Dream of Me/Believe in Me

prophesying doom and destruction. She seemed to enjoy envisioning the most lurid scenes filled with rampaging Vikings who would attack without mercy, commit the most unspeakable atrocities, and leave no man, woman, or child alive. No one at Hawkforte paid much attention to her histrionics, and that seemed to drive her to even greater excesses. Yet her predictions were a constant reminder to Cymbra of how much she longed for one particular Viking and how greatly she feared that he had torn her from his heart.
    “Your concerns are misplaced,” she said quietly. “As for playing, you might want to try it yourself. It lifts the spirit.”
    Daria stiffened and drew herself up so straight that Cymbra worried her spine might snap. “Do not tell me about my concerns.
I
have far more important things to do.
I
am not a spoiled child always indulged and pampered.”
    That was too much for the woman who had been kidnapped from her home, married under threat of death, introduced to incandescent passion, gifted with profound love, and driven to risk her own life in a desperate gamble to make peace between two peoples.
    With aloof disdain that Frigg herself would have envied, Cymbra said, “And I am not one to tolerate your rudeness any longer, Daria. Stay from my path as I will stay from yours.”
    Her half-sister was taken aback by such cool defiance. She looked about to respond but could not find the words. With a snort, she turned on her heel and stomped away.
    Cymbra put her from her mind almost as soon as she was gone. The day was much too fair to be spoiled by thoughts of one such as Daria. Instead, she spent several cheerful hours in the kitchens. The servants welcomed her warmly. Despite their initial surprise when she had first begun to come there, they were accustomed now to her working beside them.
    She had just completed assembling a pie of apples, raisins, and cinnamon that she knew Hawk liked when a clatter from the bailey yard drew her attention. Dusting off her hands, she looked out the window to see her brother returning.
    After almost a fortnight away, attending the king's court at Winchester, he appeared somewhat weary and deep in thought. Cymbra went to him with a smile. Hismood lightened when he saw her. He handed the reins to a stable boy and held out an arm to her, drawing her close.
    “Are you well?” Hawk asked. His voice was very gentle when he spoke to her and the hard lines of his face eased, yet did his eyes remain shadowed by concern.
    In both their minds lingered the memory of the conflict that had raged between them throughout the voyage from Sciringesheal and for many weeks thereafter. Cymbra had lashed out at her brother, decrying his betrayal of her trust and pleading to be returned to the husband she fervently claimed to love.
    Hawk had resisted believing her with all his might, insisting that such love was an illusion and her judgment disordered by events. Only when he saw the depth of her anguish did he reluctantly begin to acknowledge that she might truly be in the grip of an emotion he had hitherto thought not to exist.
    But by then they had reached Hawkforte and the swift onset of winter had closed the sea lanes. Slowly, reluctantly, driven by deepest concern for her well-being, he had drawn her out on the subject of her Viking husband and in the process discovered that Wolf was not at all what he had believed him to be. Honest to the core of his being, Hawk had finally been forced to the realization that he had made a terrible mistake.
    One he desperately hoped to find some way to undo. But first he had to see to her safety and welfare even as he gave thanks for the generosity of her nature that had led her to forgive him.
    “I'm very well,” Cymbra said as they walked together across the bailey, “and you?”
    Hawk grimaced. “Considering where I've been, fine. Alfred apparently does not need to sleep and forgets that anyone else does. The tables groan under the efforts of cooks vying to produce the richest food imaginable. Allthe while, the talk swirls from politics to fashion to music and back again.”
    “Poor Hawk,” she teased, “if you thought you had escaped, you are mistaken. You must tell me all about what the ladies are wearing and if Alfred's physicians have any interesting new remedies. Did you bring back any books?”
    “Four, all copied out by Alfred's own scribes. He sends thanks for the medical treatise you provided. Indeed, he was disappointed that you had