Taming the Wolf Page 3

  “He treated her badly,” Nicholas said, his head hanging, his misery impossible to disguise.

  “Why do you say that?” Simon asked sharply.

  Nicholas shrugged. “Just things that she has said about how wonderful it is here and how she always feels safe and part of a family. She gives me that great smile of hers and says how lucky she is that we took her in.”

  Ashamed, furtive glances were exchanged, but still no one volunteered to wed Marion. It was his own fault, Campion decided. He should have remarried long ago, so that the boys would know the company of women. But after his second wife had died birthing Nicholas, a grief-stricken Campion had been loath to give his heart again.

  Unfortunately, the result was that his sons had grown to manhood without the tender touch of female hands. Now he was cursed with a grown group of bachelors who thought nothing of easing themselves on a bit of bought flesh, but who would never give him grandchildren.

  Could they not see the change in Campion and in themselves, wrought by Marion’s presence? In a few short months, she had made herself indispensable to the household, improving the hall and the rooms and the meals. Campion thought of the girl’s smile, so rich and full of warmth, and he felt a pang of loss.

  He ought to marry her himself, Campion thought suddenly, and then sighed at his own foolishness. Although past the age when most girls were wed, Marion was far too young for him, and he was too old to begin a new family. The winter had not been kind to him, and his joints were bothersome. He did not let on to his sons, of course, but he was finding it harder to wield a sword with his previous skill. Fond as he was of Marion, that fondness made him want her to have a robust husband to give her many sons.

  And he was looking at seven healthy candidates who refused to take her. Campion let them see his displeasure. “Very well, then. If none of you will have her to wife, she must go home. Who will take her back to Baddersly?”

  Again, dead silence met his words. The toes of his boots still interested Robin, Nicholas still fiddled with his knife, and Stephen concentrated on the bottom of his cup. Reynold rubbed his bad leg, as he often did when he was disturbed, and Simon scowled out the window, as if an answer would strike him from the heavens.

  “Well?” This time, Campion’s tone left no doubt that he was angry.

  Reynold glanced up. “Geoffrey is her favorite,” he pointed out.

  Geoffrey looked startled—and appalled. “Nay! I cannot. Make Simon go.”

  “Aye. He is best equipped to guard her,” Stephen said, his lips curling into a smirk.

  “Enough,” Campion said, calling a halt to the bickering. Yet they muttered on, sending black looks at one another, none of them willing to do the deed. Campion felt his pride in them melt away. By the rood, he faced a room full of cowards! He was about to chastise them as such, when suddenly the voices trailed off. They all looked at one another, brows lifted in surprise. Then, six heads swiveled toward the wall behind him, as they spoke as one.

  “Send Dunstan!” all of them cried at the same time.

  “Aye! Dunstan is better equipped than I!” Simon said. His words made Campion pause, for normally Simon would rather have died than admit such a thing.

  “Aye. He knows her not and would as likely feel nothing even if he did,” Stephen added with a contemptuous sneer.

  Campion glanced at Dunstan, who was watching the furor with a detached frown, and he wondered what the boy was thinking. When had his eldest son grown so distant? With a sigh, he turned his attention back to the matter at hand. “Dunstan is a good man on a journey,” he noted.

  “Aye! He knows his way throughout the whole country!” Nicholas said.

  Campion ignored the youngest de Burgh’s enthusiasm for his eldest brother and considered the idea further. Perhaps Dunstan would be the best man for the job. He was a fine knight and could easily handle any trouble that Peasely might serve him. He was also a baron in his own right, possessing some of the diplomacy that Simon so sorely lacked. And he was not involved with the girl’s affections; it would cause him no suffering to give Marion over to her uncle.

  Laying his palms upon the table, Campion made his decision. “If Dunstan is willing, then so be it.”

  “Aye, father.” They answered as one, and Campion realized that for once his sons were in agreement, all relieved to escape the task that they had dreaded. Campion sighed, his disappointment heavy as they rose to their feet, eager to be gone, only to halt at the sound of Dunstan’s low voice.

