Dream of Me/Believe in Me

Wolf said, and before she could reply, he lifted her into his arms.
    “I can walk,” she protested. She wasn't absolutely sure she could, or how far she would get if she attempted it, but pride demanded that she try.
    He shrugged his massive shoulders and kept right on going, off the vessel and onto the pier. “I prefer to carry you.”
    And that, as it seemed, was that.
    Wrapped in ermine, cradled in the arms of the Wolf, Cymbra entered the great Viking port of Sciringesheal.
    S
O MUCH FOR DRAGGING HER NAKED AND RAVAGED IN chains through the streets
, Wolf thought ruefully. When he'd set sail for Holyhood, his only intent to avenge the insult done him and his people, he had at least entertained the notion of such a punishment for a woman he believed richly deserved it. Instead he carried her wrapped in a cloak fit for an empress, his care of her a silent but eloquent signal to his people of her status.
    The crowd parted before them. He saw their shock, indeed their astonishment, and ignored it. Word of who she was would spread quickly enough. Without lessening his stride, he walked straight through the town, the crowd closing up behind and following.
    The gates in the berm were opening as Wolf approached.He acknowledged the men who greeted him but still he didn't slow, continuing across the flattened top of the hill, past the various workshops and barracks, the stables and pens, the kitchens and the great hall, until he came to a building set apart from the others.
    This was a spacious, single-story residence built of fragrant fir planks. Intricate, entwined designs were painted in vivid blues, reds, and yellows around the door and windows. Above the door, sheltered by the overhang of the pitched roofs, hung two crossed axes, ancient symbol of the jarl's authority.
    Wolf kicked open the door and entered, stooping slightly to clear the lintel. He straightened and looked around with satisfaction. All his life he had known the communal existence of a true Norseman, sharing food, quarters, hardships, and victories with his people. But when the council confirmed his succession to the chieftainship of his clan, he had allowed himself what was to him the ultimate luxury—privacy.
    He crossed the single large room quickly and set his captive down on the immense bed hewn of birch trunks and covered with wolf pelts. With regret, he released her and stepped back.
    “The women will see to your comfort, lady, but they have little experience with such as you. If you want something, ask for it.”
    Her eyes were the most remarkable shade of blue. When they widened as they did now, he could imagine drowning in them.
    He left without another word, and did not breathe easily until he closed the door of his lodge behind him.
    C YMBRA SAT ON THE HUGE BED AND LOOKED AROUND. The chamber's barbaric splendor struck her at once.
    Weapons and banners adorned the walls clear to the peaked ceiling. An elaborately carved table and two chairs stood near windows that commanded a magnificent view of the bay. Several equally elaborate chests were placed against the walls.
    On the table was a pair of iron scales, the kind she had seen used to weigh coins. Nearby was a beautiful set of glassware, an ewer and several goblets of teal blue glass trimmed with silver. Everywhere she looked she saw small—and not so small—touches that bespoke the owner's wealth and power. Even the bucket meant to hold water was decorated with bands of beaten bronze.
    She was still contemplating all this when the door opened and several women entered. Two of the three were quite tall and appeared to be a mother and daughter. They wore pleated linen petticoats visible beneath tunics with richly embroidered hems. The tunics were secured at their shoulders by carved brooches. The older woman wore an additional brooch pinned to her tunic. From it dangled a chain holding a pair of shears and several keys. Both had long hair, the older woman's gathered at the crown of her head and allowed to fall in a thick swatch, while the younger was in braids adorned with silk ribbons.
    The third woman, who was an inch or two shorter than Cymbra, was darker of mien and dressed very differently from the two others. She wore only a tunic of rough, gray wool that came midway down her calves. Her black hair was gathered back with a leather thong. It was this smaller woman who gave Cymbra a quick, shy smile as she set down the tray of food she carried.
    “Lady,” the older of the tall