Dream of Me/Believe in Me

of relief flowed through her. She gasped, surprised by how quickly she could feel safe again, yet in another way not surprised at all. Her solitude was gone; she was joined to this man in a way she would never have believed possible. In truth, she would have feared it, believing as she had that she could exist in the world only when sealed off behind walls of her own making. Now she knew that was not true, and in the discovery she rejoiced.
    Off to the side, Ulfrich spoke quietly. “There are bruises and scratches, lord, but otherwise she is unharmed.”
    Memories surfaced like sharp, painful shards of ice yet seen as though from a distance, no longer having the power to hurt her. She tried to sit up only to be prevented by her husband, who continued to hold her with carefully measured strength.
    “Brita … Magnus … ?” Her voice quivered.
    “They will both be fine,” Ulfrich said quickly. “The lass took a blow to her head but she's already regainedconsciousness. She'd be here fussing over you herself if we let her. Magnus lost some blood but not so much that he won't recover.”
    Cymbra offered up a silent, fervent prayer of thanks for the mercy shown this night even as the means of it remained inexplicable. “How did you … ?” She twisted slightly looking up into her husband's hooded gaze. “How did you find us?”
    He stared down at her, his expression inscrutable. Only the jagged beating of a pulse in his jaw revealed the emotion he was keeping in savage check. “I heard you scream.”
    She frowned, thinking she misunderstood yet knowing she had not. The stable was much too far from the feasting halls for anyone there to have heard anything, even without accounting for the noise of the feast itself. There was no possible way he could have known she was in danger. Yet he had known and he had come, otherwise she would not have been there now, safe in his arms, unhurt but for a few bruises.
    A tremor raced through her, and another, as the meaning of his words became clear in her mind. She was suddenly shaking so badly she felt she might come apart. He held her as the storm broke, murmuring to her softly, his arms her shelter from the world.
    Dimly, she was aware of him lifting her, carrying her from the stable. The murmur of voices fell silent as they passed, picked up again behind them. Cool night air touched her. She nestled her head against his chest and refused to let herself think of anything at all.
    A large tub of steaming water had been prepared inside the lodge. Wolf set his wife down carefully on the bed and knelt beside her. He gazed for a moment at the torn gown but said nothing as he eased it over her head. To his great relief she did not protest or show any fear of him. He sensed the still watchfulness that had settled within her,guessed that she was carefully and cautiously trying to come to terms with what had happened. Her trust in him was one more blessing among all those for which he would give proper thanks in due time.
    But first he had other matters with which to concern himself.
    His big, callused hands were gentle as he caught her hair up and secured it at the top of her head with the pins he had seen her use for the same purpose. That done, he lifted her again and carefully lowered her into the bath.
    As she sighed deeply and settled into the water, he had his first real chance to observe the damage done to her. His eyes glittered with deadly rage as he saw the rapidly darkening bruises on her arms and legs, and along her back. There were thin red scratches near her breasts where her gown had been torn, and one cheek was already swelling where she had been struck.
    Slowly, methodically, he took note of each injury. Only the knowledge that it could have been much worse—indeed, would have been had he not arrived when he did—allowed him to suppress the red-hot, churning sea of rage that threatened to consume him. That and the cold, steel-edged resolve that had already determined how this would all end.
    He lathered her lavender-scented soap between his hands and began stroking them over her silken skin, going most carefully where she was bruised. She made a soft murmur of contentment and let her eyes close. Beneath his touch, he felt her relax further and knew that to be yet more evidence of her trust in him.
    When she was clean, he lifted her from the tub and, still with greatest care, dried her. She stood silently, allowing him to do as he would even when he knelt and