Deborah Simmons - Taming The Wolf

In fact, Dunstan suspected he could find a great deal of pleasure in trying to coax the truth from her. His thoughts strayed to the feel of her against him, and he promptly turned them back to the roadway. Marion Warenne was nothing to him but a package to be delivered, soft and luxuriantly curved, perhaps, but a package nonetheless. He pitied the poor fool who thought of her as aught else.

With an angry grunt, Dunstan urged his destrier forward, content to leave the woman under the watchful eye of his squire, Cedric. She had brought him naught but trouble since he had first set eyes upon her at Campion, staring at him from across his father’s hall. By faith, he should have never accepted this task! He had his own problems, and right now they preyed upon his mind more fiercely than ever.

Two years ago when Edward had gifted him with the Wessex property, Dunstan had thought himself finally rooted after years on the road, making his bed wherever he might find it. But disputes with his greedy neighbor, Clarence Fitzhugh, had kept him from his hall. Now, it seemed that he was always on the borders, fending off raids and thefts. Yet Dunstan had no proof that Fitzhugh was behind his problems, and he could not retaliate against his neighbor’s holdings without drawing the king’s ire. He was neatly cornered.

Wessex itself had needed improvements and further defenses that had badly depleted Dunstan’s coffers, and the small number of villeins had forced him to supplement their labor with that of his own soldiers. Last year’s crops had been poor, stretching his resources to the limit....

With a grimace, Dunstan realized that his visions of taking his ease in his own hall, like his father, were but a youth’s foolish dream. His life seemed destined to be that of a knight struggling to keep his lands, forever on the move, forever watching his back. Rubbing his neck in a reflexive movement, Dunstan sought to ease the weight that rested there, trying to crush him.

By faith, but he could use the help of his brothers and a loan of men or money from his father! But Dunstan would rather be damned than beg. He had gone to Campion, hoping for an offer of aid, and look where it had gotten him! Instead of returning to Wessex with reinforcements, he was wasting his precious time playing nursemaid to a runaway wench.

At the thought of Marion Warenne, Dunstan knew an urge to rein in and find her among the train. He told himself he would be wise to check upon her himself, and for a moment he hesitated, then he grunted angrily and rode ahead, determined to keep both his body and his mind away from his charge.

* * *

Dunstan avoided her all day. When it came time for supper, he glanced in her direction—just to make sure that she was there, he told himself firmly—but all he saw was a flash of brown cloak as she slipped into her tent to eat alone. What cared he? Dunstan thought with a surly scowl. By faith, just the sight of her would probably put him off his food!

He was able to finish his meal quickly, and in peace, but he returned later, seating himself not far away. Absently, he watched her lair for signs of movement, even though Cedric was stationed at the entrance, keeping guard.

“Why does she hide herself away?” his squire asked, and Dunstan jerked his head, annoyed to be caught staring.

“Mayhap she is ashamed of wasting our time this day in our merry chase after her,” Dunstan growled. As rightfully she should be, he thought. Ridiculous wench!

“She ate but little,” Cedric noted. It took a moment for the words to sink into Dunstan’s distracted mind. Then, with slow deliberation, he lifted his head and gave his squire a look that questioned the significance of such news.

Coloring brightly, Cedric hurriedly glanced away, while Dunstan’s eyes narrowed at the discovery of his squire’s weakness. Already the boy showed signs of succumbing to Lady Warenne’s mysterious spell. Did Cedric think the woman was in danger of wasting away? Dunstan snorted. From the looks of her lush form, Lady Warenne was in little danger of becoming skinny—like some of those bony women at court....

With another snort, Dunstan realized that he was actually comparing those ladies unfavorably to a runaway wench.

And yet, there was more to the little brown wren than one might expect, Dunstan mused. Just what would make such a dab of a female climb a tree? And why would anyone brave the dangers of the wild rather than return as mistress of a rich household? Foolishness, that was the only answer, Dunstan thought. Shaking his head at the senseless foibles of women, he settled himself more firmly in the saddle and fought the memory of soft curves pressing into his body and huge doelike eyes framed by a wild mane of dark hair.

* * *

For the next couple of days Dunstan saw little of his charge, though she plagued his thoughts. She and the old serving woman were quiet and kept to themselves, a situation that could not have pleased him more. No doubt the lady regretted her ridiculous stunt in the tree and was becoming reconciled to the journey.

Dunstan had lost none of his personal resentment at his task, however, for he was still anxious to return to Wessex. They were making good progress now, even over the poor roads, and he had to admit that all was, once again, going smoothly. At this rate, they should reach Baddersly in only a few more days. But his absence from his holdings still chafed at him, and the errand could not be finished swiftly enough for his taste.

So he drove the train on, stopping only for the midmorning meal. Dunstan caught sight of her then, accidentally, as she sat alone with Cedric, the sunlight gleaming on her unbound hair. For a moment, he stared after her, wondering why she seemed to grow lovelier each time that he saw her.

Then, snorting in disgust, Dunstan turned on his heel to nearly run headlong into his vassal. Stopping just short of collision, Dunstan glared at the knight, who assessed his lord with a speculative gleam in his eye.

“Why do you not simply join her, or ride with her? Or perhaps ‘twould be better just to ride her, ” Walter said with a smirk.

“What?” Dunstan looked at his trusted knight as if the man had spoken some foreign tongue.

Walter smiled slowly. “The lady, Dunstan. You have been avoiding her for days, while you snarl at everyone. Why not simply draw her out so that you may satisfy your...curiosity?” The words were spoken with sly innuendo, and Dunstan growled menacingly.

“I have no interest in Lady Warenne other than to make certain she reaches her home, Walter.”

This time, his vassal laughed outright. “Then why the bristling, my friend? Everyone is talking about how the lady is making our lord testy as a boar with a toothache.” He grinned wickedly. “Or is the pain located elsewhere?”

Dunstan’s eyes narrowed. “That female has naught to do with my mood,” he replied through gritted teeth. “I like not this errand and would rather be at home, keeping Wessex safe from the bastard Fitzhugh.”

Walter’s smile fled. “Wessex is in good hands.”

“Aye,” Dunstan said softly, thinking of the head of the castle guard, Leonard Collins. Leonard and Walter had been with Dunstan a long time, going back to the days of their youth when they served Edward together. Dunstan trusted them both, but he still felt a deep desire to be at Wessex, protecting his own, instead of on the road with a exasperating wench.

“Come,” said Walter, banging him roughly on the back. “Sit and take your meal with me, and I shall ease your mind.”

Dunstan nodded curtly, and the two ate companionably together, as they had countless times before. They spoke of Fitzhugh and Wessex’s defenses, but Dunstan did not mention the crops that he hoped were being well tended in his absence. Strictly a soldier, with no head for farming, Walter would not understand. Dunstan had more to concern him than his next battle, however, and he felt the weight of his own responsibilities distance him from his old friend.