His eyes narrowed, and he gave her that look that said she was a woman all right—a baffling one. “You want me to let you fall headfirst into a ditch?”
“No.”
He put his hands on his hips. “Well, then, Marion, what exactly do you want?” The condescending tone that told her he thought her naught but a foolish female made her temper flare anew.
“What do I want? I will tell you what I want, Dunstan de Burgh, baron of Wessex. I want this to stop—all of this,” she said, raising a hand to encompass the surrounding area. “And right now. Why should I trudge along in this rain on a march to my own death? It is bad enough that you are going to deliver me into the hands of a murderer, but must you torture me first?”
Marion could see the swift rise of irritation in the tightening of his mouth, but she went on. “Let us just turn around, Dunstan, for the love of God! Take me to Campion or to Wessex or the nearest village. Or just leave me here! Go on. Go on about your business,” she said, moving her hand in a shooing gesture.
“Go on about your business and tell everyone that I died along with your train. It will hurt you naught to tell this small falsehood. And it will save my life!”
“My father—” Dunstan began, a grimace on his face, but Marion did not let him continue.
“Your father cares not what becomes of me. And my uncle will be overjoyed to learn of my demise. ‘Twill save him the trouble of murdering me, and he will take all my lands in celebration. May he have joy of them.” Worn-out and dejected, she stared at Dunstan, hoping against hope for some sign of agreement.
“Are you finished?” he growled at her, his jaw clenched.
“No, I am not.” Marion plopped down upon a nearby rock. “I am staying right here. Go on, now,” she said, shooing him away again as she would a pesky fly. “And leave me be.”
He was not amused. “If you persist, Marion, I will be forced to carry you over my shoulder, and if you think you are miserable now, bumping along against my back is not going to be an improvement.”
With a soft curse, borrowed from Dunstan’s vast store, Marion rose and huffed past him as best she could. They had veered away from the road along some kind of sheep track, and her slippers were sticking in the ooze. It made a dignified display of contempt difficult, but she continued on, ignoring the towering figure that caught up with her effortlessly.
When they reached a small rise, Dunstan lifted his hand to his eyes, shielding them from the rain as was his habit, to have a look below. Marion did the same, and to her surprise, this time she saw something down in the hollow.
“Look there!” she said, pointing excitedly. “What is it?”
“A shepherd’s hut, perhaps,” Dunstan mused under his breath. “It does not look like much, but mayhap it will give us shelter from the storm.”
Shelter! Marion rushed forward eagerly, but when she did, one slipper caught in the ooze and she fell, facefirst, onto the soggy ground. She came up sputtering to the sound of the Wolf’s laughter. It rang out, deep and rich, and normally it would have touched her very heart. But as she lifted herself from the wet, clinging dirt of the path, Marion was in no mood to admire anything about Dunstan de Burgh.
“You…you bugger!” she cried, echoing a word she had heard from his brothers. Anger flaring brightly, she shoved at his mailed chest with all of her might. Of course, her puny efforts did little but leave muddy marks on the front of his tunic—and send her careening backward.
This time, between gulps of laughter, he reached out to halt her fall, but suddenly the ground upon which she stood gave way and Marion’s feet dropped. She saw Dunstan’s wide-eyed look of surprise, and then they were both rolling and sliding down the muddy slope to the bottom of the hill.
Unhurt, Marion ended up on her back in a puddle at the base of the rise, but before she could catch her breath, Dunstan landed with a thud on top of her, knocking the wind from her body. She opened her eyes to see his face above hers, the rain slashing down all around them and dripping from his face. His dark hair hung in wet ribbons, his green gaze focused intently upon her.
Marion’s first thought was that he was crushing her, his great form bearing down on her with the weight of two men. Just as she opened her mouth to protest, however, she realized that he had shifted his mass somehow, allowing her to gulp in some air. He was up on his elbows, but still lying upon her. With that recognition came the discovery that his body felt extremely good just where it was. She shut her mouth.
Rather bewildered, she looked up at him, and Dunstan caught her gaze, his green eyes damp and compelling. For a long moment, neither of them breathed as whatever strange forces worked between them sprang to life. Marion stilled, her humors rising feverishly while he hovered over her, his massive figure covering her own tiny one. Dunstan’s eyes darkened, unfathomable.
“‘Tis time for the reckoning between us, Marion,” he growled. And then he lowered his head.
Dunstan’s mouth came down upon hers, hot and frantic. Her memory now intact, Marion knew that she had never been kissed before, and this was hardly what she had expected. Dunstan, true to his nature, was not tender but demanding, and she felt a tingle of fear that the Wolf would devour her.
She parted her lips to protest, but swallowed it in shocked surprise when his tongue thrust into her mouth. It swept over her teeth, searching, marking and claiming, until Marion was stunned, not only at the Wolf’s actions, but at her own reaction. Her body tightened, her nipples hardening against his massive chest and her thighs lifting, as if endowed with a will of their own, toward his.
The rain pelted down, sluicing around her in its own wild fury, but it was nothing compared to the tempest raging between them. Marion felt as if she had spent her entire life sleepwalking, unaware of this whole world of passion and feeling, and now she was alive, every inch of her wet skin animated and seeking his.
Heat, welcome and wonderful, seeped through the water to rouse her body to a frenzied pitch, and Marion reveled in it. She clutched at his tunic, hanging on for her very life as he swept her away on a maelstrom of liquid fire. A moan escaped her, and he answered by pressing his lower body into hers. His hand wound into her hair, forcing her head back so that he could thrust more deeply into her mouth.
Tentatively, Marion ran her tongue along his lips, and Dunstan released a feral growl of pleasure that sent her reeling with breathless excitement. Lost in the tumult of sensation, she did not even notice the lightning cracking above them, followed by an answering boom of thunder, but suddenly Dunstan tore his mouth from hers to look up at the sky.
She whimpered, bereft at the loss of him until he glanced back down at her. “Come, we must get inside,” he ordered roughly. Dazed, Marion simply lay there, staring up at him, unable to move while he rose swiftly. Then, with ridiculous ease, he lifted her into his arms and headed toward the shepherd’s croft. Her heart pounded so furiously that she thought she might faint, but she knew that was something the old Marion would do.
The new Marion wrapped her arms around Dunstan’s neck and clung shamelessly. The rain, which had been an uncomfortable nuisance all day, abruptly became exhilarating. Marion lifted her face toward the chill water that washed over them, cleansing them in a natural bath, while Dunstan’s long strides carried them across the sodden grass.
A bolt of lightning streaked through the black sky, lighting the area with an eerie glow that heightened Marion’s sense of unreality. Was she deep in a vivid dream, or was she really being carried by the Wolf through a savage storm, the wind pounding drops against them, soaking their skin and sliding off their wet bodies in great rivulets?
