Dream of Me/Believe in Me

fighting. One doesn't think of Danes as such a tidy lot, cleaning up after themselves as it were.”
    “True, one doesn't think of that.”
    “And then there's the old nurse who babbles about a handful of Vikings who were taken captive the same day all this happened but who somehow escaped.”
    Wolf finished his ale and sat back in the sun. Truly, it did a man good to rest a bit. Not too much though. “Does she say anything else of them?”
    “Only that the Lady Cymbra had speech with them in their own tongue while they were being held.”
    “Since all Norsemen whether Dane or not speak essentially the same language, that is of little use.”
    “Apparently the Hawk thinks the same. It is said he has sent men up into the Danelaw to learn the truth of his sister's whereabouts. When he knows it, he intends to give battle and destroy the villain who dared to take her.”
    “A predictable enough response.”
    “Indeed. One might even think that whoever took her intends her brother to do precisely as he will.”
    “Or at least intends for him to try,” Wolf said and smiled.
    He tarried a little after Onfroi departed, drank a little more, spoke with several more men who happened, as it were, to come by. They told the same tale but added bits and pieces.
    The Hawk was said to rage. He had sworn to flay alive the despoiler of his sister. Yet it was also claimed that he wanted her safe return at all cost, her life held even above honor. That was the hardest part to believe, and no sensible man would, for surely honor counted more than the life of any mere woman.
    Yet, it was food for thought and Wolf did not mind chewing on it. Ordinarily, word of the mysterious Saxon beauty lately come to Sciringesheal would have been carried to the Hawk on the selfsame ships that brought news of his rage and its cause. But the captains who put into the rich port controlled by Wolf Hakonson were a wily lot. They had enough sense to hold the favor of the jarl who protected their profitable trade in high regard and not risk losing it. So it was likely they would say nothing, no matter how tempted they might be.
    Soon, then, he would send word himself. He had delayed long as it was, telling himself that the stolen time with his bride was meant only to strengthen her conviction when she stood before her brother and swore to her happiness, thus sealing the alliance he had gone to suchextraordinary lengths to secure. Yet did he also know himself prey to a yearning to postpone the inevitable moment of confrontation, whatever that might bring.
    Wolf shrugged inwardly. The Hawk would come, and when he did … What would be would be. They would make peace or Valhalla would welcome a new warrior to sup in Odin's hall. That the warrior would be Saxon he did not doubt for a moment. Every aspect of the battle, if there was to be one, favored his own victory.
    He had plotted this much before sailing to Holyhood, but now, in the aftermath of all that had happened, he had no choice but to think further. What he perceived did not please him. Cymbra loved her brother. If he died, she would mourn him forever—and hate the man who had killed him.
    It shouldn't have mattered. Life was harsh, duty and honor were all. Men lived or died as the Fates willed. Still, there was nothing to say a man's destiny had to be rushed. It wouldn't hurt the Hawk to rage awhile longer.
    Wolf tossed a few coins on the table for the ale and began walking back through the town. On the way, he made one more stop and was well pleased with what he found.

Chapter ELEVEN

    C YMBRA TURNED THE LUTE OVER IN HER hands reverently. The graceful curves of polished wood seemed to glow with a life all their own. She looked up at her husband through tear-misted eyes. “I cannot believe you did this.”
    Wolf shrugged. “I enjoyed hearing you play. It seemed a shame to miss that pleasure.”
    His casual manner did not fool her for a moment. He had obviously gone to some trouble, seeking out and choosing a magnificent instrument better even than the one she had possessed, then leaving it on their bed for her to find when she came in to change for supper. That he had followed in time to see her reaction could not be coincidence.
    She managed a wobbly smile as the tears threatened to spill down her cheeks. Never could she remember a gift meaning so much to her. “Thank you,” she said with simple sincerity.
    It did not escape Wolf's notice that his wife cared more for the lute—the best