Chapter Six #3
Watching his mounted figure, Marion felt a twinge of admiration for the man she had once despised so thoroughly.
Could the feeling be mutual? Dunstan had always treated her as less than nothing, but today she had sensed a change in him.
Had she imagined it, or had the Wolf of Wessex finally eyed her with some respect?
At least he believed her about her memory loss—a small step that, but a significant one.
Perhaps there was hope for the eldest de Burgh, after all, Marion thought with a smile.
With some surprise, Marion realized that she would not mind getting to know him better, to discover exactly what lay beneath that rough hide of his perhaps to change his snarls to smiles.
She nearly laughed at the absurdity of such a scheme.
Surely, it would be doomed to failure, for a wolf could no more change his nature than a leopard his spots.
No matter. She would have to ignore Dunstan’s increasing appeal, for, though he might more readily believe some of her words, he was still intent upon returning her to Baddersly.
And Marion had no intention of being left behind in that dark and dreadful place while the Wolf went on to resume his life.
Escape was never far from her thoughts. All day she had watched for a chance to ease her mount away from the rest of the train, but no opportunity had arisen.
The men stayed close to her for her own protection, as did Cedric, who seemed doubly attentive after receiving his reprimand from Dunstan.
And Marion’s small but sturdy horse would be no match for the huge destriers ridden by the Wolf and his men.
No, Marion knew that she must somehow gain time, enough time to get far ahead of any pursuit.
Longingly, she looked at the forest that rose upon the hills to their right, dipping closer here and farther there as the road curved and twisted.
She could lose herself in those woods, if only she could slip away undetected. She had but to find her chance.
It came at supper.
It seemed the Wolf was avoiding her again, so she was spared his company. Eating but little, she excused herself early from Cedric’s company. “But, my lady, ‘tis not even dark yet,” the boy protested, glancing up at the setting sun.
“I know, but I am tired,” Marion explained with an apologetic smile. Would the boy forgive her deception? She felt sadly regretful for getting Cedric into trouble yet again, but she had to think of herself. And she knew that Dunstan was a fair master; he would not hurt the boy.
“Good night,” she whispered.
“Good night, my lady,” he answered, too kind and open to suspect her of anything but weariness.
And in truth, Marion was weary, but it was not to rest that she entered her tent.
She knew that once she was inside it, Cedric would relax his guard, and that was when she planned to escape.
She waited patiently, hoping that Agnes would stay out by the fire until late, helping the men with their meal.
Of Dunstan, she had seen little, but she suspected that he, too, would leave her be, for had he not lectured her long and vehemently against the follies of fleeing?
He did not think she would, and that was exactly how she would manage to, once again.
Peeking out from under the edge of the tent, Marion saw that Cedric had, indeed, left for the companionable glow of the fire, where most of the men still gathered.
Agnes and Dunstan, too, must be there, for no one was near her tent.
Wrapping the servant’s tattered cloak around her, Marion slipped out from under the other side and moved calmly toward the trees.
She was nearly under the first heavy shadows of their leaves when a voice called after her, “Hey, old woman, don’t go far.”
Without turning, Marion attempted an imitation of Agnes’s loud cackling laugh and limped into the woods, holding the worn garment closer about her.
Praying that the sentry would take her for Agnes making her evening ablutions, Marion stepped into the shelter of the forest. Once there, she did not dally, however.
This time, she intended to put as much ground between her and the Wolf as she could.
She hurried forward, not daring to run over the uneven undergrowth, but moving as fast as she could.
Already night was gathering under the oaks, and Marion knew it would be her ally.
Slipping in and out of clumps of trees she came upon a path of sorts and decided to follow it, simply because she did not want to travel in circles.
She moved off the trail at times, but kept close to it until darkness forced her to stay upon the narrow track.
And darkness came soon, blanketing the world in a disconcerting blackness when the leaves above blocked out the moon and the stars.
Marion lost some of her boldness. The rustling of small animals in the brush and the flap of wings overhead would make her freeze in her place, breathless.
At first, it was pursuit from camp that she feared, but later, the strange sounds conveyed their own dangers.
Trying not to think of all that Dunstan had warned her about—wild beasts and desperate outlaws—Marion clutched her small dagger close and stepped carefully.
Breathing evenly through her nostrils, she focused on her freedom and a life without threat of a dreaded past. Safety lay ahead of her, and she could not let the night noises cause her to veer from it.
Telling herself that no one could possibly be deep in the woods at this hour, Marion had herself convinced—until she heard a low rumble ahead that heralded the unmistakable movements of men.