Dream of Me/Believe in Me

that before she was caught by the hard intensity of Wolf's gaze.
    A small shock ran through her. Throughout the feast she had deliberately kept her attention from him, focusing on anything and everything else in an effort to remain calm. Now, for the first time, she saw the mysterious hunger in him and the savage battle he was waging to contain it. A battle she also saw, all too clearly, that he was about to lose.
    Wolf raised a hand. A servant materialized at his side. He gave instructions, and the man nodded before hurrying off. A moment later, Marta appeared.
    “It is time, lady,” she said to Cymbra.
    There certainly was no point asking time for what but Cymbra was tempted, just briefly. Pride rescued her. She'd already delayed as long as she possibly could, encouraging Dragon to tell story after story. Not that they weren't fascinating, but all she'd really managed to do was heighten Wolf's impatience. Now, she would have to face that.
    Her throat was very dry as she stood. For an awful moment, she feared her legs were too weak to hold her. She took a deep breath, fighting for calm, and moved away from the table. The crowd saw her and raised a lusty cheer, thumping their drinking horns loudly on the tables. Their ribald comments made her cheeks burn.
    She stumbled slightly and might have fallen had Wolf not reached out a hand to steady her. Their eyes met. She saw the raw lust still in his but beneath it something else, stronger even, more enduring, something that made her breath come just a little easier.
    She moved away and Marta was there with several other women, hurrying her along. Behind her the music soared.
    Iron lamps filled with tallow and set on long, pointed tips stuck into the floor cast eerie shadows over the walls of Wolf's lodge. Shapes were distorted and too large.
    Cymbra shivered as she finished using the water brought for her to bathe and quickly dried herself
    She could still hear the laughter and excitement of the crowd in the distance but inside this chamber of barbaric luxury it was very quiet. The silence of the women, the absence of any gentle banter or reassurance, reminded Cymbra how much she was a stranger among them.
    The covers of the vast bed were turned down and sprinkled with the petals of wild roses. Sheaves of freshly cut barley were twined around the roughly hewn posts. Her clothes were taken away and she was left only in a diaphanous gown, not her own, embroidered at the hem and collar with ancient runic symbols.
    The other women took their leave, casting hooded looks of speculation at her and at the bed. Marta remained to comb out her hair.
    “The gown is a gift, my lady. I intended it for Kiirla but it is too fine now for that.”
    “I don't understand. Why too fine?”
    “She will not make as good a marriage as I had hoped.”
    It took Cymbra a moment to understand what Marta was saying. When she did, she turned in her seat and looked up at the older woman. “You wanted Lord Wolf to marry your daughter.”
    Marta shrugged. She continued brushing out Cymbra's hair. The flames of the tallow lamps continued to cast shadows. “I did and I didn't, lady. Certainly the honor would be great, but she is my daughter and I love her.”
    When Cymbra said nothing more, waiting her out, Marta added, “You are young and far from home. Were your mother here, she could … warn you. Perhaps prepare you, so far as it is possible to prepare.”
    She paused, came around in front of Cymbra, andleaned down so that their eyes met. Marta's were wide in apparent sincerity yet curiously flat.
    “He will hurt you, lady. All the women he lies with say it. He is built more like a stallion than a man and he cares not what pain he inflicts.”
    She straightened and resumed her brushing. “Why should he care? He is jarl and his word is law. No one will interfere with anything he does, not even if you scream loudly enough for all to hear.”
    “That's enough!” Cymbra jumped up, wrestled the comb from Marta's hand, and tossed it onto the table. “You are done here. Go.”
    The older woman's demeanor changed abruptly. She sneered at Cymbra. “Oh, yes, give orders, act the fine lady, but we all know what you are, nothing more than a thrall like Brita. If your brother weren't who he is, you'd have been taken already by every man here. The Lord Wolf has to marry you but he cares nothing for you. Nothing! You are less to him than dirt and that's how he will treat you.”
    She flounced out the