Taming The Wolf. Deborah Simmons

hands upon his knees and surveyed his sons. He felt pride at the sight of them gathered around him in the solar. It had been some time since they had met together. Was it last summer, or had it been spring the last time he had had the pleasure of seeing them all before him?

      Campion was glad that the court courier had traveled first to Wessex, with messages for Dunstan. Otherwise, his firstborn might never have come. He felt a small measure of doubt as he wondered if there might be another reason for Dunstan’s visit. Campion was unsure, for his eldest son had become distant and close-mouthed ever since taking over his own holdings.

      He is a grown man, keeping his own counsel, Campion noted with a mixture of respect and loss. Although his sons had their faults, they were good men, decent, well educated and capable. The matter at hand returned swiftly to mind, and he hoped that he could depend upon one of them to do what was right.

      “It seems we have a problem,” he said without preamble. “You may remember that after Lady Marion arrived, I sent a ring belonging to her to court with the hope that someone there might identify it.” Campion paused, noting, with approval, that he had their undivided attention.

      “It was recognized by one Harold Peasely, who claims the ring belongs to his niece, Marion Warenne. The lady, who owns quite a bit of land to the south, has been missing since she undertook a pilgrimage in the fall. Peasely is her guardian, and he wants her back—immediately.”

      Campion looked about, assessing the reaction of his audience. Some faces, such as Reynold’s, were taut and grim, while others showed anger and dismay. Good. Obviously, none of his sons wanted the girl to leave. Now, if only he could convince them to keep her here....

      “But why does Marion not remember this?” Simon asked sharply. “When we found her in the roadway she knew nothing, and she still claims not to know her own name.”

      Campion rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I do not think the lady wants to be restored to her former life,” he answered slowly. “She has always seemed distressed by efforts to help her remember. I would speculate that she is happier here.” Campion saw Robin nod in agreement, while the others released sighs, grunts and mutters as they mulled over that pronouncement.

      “If she does not wish to return, do not send her back,” Stephen said with a casual gesture that belied his concern.

      “Unfortunately, we are in a rather awkward position,” Campion said. “This Peasely has threatened to bring a force of arms against us if we do not return Marion to her home at once.”

      Robin whistled and shook his head.

      “I would like to see him try to take Campion,” Simon snarled.

      “Who the devil is he?” Reynold asked.

      “He is a minor landholder, brother to Marion’s mother, but he holds sway over her extensive properties, her large fortune and her future, according to the messenger.”

      “I say let the bastard come and be damned. He shall know whom he threatens!” shouted Simon, slamming his fist against his palm for emphasis.

      “‘Tis not as simple as that, boys,” Campion said, holding up a hand to stem the tide of angry voices. He glanced toward Dunstan, thinking that his eldest might contribute to the discussion, but Dunstan only lounged against the wall with a detached air and an expression of disgust on his face. Obviously, he had no interest in the lady’s disposition and viewed his brothers’ concern as a waste of energy. Campion sighed, for he would have no help from that quarter.

      “We have no legal right to the girl,” Campion explained. “Even if she wants to stay with us, we cannot keep her.” Outraged mutters met his words, and he lifted his hand again for attention. “Peasely is Marion’s guardian. There is naught we can do to change that, unless, of course, we were to gain the right to her in a perfectly lawful manner.”

      Campion paused to assess each man in the room, hoping that one of them would come to Marion’s aid. They all looked at him expectantly, with the exception of Dunstan, who uttered a low snort and pushed off the wall with a grimace. Campion paid him no mind, for Dunstan did not even know the girl. One of his brothers would have to make the decision that Dunstan so rudely disdained.

      “How?” piped up Nicholas.

      “By marriage,” Campion said simply. He studied them seriously. “Which one of you shall take her to wife?”

      Dead silence met his question.

      Campion’s gaze swept the assembly, taking in each son, in turn, though none would meet his probing eyes now. Simon, the born warrior, scowled his denial, while Reynold grunted his dismay. Stephen, as was his way of late, immediately poured himself another cup of wine, Campion noted with a frown.

      Robin was studying the tips of his boots with extreme concentration, while Nicholas fiddled with the knife in his belt, and Geoffrey looked torn, as always, between compassion and common sense.

      “Will none of you have her?” Campion asked. He could not keep the disappointment from his voice, for he had come to care for the girl. He had hoped that this hastily formed plan would keep her with them, but no one said a word. “Are all my sons unnatural that they will not marry and give Campion heirs?”

      Eyes downcast, they all refused to answer, except Simon, who flashed his silver-gray ones like steel. “Why is it that she is not already wed? She looks of an age.”

      “‘Tis not difficult to imagine that her uncle covets her lands for himself. If so, he will never willingly let her marry. The messenger hinted as much. ‘Tis more than likely that our Marion was little more than a prisoner in her own castle,” Campion said, hoping that guilt might move his sons when duty and affection had failed to do so.

      “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