Dream of Me/Believe in Me

borne, she went to him and laid her hand lightly on his broad chest.
    “The garment suits you, my lord.”
    He inclined his head at the compliment but his eyes were strangely guarded. With a hand on her elbow, he drew her off to one side of the hall. Quietly, he said, “I thank you for all you have done. No one else could have managed it so well.”
    She stared at him for a moment, puzzled by the tension she felt in him, then let that go and smiled. “But you don't know what I've managed. You haven't been home long enough to find out.”
    “I need not see for myself. I trust you.”
    Cymbra's breath caught. She gazed up into his silvery eyes and felt a spreading warmth of happiness that seemed to blossom from deep within. She would have been delighted to tell him how he made her feel—or better, to show him—but they were being pulled in different directions. He had to meet their guests and she had to change before meeting them herself.
    She contented herself with a quick touch of her lips to his and a smile. “Thank you. That means more to me than you can know.”
    He nodded and she saw it again—something in his eyes. Regret? His brows drew together. She felt his hold on her arm tighten ever so slightly.
    “Cymbra … I do deeply appreciate all you have done. But now you must retire to our quarters and remain there until this gathering is over.”
    He spoke softly but audibly, the words were clear enough, yet they made no sense at all. Retire? Remain? She stared at him in bewilderment. “I don't understand.” She shook her head as though trying to clear it. Her eyes met his and she saw his implacable resolve. “You want me to stay in our quarters instead of attending the feast?”
    He nodded. “It is best this way.”
    Already, he was drawing her toward the doors. She saw Dragon waiting outside and realized with a shock that he was going to escort her back to the lodge while his brother went to greet their guests. Nor was he alone. There were other warriors behind him, their eyes carefully averted. She was to be well and truly guarded, it seemed, sealed away just like one of those women in … what had Kareem called it?—a harem. Say rather a
prison.
    “This council of the jarls is important,” he said as he continued out of the hall with her in hand. “I cannot allow it to be disrupted by the temptation you present.”
    That she presented? As though it were her fault if men could not control themselves. The stinging unfairness of that burned through her. Though she wanted desperately to resist, pride prevented her from making a spectacle of herself before Dragon and the others. She knew with a sinking heart that Wolf would simply ignore her objections and do as he wished.
    “Let go of me,” she said under her breath. When he hesitated, she added, “I'll do what you want. It's not as though I have any choice.” Without attempting to conceal her bitterness, she added, “But I want to know something first. You intended this all along, didn't you?”
    He did release her then but stayed very close, his eyes never leaving her. She thought she saw a flicker of regret again but it was gone before she could be sure.
    “Yes,” he said simply, “I did. This is not merely a friendly meeting of the jarls. I called it to put to rest certain rumors.”
    Despite herself, Cymbra found her curiosity piqued. “What rumors?”
    He hesitated but only for a moment before answering her bluntly. “Rumors that I am so besotted with my Saxon bride that my will is weakened, my power lessened, andmy holdings ripe for the picking. Moreover, that such attacks are deserved because a Norseman enthralled by a Saxon can no longer be trusted.”
    When she would have spoken, he held up a hand. Curtly, he continued. “The men who attacked the settlement at Vycoff were not Danes as I originally believed. They were Norse. They thought they saw an opportunity and they seized it. Their deaths were intended to assure that no one else behaved so stupidly, but because I allowed them to die quickly, the rumors have only grown.”
    Cymbra pressed her lips together tightly as horror burst in her. He had granted the men a swift death for her sake, because she had insisted on being there, because he wanted to spare her pain. Never had she considered that his action might be interpreted thus. The color fled from her face as she realized the implications.
    “I warned you,” her husband said quietly, “this is a hard land and we a