The man who had sworn never to let her out of his sight had left her alone.
It took another moment for the knowledge to sink in, and Marion hardly dared breathe as the possibilities presented themselves to her dazed mind. She could flee. She could actually leave the Wolf, his men and his nearby camp, and proceed with her plans. Although last night’s attack had left her wary, she told herself that it was morning now, and her chances of being set upon were surely fewer during the daylight hours. Were they not?
Ignoring the echo of Dunstan’s warnings, Marion scanned the area around her, trying to make her decision swiftly. If she turned and made her way through the trees off the path and headed back toward Campion, Dunstan might not find her. Ever.
Although she stood perfectly still, Marion’s heart raced, pounding so loudly that the sound seemed to rise above the raucous call of the birds. Suddenly aware of the number of dark wings flapping against the gray sky, Marion looked up and felt a chill omen, the kind of unearthly dread that she knew about Baddersly. She could not see the road, but she was sure that something was wrong. She could sense it.
And then it came to her—the reason for Dunstan’s caution. The campwastoo quiet. If it lay just ahead, why did she not hear Agnes’s cackle or the voices of the men or the sounds of the horses? Although the group was not boisterous, the general noise of people and animals surrounded them wherever they went. And yet, Marion heard nothing but the birds. Uneasiness crept over her, along with concern for Dunstan.
If anything should happen to him… The thought rocked Marion with raw emotions so fierce that she nearly fell to her knees, and without hesitation, she stepped forward, determined to see for herself that he was all right. Then she stopped abruptly in her tracks. What of her plans to fly?
Now, Marion! You must go now!Turning to leave, she told herself to run, but her legs refused to move. How could she go without making sure he was well? She felt torn, pulled in two different directions, and with only a moment, perhaps less, to decide.
It was the hardest thing she had ever done. Finally, with a resignation that was painful, Marion closed her eyes tightly and discovered that she really had no choice. She loved Dunstan with a dizzying force that could not be denied, that seemed to engulf her body and her will.
She loved him more, perhaps, than her own freedom.
With calm determination, Marion pressed her hands to her skirts and walked to the edge of the woods. At the last line of trees, she took a deep breath and looked toward the roadway, afraid of what might meet her gaze.
The camp appeared peaceful enough, mocking her fears as foolishness. Perhaps Dunstan was right and she was overly sensitive, seeing threats where there were none. With a soft sigh of relief, she realized why it was so quiet. The men were still asleep. Perhaps it was earlier than she thought or mayhap they thought to lie about without Dunstan to rouse them.
Stepping out into the grassy area before the road, Marion walked to where the embers of the night’s fire glowed and several of the men still huddled in their blankets. Dunstan was standing not far away, with his back to her, and it was then that she began to notice the deathly quiet. Why was he not shouting at them all? The hair on the back of her neck rose, and her throat shut tightly, cutting off her air.
She must have made some sound because Dunstan turned toward her, and the naked agony on his face struck her like a physical blow. Dread enveloped her, bearing down upon her very soul, and she closed her eyes. It was nearly overwhelming this time, and she struggled with it, pushing away that black well of memory that threatened to drag her into its depths. Fear of the past warred with fear of the present until she felt wrenched in two, until she had no choice but to open her eyes—and to look. And when she did, she saw that Dunstan’s men were not really sleeping.
They were dead.
Those near the fire must have been killed as they slept, for their bodies still lay wrapped in their woolen blankets, stained red with blood. Others had risen to fight, for they had fallen near the carts, their eyes open and staring, their wounds already sending up a stench.
The unholy silence was broken only by the sound of a bit of tent flapping in the breeze. Not one single moan rose from the men, and Marion realized that there must be no survivors. No noise came from the animals, either, and a glance told her that the horses were all gone, leaving Dunstan and herself as the only living creatures in the entire camp—seemingly in all the world.
For a long moment, Marion stood transfixed, her brain registering the facts that met her eyes without emotion as something built inside of her. Each gruesome sight added to it, until she felt a great weight upon her, threatening to burst her heart. Then she chanced to see the battered corpse of young Cedric, and whatever had held her distant from the horror gave way, letting pain rush through her like floodwaters through a dike, drowning her senses and making it difficult to breathe.
And suddenly the terrible scene before her was replaced by another vision of carnage. Marion fell to her knees, covering her eyes, but it rose before her, erupting into her mind so vividly that she could neither stop it nor deny it.
She could only watch helplessly as outlaws charged forward like fiends from hell, bent upon killing them all without a single word of treaty. Young John, little older than Cedric, was cut down immediately. Marion saw him fall herself and heard Enid’s screams. She pulled out her knife and turned to strike at the man who threatened her maid, but fear stayed her hand. And then it was too late.
The assassin’s evil face rose before her, mottled and filthy, his eyes glinting with malice, the silver ring in his ear glittering coldly. He struck her, sending her off her palfrey to the ground, but before the pain exploded in her head, Marion felt the sharp sting of recognition. She had seen that earring before.
The man who wore it might masquerade as a common robber of the road, but she knew him as one of her uncle’s men.
Marion shuddered, weeping silently and gasping for breath, until she felt a heavy hand upon her neck, pushing her head down to the ground so that she would not faint. Her dizziness passed then, and she simply cried silently, for the men who lay before her, for her own people, dead these past months, and for the memory that had returned to haunt her.
“We cannot stay here,” Dunstan said. Marion heard the words but did not respond. Beyond her grief, fresh and wrenching, was the overwhelming sensation of remembering. Where once there had been nothing but a void, there was a lifetime, for all of it came back. Her uncle, her treacherous uncle, had sent his men to kill them all!
She heard Dunstan mumble a low oath, but remained still, retreating inside of herself. “Marion, Marion!” He crouched beside her, exasperation edging his voice, and took her arms in a fierce grip. “Marion! We cannot stay here, for this was no ordinary attack. The thieves took nothing from the train. They came in silently at night to do murder, and they may not be finished.”
“My uncle.” The words were a dry, hoarse croak struggling up from her throat.
“Forget your uncle!” Dunstan said, giving her a shake. “I know not who has slaughtered my men, though I suspect those two from last night were a part of it. I know only that it was not common thieves who did this, and whoever it was might still be about. We must fly and watch our backs!”
He loosed his fierce hold on her, his voice growing gentler. “Take whatever you can—a change of clothing, money, valuables and food if you can find it. But hurry.”
He helped her to her feet, and moving as if in a dream, Marion crawled into the cart, her numb fingers making a bundle out of a blanket and some clothes. Even while she worked, images danced before her. She was a child again, sitting at her father’s knee and smiling at her mother’s sweet laugh. Oh, dear Lord, she had once had a family and a loving one! But they were gone—all but her mother’s treacherous brother who, even now, reached out to kill her.
Jumping down from the cart, Marion lost her balance and nearly fell. She reached out for Dunstan and felt a moment’s panic when she did not see him. It never occurred to her to try to flee from him now; she was too shattered to scheme of escape. And Dunstan was all she had.
Overwhelmed by terror and tragedy, she needed his strength, his warmth, to cling to, now more than ever. When she spotted him at the edge of the wood, pulling an arrow from the body of the sentry, her relief was palpable. Her love for him swelled and steadied her, dulling the sharp edges of her anguish.
