Dream of Me/Believe in Me

gently patted the cloth over her buttocks and between her thighs. She shivered delicately at his touch. The shadows beneath her eyes and her unaccustomed passivity meant that thefirst wave of relief had come and gone, leaving her to cope with the shock of the attack.
    When she trembled again, he knew she was remembering, reliving fragments as he himself had done in the aftermath of battles. Experience told him that would happen to her over and over, possibly for years to come.
    Rage at the men who had done this surged so powerfully that for a moment he could see nothing but a red mist, hear nothing but the drumbeat of his warrior's heart. Only the overwhelming power of his will coupled with the vast love he bore her allowed him to force it back down and concentrate on what had to be done.
    Just then, he would have given almost anything to be able to take Cymbra to their bed, to hold her chastely and protectively throughout the night. But this time the wishes of the man and the husband had to be subordinate to the duty of the jarl.
    He saw the flicker of surprise in her eyes when he dropped a fresh gown over her head and helped her draw her arms through it. Saw, too, the dawning awareness that this matter was not over yet. Indeed, could not be until punishment had been rendered. He went swiftly then, finishing the job, hoping she had not yet realized what he and most likely every other resident of Sciringesheal already knew, namely that the jarl's Saxon bride had disobeyed him yet again.
    Standing before her, aware of how very small and delicate she was in comparison to himself, he breathed in the warm, womanly scent of her skin as he loosened the pins holding her hair. As it fell, he caught masses of it in his hands, trailing the chestnut tendrils through his fingers.
    He thought of the first moment he had seen her, coming down the stairs to the dungeon at Holyhood, the torchlight gleaming in the glory of her hair, her slim and supple body so graceful, her expression determined despitethe fear he knew she must have felt. Never had he known a woman to show such courage. He prayed she would find that now.
    “Come,” he said, and taking her hand in his, he led her from the lodge.
    A CROWD TOO LARGE TO FIT INTO THE GREAT HALL had assembled just outside it. Torches set on poles in the ground defined a large circle in which firelit shadows danced ominously. Dragon stood just inside the rim of light, waiting.
    Wolf gave Cymbra into his brother's care, strode to the center of the circle, and stood for a moment looking at the several hundred people gathered there. Many were his own people, warriors, merchants and their wives. Others were guests come from throughout the Vestfold. Without exception, their faces were tightly drawn with shock and anger, yet were they riven by conflicting loyalties. What had been intended as a feast of reconciliation threatened suddenly to become the beginning of all-out war.
    Wolf stood unmoving, his feet planted firmly apart and his fists resting on his narrow hips. The summer tunic he wore revealed the massive breadth of his chest and shoulders. Torchlight rippled over the powerful muscles of his bronzed arms and legs. Inches taller than every man there save Dragon, superbly honed by a life of battles, he exuded an aura of power and command that none could mistake. What little sound there had been—the rustling of those still maneuvering for better position—died away. Into the silence, he raised an arm toward a point along the circle. “Bring them.”
    The crowd parted. Guards led in the three attackers. Their weapons were gone and their hands were shackled behind their backs. The short, stocky one was plainlyterrified; the taller, lanky one almost as much so; but the third, the one Cymbra thought of as the ring leader, wore an air of sneering bravado.
    Wolf saw it, too. The mane of his ebony hair swayed against his shoulders as he bared his teeth in a feral snarl.
    Looking from her husband to the attackers and back again, Cymbra saw several men she didn't know standing near Wolf. One was genuinely grieved although he struggled manfully to conceal it, while the others seemed more angry than sorrowful. Moreover, their anger appeared to be directed at the assailants. They barely glanced at the three before looking away in disgust.
    She stiffened when she realized that Brita, too, was being led forward to stand before Wolf. Brother Joseph was beside her, lending his quiet support, but the