Dream of Me/Believe in Me (37 page)

Two things happened at once: Wolf awoke, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and rose in the same instant as he demanded to know where she was going; and she almost tripped over the tray left directly outside the lodge.

Brita, she thought with a smile, certain who had been so considerate—and so practical. “Just getting this,” she
said, picking up the tray. As she turned back into the room, laughter broke from her. Her husband stood there stark naked, fists on his hips, managing to look fierce and sleepy at the same time.

“You may not be hungry,” she said with a grin, “but I'm starving.”

He muttered something about satisfying one appetite only to have another come along and got back into the bed. But he made no attempt to return to sleep. Instead, he propped himself up against the pillows, the expanse of his bare chest gleaming in the lingering glow of the braziers, and watched her with amusement.

She all but swooned with delight when she took the cover off the tray and beheld what was there. Brita had remembered all her favorites—the cardamon-flavored rolls, the apples in cinnamon, the little rounds of ripe yellow cheese so soft as to be spreadable, the slices of cold chicken with mustard, the pickled red and green cabbage, even her favorite sweet cider that she much preferred to ale or mead. Although to be fair, a pitcher of ale was included along with slices of rare beef seasoned with peppercorns such as Wolf enjoyed.

“There's enough food here for four people,” he said as she brought the tray over to the bed.

Wiggling out of her gown, she smiled at him boldly. “You think so?”

He was forced to reconsider as his slender, delicate wife proceeded to tuck into the largest meal he had ever seen her eat. She ate with gusto, savoring every bite and drop. The apples vanished first, followed swiftly by the chicken and most of the cheese. Had he not made a grab for the beef and some of the rolls, he had no doubt she would have devoured those, too.

When she shot him a chiding look and licked her fingers, he said, “Would you like me to get more food?”

She appeared to consider that seriously, but shook her
head, settled back against the pillows, and patted her stomach. “No, I'm finished.” She cast a glance toward the remnants of the beef. “I think.”

He sighed and passed her the plate. When she had finally finished, he said very seriously, “You haven't been eating, have you?”

She focused her attention on the far wall. “I wasn't hungry.”

“Why not?”

“I just wasn't.”

He sighed again, a very male sound of patience being sought, and gathered her into his arms. She tried to stiffen against him but that was a futile effort. Quickly enough, her slender form molded to his.

“I'll try again,” Wolf said. “Why haven't you been hungry?”

“Because I had nothing to do so no way of working up an appetite?”

His arms tightened a little around her, warning that his patience was running out. “Because you were confined?”

Damn the man, he insisted on getting to the heart of it, didn't he?

“All right, because of that. I hated having to stay in here. I hate confinement. When I was a child, Hawk tried keeping me away from everyone so I wouldn't … hurt. He realized after a while that it caused as many problems as it prevented.”

This was the first time she had seemed willing to talk about her strange abilities and Wolf seized the opportunity. “How old were you when you realized that you were different?” he asked gently.

She felt a moment's surprise that he had used that word—
different
—for people tended to steer away from it. The few who really knew the truth about her spoke of her “gift” and she supposed it could be seen that way. But
what was blessing was also curse and weighing everything in the balance, she thought “different” was as close to the full sense of the truth as it was possible to come.

“I don't know exactly,” she said quietly. “I cannot remember a time when it wasn't there so it must have started very young. I have only fragmented memories of the period Hawk remembers all too well, and I suppose that is to the good. For a while, it was so bad that he drugged me with opium in order simply that I might survive but he knew that couldn't continue.”

“So he tried to seal you away from the world?”

“Yes, as much as that is ever possible to do. He told me later that he hoped that if I could be kept safe behind strong walls, I might learn to build such walls within myself. In that he was very wise, for that is exactly what I finally managed to do.”

“Does he have a touch of this gift himself?” Wolf asked, wondering about the man with whom he must shortly communicate.

Cymbra hesitated. “He is a very wise and capable leader, and I think at least some of that must come from his understanding of people. I see the same ability in you. So, yes, I suppose it is the same in kind, but the degree is greatly different.”

“Did you resent being sent away?”

“Not resent precisely, only regretted. But Hawk came often to visit especially while I was still very young. When he saw that I was better, he allowed me to visit at Hawkforte.”

“But he never took you to court?”

“No, he seemed to think that would be borrowing trouble.” She raised herself on her elbow, smiling at him wryly. “In that, as well, the two of you seem to think alike.”

She waited, hoping that he would respond to her mention of her brother, that they might even talk further
about Wolf's delay in sending word to him. But instead her husband said, “I know this wasn't easy for you. It was a difficult decision for me to make. I'm still not sure if it was the right one.”

She looked up at him, surprised. “You can say that after what happened?”

He shrugged. “It worked out for the best. There won't be any further problems.”

If he thought it strange to dismiss the savage execution of three men in such terms, he didn't show it. Instead, he looked down at her again and smiled. “Sleepy?”

“I should be,” she said ruefully, “but somehow I'm not.”

“Neither am I.” He let go of her, rose from the bed, and held out a hand. “There's something I want to show you.”

S
TOP! CYMBRA CRIED, LAUGHING AS SHE KICKED AT
the green-foamed spray, showering Wolf with fine droplets of water. He grinned and bent over, scooping up handfuls to toss at her. Still laughing, she ran down the beach, well aware that her husband followed.

She had never before been on a beach at night, never imagined how beautiful it would look beneath the stars. When he told her where they were going, she was surprised yet curious. Her hand secure in his, bundled in the cloak he insisted she put on over her gown, she went eagerly.

