He had to have it.
* * *
Dunstan seemed to know where they were going, so Marion followed as best she could behind him, along the edge of the river. Although the going was difficult, she was too euphoric to complain. After the past few weeks of unhappiness and terror, these idyllic hours spent with Dunstan were like a dream.
Although she flushed at the boldness she had displayed last night, obviously her eagerness had pleased the Wolf. And this morning, their tryst in the water had been brief, but intense, especially when he had pushed back her hair with a large hand, pinned her with his fierce green stare and whispered, “Ah, wren, how I burn for you….”
The memory made her weak at the knees, and Marion had to hurry to catch up to him. The Wolf walked silently, with the grace of his namesake, prowling ahead, stopping and then listening before moving on, his caution apparent. Obviously, he did not think they were safe yet from her uncle’s soldiers, and the thought made Marion nervous.
She said nothing, however, and in truth they had talked very little. All the questions that Marion had brought with her from Baddersly remained unasked and unanswered by their fevered lovemaking and in the rush to be off again. Eventually, Marion knew they would have to settle things more prosaically between them. At the very least, she ought to prod Dunstan for their destination.
And yet she was not eager to do so. Although she longed to return to Campion, Marion knew that might not be wise, and she hesitated to examine the alternatives. Once, she had begged Dunstan to leave her in the nearest town. Would he? She cleared her throat, but words did not come. With a sinking feeling, Marion realized that she did not want this dream to end. She would rather wander through the wild, the Wolf at her side, indefinitely, than face a future without him.
When Marion’s stomach began growling loudly, Dunstan called a halt, that smile that was not quite a smile gracing his wonderful mouth. They stopped under the shade of a great willow, and he handed her a chunk of bread from his pouch.
“By faith, I long for a real meal myself,” he said gruffly, as if to take away any of her embarrassment, and her heart warmed at his unexpected thoughtfulness.
He ate quickly, then leaned back against the tree, his elbows upon his knees in a relaxed pose. “The river should take us up to Stile, where we can get horses, decent food and even a bed at an inn. That, I am thinking, will be a pleasure beyond price,” he noted with a weary sigh.
His casual mention of a room for them filled Marion with yearning. Mercy, but she loved him! She let her gaze wander over his handsome features as he rested his head back against the rough bark. His eyes drifted shut, the small surrender softening his features. Suddenly, Marion felt a lump in her throat. “You came for me,” she whispered.
Dunstan’s response was a noncommittal grunt, so familiar and dear that Marion smiled, but she would not be deterred. “After dragging me forcibly, mile after wretched mile, to that horrible place, you turned around and rescued me from it.”
Although his eyes remained closed, Dunstan answered her gruffly. “I followed your trail to Baddersly, but I had to see for myself if you had arrived safely.” The brief explanation, devoid of any emotion, reminded Marion that she was his charge. A piece of baggage to be delivered. Faithful Dunstan, still trying to fulfill his father’s mission, Marion thought, surprised at the bitter taste the knowledge left in her mouth.
“Your uncle denied that you were there.” That comment, uttered in a rough voice, brought Marion up short. So, her uncle had planned to dispose of her quickly, claim that she was still missing…and blame Campion. Marion felt disappointment, hot and heavy, weigh upon her chest as her myriad questions were answered in one fell swoop.
Dunstan had come for her to protect his father’s good name. He had not climbed the south tower because he cared for her or because he had lain with her. He had risked his life to retrieve a troublesome package for which he was responsible. Marion’s throat went dry at the discovery, and the bread she had eaten sank like a stone in her belly.
Wiping her hands upon her skirt, over and over, she sought a composure that was difficult to find anymore. What had once come so easily now seemed out of reach. Slaughter, mayhem and the return of her memory had taken toll of her. Days of trudging through the wilderness, living hand to mouth, had strained her, as had the nights, especially the last one, spent in Dunstan’s arms. Joining with the Wolf had been folly, for more than any of the mishaps that had plagued her, it had laid her bare and made her vulnerable to a pain more powerful than any other.
Marion drew in a ragged breath as she sought a calm demeanor. She was struck suddenly by the image of a vase she had once seen. Its surface was riddled with cracks, but it remained intact, and she realized that was the way she felt—as if she might break apart at the slightest touch.
“One of your women, an old lady with white hair, told me where to find you,” Dunstan said, blithely unaware of the havoc his words had wrought, and Marion could only be grateful for that.
“Fenella,” she noted, surprised and gratified that anyone at Baddersly had seen fit to help her. She sent up a fervent prayer that her uncle never discover the brave servant’s complicity, for the woman had undoubtedly saved her life. But for what? What did her future hold now?
Her pleasant dream was over. It was time to face the cold, harsh truth. “I am grateful to her, and to you, for saving my life,” Marion said, hating the way her voice wavered. “But I would know what to do with it. Where are you taking me, Dunstan?”
“We go to Wessex,” he answered. A scowl descended, and he opened his eyes, revealing a haunted look at the mention of his holding.
He was probably angry, yet again, at the delays that had kept him from his lands, Marion thought. And although she appreciated his eagerness to return home, she had no wish to join him there. What would she do at Wessex, but long for a life she could never have? She shook her head sadly. “My uncle will surely look for me there and do you ill.”
Dunstan smiled grimly. “Ah, but this time we shall make sure he has no right to you.”
“How?”
“We shall wed,” he said. Then, as if he had mentioned nothing of consequence, the Wolf tilted back his head and closed his eyes.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Wed the Wolf?Marion stared at him, her cheeks flaming. Was he mad? Surely he did not take his duty so seriously that he would sacrifice himself for it? She wanted to scream, to pummel him with her fists for being so cold about taking a wife—and so fiendishly devoted to his father’s errand.
It was ridiculous, of course. He did not truly desire her hand, and she…Mercy, but the very thought of marrying him sent pain dancing through her so starkly that it robbed her of breath. How could she spend the rest of her life looking at the face she loved and knowing that he cared naught for her? How would she bear it when he looked right through her? Away from him, she might be able to remain intact, like that long-ago vase, but married to him, she would surely shatter irrevocably….
“No,” she said softly.
“What?” Dunstan muttered, as though he had not heard her correctly.
