The old Marion would have fled, unable to face her demons. But the new Marion could not. Whatever the Wolf’s failings, she knew that he did not deserve to be abandoned alone in the wilds, without a horse, especially after all he had done for her. And, the sense of danger that had driven Marion upward still lingered in the air. She could not leave him when he might be in peril.
Drawing her strength together, Marion forced herself to creep forward, until a loud laugh startled her to stillness again. With dizzying relief, she recognized the voice and realized that it was no woman who spoke, but Walter, Dunstan’s vassal. Only he sounded different. Decidedly different.
“I thought you might come crawling back here,” Walter crowed. “You are hard to kill, Dunstan, but then, I have known that for a long time. ‘Twas one of the reasons I stayed by your side so long, so that you might keep me alive, too. But now ‘tis I who wields the power of life and death, and you are long past your due, old friend.”
Walter’s normally low and even tones were loud and harsh with bitterness. “If not for that stupid wench, who kept leading you such a merry chase, you would have been killed with the rest of them. But ‘twas too late to change the plans, Dunstan, and you escaped yet again, with your bastard luck and your little heiress. Dutiful Dunstan who must not disappoint his father, who must needs always do what isright.” Walter coughed up some spittle, and Marion cringed at the sound of him releasing it contemptuously.
“Always alert, always watching, always cursed with the bastard luck of the de Burghs! If you would have but left the wench at the end of the train with me and had not stopped early, by the rood, I would have saved her myself—for myself. Not my usual style, but I would have enjoyed taking her, simply because you were so besotted with her!” Walter laughed cruelly.
Marion trembled as she heard Dunstan’s angry grunt. At least he was alive, but in what condition? Had Walter hurt him? Desperate to see, Marion could not force herself to look, for after what Walter had said about her, she had no wish to be discovered by the vassal.
“Ah, have I touched a sore spot, Dunstan?” Walter asked, goading his former lord. “Did you never get to touch her? You must be the only one, for I had it from the men that your brothers, yea, even your father, passed her around until she was well used!”
There was a pause, and Marion sensed that Dunstan’s lack of reaction was frustrating his tormentor, for when Walter spoke again, it was in an impatient snarl. “But good son that he is, Dunstan would nay e’er touch his charge. And care he not that his men lay dead, he must deliver her safely,” Walter mocked.
“I looked for your body among the slain, but did not find it,” Dunstan said. Marion shook with relief to know that he was well enough for speech. And the Wolf’s simple statement told her what had driven his secret approach to Wessex. Not knowing whether his vassal lived or died, fled or hid or consorted with his enemies, Dunstan had come warily. But not warily enough.
“Why, Walter? Why turn against me after all these years?” Although the Wolf’s voice was calm and clear, Marion felt the pain of his vassal’s betrayal down to her bones.
“Why, for coin, of course. Money and lands and power—what every man wants, Dunstan. You see, not all of us are born to the rich, pampered life of a de Burgh, and we must struggle for all we can get. No more for this knight. I have taken enough orders.”
“And who would give you this great wealth, Walter?”
“Fitzhugh, as you should know! I shall marry his daughter and have all that I have so long desired.”
“You would wed the shrew?” Dunstan’s tone relayed disbelief.
“I will tie her to the bed and ride her till she knows her master,” Walter snapped. “And what care I for her temperament? All this will be mine!”
“Wessex?” Marion heard the small thread in Dunstan’s voice that betrayed his pain, and she wanted to weep, but Walter went on, obviously unknowing.
“Aye, Wessex. Your minion Collins was easy enough to dispatch, and now I’m in control. And when Fitzhugh is gone, I will have it all. All of it, Dunstan! Perhaps I will get some heirs on the Fitzhugh witch’s body and start my own line, to rival the dying blood of Campion!”
Dunstan snorted. “Promises aplenty! Only a fool would put his trust in Fitzhugh. He will share naught, as you well know. Before you finish bedding his daughter, he will have a knife in your back, and then he will take it all, Walter. All of it, for himself.”
“Shut up!”
“Think, Walter. Think of how Fitzhugh works,” Dunstan said. “Think of his lust for this land. He will use you to get what he wants, Walter, and then—”
“Shut up!” Marion flinched as she heard a striking sound.Dear God, what has he done to the Wolf?She put a fist to her mouth to keep from crying out and revealing herself, for what could she do against a seasoned knight?
“Shut up, and get up, Dunstan,” Walter said. “I had planned to kill you here, swiftly, in memory of our long friendship, but your speech has earned you a more interesting fate. I shall take you back to Fitzhugh and let him have at you! Perhaps a few weeks in your own dungeon will take some of the de Burgh braggart out of you.”
Walter laughed again, and the sound made Marion’s blood run cold. She heard horses, and peeking through the leaves, she saw Walter and two other men mount. At first, she could not find Dunstan. For one terrifying moment, she thought that his vassal had slain him, after all. But then she saw him, tied behind the horses, a huge, proud figure, who took away her very breath.
As she watched, horrified by the sight, Walter rode on, jerking Dunstan forward, and they left the top of the hill, half dragging the Wolf behind them.
Marion sank to her knees, a low sob escaping. Dear God, what was she to do now? The answer came all too quickly.You must ride to Campion, Marion.
She shook her head, fear and desperation making her tremble from head to toe. Although she knew the general direction of the earl’s lands, she could become lost all too easily. It was several days’ ride way, and by now, Marion knew very well the dangers that menaced lone riders, not to mention the danger of meeting Walter or his men. She had little food and no weapons, but for a paltry dagger. How would she ever make it to Campion?
Kneeling there in shocked despair, Marion reminded herself that not too long ago she had made several attempts to flee into the wilderness alone, although ill-equipped and afraid. She told herself that this journey would be no different. But she knew that it was—for the Wolf’s life hung in the balance.
How ironic that she, Dunstan’s tiny, foolish female, was the only person in the world who could help him now. She, frail, fearful Marion Warenne. Wessex stood between him and certain death.
Lifting her head slowly, Marion rose gracefully to her feet—and to the challenge of being the Wolf’s wife.
* * *
