Dream of Me/Believe in Me

effortlessly, muffling any sound she made against his chest. Swift as the wind that murmured around them, he carried her from the stronghold of the Norse Wolf.
    In the shadows beyond the great hall, a lone man watched them go. He stood with his fists clenched at his side, fighting his own fierce urge to keep what was his. But she wasn't really, was she? She had been taken by force and compelled to marry by threat of death. In his arrogance, he had presumed he could keep her safe, but the memory of her tied to the punishment post would haunt him all his days.
    He loved her as he had never dreamed it was possible to love. So much so that he could do nothing less than set her free.
    Wolf watched the shadowy figures vanish through the gates. For a long time after that, he did not move. Starlight shone on the tears in his silvery eyes.

Chapter TWENTY-FOUR

    D RAGON SHOOK THE SNOW OFF HIS CLOAK as he came into the hall. He handed the garment to a servant, then nodded to Ulfrich, who was himself just entering. “How is he?” Dragon asked as they walked to the hearth together to warm their hands. Winter had struck weeks earlier than expected, interrupting an autumn that seemed to have come and gone in a night. Already, snow covered the ground and more was falling steadily. The last vessels that weren't wintering in Sciringesheal had left a fortnight before.
    “Better,” Ulfrich replied. “There is no sign of the fever returning.”
    They exchanged a look of relief. The fever that had struck Wolf in the aftermath of his wounding by Cymbra was not entirely unexpected. But it had raged so fiercely and lingered so long that the seriousness of his condition had been concealed from all but his closest followers. So far as everyone else was concerned, the Norse Wolf was content in his ice-bound lair, all the more so for being rid of his troublesome Saxon wife.
    Privately, Dragon had come to the conclusion that the fever's grip on his brother was at least in part because Wolf had no will to fight it. Fear of what that would mean had prompted Dragon to linger in Sciringesheal when he would otherwise have returned to his own holdings farther to the west or perhaps ventured south again to pass the winter in gentler climes.
    Instead, he had stayed, determined to fight whatever demons raged within the Wolf. Yet in the end he had to credit his brother's own vast strength for bringing him through the crisis whether he had truly wanted to survive it or not.
    That was a grim thought and Dragon was still frowning over it after Ulfrich had taken his leave. Servants moved about the hall preparing for the evening meal but none disturbed the man brooding by the fire. None, that is, until a slight movement beside him alerted him to the presence of another.
    He looked up, surprised to see the Irish girl—what was her name? The one who had served Cymbra and who helped Ulfrich now.
    “What do you want?” Dragon asked.
    He saw her take a breath and sensed she was nervous. Her face, framed by brown hair, was very pale. More kindly, he added, “Sit down.”
    She hesitated only briefly before doing so. As she settled herself on the bench across from him, he said, “You're Brita, aren't you? The healer?”
    She looked at him in surprise. “Hardly a healer, lord, though I have some small skill.” She paused, then said in a rush, “Thanks to the Lady Cymbra, who taught me and who was always so kind to me.”
    Dragon grunted. The girl's audacity startled him. He was willing to wager a considerable sum that she was the first person to dare mention Cymbra's name since her departure.Dragon himself had spoken of her only very briefly with Wolf within hours of the Saxons' escape. His brother had made it extremely clear that he would never speak of her again.
    “Yes, well, what is it you want?”
    Brita bit her lip. She looked down at her hands clasped in her lap, looked up at him again, and swallowed. “Lord Wolf has healed, in his body at any rate.”
    Dragon's gaze narrowed. He spared a moment to wonder exactly how much she knew. Ulfrich had tended to Wolf alone except for Dragon's own help. No one else had been let near him. “The jarl is fine. Is that what you wanted to know?”
    She shook her head. “I don't want to know anything. That is, it is you who should know.” She stopped, clearly reluctant to speak yet driven to do so. “Not you, exactly, Lord Wolf.”
    He looked at her more closely. “Lord Wolf should know something?”
    Brita