Dream of Me/Believe in Me

few years older but still very much a youth. He spoke not just with lust but with a note of cruelty that made the fine hairs on the back of Cymbra's neck rise.
    Her hand flew to her mouth as she tensed with anger. Was this how they repaid the hospitality of the jarl of Sciringesheal, by assuming that every woman within his domain was a whore available for the taking?
    She stood up quickly, intending to call a warning to Brita, but before she could do so she heard the young Irish woman scream. The sound was terrified and terrifying, sending Cymbra scrambling to yank open the door. She all but fell through it and almost tumbled into the guard, who whirled at her sudden appearance and stared at her with mingled disbelief and wariness.
    “My lady …”
    Brita screamed again. The three youths had hold of her and were dragging her around a corner of the women's hall.
    “Go to her!” Cymbra screamed at the guard. Vaguely, she recognized the young man as one of those who had been at Holyhood with Wolf and afterward on the ship coming to Sciringesheal. He was a good sort, alwayssmiling, but he had watchful eyes. His name was … ? “Magnus, you can see she needs help!”
    The young man hesitated. He glanced over his shoulder to where Brita was struggling desperately. Already, the top of her gown was torn, almost exposing her breasts, and the veil over her hair had been knocked off. He turned back to Cymbra.
    “Go back inside, my lady.”
    She stared at him in disbelief. How could he possibly take even a moment to tell her that when—? “Help her!”
    To her horror, he shook his head. “I am forbidden to leave this post.” He took hold of the door, as though to close it in her face.
    “Stop! You can't just stand here, you can't!”
    He did look again toward where Brita had now disappeared from sight but he remained implacable. “The jarl was clear in his orders, my lady. Do I move from this spot, it is worth my life.”
    “What of her life?” Cymbra cried. Horror rose in her. She could still hear Brita's frantic struggles and pleas for help. Abruptly, she made up her mind. She couldn't get past Magnus; he had clearly anticipated her trying to do so and had the door well blocked. But she could—
    Without another thought, she darted back into the lodge and slammed the door, shoving the bolt into place. She heard him call to her as she raced for the back window. Tearing the shutters open, Cymbra yanked up her skirts, climbed through the opening, and jumped to the ground.
    She landed hard but regained her balance at once and ran around to the front of the lodge. The moment she came within Magnus's sight, he yelled at her to stop. She ignored him and sprinted toward the women's hall and the dark corner where Brita had disappeared. As she intended, he had no choice but to follow her.
    Beyond the women's quarters stood the long, peak-roofed stables. The startled nickering of horses drew Cymbra in the right direction. There were no further screams from Brita. Cymbra came upon her, sprawled unconscious in an unused stall. Blood dripped from a blow to her forehead. Her gown was pulled up around her waist and her legs were yanked apart. Already one of the attackers was kneeling between her thighs as he fumbled with his trousers.
    “Scum!” Cymbra shouted. “Filth! Rapist!” She threw herself at him with all her strength, knocking him sideways as she kicked and clawed at him.
    “Bitch! Get her off!” He reared up, trying to get away from her but Cymbra held on. She was fueled by rage greater than any she had ever known before and determined to inflict as much damage as possible. Her fingers were going for his eyes when he managed to get hold of her shoulders and throw her against the stable wall. Her head struck a wooden pole and for a moment her vision dissolved into splinters of light. As it cleared, she saw Magnus, his sword drawn, look at her in horror.
    Time itself seemed to slow. In the pace of a heartbeat that went on and on like the distant echoing of a drum, Cymbra saw what that moment of distraction cost him. Drunk though they were, the three assailants were trained warriors. They had their weapons out and were advancing. Too late he saw them coming and had no time to prepare before they attacked as one.
    Cymbra screamed. She lurched away from the wall, frantically looking for something, anything to use as a weapon. When nothing came to hand, she flew at the attacker in the middle, pounding his back with her