Dream of Me/Believe in Me

his match in passion
and
control. In the end, it had taken every ounce of strength he possessed not to simply throw her on her back and satisfy the burning, raging lust she unleashed in him.
    He had held on, if only barely, and been rewarded finally by the sight of his exquisite Saxon beauty slowly lowering herself onto him inch by rock-hard inch, her face a vision of delighted discovery as she began to move, tentatively at first, then with growing confidence. The hushed lodge seemed still to reverberate with their cries of pleasure.
    He was drifting from such pleasant thoughts to even pleasanter sleep, when Cymbra stirred. Wolf's eyes flew open with just a hint of alarm.
    “About being hungry,” she said. She sat up, tossed her glorious hair out of the way, and stretched languidly. “I am now.”
    “Hungry?” Incredibly, impossibly, the sight of her made him stir again. It was true then; a man's cock really would try to kill him. “For food?” He sought distraction more than clarity. If he stared at the pale aureoles of her breasts much longer, the shadows of her ribs, the exquisitely graceful curve of her hips and thighs—
    “We missed supper,” she reminded him with a winsome smile. Displaying energy he could not help but resent, she left the bed and began to dress. “You stay whereyou are. I'll just go over to the kitchens and get something.”
    Wolf scowled. The sight of his bride traipsing about in the middle of the night to fetch a belated meal because he was too drained to crawl from his bed would have the watch so consumed with guffaws as to virtually invite an invader to walk right past them. By morning, everyone in the hill fort, the town, and the smallest settlement miles distant would know that the mighty jarl had been bested by his bride, if only in the sweet combat of the marital bed.
    Nor would it stop there, for the jokes would spread on the sails of merchant ships, repeated from the golden palaces of Byzantium to the ice-encrusted huts of the wild Lapps until the veritable world itself rocked with laughter at the expense of the mighty Lord of Sciringesheal.
    “I'll go with you,” he said. He dragged himself from the bed and began pulling on his clothes.
    The kitchens consisted of several small buildings set a short distance from the great hall. One held a deep, straw-lined pit into which leather buckets of milk were lowered to be kept cool. Here, too, cheese was made, the whey separated out, milk churned for butter, and eggs stored for use. Nearby was a smokehouse where fish and meat were hung to absorb the scent of slowly burning fires fed by charcoal, apple wood, and occasional handfuls of seaweed. The largest of the buildings contained the main work area as well as storage for grains, flour, spices, and ale.
    Her hand clasped in Wolf's, Cymbra unlocked the door with one of the keys on her belt. A low fire still burned in the hearth at the center of the kitchen. The light of its embers and the moonlight streaming through the open door were enough to see by.
    A heartbeat later, she wished for deepest darkness.
    The kitchen was a shambles. Dirty pots and trays had been left where they were dropped. Food, abandoned on the worktables, already smelled in the summer warmth. Even as she watched, horrified, a rat glanced up from his meal, stared at her boldly, and shuffled off at no great haste.
    She dropped Wolf's hand and walked farther into the disaster. Fury filled her as she beheld the blatant message from Marta and the other women. She closed her eyes, struggling for self-control, only to open them when she felt her husband watching her.
    “I'm sorry,” Cymbra said, her voice choked with tears. “Obviously, I've made a mess of things.”
    He looked around the room and back at her. His expression was unreadable. “Has this been going on all week?”
    Although he spoke mildly enough, Cymbra wasn't fooled. She was certain her husband was coldly, furiously angry at her, as he had every right to be.
    Not attempting to defend herself but determined only to tell the truth, she replied, “It hasn't been this bad. As long as I've been there to watch them, at least some things get done properly, but tonight—”
    “Tonight they took advantage of your absence.”
    She dropped her head, shamed. “I'm afraid so.”
    He came to her, closing the distance between them until they stood so near she felt his breath. Still, she couldn't bear to look at him. Clasping her chin, he forced her head up.