“Then what is it?” Dunstan growled, impatient with her mood.
“You will not give me love or respect or freedom of will.”
Dunstan snorted. More female foolishness. Perhaps it was her flux time. He pressed her wrists into the mattress. “But I will give you pleasure, wren,” he whispered before he took her mouth with his own and silenced all debate.
He was hungry for her. The morning’s joining in the stream seemed years ago, and he had to have her, like a man possessed. He was grateful that she was, indeed, no virgin, for he did not have the restraint he had shown in the shepherd’s hut. Not tonight. Not when she was well and truly his, and he must needs possess her.
His lips moved across her tender cheek to her throat and slid along the sweet slim column to the round curve of her shoulder. By faith, she felt so good. The passion that always sparked between them flared brightly, heating his blood and dazing his mind. What magic did this woman weave that made all his senses keener, all his feelings run deeper?
Moving lower, he tasted her breasts, full and firm and round, suckling them until she whimpered and writhed beneath him. Whatever else stood between them, here in bed there were no constraints—or complaints. Dunstan smiled smugly, using his knee to nudge apart her legs and positioning himself between her thighs.
Wife,he thought when he filled her in one eager motion.My wife.His fingers still entwined with hers as he thrust home, again and again, into the sweet, hot haven of her body. Day of God, nothing could ever be so good as this….
She was making the pleasure sounds that excited him beyond bearing, flinging her head from side to side as she rose to meet him eagerly. And when she cried out, Dunstan cut it off with his mouth, drawing in the frenzied joy of her climax and plunging himself over the edge into the violent, shuddering world of surcease.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
From past experience, Marion guessed that Dunstan would sleep like the dead after performing so lustily. He was snoring again, a good sign that he would not wake easily, and Marion knew this was her chance. She slid out of bed.
She dressed quietly, without glancing toward him. She did not want to remember the rough, hot bliss of their mating, for then she might be tempted to stay with a man who did not love her—who did not even believe in such tender emotions.
Although Dunstan had promised her a home and family, Marion knew their marriage would be but a hollow mockery of the happy life at Campion. As innocent as she was, she could tell the difference between true caring and desire. Passion, she suspected, was all that she would ever get from her husband. And when it faded? She could never again bear to be shut away from life, shunted aside, locked away….
Swallowing a lump in her throat, Marion wasted precious minutes groping in the dark for his belt and the bag that held her jewels. When she found them right beside the bed, she realized that Dunstan did not expect her to flee him now that they were wed. The thought moved the thickness in her throat down into her chest, filled to bursting with yearning and grief.
Although she knew she must hurry, Marion found that her limbs were slow to move, as if her body, disputing her brain’s plans, was reluctant to leave. But she knew that this night held her best chance for escape. He was asleep, unsuspecting and…vulnerable. Unwilling to think of the Wolf in such terms, Marion disregarded her own observations, but they continued nonetheless. And when he woke to find her gone?
He would feel betrayed.
Trying to ignore her sudden, fierce sympathy for the man who did not love her, Marion forced her rebellious legs to action and crept carefully to the window. She opened the shutters and looked out to total blackness. In town, the darkness seemed absolute, and it took her a while to see the ground below. From the high, narrow ledge, she would have quite a jump, but if she could climb out and swing herself down, she could manage it.
The sudden sound of voices below made Marion freeze where she was, for she had no desire to land among a group of ruffians, especially at this hour. Although she could not tell how many they were in the darkness, Marion heard one man speak, low yet clearly as they approached.
“They are here at the inn,” he said.
“Are you certain?”
“Aye. The innkeeper said a huge, dark-haired knight and a tiny lady took all of one room from him. Although the fellow feared to betray Wessex, he was more than ready to accept my money. We shall have no trouble gaining entrance.”
They passed right beneath her window as Marion stood stock-still above, frozen in shock.Someone was after them.Her uncle! Unsure of how much time they had before the knaves would burst into the room, Marion rushed to the bed. She put a finger to Dunstan’s lips and her mouth to his ear.
“There are men in the alley coming for us!” she whispered frantically.
She did not have to speak again. The Wolf was up instantly, pulling on his clothes, while she grabbed their pouches. With astonishing speed, he swung his great, agile body out the narrow window and dropped to the ground. In another moment, she was in his arms and they were off, running around the back of the building to where the horse was stabled.
Mounting in tense silence, they galloped off into the darkness even as the disappointed shouts of their pursuers rose to meet their ears from the room they had left behind.
They did not take the road, but wound out into the darkness until Marion was hopelessly confused. Dunstan seemed to know where they going, so she made no argument, but slept against him, grateful now that they shared a mount.
He had purchased a bow and arrows in Stile, which he put to good use come morning, and they dared a small fire to dine on roast hare. Although Marion had a hand in cooking it, she swore nothing had ever tasted as good. When she said so, Dunstan rewarded her with one of his infrequent, flashing smiles, and, for the moment, she was content.
The night’s near calamity had convinced her that, for now, they were both safer together. Although she still had no intention of living as wife to the Wolf of Wessex for the rest of their days, Marion would stay close by him at least until her uncle no longer posed a threat.Thenshe would decide what to do and where to go.
“You did well last night, Marion.” Surprised at Dunstan’s words, she glanced up to see his eyes upon her, grave and proud. Stunned, Marion could not stop the swell of love she felt for him. When he looked at her this way, as an equal instead of a mindless fool, she felt the power of him, right down to her bones.
Strength, dignity, loyalty, gentleness and a fierce protectiveness—the Wolf had all these in abundance. Would that he showed her less growling and more of this side of him, and Marion might be tempted to stay with him forever. Swallowing the last of her rabbit with difficulty, Marion basked in the warm glow of his praise, so rarely given.
“Your attentiveness and quick thinking saved our lives,” Dunstan added. His face was serious, his words simple and sincere. He did not rant about his own helplessness, asleep in the bed, nor did he make light of her part, as some men might have done.
