Dream of Me/Believe in Me

did she refuse your offer of marriage?”
    “She says she didn't. She claims she never heard about it.”
    “Then the Hawk …”
    “No, she claims that isn't so either.” Wolf's mouth tightened derisively. “Her brother wants peace, so she tells me.”
    Dragon's brows rose nearly to his hairline. “Well, he'll have a chance to prove it, won't he?”
    Wolf grunted agreement and returned his attention to the ale. He knew he was just postponing the inevitable, but a man could be pardoned for taking a bit of time to collect himself. In aid of that, he had another long swallow.
    Over the rim of the ale horn, he saw his brother's attention lock suddenly on the far end of the hall. His mouth dropping open, the Dragon rose.
    Wolf did the same, quickly, and put a hand on his brother's shoulder. Dragon met his eyes in blank amazement.
    “She …”
    “I know.” Wolf sighed. “Believe me, I know.” He turned, aware of what he would see yet not truly prepared for it. Cymbra in the dim light of the cell at Holyhood wasexquisite. Wrapped in the ermine cloak, she was lovely. Naked in her bath and in the hold, she was … He would not think about that.
    Now, here in his hall, dressed in a simple tunic of indigo wool girded at the waist, with long, form-fitting sleeves and a chastely high neck, she was gut-wrenchingly beautiful. Her glorious hair tumbled free, unhindered by veil or circlet. Her cheeks were in high color and there was an unmistakable light in her eyes as she came toward him.
    She could be Frigg, he thought—so far as he was capable of thinking at all—the wife of Odin himself and a power to be reckoned with in her own right. Certainly, Frigg must favor her for all that she was Saxon born. How else to explain a mortal woman with the physical perfection of a goddess?
    A serving boy with the ill-luck to be walking across the hall at the moment she appeared went straight into a pillar. Another tripped over his own feet and sent a tray of bowls clattering to the floor. Both picked themselves up slowly, still staring. As were the few others in the hall, including one who ought to have known better.
    Wolf moved deliberately, interposing himself between Cymbra and his brother. He caught Dragon's eye again, his message unmistakable for all that it was silent.
    Dragon sighed. He hesitated but sat down again. Bluntly, he said, “Did we not share the same sire, I would fight you for her. Best you know that. Others will feel the same and be unhindered by the bonds of brotherhood.”
    Wolf did not begrudge such frankness; on the contrary, he welcomed it. Not for a moment did he pretend that the woman he had stolen was other than an immense temptation to any man who set eyes on her. No wonder her brother had kept her locked away. With hindsight, he had to applaud the Hawk's good sense.
    “I would like to speak with you,” Cymbra said, hervoice meltingly soft despite her obvious anger, her slight accent delightful as always. She spared Dragon only the briefest glance. All her attention was on the Wolf.
    Who duly noted that and was pleased. His brother was thought an inordinately handsome man and enjoyed vast success with women. Yet Cymbra appeared oblivious to him.
    “By all means,” Wolf said pleasantly. “But not here.” He took her arm and steered her toward the front of the hall where wide doors stood open to admit the summer breeze. She went impatiently, brimming with words as yet unuttered.
    He did not stop or speak again until they had climbed the berm near one of the watchtowers overlooking the bay. He waited then, letting her catch her breath, the silence dragging out between them until finally she couldn't stand it anymore.
    Facing him directly, her hands clenched at her sides, she said, “You must realize what you have done. My brother will come after me and there will be a war. Surely you can't want that?”
    When still Wolf did not respond, Cymbra burst out, “You must let me send word to Hawk that I am safe!” She paused, staring at her captor, as coldness moved through her. He made no move to calm or reassure her, no effort at all to allay her worst fears. Indeed, his very silence seemed to confirm them. She could delay no longer the question that had been uppermost in her mind since the moment at Holyhood when steely arms had first closed around her: “What do you intend to do with me?”
    Her courage pleased him but he was careful not to show it. Shrugging, he said, “Better you ask what I