Dream of Me/Believe in Me

he would see the smoke rise from his own hearth and be content. But first they would make landfall, stretch muscles stiff from the days at sea, and hunt fresh meat. He was sick of fish.
    Cymbra felt the slight change in course and stared ahead at the land they were rapidly approaching. She saw a coastline that sloped low to the sea, thick with pine forests and dotted with innumerable rivers and bays.
    With a flush of surprise, she realized that she'd expected something very different—ice floes, unscalable cliffs, a dreary and threatening aspect. This place was … beautiful.
    The men bent to their task, their bodies moving as one, powerful and also strangely beautiful. Wolf had given over the rudder to old Olaf and taken his place at an oar. He was stripped to the waist, wearing only close-fitting trousers and boots of soft leather. Cymbra stared at his broad, tapered back, the muscles flexing powerfully with each sweep of the oar. His long, corded legs were braced before him, his black hair swaying over the massive sweep of his shoulders. He glanced around to say something to the man behind him, his grin flashing in the bright sunlight. She looked away quickly, finding it oddly difficult to breathe.
    The shore seemed to fly toward them. Cymbra saw a golden curve of beach and here and there small islets dotted with gulls and the gray, rounded shapes of basking seals. So swift was their approach that she had scarcely a moment to realize they were about to make landfall when Wolf shouted a command, the oars were suddenly raised, and the stone anchor and its iron chain splashed into the water. The vessel shuddered once and settled into place, swaying gently on the swell.
    Several of the men took up weapons and shields and waded to shore. Others busied themselves securing the oars and furling the sail before they joined the rest.
    Cymbra eyed the expanse between the vessel and the beach. She longed to dive into the water as the men had done, but the ermine cloak would weigh her down dangerously and going without it was out of the question.
    She glanced at Wolf, who had been busy off-loading supplies to some of the men, and was surprised to find him watching her. His eyes were narrowed with amusementand, lest she be left in any doubt of his mood; the corners of his mouth twitched.
    “Planning to sit there all day?” he asked pleasantly
    She turned her back to him. Addressing the water, she said,
“If
I had something sensible to wear, I could wade in like the rest, or swim.”
    “Oh, that's right, you're a good swimmer.”
    When he said nothing more, her anger rose. She felt painfully alone and vulnerable. There was no sign of a settlement or habitation of any kind on the pristine, golden curve of beach, and she had no idea why they had stopped there or what might happen to her now. Suddenly her throat was very tight and she felt horribly close to tears.
    Before she could say or do anything, Wolf lifted her into his arms, adjusted the cloak around her, and strode to the railing.
    It was old Olaf's turn to play blind, deaf, and dumb. He held her until Wolf was in the water, no longer than a heartbeat. Clasped high against a rock-hard chest, Cymbra was carried up the beach and deposited gently near where the men were making a fire.
    For just a moment Wolf lingered beside her, his hand touching her shoulder in a gesture that was oddly reassuring. Then he turned away and reached for his weapons.
    “I've a taste for meat tonight.” He called several of the men to him, gave instructions to the rest, and ran easily up the beach, out of sight.
    Cymbra got up after a while and stretched her legs. She found some needed privacy behind a thick clump of bushes, then walked a little farther. It occurred to her that she could just keep on walking, and she wondered how far she would get before the men came after her.
    Or perhaps they wouldn't. How could anyone pursue an invisible woman? She smiled at her whimsy and decided not to tempt fate. Her decision was confirmed ashort time later when she returned to the camp site. Olaf looked up from the pot he was tending on the fire, met her gaze, and nodded once in acknowledgment. Not quite invisible after all.
    She sat down again on the sand, wishing she could stretch out as the men were doing, and felt her stomach rumble as a tantalizing aroma wafted by. Olaf was taking herbs from a small bag at his waist and adding them to the pot where water simmered. As she watched, he sniffed,