“I would see her,” he muttered in a more restrained manner.
“She does not wish to see you.”
“Nonsense,” Peasely protested. He adopted his friendly tone again. “I would see that she lives and hear her confirm that she is your wife. Surely you would not refuse me the hospitality of your hall?”
Dunstan paused. He had no intention of letting Peasely anywhere near his wife, but neither did he long for a battle that he was ill equipped to fight. If he refused Peasely’s request, the man might strike, and then what? If the castle fell, what would become of Marion? Dunstan’s chest constricted and his head throbbed at the thought of her at the mercy of her uncle. Alone. Defeated.
The back of his neck ached, but Dunstan resisted the urge to rub it and stared stonily at Peasely. He needed time. Simon might return at any moment. And Dunstan could send a runner to Campion, asking his father for help….
Peasely waited, a sly smile on his puffy face, and Dunstan wondered if the fool thought to take his large force inside the gates, the better to attack the Wolf. Dunstan nearly laughed, for he was not so stupid. As much as he disliked the idea, he would allow Peasely in—but no one else.
Nodding toward the far hillside, Dunstan said, “Your men may camp there. You may enter alone and see my lady for yourself.”
Peasely’s eyes bulged again, and Dunstan could see him struggling with anger. Obviously, his plans had been foiled, and he was uncertain of his next move. Good. As Dunstan watched Peasely, unwaveringly, he realized that it just might be better to have the man where he could keep an eye on him. Once inside, separated from his men, Peasely could hardly order a strike against the castle.
Marion’s uncle licked his lips. “Surely you would not deny me a few attendants.”
“You alone. And your man, the one who would kill me, may know the comforts of my dungeon, until such time as you leave.”
Peasely tried to disguise his fury, but he could not hide the red stains of rage that appeared on his face. “I hardly think—” he began.
Dunstan cut him off. “Those are my terms.” He knew that Peasely’s only other option was to attack, and he hoped that Marion’s uncle, like so many bullies, had not the courage. Obviously, Peasely would rather cloak his men as outlaws to do his killing for him than face a forthright battle.
Remaining implacable under Peasely’s lethal stare, Dunstan waited until the man nodded jerkily. “Very well,” Peasely snapped. He turned his mount and spoke softly to the guards behind him. Goodson was handed over to Dunstan’s men, and then the rest of the soldiers began moving toward the slope, leaving Peasely by himself.
“I am at your mercy, my lord,” Peasely said with a smirk, as he urged his horse onward. “I trust you will not violate my confidence.”
Dunstan flicked a contemptuous glance at Marion’s uncle. As much as he would like, he did not plan to murder a guest in cold blood. The king might not approve. However, let the man hurt Marion, and he would do the deed gladly. “I give you this warning,” Dunstan said. “Do not lift a hand to my wife, or you will be a dead man.”
Peasely sneered, apparently putting little faith in the threat. For a moment, Dunstan considered elaborating, but he had been fair—far more fair than Peasely had been to him and Marion.
“I warned you,” Dunstan said, piercing those bulbous eyes with his gaze. “See that you remember it.” Then he called for the gates to open.
* * *
Marion was horrified. Although logically, she knew that Dunstan could hardly refuse her uncle admittance, nonetheless she longed to run to her room and lock the door when she heard that he was here. Right here, within the nice, safe walls of Wessex. She should have stayed at Campion.
Geoffrey took her downstairs, and she was grateful for his arm, digging her fingers into it until she was surprised he did not yelp in pain. It was either that or turn tail and run. Geoffrey murmured encouragement, but she could tell he was alarmed by her reaction. And then she was in the hall, and she could think of none except her uncle.
At the sight of him, cold terror, mindless and relentless, washed over her, and she froze, staring at him with huge eyes.
“Marion,” he said, more sweetly than he had ever spoken to her in her life. “How are you?”
For a moment, she could not speak, then she lowered her head submissively and murmured, “I am well, uncle.” Dunstan moved to her side and was saying something, but she was still too numb to understand. Her brain told her she was being foolish, but it could not seem to convince the rest of her, which remained stiff and silent. The Wolf would protect her, she told herself, and yet the Wolf had let her uncle in….
The evening meal was a strange affair, which marked the first time Marion had ever eaten with her uncle. She had dined in her room at Baddersly, for Peasely had always said that women should keep to themselves. It all came back now, with frightful clarity, how he had let her have nothing, do nothing…benothing. And despite the presence of her husband and his brothers, Marion found herself shrinking away in an effort to stay out of her uncle’s sight.
Vaguely, she could hear him, his voice more cordial than she had ever heard it, as he questioned Dunstan about the marriage, stopping just short of accusing the Wolf of perpetrating some trickery. Dimly, she heard the other de Burghs, their tones harsh and angry, standing up for their brother, while Dunstan remained quiet beside her. Sometimes, she could feel her uncle’s gaze, intent upon her, but she kept her own lowered, picked at her food and begged an early excuse to escape.
She was glad when Dunstan joined her, putting one of his strong arms around her as they quit the hall. He said nothing while they made their way to the great chamber, but she was thankful for his protecting presence. In their room, she was aware of Dunstan watching her, but not with his usual lusty enthusiasm. She undressed silently, while he took off his own gear and dropped it to the floor with a loud thud.
“I will send him away,” the Wolf growled.
Marion slipped beneath the covers, pulling them over her despite the evening’s warmth, and huddled by the edge of the bed. “Nay. Do what you must. I am fine,” she said.
Dunstan whirled toward her, eyes narrowed, jaw clenched and chest bared. “The devil you are! You are not fine. You are notyou.By faith, you are not even as lively as a wren. You are like a wraith, a ghost of yourself, and I will not have it,” he added stubbornly.
“Peasely goes,” he said, stripping off his hose. He climbed into bed, and although it was vast enough to more than accommodate his great bulk, he moved over to her side. She welcomed the heat that poured from him when he pulled her close, pressing her back against him.
