Dream of Me/Believe in Me (44 page)

Dragon grunted. The girl's audacity startled him. He was willing to wager a considerable sum that she was the first person to dare mention Cymbra's name since her departure.
Dragon himself had spoken of her only very briefly with Wolf within hours of the Saxons' escape. His brother had made it extremely clear that he would never speak of her again.

“Yes, well, what is it you want?”

Brita bit her lip. She looked down at her hands clasped in her lap, looked up at him again, and swallowed. “Lord Wolf has healed, in his body at any rate.”

Dragon's gaze narrowed. He spared a moment to wonder exactly how much she knew. Ulfrich had tended to Wolf alone except for Dragon's own help. No one else had been let near him. “The jarl is fine. Is that what you wanted to know?”

She shook her head. “I don't want to know anything. That is, it is you who should know.” She stopped, clearly reluctant to speak yet driven to do so. “Not you, exactly, Lord Wolf.”

He looked at her more closely. “Lord Wolf should know something?”

Brita nodded. Her eyes were very wide and he could see her hands tremble. Dragon was expert at soothing women, albeit usually in very different circumstances. This one was clearly frightened or at the least unsure. Schooling his voice to gentleness, he said, “All right, there's something you'd like Lord Wolf to know. But perhaps you'd like me to tell him?”

She nodded again, more vigorously. “I don't really know … that is, I'm not sure what to say to him … how he will feel …”

“Because this is about the Lady Cymbra?”

Her voice fell to a whisper. “I do not wish to anger him but neither do I think I should keep silent any longer.”

Dragon stiffened inwardly but he didn't let her see his reaction. The last thing he wanted was any sort of
news that would upset Wolf, yet he also knew that nothing would anger his brother more than being kept in ignorance.

“You're right to do this,” he told Brita. “Give me the information and I'll take responsibility for telling the jarl.”

She looked at him with gratitude. “Thank you, my lord. Please understand, I wish only what is best … for everyone.”

“That is to your credit. I'm sure we all appreciate your hard work and loyalty—”

“Not just everyone here. Everyone.”

He thought about that for a moment, then nodded. “You mean Lady Cymbra as well.”

“She was very good to me. Without her, I don't know what my life would be today. So, yes, I do want what is best for her, too.” She looked very directly at Dragon. “I care about Lady Cymbra and Lord Wolf and—”

“And—?”

Brita took a breath, and Dragon had the sudden, clear impression that she was praying. When she spoke again, her voice was very low and urgent. By the time she fell silent, he was slumped back in his chair, his face drained of color and his eyes blank.

W
OLF LOOKED TOWARD THE STALL DOOR AS HIS
brother entered but did not stop currying the large black stallion who stood calmly beneath his hand. Despite the grip of winter on the land, the stable was warm, made so by snug walls and the heat of the animals who occupied it. Fresh straw lay over the ground and the feed troughs were full.

Dragon glanced from man to beast. “How's his fetlock?”

The horse, Wolf's favorite, had slipped on ice the preceding
week and gone down hard, but he was recovering well.

“Healed, I think,” Wolf said. “Is it still snowing?”

“It is and looks set to continue through the night.” Dragon propped himself up on an overturned barrel and studied his brother. Despite his recent illness, Wolf appeared as powerful as ever. Yet there was a new haggard-ness to his face that spoke of painful thoughts behind eyes that these days were always shuttered.

“You seem healed, too.”

Wolf shrugged. “Too much fuss was made of that.”

Deliberately, Dragon matched his show of unconcern. “Perhaps. We didn't used to pay much attention to such things.” He waited until Wolf was concentrated on the horse again, then said, “Until Cymbra came, that is.”

At the sudden mention of her name, Wolf stiffened. He shot his brother a single piercing look before returning his eyes to the stallion.

Dragon was not discouraged. “So what I want to know is, what do you think the odds are that she was telling the truth?”

Wolf did not reply, nor did he look at his brother again. Enough time passed for Dragon to think he would not respond at all. But finally he emptied the pail he'd been using, set the currying brush inside it, and straightened. His voice was hard despite the edge of soul-deep weariness. “What are you talking about?”

