Dream of Me/Believe in Me

marriage and the fact that I am a stranger, it seemed best for all concerned.”
    He nodded, as though considering all this. She wasn't fooled. He had already made up his mind and was not to be swayed. “You did not think to discuss this plan of yours with me?”
    “I did not think you would concern yourself with such matters.”
    “What prompted you to ask her for the keys when you did?”
    Cymbra hesitated. She had never told him about thelute. Now she supposed that would be another black mark against her. They were piling up too quickly, making her wonder if she had done a single thing right since her arrival.
    Not looking at him, she said, “I found my lute destroyed. I believed Marta responsible because of her resentment of me. I went to her and demanded the keys. She refused to give them.”
    His eyes darkened but he still spoke with infuriating calm. “So you thought to trick me into solving the problem for you with that talk of venison?”
    “It was not a trick!” He was making her sound like a terrible person, this man who had brought her to such ecstasy only a short time before.
    “I wanted your help,” she said, “and I didn't know how to ask for it directly.”
    “It's very simple.” He came toward her, stepping from light into shadow, then light again. The grayness was growing brighter as the Norse summer birthed another day.
    “You come to me.” He took hold of her arms, placing them around his neck. “And you say, ‘Husband, I need your help.’ See, that is not so hard, is it?”
    “And if you are away on the training fields or on a voyage? Or if you have other problems to solve? Or perhaps you are merely weary or preoccupied. I take none of that into account? I merely load my difficulties on you without thought?”
    The corners of his mouth twitched. “Not necessarily without thought. You could, for instance, seek the right moment. You might …” He considered, searching for the most helpful suggestion. “You might take my boots off, for instance, rub my neck, see to my comforts, and then when my mood is at its best, tell me what you wish.”
    Despite herself, Cymbra felt the beginning of a smile. The heady rush of emotion she never failed to experiencewith this man left her disoriented. In moments, she had gone from resenting him to being charmed by his sudden teasing playfulness.
    “I think it would be simpler to just take care of things myself,” she said, but lightly, letting him know she didn't mean it. To be absolutely sure he got that message, she moved her hips delicately against him.
    “Simpler,” he murmured against her throat, “isn't always better.”
    Beyond the timbered hall, a rooster warbled full-throated greetings to the sun. Another quickly followed and another, their raucous calls resounding off the berm floating down the hill to join the cries of all the other roosters in the town heralding the morn.
    For a few, giddy moments, the world seemed to consist only of their triumphant song. They sounded for all the world as though they believed they called forth the sun themselves.
    EVEN CYMBRA—
PROUDFUL
CYMBRA, AS SHE REMINDED herself—knew better than to try to persuade the Wolf to rescind his order of exile. The best she could do was make sure that Marta and Kiirla had ample and more supplies to take with them to their new home. This she did as soon as she emerged for the second time that day from the lodge, hastily reordering her clothes and patting her hair into place.
    Crossing the field to join his men a short time later, Wolf saw her loading the wagon that would accompany the women. He caught her eye to let her know he had seen, but he said nothing, not even when she looked back at him defiantly. She thought he even smiled a little but she couldn't be absolutely sure.
    She was still staring after her husband, distracted by the hard, powerful beauty of the body so recently entwinedwith hers, when one of the guards approached him and spoke briefly. Wolf stopped, turned around, and headed in the direction of his brother's lodge. That surprised Cymbra, for she would have expected Dragon to be on the training field already, as he was every day. Looking around, she realized there was no sign of him.
    She made her farewells to Marta and Kiirla. The former refused to look at her but the younger woman nodded calmly. She seemed more in possession of herself than Cymbra had ever seen her, as though her formidable mother no longer overshadowed her.
    Gesturing