Dream of Me/Believe in Me

concentrating only on the task at hand. Such serenity was her only defense against thepain of a violent, turbulent world, and she depended on it utterly.
    Softly, but with iron determination, she returned her attention to the hapless Derward. “I understand that you are responsible for the safety of this keep, but I am responsible for the welfare of the people within it.
All
the people. These men must have food, water, blankets, and medicine, if needed.”
    “Milady! No one will give them such things. They are savages, brutal animals. It isn't safe for anyone to get close to them.”
    Silence reigned for several minutes. Wolf scowled, wondering if he had misunderstood her words, as he surely must have. Why would she have any concern for their welfare, this unfeeling woman willing to perpetuate war rather than sacrifice her precious self? Why would she care if they rotted and starved? Indeed, why wouldn't she rejoice like all the others?
    And why, while he was tormenting himself with questions that had no answers, didn't Derward simply tell her to let him do his job and be done with it?
    “You are right,” she said at length in that so-soft voice. “It is a failure to ask others to do what one is afraid to do oneself.”
    He saw her take a quick breath. She wasn't so untouched by feeling, merely determined to avoid showing it. That realization brought him up short as she walked to the bars and looked at him directly.
    Her chin lifted. In flawless Norse touched only by a slight, musical accent that instantly delighted him, she said, “I wish to speak with whichever of you is the leader.”
    His answer was a deep rumble that reverberated against the stone chamber. “I am the leader.”
    She blanched just a little, as though not happy to haveconfirmed what she had already suspected. But she did not back away by so much as an inch.
    “I have food, water, blankets, and medicine for you and your men. But to give them to you, I must open the cell door. Will you give me your word not to harm me?”
    “You would take the word of a Viking?”
    Her chin lifted even higher. Her cheeks pinkened. He watched, fascinated, as she bit her lower lip and was filled with an overwhelming desire to soothe that offended portion of her.
    “I would take the word of a leader who cares for the welfare of his men.”
    Her perception surprised him. Could she possibly know that he would give his life to protect the men sworn to him? Watching her with the respect and wariness he would award a previously unencountered force of nature, he said slowly, “I give you my word.”
    Sir Derward and several other knights protested, but she was not to be denied. They were effectively helpless against her, Wolf noted, for clearly none was willing to touch her. That was good. Perhaps he wouldn't have to kill all of them. It was preferable to leave men alive who could speak of how they had been undone.
    Yet neither would any oblige her by opening the cell doors. Without hesitation, she did it herself. It was a struggle and he winced to see the effort demanded of those slender hands, but she persevered until at last one of the iron bars rose and she was able to open half of the double door.
    “These need to be oiled,” she said over her shoulder at Sir Derward. “So do the hinges on the palisade gate.” So mundane a subject, matter-of-factly mentioned, stripped the moment of whatever menace it should have possessed. He wondered if she made a habit of disconcerting men in that manner and suspected that he already knew the answer.
    All his men were on their feet, watching her relentlessly. He swept them a quick, warning glance that none misinterpreted.
    Mine.
    They knew it and kept a careful distance from her, but they couldn't contain the urge to stare. Nor could he blame them.
    Cymbra looked quickly at the other men and as swiftly looked away. She concentrated on the leader. He was more than enough to manage. Except for her brother, she had never seen as tall a man or one so powerfully built.
    Interestingly, captivity didn't seem to trouble him. She could scarcely imagine how Hawk would be in such circumstances; probably taking the cell apart with his bare hands. But not this man. He appeared the very soul of calm and reason.
    “Are any of your men wounded?” She was standing close enough for him to smell the faint honeysuckle scent of her skin and feel her warmth. For an instant, his senses reeled. He had to remind himself that she was only a