Chapter Six #2
Marion drew herself up then, the pain he had briefly glimpsed swiftly replaced by the cool, unreachable mask he well recognized.
Dunstan suddenly regretted his mockery. Clenching his jaw, he told himself that the advice he gave was for her own good, and yet he felt as wretched as if he had kicked her in the teeth for no good reason.
“I really do not remember,” she said suddenly. She was staring off into the distance, and somehow, she seemed more truthful now than when she was looking him directly in the eye.
Dunstan felt something stir again inside him.
The urge to take her into his arms, to protect this maddening woman from all of the world’s hurts, was overwhelming.
He grunted, disgusted, but unable to stop himself from offering whatever feeble comfort he could.
“I have heard of such things,” he said finally.
“Back when I was a young knight, I saw a man with a head wound wander for days without his senses.”
She looked at him, and he felt as if those wonderful wide eyes would swallow him up, taking him into their depths forever.
“Thank you, Dunstan,” she said. It was only a few words, gently spoken, but they touched him down to the bone.
Strange, far too strange for his blood, he thought with a grimace.
“You frown too much, Dunstan.”
Dunstan glanced at her in surprise to find her smiling at him. And the world dimmed in the face of it.
Speechless, Dunstan stared at that smile.
Bright with life and accompanied by two deep dimples, it was like none he had ever seen before.
It seemed to encompass him, cloaking him in its warmth and lightening his heart.
How would he feel to have that smile turned upon him again and again?
It made him want to move his lips in return, to reach for something he had long forgotten.
Dunstan decided a man would have to be as cold as stone to be unaffected by it, and he was not made of stone. Gad, but he felt himself go all soft inside. He straightened in the saddle. “I have had little enough to please me upon this journey,” he answered.
Undiminished by his reference to her troublesome behavior, Marion’s grin deepened, and Dunstan swore he saw a sparkle in her eye.
In spite of himself—in spite of all he knew of this exasperating female—he felt himself drawn to her.
She seemed the embodiment of so many things he had been lacking: warmth and comfort and caring.
Caring? Dunstan frowned at his own foolish thoughts. Perhaps his brain was swelling!
“My lady, I would not have us be enemies,” he said politely.
“If you and I had met under other circumstances, I might have found you pleasing. And I can assure you, you would have found me much more accommodating. But I have business that requires my attention, and this journey is wearing on me sorely.”
“What weighs upon you so?” Marion tilted her head slightly to train her great dark gaze upon him, and Dunstan felt its gentle touch like a caress.
You. Dunstan almost spoke the word aloud.
You and your foolish escapades, from scaling trees to burrowing into caves.
You and that bewitching smile of yours. You and the way you look and act and sound, filling my thoughts as no other woman ever has…
. He stared off into the forest that rose in the distance.
“I am needed at Wessex,” he said gruffly.
“What is it? Have you problems there?”
The concern in her big brown eyes tempted Dunstan to speak, but being the eldest of Campion’s sons, he had always borne the most responsibility.
Long ago, he had learned to rely solely on himself in his efforts to meet his father’s standards, and he had never deigned to share his burdens with another.
“There are difficulties, yes,” he said abruptly.
“Surely ‘tis not so bad,” she murmured. Her voice, low and gentle, invited confidence. Dunstan felt himself drawn to her again, as if Marion could somehow lighten his load, free him from the weight of his worries, ease him….
“My neighbor, Fitzhugh, tries me sorely,” he said slowly.
“He constantly harries my people and attacks my property under the guise of outlawry. Many had fled before I came to the holding, so there are few villeins to work the soil. I would see they put in their proper days of service, so that we have a good harvest this year and do not all starve. Beyond the field work, there are ditches to be cleared, banks to be rebuilt….” The lady must be an enchantress, Dunstan mused, for he was voicing concerns he had not even shared with Walter.
“What does your father say?”
“Of what?” Dunstan asked, surprised by her question.
“Of your burdens. I cannot believe that he would send you away from your holdings when you are so needed there.” Her heart-shaped face was tilted toward him, and the sun glowed on the heavy curls that escaped her hood.
