Dunstan stopped dead and faced his brother. “If anything happens to me, your job is to defend my holding and my wife.” Then he whirled on his heel, leaving the glib-tongued Stephen looking positively stricken.
After choosing a few good men to accompany him, Dunstan rode out to greet the approaching party, now clearly within view. He listened, with some measure of relief, to the gates closing behind him, for he had no intention of inviting the group from Baddersly inside his walls. With his own depleted forces, he would be lucky to hold them off, if Peasely decided to attack; he was definitely not going to give them any advantage.
A soldier came forward to meet Dunstan, and he recognized Goodson, the head of Peasely’s guard and the man who had ordered him murdered. Tamping down the urge to kill the bastard right where he was, Dunstan remembered the large contingent that lurked behind. There was strength in numbers, he knew, and he did not have them at present.
With bitter insight, Dunstan knew this was a job for Geoffrey, for the skills of a diplomat would be needed to keep Peasely and his men from slaying them all and overrunning Wessex as surely as Fitzhugh had once done. The violent emotions churning in his gut in regard to Marion’s uncle did not help, and Dunstan struggled mightily to keep a clear head. He could not afford any mistakes.
“I look for Baron Wessex,” Goodson said in a tone so arrogant that Dunstan had to grit his teeth.
“You have found him,” Dunstan said, thinkingas you know full well.
“You are he?”
“Yes, I am he, but if you believe me not,yet again,then feel free to turn around and get yourself gone.”
The words made Goodson jerk to attention. He said nothing more, but giving Dunstan an undisguised look of loathing, he whirled his warhorse around and rode back into the ranks—to report to his master, no doubt, Dunstan thought with contempt. Was Peasely sober enough to ride a horse, or did they cart him around on a litter?
Apparently, Peasely was sober enough, for he came forward, hailing Dunstan just as though nothing ill had ever occurred between them.Just as if he had not mocked and threatened and tossed the Wolf from Baddersly. Just as if he had not given his captain orders to murder the visitor on the road.Dunstan gripped the hilt of his sword fiercely and clenched his jaw. He would like to kill Peasely for that and more, for this was the man who had taken so much from his precious Marion, who had even tried to take her life.
“You are Wessex?” Peasely was not as haughty as he had been in his own hall. Dunstan suspected it had been far easier for Marion’s uncle to taunt him when he was alone and armed only with a sword. Now they were on his property, with his castle rising behind him, and Peasely had no way of knowing whether or not it was well defended.
“I am Wessex, as I told you before,” Dunstan said evenly. “You seem to have a difficult time recognizing me. But as I told your lackey, if you care not to believe me this time, then get yourself gone from my lands.”
Peasely looked a bit taken aback. “Recognize you?” he asked, appearing momentarily baffled. “Have we met?”
Dunstan snorted loudly, for Peasely had not the skills to pretend innocence. “Yes, we met—not long ago when you threw me from your hall and ordered your man to murder me upon the road.”
Peasely blinked. “Surely you are not the man who came to Baddersly claiming to be Wessex? You must forgive me, my lord, for you looked not as you do now. And as for a plot to kill you, why, I know nothing! You must be mistaken.”
Dunstan nodded toward Goodson, who was not far away. “‘Twas no mistake. I heard your guard there telling his men to do me in.”
Peasely blinked again, and then, as if coming to a decision, he turned in the saddle. “Goodson!” he barked. “What know you of these accusations? Speak now or I shall cut out your tongue!”
Under that kind of persuasion, Goodson gave up himself, but, wisely, not his master. “I thought the man was a ruffian, an assassin sent to gain entrance to your hall and do you harm. Forgive me, sir!” he begged. Although Goodson bent his head in apology, his eyes burned bright with hatred for Dunstan, easily exposing his sham confession.
The man’s enmity mattered little to Dunstan. What interested him was Peasely’s game. Why throw Goodson to the Wolf? And what was Marion’s uncle about with his sudden friendliness?
“You there!” Peasely called to those behind him. “Relieve Goodson of his sword at once. And keep him under guard until justice can be served!”Or I am out of sight,Dunstan thought wryly.
“My lord,” Peasely said, forcing a faint smile to his lips. “Now that I have resolved that unpleasantness, I would hope that you welcome me to your hall, so that we might talk.”
“We can talk right here.”
Peasely’s smile fled. “Very well,” he said with a sniff. He sat up straight and tried to look fierce, but his face was too bloated to achieve the desired effect. “I want my niece. Now. You have no right—”
“I have every right,” Dunstan broke in. “You see, I have married her. Marion is my wife and no longer your concern.” He waited, his hand on the hilt of his weapon, for Peasely’s response.
It was immediate and extreme. Peasely’s eyes seemed to pop from his head, and his skin grew red and mottled with emotion. “You lie!”
“‘Tis legal,” Dunstan replied. “Take your objections to the church or the king.”
For a moment, Dunstan thought Marion’s uncle would try to make her a widow without delay, for his lips drew back from his teeth in a fierce grimace. His bulbous eyes flicked to the battlements, however, and he paused, obviously leery of the soldiers behind the walls—and those who would step forward to avenge the Wolf’s death.
Little did the coward know that his own force could easily take the poorly manned castle, and Dunstan had no intention of letting on. Quickly he seized upon Peasely’s hesitation and fears.
“My father, earl of Campion, was most pleased with the match. He longs for a grandson,” Dunstan remarked. In an instant, he reminded Peasely that the might of the de Burghs protected Marion and that she could well be with child. That child not only stood to inherit Campion and Wessex, but Baddersly as well, eliminating any lingering hopes that Peasely might have of retaining his hold on the castle.
Watching the message sink in, Dunstan thought Peasely would have an apoplexy, saving them the trouble of killing him, but after long gasps for breath, Marion’s uncle finally seemed to gain control of himself.