Doing his utmost to hide his elation at getting a response, Dragon strove to show only the mildest interest. “You remember what she said on the beach, that she couldn't let one of you die because of her?”

He felt a stab of guilt when his brother flinched but reminded himself that this was all for the best.

Wolf hung the pail on a peg and began forking fresh straw into the stall. “I remember.”

“She also told you she went with Hawk willingly.”

“Is there some point to this?”

The bite of barely suppressed anger only encouraged Dragon further. He'd be damned if he'd let his brother bury his love for that Frigg-blessed Saxon in the grave of his own heart.

“Well, if she cared so much about
both
of you that she would have taken her own life to keep you from killing each other, what sense does it make that she would have wanted to leave here?” Without pausing for an answer he knew Wolf didn't have, Dragon went on. “What if she only said that she went with Hawk willingly to keep you from blaming him? After all, it's one thing if he came back to get her because she asked him to. Then it's just a matter of family loyalty; anyone can understand that even if we wouldn't necessarily like it. But if he did it on his own, he violated your hospitality
and
the alliance. How would you have handled that?”

“I don't know,” Wolf admitted. He had given up the pretense of working and was focused on his brother. “I wondered about that myself.”

Dragon nodded. “I think Cymbra might have, too. She must have feared you'd kill him. She'd seen you try to do just that on the beach.”

Again, Wolf flinched at the memory of those horrible moments when Cymbra had stood with the dagger pressed to her breast. Again, Dragon felt a moment's guilt. He shoved it aside ruthlessly.

“Maybe she trusted that however you punished her, it wouldn't be anything as bad as what you'd do to him. And she was right about that, wasn't she?”

Wolf's only answer was a curt nod but he continued to look at his brother.

“And maybe,” Dragon went on, “she wasn't really lying. She could have gone with him as far as the ship but intending to go no farther.”

“That doesn't make any sense.”

“Doesn't it? Hawk was here for a fortnight. Cymbra made every effort to show him that she was happy but they were never allowed to speak alone during that time. Perhaps he needed to hear her say that everything really was all right, with no possibility of her being pressured into it. The only place that could have happened was on his own ship.”

Wolf snorted. “You have the imagination of a true skald, brother. Your stories are better than many I've heard.”

Dragon resisted the urge to knock him up against the side of the head. “What if you or I were in Hawk's position? Wouldn't we have wanted to make sure she wasn't under any kind of duress?”

Long moments passed as Wolf wrestled with these questions. Finally, he said, “There's one problem with this tale you're spinning.”

“What's that?”

“She's not here anymore. If she didn't intend to leave with him, how do you explain that?”

Dragon sighed. “I admit, that's the hard end of it. I can't explain it, not really. But think on this: Hawk had seen her whipped. He didn't have any way of knowing what would happen to her after he was gone. Whatever
she
may have wanted, under those circumstances how could
he
have left her behind?”

Wolf didn't reply. He looked at his brother in silence. At length, he resumed spreading the straw. Dragon left the stables a short while after that but he was not discouraged. If nothing else, he had set the Wolf to thinking.

As snow pelted him, he paused and looked out to the sea, where deadly rivers of ice now flowed. Until the year turned and the grip of winter was broken, thinking was just about all anyone could do.

M
Y LADY
, Come Away From That Window!
Cymbra jerked guiltily and quickly pulled the wooden shutter closed against the winter night, dropping over it the ox-hide cover intended to further keep out the chill. She turned around with a smile for the old woman who glared at her sternly

“I was just getting a breath of fresh air, Miriam. It seems a bit warmer tonight.”

“Night air of any sort is the worst thing for you.” She bustled over, seized Cymbra's hand, and drew her toward the circle of iron braziers set up on tripods. They cast light and warmth over a pair of high-backed chairs softened by heaps of colorful cushions. Nearby was a large bed hung with embroidered curtains and piled with pillows. There were several carved chests, some brought from Holyhood, and numerous other small touches that bespoke luxury and comfort but Cymbra seemed scarcely to notice them, occupied as she was with other matters.

