With some surprise, Marion realized that for the first night since she had arrived at Wessex, Dunstan was not rolling her beneath him. Although she could feel his desire, a hard brand against her buttocks, he simply held her, and the tender gesture made her want to weep.
He nuzzled her hair softly and muttered, “I would have you happy, Marion.” She drew in a ragged breath and tried not to cry at his gruff admission. How she loved him! It welled up in her like a great flood, washing away her fears and bathing her in comfort.
She recognized how hard the Wolf tried, in his own rough way, to make things right between them. Mercy, but he had changed from the fierce beast who had thought of her as naught but a piece of baggage to be delivered. He had come to respect her, to listen to her and to worry about her. Now, he even professed to want her happy!
Ever since his release from the dungeon, Dunstan had seemed more attentive, almost as if he…cherished her. During the nights, he lavished on her his passion; during the days he often sought her out for no reason other than to be near her.
Tears wet Marion’s lashes as she realized just how very much this man granted her. He said he did not believe in love, but was that so very important? Perhaps she should quit wishing for something that could not be and accept what was. Even if Dunstan loved her, there was no guarantee that it would last forever, and what she had right now seemed to be awfully close.
Maybe, Marion thought, just maybe the Wolf was giving her all that he could, and she would be a fool not to be content with it.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Marion did not want any more battles at Wessex, so she forced a smile to her lips and insisted that Dunstan let her uncle stay, at least for a little while—long enough perhaps to discover what he was about. She kept to her room, however, joining the others only to eat.
After a peaceful afternoon spent working upon a new tapestry, Marion stood and stretched, mindful that she must go down soon for the evening meal, when there was a knock on the chamber door. Thinking it Geoffrey or Nicholas come to escort her below, she called out an invitation to enter.
But it was neither Geoffrey nor Nicholas, nor any of the de Burghs. It was her uncle who walked in and shut the door behind him, and Marion froze in horror. “So, here you are, Marion. I have missed you today. How rude of you to treat a guest with so little hospitality,” he said. He stalked around the room, examining the tapestries and spare furnishings with a look of contempt before turning toward her suddenly. “But, then, you never did know how to do your duty, did you?”
Marion backed away, recognizing, all too well, the abrupt change in his tone. He had been drinking, and that meant he was capable of anything. Sitting down upon the edge of the bed, she bent her head, able to do naught but cower before the man who had tormented her so often.
“No!” he shouted. “You never could do anything right, could you? Worthless, useless spawn of my worthless, useless sister, standing between me and what is rightfully mine.” Marion heard him step closer, but she remained where she was, silent and still.
“You think to take Baddersly from me, do you?” he snarled. Marion said nothing, having learned not to answer his questions even with a denial when he was in such a mood. “Well, you will not. You cannot!” His voice rose higher, his tone fierce. “I will—”
The door burst open, slamming against the wall with a loud crack, and Marion looked up to see the Wolf filling the doorway, huge and threatening and powerful.
“What are you doing in my chamber?” he growled at her uncle.
“She invited me in,” Peasely said, waving a hand in Marion’s direction. Hearing his easy tone, she cast him a sharp glance and was surprised to realize that he was not cowed by Dunstan. Why? Mercy, but the Wolf had been known to scare his own brothers when he was in a black humor.
“Is that true, Marion?” Dunstan asked, piercing her with his bright green gaze.
It glittered dangerously. He was tightly reined, but Marion could see that the slightest word from her would unleash his temper. Frightened as she had been, she wanted no bloodshed here in their chamber. She nodded in agreement.
Despite her response, Dunstan stood where he was, assessing her for a long moment before turning toward Peasely. “I warned you, Peasely,” he growled. “See that you remember it.”
“Oh, I will, my lord,” her uncle said with a conciliatory smile and a mocking manner that made Marion stare at him, wide-eyed. Had he lost his senses? Perhaps he was foolhardy with drink, for why else would he bait the Wolf? Then, with one last glance that promised her retribution, he slipped by Dunstan and out of the room, leaving them alone.
“What the devil was that about?” Dunstan asked, obviously still angry and frustrated. No doubt he would have liked to slam her uncle into the wall, but had restrained himself on her account. Marion managed a tremulous smile at his patience.
“Nothing. He only sought to taunt me,” she said. “You came bursting in before he did anything but bluster.” It was true, she realized, and she felt a little ashamed for letting her uncle intimidate her in her very own home, in her very own room. But he had always done that….
She looked up in some surprise to see Dunstan kneeling before her. He took her hands in his roughly, but the look in his eyes was so gentle she felt the tears threaten again. Mercy, but she was a watering pot of late!
“He is nothing, Marion.Nothing.He cannot harm you ever again,” Dunstan whispered.
“I know,” she admitted. “I know it is silly, but when I see him, it is as if I am only seven again and all alone in the world—” She broke off as Dunstan’s arms came around her, and she finally gave in to the urge to weep, burying her face against his neck and soaking the collar of his tunic.
* * *
Dunstan barely touched his trencher. Even if he had been starving, which he was not, his jaw was clenched too tightly to eat. He leaned back in his chair, alternately watching his wife and her uncle, and brooded. Day of God, he wanted to be rid of Peasely. How dared the bastard threaten his wife in his own chamber? Dunstan’s blood boiled at the very thought.
Marion was his.His.And, by faith, he would protect her. It was strange and new yet, this business of having a wife, and not at all what he had envisioned. Perhaps it was his time spent in the dungeon that made him cherish every minute with Marion, but he found he no longer wanted to put her aside while he went about his business. In a way, shewashis business.
And he wanted her back! He wanted his wife, the spirited little sprite who poked her tiny finger into his chest and argued with him, not this quiet shadow of a woman. The change in her was all Peasely’s fault and Dunstan was sorely tempted to murder the man. Right now.
Dunstan’s mouth tightened into a grim line at the sound of Peasely’s harsh laugh. Marion’s uncle and Stephen were in their cups, their tongues growing sharper with each drink, and although everyone was well used to ignoring Stephen, Peasely was a different story. Dunstan liked not his loud speech, peppered with oaths, or the look of him, full of ill-disguised loathing for his hosts.
