Chapter Twenty
At dawn, Dunstan rode out to Peasely’s camp with the dead man’s body.
He was accompanied by a small guard from Wessex, although he knew they could do little against the larger force if it came to a battle.
Most of the de Burghs remained at the castle, manning its defense, but Geoffrey had insisted upon coming, claiming his superior negotiating skills might save Dunstan’s life.
After much argument over the matter, Dunstan had discovered that his quiet, studious brother had a stubborn streak as fierce as the rest of the de Burghs. It soon became apparent that the only way he was going to prevent Geoffrey from coming along was by locking him up, so Dunstan gave way.
He urged his horse forward, trying to ignore the pain of his wound, aggravated by the ride.
Suddenly, he longed for nothing more than to be flat on his back in bed, his wife hovering over him with that sweet concern shining in her great doe eyes.
He let out a low oath and decided he was getting old.
With a grimace, Dunstan realized he would have more to worry about than a small cut, if Peasely’s men proved difficult.
No one had come out to greet them, and the silence of the morn made Dunstan uneasy as they approached the camp.
He caught Geoffrey’s eye for a brief moment, and then they topped the slope to view the enemy soldiers.
They were, to a man, dead to the world.
Dunstan was dumbfounded—until he remembered how undisciplined the guard at Baddersly had been, dicing and drinking in the hall.
Without Peasely or Goodson, they obviously had done as they pleased, swilling their supplies of ale and bowing to no authority.
Not one of them even stood sentry for the rest. Dunstan laughed out loud.
As they were roused and rounded up, some of the soldiers were found to be the worse for a few fights, some had slunk off, and others were too dazed with drink yet to stand.
When Dunstan, as their new lord, growled out orders, however, most hastened to obey.
Those who did not were either turned out or locked up, depending on how dangerous Dunstan deemed them.
The rest swore their loyalty to him and waited to go back to Baddersly.
Not one drop of blood was spilled.
* * *
When Nicholas told her that Dunstan had gone out to treat with Peasely’s men, Marion began sobbing, much to the dismay of the youngest de Burgh. Nicholas was plainly baffled that the same woman who had attacked her uncle so fiercely the night before could be so distraught this morning.
Although he obviously thought she was mourning Peasely’s death, Marion was not. In fact, she felt precious little regret for her uncle’s passing. He had tried to kill her more than once, and now she felt only relief that he would pose no threat to her or her new family.
Her tears were for Dunstan, who had left her bed without a goodbye while she still slept.
Marion knew the kind of men her uncle employed, and she would not wish to lose her husband to them.
After all that they had been through together—after the Wolf had finally admitted he loved her—what if he was killed out there this morning before his very gates?
A particularly loud sob made Nicholas rush out of the hall in a panic, shouting for Robin, while Marion sank down on a bench to give vent to her fears.
She had saved up many a tear during all those years at Baddersly when she had stoically survived with no one to care for and none to care for her.
Now she let them flow unheeded down her cheeks, for she had good reason to give in to her worries.
After consultation with an older woman from the village, Marion had discovered just what had turned her into a watering pot of late.
Although she had said nothing as yet, she suspected that she was carrying the Wolf’s child, and the thought that the baby might not have a father come evening made her weep more copiously.
When Robin and Nicholas returned with the news that both Dunstan and Geoffrey had been sighted approaching the gates, Marion would have cried anew, this time with relief, but the anxious looks the brothers were exchanging made her swipe at her cheeks and try to smile.
She followed them outside to see for herself, and hardly gave her husband a chance to dismount before she launched herself into his arms.
Apparently Dunstan and Geoffrey were well pleased with their doings, and Marion was soon tucked under the Wolf’s thick arm, while the rest of the de Burghs crowded around, pelting them with questions and congratulations. Marion resisted an urge to weep again in pure happiness.
The morning meal was a boisterous affair, for all were relieved that Peasely and his men no longer posed a threat.
After the food was cleared away, the brothers lingered, to decide what next needed to be done.
Although no one expected any problems with Marion’s inheritance, the king would have to be informed of Peasely’s death, and, of course, Baddersly would have to be taken in hand.