If the guards on the berm thought their lord's behavior unusual, they said nothing of it as they obediently opened the gates. So, too, they would have the good sense to keep silent about the sight of the mighty jarl of Sciringesheal playing in the surf by starlight with his beautiful Saxon wife.

Her eyes took longer to adjust to the dark than did his. He found his way with the easy grace of his namesake. When he jumped down onto the sand and held out his arms to catch her, she laughed and leaped without hesitation.

She was still laughing as they played at the water's edge and even as she ran down the beach. When he caught her, she turned breathlessly in his arms, tilted her face up to the star-draped sky, and said softly, “I could stay here forever.”

He dropped a quick kiss on her lips and grinned. Her pleasure delighted him, yet did he take due note of how very much she needed freedom. Truly, she was as a caged bird suddenly released to soar.

“What would you do if it rained?” he asked teasingly

She arched a finely drawn eyebrow and gestured at her clothing damp from his splashing. “Get wet?”

“Ah, but you'd need a place to shelter.” Seizing her hand, he ran up the beach. “Come on.”

Beyond a curve of the shore, where grouse bushes grew against a proud cliff, he drew her toward a dark cleft in the rock. When she hung back a little, uncertain, he tossed a grin over his broad shoulder. “I found this place years ago. You'll like it.”

Even as he spoke, he moved seemingly right through the rock and drew her with him. Cymbra found herself standing in a small cave the contours of which were just visible in the starlight filtering through the opening in the cliff. Near the entrance, the walls were covered with fragrant moss. Farther in, she caught streaks of light and shadow that glistened as though embedded with countless tiny stars.

Wolf gestured toward the pool of darkness at the farthest edge of her sight. “It goes so far back I've never been able to find the end.”

“You searched for it?” she asked, more than a little
concerned. There were caves near Holyhood where it was said people had become lost, never to be seen again.

“I used a torch. There are magnificent chambers back in there, some the match of anything I've seen in palaces.”

Even so, she had no wish to see them for herself, or to even think of him venturing into them again. “What if the torch had gone out?”

He laughed and caught her hand to his lips. “I also took tinder and a flint. Do you always worry so?”

“No,” she admitted, puzzled by her uncharacteristic concern. Softly, she added, “I just can't bear to think of you being hurt.”

He gazed down into her eyes for a long moment before gently gathering her to him. She worried for those she loved. Recognizing that confirmed Wolf in the decision he had made. Whenever she spoke of her brother, her love for him was clear. Moreover, it was evidently well deserved, for Hawk had acted toward her with great care and compassion. Loath though he was to do it, Wolf could not help but feel a spurt of gratitude for the enraged Saxon he must shortly face. Face, too, the wife he had kept unknowing lest she fear for them both any longer than absolutely necessary.

“There were times,” he said quietly, “when I came to this place simply because I needed to be alone for a while. Never before did I want to bring anyone with me.”

She touched his cheek in silent thanks and leaned her head against his broad shoulder. Suddenly, she was very tired. The events of the past few hours seemed to crash down on her. Despite her best efforts, she could not contain a delicate yawn.

“I shouldn't have brought you out,” he said remorsefully.

“Oh, no! I'm glad you did. It's so beautiful here.”

“Still, you need to rest.” Swiftly, he removed his cloak and laid it on the floor of the cave. Gathering her into his
arms, he drew her down beside him and pulled the edge of the garment up over them both, creating a warm cocoon of safety and comfort.

Cymbra made a soft sound of contentment and nestled against him. There was so much she wanted to say— how much she loved him, how glad she was that they were together, her hopes for the future … so much. But thought fled as easily as dreams came.

She woke to a warm, freshening breeze and light pouring in through the entrance to the cave. Her husband stood just outside, looking at the sea. When she went to join him, brushing sand from her cloak, he held out an arm and drew her close. He said nothing, merely gestured out over the blue-gray water in which small waves chopped and seals played.

She followed the direction of his gaze and saw the vessel coming up rapidly over the horizon. For a moment, she thought only that the oarsmen must be rowing unusually fast, so swiftly did the ship move over the water. Then a sudden gust of wind filled the sail and she saw there, against the dazzling sea, the sign she had both longed for and dreaded.

The hawk, talons curved to seize its prey, flying fast and sure toward the lair of the wolf.

S
UNLIGHT GLINTED OFF THE SHIELDS OF THE
men of Wolf's personal guard, two dozen in all, who stood in ranks on the stone wharf. Their swords remained in their sheaths but they were close to hand if, as the grim looks on their faces indicated, the trouble they were expecting occurred.

Behind them, the streets and lanes of the town were deserted. Word of who was arriving had spread on the wind and the good folk of Sciringesheal had made themselves scarce. Only a few well-fed dogs ambled about. In contrast to their happy ease, the guests were departing with speed, urged on by Dragon, who had remained at the hill fort to see to a task made easier by unanimous desire not to irk the Wolf.

Cymbra's breath caught as she realized that the Saxon vessel was not slowing even as it entered the rock-strewn channel guarding the entrance to the port. Wolf, too, took note of that and smiled grimly.

“Either your brother is an expert seaman or he'll never make it this far.”

He was about to say a word to the captain of the guard regarding preparations for a rescue mission when Cymbra stopped him with a hand laid gently on his arm. Her eyes still on the approaching ship, she said, “I've been told that Hawk took a rudder for the first time when he was three years old. Supposedly, he was so delighted by the experience that he talked for days afterward about making the boat fly.”

Watching the smooth tack of the vessel as it rounded a boulder-strewn islet, Wolf said grudgingly, “He sails well for someone who isn't Norse.”