Dream of Me/Believe in Me

the multitude of torches touched the bare skin of her back. Wolf himself had opened her gown, cutting through the laces and spreading the fabric as far as her shoulders, no further. She heard his breath shudder as he did so and closed her eyes against the anguish that continued to come from him like molten waves.
    The crowd was quiet yet she knew it was there. She could hear the shifting of many bodies, feel the confusion of their emotions—anticipation, vengeful pleasure, yet also bewilderment, regret, and dread. Of a certainty, none of them had ever seen the wife of a jarl whipped, never even imagined such a thing could happen. Yet this was a wife who had betrayed her husband, and the law was very clear about that.
    Cymbra, too, was afraid. Yet she felt oddly separated from herself, as though she stood apart and watched it all happen to a different woman.
    A sudden thought occurred to her and she frowned. Would Wolf do it himself? He could tear his wound open. She should warn him—The absurdity of that hurtled her back into the moment. She was suddenly, vividly aware of what was about to be done to her. She pressed her head against the pole, closed her eyes tightly, and prayed for courage.
    Hawk was not praying. He was at the cell window with a clear view of what was happening. If he didn't wrench the bars out of the stone, it would not be for want of trying.
    He had shouted himself hoarse, first insisting the blame was his and demanding he take Cymbra's place, then making murderous threats.
    Brita, too, had tried to intervene, only to be dragged off by several of the women who were her friends and no doubt worried what her fate would be if she drew the attention of the Wolf.
    Brother Joseph remained and Cymbra could hear him praying softly nearby. She turned her head and saw not the monk but the man who had wielded the lash against the thief. For just a moment, her eyes met his. He started and looked away hastily, but not before she saw the measure of his own dread.
    Saw, too, what he carried coiled in long black loops dangling from his hand. Her stomach heaved. She clenched her teeth and tried again to pray.
    W OLF FELT THE TOUCH OF HIS BROTHER S HAN D ON his arm and emerged from the numbness into which he had fallen since returning from the beach. He was vaguely aware that his wound ached and that he was weak from loss of blood, but that was as nothing compared to the far graver wound he had suffered.
    She had gone with Hawk willingly.
    Until Cymbra herself said that, he had retained some hope. She would avow her innocence, swear she had never meant to leave him, and pledge her love and loyalty. He wouldn't have to hurt her, at least not physically. He'd be left with the problem of Hawk as the one responsible, and he had no idea how he would manage that without breaking Cymbra's heart, but at least he could have tried.
    Now there was no chance. She was condemned by her own words. Distantly, he knew he should be enraged by her betrayal of him. Had she ever meant anything she said, any soft word or gentle touch? Had it all been a sham from the very beginning? Anger surged in him but he couldn't sustain it. Anguish overcame all else.
    He couldn't remember hurting so much since his parents' death and even then he had been so focused on what was needed for survival that he'd had little time to grieve. This was different. He felt a sense of loss so shattering that he could not begin to imagine how he would ever move beyond it.
    Yet the world waited for no man. Dragon's silent reminder awakened him to the realization that time was passing. Further delay would change nothing. Indeed, it was cruelty of another kind.
    He had a sudden, overwhelming need to be done with this. But how? Knowing what must be, he had not thought of the actual doing of it. The possibility of taking the whip himself filled him with such crawling horror that he discarded it immediately. Nor could he bear to put such a burden on his brother.
    He was caught, unable to find his way out of a trap at least partially of his own making, when Olaf suddenly stepped forward. Quietly, the older man said, “You charged me to protect her, lord.” He held out his hand. “Let me do so now.”
    Wolf took a long breath, heedless of the pain that stabbed through him. He looked into the grizzled face of the man he was about to trust as he had never trusted anyone. Olaf's eyes were filled with understanding and compassion.
    Slowly, not taking his gaze from him,