The first night was the worst. Mortally afraid of predators, but unwilling to risk a fire, Marion climbed a tree. She huddled there, uncomfortable, remembering the time she had shared such a nest with Dunstan, and though she thought never to close her eyes, she fell into an exhausted sleep.
She rode all the next day, grateful for the sun, from which she took her bearings. Her provisions gone, she dined on whatever nuts and berries she could find and prayed for the strength to carry on. And when she felt it wavering, she thought of her husband locked in some dark, dank, unwholesome place, with little food and water, and she continued.
The third day dawned cloudy, and although Marion hesitated to go in the wrong direction, she could not stay still, so she rode on. When she could, she took a sighting from the sun in the way Dunstan had, while she tried to rouse her fading hopes. Once, she came upon a road and a group of travelers, but fearful that they would do her harm, she went around them, out of her way.
When the sky grew dark with the threat of rain, Marion began to court despair. She had no idea where she might be, and the thought of an impending storm preyed upon her last reserves of strength. Topping a rise, she saw a field below and the dark figures of people working there, but this time, she did not turn back. Weary and hungry and frightened, she sent her mount toward the tallest of the men, intent upon begging him for direction, food and shelter.
She still had her jewels, and if these fellows were not ruffians, she could pay them handsomely. And if they were…it could not be helped, for she was running out of time and alternatives. Eyeing the brewing clouds, and laying one hand upon her dagger, Marion approached.
The tall man noticed her, stopping his work to stare, and Marion was heartened to see him draw no weapon. Then a glint of errant sunshine pierced the clouds to light his face, dancing over his mane of thick, dark hair, and Marion cried out, trembling with the force of her relief.
“Geoffrey!”
Hearing his name, he looked at her more intently and opened his mouth in astonishment when recognition came.
“Geoffrey!” With a last surge of strength, Marion urged the horse forward until, weeping uncontrollably, she tumbled into the waiting arms of her husband’s brother.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
When Marion saw the golden towers rising into the darkening sky, she felt the hope that had dwindled down to nothing resurge, for to her, at least, Campion was invincible. Beauty, majesty and power were reflected in its warm stone, while supreme male confidence radiated from all who dwelled within.
They gathered the other brothers to them along the way, Nicholas from another field, Reynold from the forest, the rest swarming about her in the yard, rushing through the great doors of the hall to meet her just as the heavens opened, drenching them all. And once inside, Marion trembled—not from the soaking wet state of her clothing, but from the knowledge that she was safe at last. And yet her mission had just begun, and in the warm, throbbing emotion of her homecoming, she had not forgotten it.
She had tried to tell her story to Geoffrey in between her tears of relief, but he had been too sensible to listen. “Save your strength,” he had told her. “To tell Campion.”
Geoffrey fended off the pounding questions of his siblings, too, wrapping her in his protective embrace, and half-carrying her through the massive doors of the hall as the noisy tumult of the de Burgh brothers and their dogs surrounded them.
Mercy, but Marion had forgotten what a welcome was here! Once, she had longed for nothing more than to be a part of this family, and now they greeted her just as if she were—without even knowing that, in truth, she was a de Burgh. New tears arose at the thought. What would they say to know she had married their brother, the Wolf?
Looking up through a haze of sentiment, Marion saw the earl of Campion, her father by marriage, coming down the steps in stately elegance. His wise eyes were bright with concern as they lit upon her, and seized by a sudden heedless urge, she ran across the tiles to throw herself into his arms.
“Marion, Marion, my child.” He murmured soft, comforting words as he led her to a chair and settled her in, just as if she were a child. Indeed, she felt like one again, enveloped in warmth and strength. “Wilda! Fetch some wine and food for the lady, and a dry cloak.”
Like a drowned rat, Marion sat shivering with the intensity of the emotions whirling through her, but when she tried to speak, a look from the earl silenced her. “Wait, my dear, until you have had a bite. And then, you must begin at the beginning, when you left us.”
Nodding her agreement, Marion waited, letting herself absorb the sights and sounds of the beloved hall around her—and the faces! Although she spoke not, her companions did, and she welcomed the babble of familiar voices and the dear features, all topped by that thick, dark hair that named every one of them Campion’s son.
The earl signaled his readiness without a word, and Marion managed a slight smile. She had forgotten his great dignity, his easy command. How different he was from his firstborn! Marion’s mouth dipped precariously at the thought of Campion’s eldest son, and she folded her hands neatly in her lap in an effort to keep herself calm. Although she wanted nothing more than to drag the boys off to Wessex at once, she knew she needed to tell her tale slowly and coherently. Taking a deep breath, she began to speak.
Although ashamed to admit that she had not completely complied with the earl’s wishes when Dunstan tried to take her home, Marion dutifully related the truth. “I am sorry, my lord, for repaying you in such a fashion, but I was afraid to go to Baddersly, so I fled the train you so kindly provided as my escort.”
Seven pairs of eyes met over her bent head before Geoffrey cleared his throat. “You…escaped from…Dunstan?” At Marion’s nod, there were several groans, a laugh from Stephen, and one whoop, as Nicholas relayed his astonishment.
“Yes. He always found me, but he was not very pleased,” Marion admitted. The seven pairs of eyes met again, in silent accord, at what had to be an understatement. “The third time—”
“What?” A flurry of voices erupted around her as the de Burgh brothers protested that she could not have thrice managed to leave their oldest sibling, the largest, most skilled and most ferocious knight among them.
Marion waited until the denials died away before continuing. “The third time, we were forced to spend the night in the woods, and the next morning, when we returned to camp,” she said, her voice breaking, “we found everyone slain.”
“Where was this?”
“Everyone?”
“By faith, we shall be avenged!”
Marion ignored the outburst as each de Burgh brother spoke at once until a gesture from their father silenced them. With a flick of his gaze, Campion motioned for her to proceed. “When I saw the…bodies, my memory returned…because ‘twas so much like what happened to me. Remember, when you found me, Simon, Geoffrey?” She glanced at each of them, touched by the gentle compassion on Geoffrey’s face, and the fierce outrage that twisted Simon’s features.
“When I remembered, I knew not only who I was, but that ‘twas my uncle’s men who had attacked my train. And so I thought this new massacre was his doing, too, to kill me.” Although Marion tried to speak slowly, she could not dam the pulsing tide of agitation that grew within her. Every moment signified a delay that might cost the Wolf his life, and she rushed to finish.
