was comfortable.
Glancing up in surprise, Marion saw the tenseness in his stance, and she realized he did not even know what he did. He was looking ahead and concentrating intently, as if scenting trouble in the very air. His eyes were narrowed and his jaw clenched, and Marion stiffened instantly in response.
“What is it?” she whispered.
“Shh,” Dunstan said, his attention elsewhere. “‘Tis too quiet for my liking. Stay here.” Too quiet? Marion could hear the morning birds trilling their songs in the treetops and small animals foraging among the roots not far away. All seemed as it should be, but she remained where she was, watching, with admiration, as Dunstan walked ahead.
His long hair was surely darker and richer than that of his brothers, she thought wistfully. His shoulders were definitely wider, and his thighs…Well, she had never really looked at any of his brothers’ legs, but Dunstan’s were strong and thickly muscled, yet he moved silently, like a wolf.
Marion saw him disappear through the edge of the trees into the light that marked the campsite area, then she stood there, staring stupidly after him, dreamily musing on Dunstan de Burgh’s attributes. It took her a full minute to realize just what he had done, and when she did, she froze.