“I doubt that he knows of them,” Dunstan replied. “‘Tis not his land, but mine own that is threatened.”
“But he is your sire, and loves you well!” Marion protested. “Surely he can help you. And what of your brothers? Why are they not watching out for your interests?”
Dunstan frowned. “They have their own concerns.”
“Nay! They have not,” she argued. “They are six grown, healthy men with little enough to do at Campion. They would welcome a change.”
“They have not been overly eager to lend me their arms,” Dunstan said.
“Have you ever asked them?”
“Nay! I beg not,” Dunstan replied, his eyes narrowing.
“Mercy! You are a stubborn fool!” Marion said, pushing a long, thick strand of hair from her face. Dunstan wondered what it would feel like between his fingers. A man could bury his hands in a mane like that….
“They would never step in to help you without being asked, Dunstan de Burgh! They think you are invincible and need them not. Do you know how thrilled Simon would be to aid you?”
Dunstan tore his gaze from her curls and looked at her earnest face, astounded that the little wren was working herself up in such a fashion.
“He is always trying to live up to your example, yet he finds no chance for glory in serving Campion, for it is well defended. I know that he has asked to join King Edward’s forces, but your father is reluctant to let him go.
Although your sire would admit it not, he likes having his sons around him.
Simon needs a chance to prove himself, and what better way than by your side?
Then, mayhap, he would see you are no god, but only mortal man, like himself. ”
Dunstan struggled to take it all in. Simon, cold and competent beyond reason, saw him as a god? Dunstan found that hard to believe, just as he did the notion of his father hoarding his brothers.
“And Stephen and Reynold, too,” Marion added.
“They need challenges. They have become less than they should be, kicking their heels at Campion. Stephen gets himself into mischief while Reynold broods in bitterness. Yet they are good men, brave knights all, who would be proud to stand by you. With such men as these, who would dare harry you?”
Dunstan shook his head, wary of her words, and yet, amazing as it might seem, they made sense.
He imagined Simon, clearheaded and capable of fending off the most vicious threat, standing guard at his gates, and Geoffrey…
Marion had not mentioned him, but Geoffrey had more sense than all of them.
Geoffrey could see that the fallow land at Wessex produced double its measure.
Perhaps she was right. What good would come of remaining aloof and alone? Would he rather lose Wessex than ask his own family for assistance? He had already proved himself aplenty to his sire and his siblings. Mayhap it was time they proved themselves to him.
“When you return, you must confide in your father,” Marion said. “‘Tis no sign of weakness to call upon your brothers. They need you as much as you need them, Dunstan.”
“I will consider it,” Dunstan promised as he looked at Marion with new respect. She answered his regard with that beautiful, open smile that dimpled both her cheeks, and for an instant, Dunstan felt a dizzy sort of longing that had nothing to do with sex. Then his jaw tightened.
“You will excuse me, lady,” he said abruptly, wheeling his horse out of the line and forward. Suddenly, he was overwhelmed with the need to get away from the only woman who had the power to twist and turn his thoughts into directions he found too disturbing for his comfort.
* * *
Marion passed the rest of the day in peace, glad to be left alone.
Although she had enjoyed her brief conversation with Walter Avery, she found his sudden attention dismaying, and she had no desire for further complications.
The fewer people interested in her the better.
And she certainly had not cared to hear Dunstan’s dire warnings, especially when she was planning to disregard them soon enough.
Although he did not seek her out again, Marion often sensed the Wolf’s eyes upon her. Sometimes she would look up only to catch him quickly glancing away, that perpetual scowl marring his handsome features. Presumably, he was simply guarding her well, Marion thought, with no little disgruntlement.
When she had ridden beside him, Marion had briefly thought she saw longing in those green eyes of his, but it must have been indigestion—or loathing, she decided. Dunstan had no cause to like her, that was certain, especially since she had delayed this trip more than once.
No wonder he was so grumpy. Even though she did not understand why he had accepted this errand, Marion could see what drove him to hurry. Dunstan was worried about his lands and his people, and she could not fault him for that.