  “Stay,” he said, in a tone that brooked no argument. Although the boys rarely listened to one another, they were indebted to their sibling this day, so they deferred to him and remained where they were.

  “Fetch the girl, and say your farewells, for we leave within the hour,” Dunstan said.

  Campion glanced at him in surprise. “But you just arrived. Surely, you will want to rest before beginning another journey.” Campion felt a sting in his chest at the thought of Dunstan’s swift departure. It had been a year since his firstborn had been home. Why would he go so quickly?

  “If you wish me to take on this errand, I would hurry, for I am needed back in Wessex,” Dunstan said tersely. He appeared none too happy to be saddled with the task, and yet he had accepted it readily enough. Campion eyed him closely, trying to see inside the man his boy had become, but Dunstan’s dark eyes glinted dispassionately, revealing nothing. Campion felt another prick of sadness at the knowledge that Dunstan preferred his own castle, his own home now….

  Campion turned back to his younger sons. “Have Wilda bring Marion to us,” he said. Then he looked around the room. If the de Burghs had appeared uncomfortable before, they were practically squirming now. Not one of them wanted to face Marion—the cowards. Campion’s shame for them was tempered with a bit of sympathy, for even he knew some trepidation at the coming confrontation. After all, he, too, had come to care for the lady he had taken in.

  Now how, by the rood, was he going to tell her she had to leave?

  * * *

  Campion’s summons stunned Marion. Panic such as she had not known since waking up bewildered in the roadway seized her, and for a long moment she could not even move. Slowly, firmly, she told herself that the earl only wanted to order a special feast in honor of Dunstan’s visit or to introduce his eldest son to her, but her memory loss had forced Marion to rely on her senses. And they told her that something was amiss.

  Marion tried to compose herself as she followed Wilda to the solar, but the sight that met her brought on a new rush of dread. Although all the de Burghs were there, the room was silent as a tomb, Campion’s seven sons engaging in none of their usual boisterous banter. The six whom she had grown to love as brothers were arranged around their father, yet not one of them would meet her eyes. Only Dunstan, who was lounging against a wall like a dark, brooding presence, appeared to be watching her, his handsome face in shadow.

  “Lady Marion. Please sit down,” the earl said. Campion met her gaze openly, but something in it—a hint of sadness or regret—made her heart contract. She sat down on the edge of a settle, nodding calmly while her mind rushed ahead, pondering what harrowing news might be forthcoming.

  “Marion,” Campion began. “You know that we have been happy to have you with us. You have filled a need here, not only by acting as chatelaine, but by cheering us with your smiles. If we could, we would have you stay with us always.”

  Marion froze, her body immobile while the outcome that she feared most became a reality. He was sending her away! Where would she go? What would she do, a lone woman without friend or family to take her in, without even a memory of her own past?

  “However, it appears that we are not the only people who care about you. Although you may not remember, you have at least one relative who has not forgotten you—your uncle.”

  Campion waited, as if expecting her to respond in some way, but how could she? Uncle? What uncle? “I know no uncle,” Marion said finally, her words hardly audible a
bove the pounding of her heart. Forcing her limbs to move, she folded her hands neatly in her lap, affecting an outward appearance of serenity.

  “I know this all seems strange to you, my dear,” Campion said. “But I am sure that your memory will return in time, perhaps more quickly when you are home.”

  Panic, renewed and ferocious, rushed through her, and Marion gripped her fingers together. It was one thing to be cast out, alone. It was quite another to be thrust into the custody of a stranger from a past that filled her only with dread…. Marion struggled for air while she sought to follow Campion’s words.

  “You are Marion Warenne, and you are quite an heiress,” he was saying. He smiled slightly, as though he expected her to be cheered by the news, but she was not. The name meant nothing to her, the wealth even less.

