As bittersweet as her time with Dunstan might be, Marion could not help clinging to it a little while longer. In truth, she found her resolve to leave her husband wavering as they continued on together. And yet, a life with the Wolf held out little promise. She might have won his respect, but she did not have his love, and he was still the most stubborn, foul-tempered, domineering man who ever lived.
She only let him push her so far, and then she would stand her ground until either he stomped off, cursing and muttering, or he gave way, with a rather surprised look of admiration on his face that made her want to kiss him.
Dangerous thoughts. Marion was trying very hard to keep her love for him firmly contained. When she let it swell and burst forth, she hurt with the tender ache of it. And besides, she told herself, they both needed their wits about them now simply to survive when they were nearing his home.
Taking in a deep, calming breath, Marion looked about her. The countryside reminded her of Campion, with its beech-covered heights and lush vales, and she held out a hope that they might stop there yet. “Surely we cannot be far from your father?”
“No. Campion is but three days’ ride from here, almost due west, for it lies southwest of Wessex,” Dunstan said, rather shortly, and she felt his body tense behind her. “But, look, these are my lands.”
“Already? ‘Tis beautiful, Dunstan, green and fine and rich,” Marion said, honestly approving the world around her.
Dunstan did not relax, but remained stiff against her as if the sight of his holdings displeased him in some way. “‘Tis not as vast as Campion, but it is mine, won by my own hand,” he noted gruffly. “I would you not be disappointed with the castle, for it needs some repair yet. I warn you now, Marion, ‘tis not as fine as my father’s house nor your own Baddersly.”
Marion felt the traitorous surge of love in her at his ill-disguised vulnerability and firmly quelled it. “Dunstan, I care not for riches. You must know that by now,” she answered. “I am sure that your home will serve us well.” A lump formed in her throat, for how could she promise him to cherish his holding when she still held out plans to leave him? With the bitter knowledge of hindsight, Marion knew she should have never come so far with him, for each moment spent with the Wolf only bound her more closely to him.
He grunted, as if unconvinced by her answer, but Marion felt him relax. “Methinks that Wessex will seem a palace after so much time spent on the road,” he said finally.
“Yes,” Marion agreed hurriedly. “I have no further taste for travel, but would be content with hot food and a soft bed.” Too late, she realized her poor choice of words, for the mention of a bed made them both aware of their close proximity on the shared mount. As if called to attention, the length of him hardened against her buttocks, and Marion flushed at the bold evidence of his desire.
Dunstan grunted again, one of his unintelligible comments, and Marion struggled to change the subject. “Will we see Wessex soon?” she managed to squeak.
“I would not ride straight to the castle, but first to Seer’s Hill.”
“What is that, some magical spot?” Marion asked, twisting to look up at him with a smile.
“No,” he said, his lips curving upward in answer. “‘Tis a promontory where you can see much of the countryside, the valley and the rise where my castle lies. I wish to have a look and judge the state of my holdings from there.”
“Do you fear trouble from Fitzhugh?” Marion asked, uneasiness settling over her at the thought.
“No, but I would know what he has been about in my absence. I left soldiers here to guard what is mine while I was gone, and I would see how well they stood against any threat from my neighbor. Unfortunately, we must consider all possibilities, including the worst. And, if so, I wish not to walk into a trap.”
Marion stilled as dismay filled her. “But if Fitzhugh truly did murder the train, then he must think you are dead,” she protested. “He cannot be expecting you to return home.”
“Perhaps,” Dunstan said a bit ominously. His eyes narrowed and his mouth tightened, making Marion realize that there was something he was not telling her. Apparently, he had not lost his penchant for keeping his own counsel, even though he had taken her to wife. However, Marion felt she ought to know all that might affect them, especially since they were alone, without soldiers, servant or attendants to aid them in their search for a safe haven.
She opened her mouth to protest, but a glance at his face silenced her. Mercy, but what else could plague them? She turned back around stiffly, uncertain if she had enough courage to bear the answer, should she seek it.
Her fear escalated when Dunstan slowed the horse, hushed her with a word and dismounted stealthily. He lifted her down beside him in one smooth, silent movement, and told her he planned to go up Seer’s Hill alone.
“But Dunstan—”
“Do not argue with me, wren,” he growled, his attention already ahead of him. “Stay here with the horse and wait for me. I but want a look around.” As if as an afterthought, he turned toward her and put a hand to her cheek. “I will be back.”
Marion was not reassured, but she knew better than to argue when he was in one of his moods. Although she wanted to fling herself into his arms and kiss him with a wolf’s own fierceness, his mind was elsewhere, and she sensed he would not appreciate her distraction. With a reluctant nod, Marion let him go, sighing softly as she watched him disappear into the thick underbrush.
She watered the horse at a spring and then sat down under a tree, methodically smoothing out her sad-looking gown. She told herself that Dunstan would call her any moment to come up and join him, to get her first view of his home. But he did not, and Marion found that she could not sit idly while the minutes dragged by.
The stillness that had given her strength before her uncle’s tempers seemed to have deserted her, and she stood up to prowl about the small clearing like the Wolf himself. She bent and splashed some water on her face, letting it dribble down her heated neck before she realized that the horse had wandered after its new master.
Mercy! She leaped to her feet, certain that Dunstan would roar his displeasure if the animal burst in upon his reverie. Scrambling through the bushes, Marion caught up with the horse before it reached the top of the hill. There, she tied it securely to a tree, and then stood, silently, for a moment, stroking the beast in a gesture designed to calm them both.
And, tilting her head upward, she listened.
Ahead, Marion could see nothing through the trees, and she could hardly believe that a great view lay just at the top of the rise. Did no one ever venture up Seer’s Hill, or had Dunstan taken a roundabout way to the top? His furtive behavior fed her anxiety, and suddenly she felt a sharp stab of fear for him. Without pausing to consider her actions, Marion moved, climbing higher to stop and listen—until finally she heard something.
Voices? Marion stopped dead. Was Dunstan meeting someone here without her knowledge? Against her will, Marion found herself picturing a clandestine rendezvous with a woman, and she realized that she knew naught of the Wolf’s private life. Perhaps he had a leman or a lover, who would be ill-pleased to discover him married.
Marion froze, hardly able to draw in breath at the dreadful implications. Perhaps she should fly now…. She could go back down the hill, take the horse and leave Dunstan to his Wessex and whatever awaited him there.Go,she told herself,before the pain of loving him destroys you!
