Dream of Me/Believe in Me

and treat her kindly, only that he would no longer feel the hot, dazed hunger she triggered in him. He would be himself again, in control.
    But first there was this marriage feast to get through.
    “Nervous?” Dragon asked as he emerged from his lodge behind Wolf. He grinned challengingly. “If you're not feeling up to it, brother, I'd be happy to—”
    “Exactly how eager are you to feast in Valhalla this night?” Wolf asked pleasantly.
    Dragon laughed and raised his hands in mock surrender. “Not quite that eager. The lady is yours and welcome to her.” He glanced at Wolf's jaw and smiled broadly. “Gentle. Isn't that what you called her?”
    Wolf flushed slightly. Dragon noticed too much. “She will learn,” he said with utter confidence. That there might be any difficulty with her doing so did not occur to him. She was, after all, only a woman, Frigg-favored or not.
    “Well then,” Dragon said, “there's no reason to delay.”
    Together they walked into the large, open area where the crowd had assembled. They were seen almost at once and a great cheer went up. People pressed forward to greet their jarl and his brother, both warriors of great renown, and to offer their congratulations to Wolf on this happy occasion.
    In the midst of much back-slapping and ribald jest, Wolf kept an eye on his lodge. He was just about at the point of going to fetch her when the door opened and Cymbra emerged. He couldn't be absolutely sure but he thought she had some help from Marta, who appeared to give her a little shove. He smiled grimly at the sight of his reluctant bride, then he simply smiled.
    She was still wearing the indigo-blue tunic but had added a veil of translucent silk over her hair. Around her neck, no doubt placed there despite her objections, was a golden torque emblazoned with the wolf's head; the gleaming eyes were made of clear white stone said to have come from the fabled lands at the southernmost end of the world. More than anything else, the torque was an unmistakable sign of his possession. Cymbra certainly understood its purpose, for her fingers closed around the gold metal and even as he watched she tugged at it angrily.
    Wolf grinned. He couldn't help it, her spirit pleased him. Not for the first time, he considered what a delight taming her would be. His patience suddenly gone, and determined that this not take a moment more than it absolutely must, he strode through the crowd and met Cymbra before she could take more than a few steps from his lodge.
    She saw him coming and stopped abruptly. Her breath caught. He was dressed far more luxuriously than she had ever seen him, in a tunic of rich black velvet stretched tautly over his massive chest and close-fittingtrousers of soft leather. The thick mane of his ebony hair was freshly washed and swept back from his high forehead. Bands of gold shone at his wrists, and around his throat he wore a larger version of the wolf-emblazoned torque her fingers were worrying.
    The anguish she had suffered since he told her of his plans to kill Hawk, and the humiliation she felt at her utterly uncharacteristic lapse into actual violence, gave way before a strange surge of excitement. She tried to deny it but it flowered swiftly, pushing aside all else. Without thought, she held out her hand. His own closed around it with gentleness that surprised her. She was drawn with him into the crowd.
    At the center of the large open area within the berm stood a tree. It was a very old ash with gnarled branches that stretched far out as though in loving embrace. Before it stood a man who appeared almost as old. He was simply dressed in a robe of unbleached homespun and he smiled as Wolf and Cymbra approached.
    “This is Ulfrich,” Wolf said. “He will say the words for us.”
    “He is a priest?” Cymbra asked.
    “We have no priests in our faith. He is a wise and holy man.”
    Perhaps Ulfrich saw her perplexity, for he said gently, “You are new to our ways, lady. Please allow me to explain.” He gestured a gnarled hand toward the tree. The people drew closer, falling silent as the music died away and only the deep, gentle voice of Ulfrich remained.
    “Such a tree stands at the center of every Norse settlement. It represents Yggdrasil, the world tree with roots reaching into the netherworld and branches reaching to the sky. From the branches of Yggdrasil, the great god Odin hung for nine days and nine nights without food or water, giving of his life's blood in