They had just begun discussing Marion’s holdings when one of the guards reported that Simon had been sighted.
Pandemonium broke out again, and the din of de Burgh voices did not fade until Simon was also seated at the table, ready to present his report to Dunstan.
Marion studied him closely, with an anxious eye for his well-being, but Simon seemed none the worse for his mission.
Indeed, he seemed stronger and more confident and more mature than ever, and Marion felt a sister’s own pride in him.
When they had all quieted, Simon told them that he was met at Fitzhugh’s primary manor by the steward, who did not allow him inside, but assured him there would be no further unpleasantness.
Looking a bit disappointed by the prospect of peace, Simon continued speaking in his own terse way.
He told them that Walter Avery had fled to the manor from the battle at Wessex and had promptly taken Fitzhugh’s daughter to wife.
Dunstan’s low grunt told Marion that he was not pleased by that news. “I am surprised Walter did not cut you down at the gates. What treachery does he plan now?” Dunstan growled.
“None,” Simon answered grimly, “for he is dead.”
Glancing at her husband, Marion saw that he remained skeptical, but Simon nodded in assurance. “‘Tis true,” Simon said. “Fitzhugh’s daughter did not take well to her husband. On their wedding night she stabbed him to death…in their marriage bed.”
Marion gasped aloud, while the de Burghs uttered several foul oaths and muttered among themselves. “‘Tis one way to bloody the sheets,” Stephen quipped.
Dunstan snorted. “I trust them not. How can we be sure?”
“I am sure. They sent out the body to me,” Simon said. He cleared his throat. “She…she had ordered it left for the scavengers, but the steward gave it over to us. We buried him.”
Astounded by the tale, Marion was even more astonished to see all the huge, brave de Burgh knights shudder visibly at the doings of the Fitzhugh woman. Who was she? What was she?
“Well,” Dunstan said, heaving a sigh. “It seems she has done our work for us—”
His words were interrupted by a new shout, announcing the arrival of Campion himself. The brothers surged to their feet as one, while Marion, too, rose to greet her husband’s father.
He entered the hall with his usual grace and dignity, tall and straight and drawing respect by his very demeanor.
Seeming untouched by the events of the past few weeks, the earl was a steady source of intelligence and power, Marion thought.
Would her Wolf ever be the same? She smiled, doubting it, for Dunstan did not have his father’s even temperament.
Glancing swiftly up at her husband, Marion admired his now familiar features.
He had his own strength and majesty that made men look to him, too, and that proclaimed him a fit heir to the earl.
Watching the play of emotions across his face at the sight of his father, Marion felt her love for Dunstan become a wellspring, showering over them and nurturing the child she carried.
Perhaps he would never possess Campion’s quiet wisdom, but Marion loved the Wolf just as he was—huge and handsome, gruff and tender, quick to rage and just as quick to burn with passion. She smiled her own secret smile to know that he returned her feelings.
Suddenly, everyone was talking at once, and Marion laughed with pleasure to see the way each son vied for Campion’s attention. They all had a tale to share, and she called for wine and ale so that the afternoon could be spent in the telling.
Like a good father, Campion listened to them all, giving each man his attention and his praise. He seemed most impressed by the way Marion had attacked her uncle, and he rubbed his chin in that thoughtful way of his until Marion had the impression he was looking right inside her.
“Now,” Dunstan said, when Campion had been informed of all their doings, “I must go to Baddersly to take control of Marion’s property and get an accounting—”
Marion cut him off with a gasp of protest. “No! I care not for anything from my old life.”
Dunstan snorted, and his brothers scoffed loudly, giving her several choice de Burgh looks that scorned her words as female foolishness. “Well, then,” Marion said more firmly, “send someone else. Simon would love to go, I am sure.”
A brief, telling expression of excitement passed over Simon’s face before Dunstan grunted angrily and said, “My brothers have done enough for me, Marion. ‘Tis time I took control of my affairs—”
“Then stay here,” Marion said.
Dunstan growled. “Do not interrupt me, wren!”
“Do not scold me, Dunstan!”
“I will not have you gainsay me, wife!”
“And I will not have you go to Baddersly!”