“Me?” she whispered. Pointing to her chest, Marion thought that she might have understood his gesture, but unfortunately, Dunstan nodded. He wanted her to climb out there with him. She felt faint.
“Come, wren. Put your arms around me. I will keep you safe.” His gruff reassurance touched her heart, and drawing a deep breath, the new Marion stepped onto the ledge and locked her hands around his neck. “Put your legs around me, too,” he directed, and somehow she managed to grip him with her thighs. Even through his mail, Marion could feel the heat of him seep into her, and she blushed to recall the last time she had been similarly positioned.
Then all such thoughts vanished as she hung on for dear life while he took them down the rope, bit by bit, hand over hand, kicking off from the side of the tower at intervals in a way that made her stomach lurch. By the time they reached the lower window, Marion was in awe of his strength. Although she had known that his muscles were massive, she was still amazed that he carried her as if she were naught but a bit of cloth against his chest.
When they finally dropped to the ground, Marion eased out a sigh of relief, which was stopped by Dunstan’s finger upon her lips, warning her to silence. Although he had freed her from her locked room, they were still inside Baddersly’s walls, at the mercy of her uncle. She stilled, suitably cowed by his reminder, and yet her blood thrummed with the knowledge that the Wolf was here.He had come for her.
Pulling her into the black entrance of a nearby storage building, Dunstan whispered in her ear. “Shall we brave our way through the gate?” She looked up at his darkened features, uncertain whether he was asking her advice or questioning her courage. Either way, she could give him only one answer.
“Yes,” she said softly.He had come to take her away.
A grunt of approval met her response. “From what I have seen, most of the soldiers are drunk and security is lax. I doubt that anyone will question someoneleavingthe grounds. Know you any different?” Dunstan asked.
Marion felt a jolt of pleasant surprise. Was Dunstan de Burgh actually consulting with her? “I thought you said my uncle was searching for you,” she whispered.
“Yes, but they plan to waylay me on the road.”
“Oh,” Marion said softly, finding little comfort in his words.
“Come, wren,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “We must hurry before your absence is discovered.” He pulled her along then, flitting from the shadows of one building to the next, stopping only when he heard a sound. They waited, in tense silence, behind one hut, until Marion wondered what was keeping them there. Then he leaned close. “Is this the brewery?”
“Yes,” Marion answered. She watched in surprise as he flung a leg through the low window and slipped inside. He was back in a moment, a vessel in hand, which he put to his lips.He was thirsty?Stepping back, Marion realized that the man positively reeked of ale. “Did you fall in?” she asked with a sniff.
She could have sworn she heard the low rumble of laughter in answer. “Nay, wren, but I would douse us both. Wait, cover your finery,” he said, and to Marion’s amazement, he pulled out her old cloak from his pouch. After she had wrapped it about her, he sprinkled her liberally with the brew. “We are naught but two peasants returning home to our cot,” he whispered fiercely.
For a moment, Marion did not understand, but when Dunstan began weaving drunkenly toward the gate, with her in tow, understanding dawned clearly. He had pulled his own cloak about him to hide his mail, and Marion only hoped that whoever manned the entrance would not look too closely in the darkness.
Marion’s heart was pounding so loudly that she feared the soldiers would hear, but they barely looked up when Dunstan approached, singing a ribald ditty in a coarse voice. He was slouching in an attempt to hide his size, she realized, and she clung to his side, as if to hold him up when he staggered.
Each step was perilous, and Marion felt a bone-deep terror that she had never known in her other escape attempts. One swift glance at her companion told her the source of her newfound fear.He was rescuing her. He was risking his life for her.And although she was well used to her own being threatened, she could not bear to imagine anything happening to the Wolf.
The walk past the walls seemed endless, but Dunstan continued his charade, only lengthening his strides as they moved farther away from Baddersly. The cloud-covered moon lit their way faintly, making the road a dim line, and Marion was watching it closely, trying to keep up with Dunstan’s long legs when he stumbled and fell, dragging her down on top of him with a low oath. Absolute panic knifed through her, along with the certainty that he had just been struck through the back with an arrow. Struggling for her voice, she cried out his name in a broken whisper.
“Hush,” he warned. “For the benefit of anyone watching, we have just passed out upon the road. We will stay here for a while, then roll into the grass. When I tell you to run, we must go low, crouching, to avoid any chance sighting from a soldier on the battlements. We will head over that hill, bearing west for now to throw them off the scent.”
Off the scent?Marion froze as the implication of his words became clear. “Think you that my uncle will send his men after us?”
“I am certain of it,” he answered grimly. “I am sorry that I did not believe you sooner, wren, but I do now. Your uncle is, indeed, a murderer.”
“How do you know?” Marion asked.
“Because he is out to kill me.”
* * *
After silently walking for what seemed like hours in what to Marion’s mind might as well be circles, they stopped by a river to bed down under the canopy of a overhanging tree. Luckily, the night was balmy and the ground dry, and when Dunstan rolled out the blankets, Marion sank down gratefully. When he handed her the pouch she had left in the shepherd’s hut, she beamed in happy surprise.
“Dunstan, my things! How wonderful you are! And my…jewels?”
“Right here,” he said. Flashing her a white-toothed smile, he patted the pouch at his waist.
Relief soared through her. Suddenly, after all that she had been through, Marion felt tears prick the back of her eyelids. She had not cried for him when she had left him, nor had she wept when locked in the tower, facing the prospect of her death, but now she had to blink several times as if to hold back a flood.
Love for the Wolf washed over her in waves, making it difficult to speak. She wanted to throw her arms around his neck and kiss his wonderful mouth. Her hands ached to stroke his skin as they had once before, and Marion felt a sweeping yearning to join with him, here in the stillness of the night under the cloud-covered moon.
The desire had none of the sharp awareness that came so suddenly upon her when he touched her unexpectedly. It was not that vivid, burning passion that sparked between them like a blaze, but rather a wish to express her love for him the only way she knew how, to give him pleasure such as he had given her….
Marion watched as he sat down near her, leaning against the tree and stretching his long legs out before him. When he tilted his head back in a gesture of weariness that she had never seen before, she realized that the Wolf was not made of iron, but flesh and blood. And in that instant, he revealed a vulnerable side Marion suspected he rarely showed anyone.