  “But, my lord, you told me that I might stay as long as I wish,” she protested, trying to keep her voice steady.

  Sympathy washed gently over the earl’s face, frightening her far more than indifference. “I know that, my dear, and I am truly sorry. If you were still alone and unknown, I would most certainly extend my hospitality to you indefinitely. But you have a home of your own, and your uncle is most anxious for your return.”

  Through the blind haze of horror that had descended upon her, Marion tried to find words to deny the earl, but she could not. She could only stare at him wide-eyed, while she fought to keep her agitation in check. It came to her from nowhere, this knowledge that she must hide her fear, mask her emotions and keep her soul to herself. She had obviously learned it well, sometime back in the murky past that escaped her.

  As if sensing her despair, Campion leaned forward. “Do not worry, Marion. We shall not let any harm come to you.” Fixing his gaze steadily upon her, he spoke over his shoulder to where Dunstan leaned against the wall. “My eldest son, Dunstan, baron of Wessex, will escort you home, and he will make sure all is well.”

  Marion suspected that Campion was directing an order at his son, while trying to reassure her, but it mattered little. She knew that once she left the safety of these walls, the de Burghs, from the earl down to young Nicholas, would hold no sway in her life, and it would be foolish to pretend otherwise.

  Her champions had deserted her.

  Marion marshaled all her resources for one last effort. “You have me at a disadvantage, my lord, for I cannot plead my case very coherently. ‘Tis true that my past is a mystery to me, but I know this much—something there was very wrong. I cannot even try to remember but that I am filled with dread. I beg you, my lord, do not send me back.”

  She let the plea hang in the air while Campion rubbed his chin and studied her thoughtfully. Although panic threatened to consume her, Marion betrayed nothing and made no movement. Her back remained straight as a rod while she perched on the edge of the settle, her hands in her lap.

  Finally, the earl sighed regretfully. “I am sorry, Marion, but news of your stay here has reached your uncle, and he has threatened war if we do not return you to Baddersly at once.”

  War! Marion’s heart sank, along with the very last of her hopes, for she could not blame Campion for his decision. Despite her distress, she had no wish to endanger the men who had taken her in and treated her so kindly. She could not see their blood spilled simply because she felt more at home here than at a castle she no longer recalled.

  “Although I am not moved by his intimidation, I fear, my dear, that we have no legal right to you,” Campion explained.

  Marion listened, still and quiet, as she felt blackness descend, taking her to a place where she had not been for many months. When she spoke, it was from a distance, detached from them all. “I see,” she said softly. She did not nod or smile, but only eyed the earl gravely. “When do we leave?”

  For the first time since Marion had known him, the dignified Campion looked uncomfortable. “As soon as your things are packed,” he answered. “Dunstan is eager to be off. He is well versed with the roadways, having served Edward for many years before receiving his own barony. He will see that you come to no harm.”

  As if in answer, Dunstan stepped out of the shadows, a huge, intimidating presence. He was as big as the bole of an oak tree, and right now he looked to be just about as feeling. He moved in front of the window, so that Marion blinked, unable to see him well. And in that instant, she hated him.

  “Come, Lady Warenne,” he said, eyeing her disdainfully. “We had best be on our way.”

  Marion rose to find the other de Burghs crowding around her. Robin and Geoffrey exchanged glances, both of them looking guilty and ill at ease.

  “Dunstan will take good care of you,” Geoffrey offered.

  “Yes. He is the very best,” Robin said. He held out his hands to take hers. “Godspeed.”

  “Keep well,” Geoffrey added.

  Marion nodded, then turned to Stephen, who raised his cup in salute. “Goodbye, Stephen,” she said, surprised at the lump in her throat. She sought again the numbness that would shield her, reaching into the blackness for a place she had been to before coming to Campion.

  “Marion.” Simon’s face was taut, his farewell terse.

  Reynold did not even speak, but jerked his head and rubbed his bad leg. “Reynold,” she said.