“I don't know what you're thinking of,” Miriam continued. “You hardly ate anything at supper and now here I find you practically dangling out the window when it's cold enough to freeze the drip off the end of Dreadful Daria's nose—”

Miriam caught herself. She looked abashed. “Forgive me, my lady, I'm an old woman and I tend to ramble.”

Cymbra tried hard to suppress her laughter but she just couldn't manage it. A very unladylike guffaw broke from her.
“Dreadful Daria?
Is that what people call her?”

“I'm sorry, my lady, I know she's your half-sister but—”

“You don't have to apologize,” Cymbra said softly. She sat down and urged her elderly nurse into the chair next to her. “I've only really known Daria since I came to Hawkforte. She is the child of my father's first marriage and much older than either Hawk or me. By the time I was born, she was already grown and gone. Apparently, when
our father remarried, she was glad enough to get her own household.”

“It's a shame her husband's not still alive,” Miriam grumbled, “and keeping her occupied elsewhere. Of course, going against the king isn't likely to guarantee a long life.”

“A very poor choice,” Cymbra agreed. One that proved fatal for Daria's husband, who had died years ago in a thwarted rebellion against the sovereign whom men were already calling Alfred the Great. It was in that very rebellion that a young thane called Hawk had risen to prominence, fighting beside the king he believed was the best hope of peace. “I suppose Hawk felt compelled to bring her back here once she was widowed. I was already at Holyhood and thus did not become acquainted with her.” An omission for which Cymbra had learned to be grateful since living at Hawkforte in close proximity to her half-sister.

“She runs his household well enough from what I can see,” Miriam said grudgingly. “But if she ever smiled, I swear her face would crack.”

“I'm glad you're here with me,” Cymbra said. Softly, she admitted, “I'd hate to have to depend on Daria.”

“And so you shall not,” Miriam declared emphatically. “Have no thoughts on that score and no worries either. Everything is going to be fine. Now can I coax you into eating a little soup?”

Although she really wasn't hungry, she agreed for her nurse's sake. Poor Miriam had been through agonies of worry after Cymbra was taken from Holyhood. Hawk's return with his sister had earned him the old nurse's eternal gratitude, but she still reserved her greatest loyalty for the woman she had raised from infancy.

“You were such a beautiful baby,” she said a while later as Cymbra sat on the edge of the bed, braiding her long, chestnut hair. There were times when she thought of
cutting it but then she remembered how much Wolf had liked her hair and couldn't bear to part with it. She had little enough left of him save for—

“And you were so bright,” Miriam went on. “Right from the beginning, always looking around at everything. You smiled all day long.”

“It was probably gas,” Cymbra said with a grin.

“It was no such thing! Don't you believe that nonsense, my girl. Babies know, oh, yes, they do.”

The two women fell silent, Cymbra lost in her thoughts and Miriam watching her with gentle concern. Long after the old nurse went to her bed and the fires burned low in the braziers, Cymbra remained awake. Her head resting on her knees, she listened to the wail of the wind beyond Hawkforte's strong walls and felt her spirit take flight.

As she did whenever sleep proved elusive and the hours wore long, she tried to imagine what Wolf was doing. She prayed he was well and could not bear to believe otherwise. And, though she tried hard not to dwell on the matter, she prayed that he was sleeping alone.

So, too, as she always did, she took refuge in memories of their time together. She remembered him in so many ways—coaxing her into the mineral bath on the way to Sciringesheal, carrying her through the town to the stronghold, comforting her on the night of their marriage when she was so afraid. And there were other memories as well, when she pelted him with food in the kitchens and he replied in kind, the sultry night of passion in the sauna, his laughter and gentleness, his determination to achieve peace, his rage on the beach when he believed she had tried to leave him.

Did he rage at her now, believing her a false wife and betrayer? Or had he put her from his mind so completely that she might never have existed?

With a moan, she turned over in the bed, hiding her
face in the pillows. The wind grew stronger. The wooden shutters creaked and the faint light left in the braziers sent up shadows that writhed and twisted against the walls.

She got up once to better secure the ox-hide curtains, then hurried back to bed across the cold stone floor. Huddled beneath the covers, she fell asleep finally with her cheeks damp and her arms wrapped protectively around herself.