Dream of Me/Believe in Me

but—”
    “You don't have to apologize,” Cymbra said softly. She sat down and urged her elderly nurse into the chair next to her. “I've only really known Daria since I came to Hawkforte. She is the child of my father's first marriage and much older than either Hawk or me. By the time I was born, she was already grown and gone. Apparently, whenour father remarried, she was glad enough to get her own household.”
    “It's a shame her husband's not still alive,” Miriam grumbled, “and keeping her occupied elsewhere. Of course, going against the king isn't likely to guarantee a long life.”
    “A very poor choice,” Cymbra agreed. One that proved fatal for Daria's husband, who had died years ago in a thwarted rebellion against the sovereign whom men were already calling Alfred the Great. It was in that very rebellion that a young thane called Hawk had risen to prominence, fighting beside the king he believed was the best hope of peace. “I suppose Hawk felt compelled to bring her back here once she was widowed. I was already at Holyhood and thus did not become acquainted with her.” An omission for which Cymbra had learned to be grateful since living at Hawkforte in close proximity to her half-sister.
    “She runs his household well enough from what I can see,” Miriam said grudgingly. “But if she ever smiled, I swear her face would crack.”
    “I'm glad you're here with me,” Cymbra said. Softly, she admitted, “I'd hate to have to depend on Daria.”
    “And so you shall not,” Miriam declared emphatically. “Have no thoughts on that score and no worries either. Everything is going to be fine. Now can I coax you into eating a little soup?”
    Although she really wasn't hungry, she agreed for her nurse's sake. Poor Miriam had been through agonies of worry after Cymbra was taken from Holyhood. Hawk's return with his sister had earned him the old nurse's eternal gratitude, but she still reserved her greatest loyalty for the woman she had raised from infancy.
    “You were such a beautiful baby,” she said a while later as Cymbra sat on the edge of the bed, braiding her long, chestnut hair. There were times when she thought ofcutting it but then she remembered how much Wolf had liked her hair and couldn't bear to part with it. She had little enough left of him save for—
    “And you were so bright,” Miriam went on. “Right from the beginning, always looking around at everything. You smiled all day long.”
    “It was probably gas,” Cymbra said with a grin.
    “It was no such thing! Don't you believe that nonsense, my girl. Babies know, oh, yes, they do.”
    The two women fell silent, Cymbra lost in her thoughts and Miriam watching her with gentle concern. Long after the old nurse went to her bed and the fires burned low in the braziers, Cymbra remained awake. Her head resting on her knees, she listened to the wail of the wind beyond Hawkforte's strong walls and felt her spirit take flight.
    As she did whenever sleep proved elusive and the hours wore long, she tried to imagine what Wolf was doing. She prayed he was well and could not bear to believe otherwise. And, though she tried hard not to dwell on the matter, she prayed that he was sleeping alone.
    So, too, as she always did, she took refuge in memories of their time together. She remembered him in so many ways—coaxing her into the mineral bath on the way to Sciringesheal, carrying her through the town to the stronghold, comforting her on the night of their marriage when she was so afraid. And there were other memories as well, when she pelted him with food in the kitchens and he replied in kind, the sultry night of passion in the sauna, his laughter and gentleness, his determination to achieve peace, his rage on the beach when he believed she had tried to leave him.
    Did he rage at her now, believing her a false wife and betrayer? Or had he put her from his mind so completely that she might never have existed?
    With a moan, she turned over in the bed, hiding herface in the pillows. The wind grew stronger. The wooden shutters creaked and the faint light left in the braziers sent up shadows that writhed and twisted against the walls.
    She got up once to better secure the ox-hide curtains, then hurried back to bed across the cold stone floor. Huddled beneath the covers, she fell asleep finally with her cheeks damp and her arms wrapped protectively around herself.
    In the morning, the memory of the night seemed unreal. It had no existence in