Dream of Me/Believe in Me

face rigid with shock. A moment later, her shrill scream reverberated off the walls.
    “Vikings! Devils of the north! Thousands of them! We are doomed!”
    Cymbra gasped but not because of what her half-sister had said. She was gripped by a sudden clawing pain that reached clear around from her back to center in her belly. So intense was it that she doubled over. At the same moment, she was suddenly drenched by a shower of water from between her legs.
    Her soft cry of surprise momentarily distracted the women, who stared at her in blank amazement. “What is it?” Daria demanded, resenting the intrusion on her terror.
    Miriam stood up slowly. She spared a glance out the windows where the mist was parting to reveal the fierce dragon prows of a dozen or more Viking war ships cutting through the water at high speed, aimed straight for the strand beneath Hawkforte. So close were they that themen could be seen straining at the oars, their powerful backs flexing rhythmically as if to a single will.
    Already the signal horns were sounding from the watchtowers. Men and women were streaming through the gates, dragging their children and animals with them. Hawk was in the bailey, buckling on his sword and conferring with his lieutenants.
    With a shrug, the elderly nurse said what she thought ought to be obvious to all. “The Norse Wolf comes.” She turned her attention to Cymbra, who was gasping again and looking very startled. “As does his child.”
    Pandemonium erupted. The women were torn, drawn to help Cymbra yet riveted by what was happening just beyond their walls. Most simply fluttered about, trying to do something useful but accomplishing nothing.
    Miriam took matters in hand. She shepherded Cymbra out of the solar while giving instructions over her shoulder. “One of you take word to the Lord Hawk. Tell him his niece or nephew will be born this day. Then send to the kitchens for hot water, clean blankets need to be fetched, there is much to be done.”
    Reminded that the great doings of men notwithstanding, a child was coming into the world, the ladies calmed and hurried to their tasks. All save Daria, who continued to stare out the windows with satisfaction so great she was hard-pressed to conceal it behind the mask of false fear.
    Now the wrath the fools so richly deserved would surely strike them. Now there would be retribution for their failure to exalt and honor her, she who was superior to them all. She should have had
everything
—marriage to a man wise enough to do as she directed, courageous enough to seize the power that had gone to Alfred instead, grateful enough to set her above all women, to make her the
queen
she was born to be.
    Instead, she was supposed to think herself fortunatefor the charity of her brother's sufferance, for she knew well what Hawk thought of her, knew and hated him to the very marrow of her being. Now, at last, blood would run and the undeserving would die. But she would survive, her plans for escape being long laid. And she would reap the rewards promised to her in return for preventing the alliance of Norse and Saxon. Happy day when she had thought to intercept the letter sent from the Wolf to her brother! And even happier that in her skill and cunning she had managed to steal Hawk's seal long enough to forge the reply intended to provoke not peace but war.
    So did she proclaim, but no one was left there to hear, neither her words nor the mad laughter that accompanied them. They had all gone elsewhere, ignoring her—yet one more crime for which she swore they would pay.
    W HAT CAN YOU SEE? CYMBRA ASKED. CLAD IN A fresh night robe, she had agreed reluctantly to get into bed but was determined to know what was happening. A steady stream of women came and went. They were pale and tense but so eager to help that she could not send them away.
    Miriam set aside the swaddling clothes she was folding and went to the window. She glanced out with little interest. “Your husband is here.”
    Cymbra felt a surge of joy so intense as to rob her of breath. She had to clutch the covers to keep from leaping out of the bed and running straight to him. Although, to be truthful, probably the best she could have done was to waddle.
    “What is he doing?”
    Miriam's frown silenced the woman who had been about to answer. “He's talking with the Lord Hawk. They're having a nice conversation. Now you forget about them and tend to your own task.”
    The fierce pain that suddenly took Cymbra