  Nicholas stepped toward her then, hanging his head and looking miserable. “I am sorry, Marion,” he muttered. “Dunstan will take care of you, though. He will not let any harm come to you!”

  “Thank you for your kindness, all of you,” she said evenly.

  Campion took her hands. “Farewell for now, Lady Marion. I hope that we shall meet again soon.”

  Despite her best efforts, Marion felt a pressure behind her eyes as she pulled away. Then Dunstan moved forward to escort her out of the room, and she was spared the ignominy of losing her control. A swift glance at his hard features set her own, so that she left the others behind without a glance.

  * * *

  Since Marion did not turn back, she did not see the de Burghs fling themselves down in disgust. For long moments, silence reigned in the solar. Then Stephen finally spoke. “I would have preferred ranting and raving to that noble acceptance,” he noted before taking a long drink from his replenished cup.

  “Aye,” said Campion, frowning thoughtfully. “‘Twould have been easier if she had cursed you all for the cowards that you are.”

  “Aye,” Geoffrey whispered softly. And for once, no argument ensued. The de Burghs were all in agreement again.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Dunstan was not pleased. He had come to Campion for…well, he was not sure exactly why he had come, but it was not to be saddled with such a ridiculous errand. Not now, when there was so much to be done at Wessex. He rubbed the back of his neck and strode into the yard without even glancing at the woman at his side.

  While the wench was packing, he had hastily washed, changed his travel-stained garments and devoured some food. Now, he looked toward a few of his father’s men to supplement his own force before leaving. Although they would make only a few miles before sunset, that would put them a few miles closer to their destination—and the completion of his task.

  “Dunstan!” He turned at the call from his vassal. Walter Avery, a beefy blond knight who had been with him since his first days serving King Edward, loped across the yard, looking decidedly annoyed to have been snatched from his leisure.

  “Wait here,” Dunstan curtly told the woman. Without staying for an answer, he walked over to meet his vassal.

  “What is afoot?” Walter asked. “Have you news of Fitzhugh?”

  “Nay,” Dunstan said, frowning at the mention of his bastard neighbor. “Campion would have me escort one of his guests back to her home,” he explained curtly.

  Walter’s heavy brows lifted in surprise. “And you agreed?”

  Dunstan glanced at the walls of the keep that rose behind them and realized, belatedly, that he could have refused his father. But that course had never even crossed his mind. As the eldest, he had
always shouldered the most responsibility; as a de Burgh, he bore it without complaint.

  “It should not take long, a few weeks, no more,” Dunstan said absently. Walter shook his head. Obviously, he could not understand why a baron with his own property and its attendant problems would take on a commission from Campion—especially when there were at least five other brothers who could do the job.

  Dunstan was wondering the same thing himself.

  “See that we have sufficient men for the trip,” he ordered. “I want to travel quickly and light, but most of all, I want this to be a safe, uneventful journey.”

  When Walter nodded grudgingly and stalked across the yard to see to the men, Dunstan turned back toward the girl, but she was not where he had left her. Unaccustomed to having his orders disobeyed, Dunstan clenched his jaw in annoyance and looked around. Although he soon spotted her not far away, surrounded by a group of urchins, his temper was unappeased. A lifetime of hard work, skilled fighting and book study, and he was playing nursemaid to a female!

  And what a female! As Dunstan strode toward the brown daub of a creature, he wondered how she had ever wormed her way into his family’s good graces. He had little use for women himself and had never known his brothers to claim aught but carnal interest in them, either. And yet he had witnessed the battle-hardened de Burghs fawning over this one in wrenching farewells that had made his stomach turn.

  As he approached her, she reached down to pat one of the children, and he studied her in earnest. The woman was not even beautiful! She was short and dark and too voluptuous for his taste, which ran more to willowy blondes. A certain widow from Edward’s court, who had been free with her favors, came to mind. Yes, Melissande, pale and cool and glittering with expensive gems, was to his liking—not this moppet. He scowled at her.