Dream of Me/Believe in Me

all that changes. He's got responsibilities then and she damn well makes sure he knows it. The bull is yoked, whether he wants to be or not.”
    Dragon shook his head decisively and thrust at Wolf again. “No, marriage is a woman's creation. She gets a man to protect and provide for her and her children. A man gets—what?”
    “Children he knows are his own?” Wolf suggested, parrying his brother smoothly. Offhand, he couldn't think of anything else.
    Dragon laughed. “Aye, they might be, but I've known many a wench who didn't let her bed grow cold when her husband was away, and if she happened to get a babe in the bargain—” He plunged again, from a different angle, aiming to slice Wolf's legs out from under him.
    Wolf grinned at the strategy and moved almost too swiftly to be seen, coming up behind Dragon and forcing him to turn.
    “Who do you think dreamed up all those stories about gods sneaking into unsuspecting females' beds in the dead of night or waylaying them in forest glens?” Dragon asked as he swung at Wolf's head. “No man ever thought of that one, let me tell you. Women are damn improvising when they need be.”
    “Do you never think to marry then?” Wolf asked as they locked swords.
    “Me? Perish the thought. Oh, I wouldn't mind a quiver of sons, but I need no marriage for that, only a willing woman or two or three.” His grin flashed white against burnished skin. “And there's no lack of those.”
    “You said yourself, you wouldn't know the get was yours.”
    “I can count to nine as well as you. Besides, a man's got to know how to keep control of a woman, not give her an opportunity—or a need—to go wandering off.”
    Wolf's eyes hardened. “And when a woman's beautiful as the morning, tempting as a river of gold?”
    “Then the man better be damn good with a sword, brother, damn good indeed.”
    Wolf grunted, dug his feet into the soft ground, and knocked Dragon off balance. His brother landed hard on the dark earth and shot him a rueful smile. “Not bad, Lord of Sciringesheal, not bad at all. But shouldn't marriage have dulled your sword just a little?”
    Wolf sighed, sheathed his blade, and offered a hand to help Dragon up. They had dueled often over the years and stood even in number of wins. Their conflict was saved for the practice field; in all other matters brother stood stalwartly beside brother.
    Wolf trusted Dragon as he would never trust another man, and he knew that trust was returned in full. Still, he was glad their combat was over for the moment. He was worried about the wound Dragon had suffered and its aftermath.
    “Not this marriage,” he said as they walked to the barrel of cool well water set in the shade. Wolf took a ladle, poured it over his sweat-streaked head, and sighed. “I swear, she hasn't missed a chance to irk me.”
    “Your sweet, gentle bride?” Dragon laughed. “But I see her everywhere, brother, interested in everything, inquiring about all manner of things. She obviously takesher responsibility to run your household seriously. I swear, in the scant two days you've been married, she's been in every corner of this stronghold.”
    Wolf grimaced. His brother spoke the truth. Cymbra was a veritable whirlwind, seemingly busy everywhere at once, now in the weaving shed, now in the dairy, back and forth to the kitchens, the dying vats, the smithy, and on and on and on. The woman didn't stop moving from dawn to dusk. And she had an opinion about everything, a suggestion, a different notion of how this or that should be done.
    Worse yet, she seemed to need no help from him at all. She had only to murmur a few words and people stumbled over each other to carry out her wishes. Well, not all people. Marta looked like she'd swallowed a mouthful of brine whenever she was near Cymbra. Some of the other women, those he vaguely knew to be Marta's friends, seemed to be following her lead.
    A frown darkened Wolf's face. The last thing he needed was a war among the women. The mere thought of that sort of thing made any sane man yearn for a long sea voyage.
    He'd heard about an island found only a few years before, west of the Irish Islands, a wild place with mountains that ran with hot mud, barren landscapes that appeared not of this earth, immense mineral streams bigger than any seen in the Norse lands, but also with beautiful fjords and bays, and rich earth for growing or pasture. People were settling there already and more were likely to go. Not only