Dream of Me/Believe in Me

of its kind to be had but stillonly a lute—than she had for the ermine cloak fit for an empress. That, too, pleased him. “Perhaps you will play for me later.”
    “Whenever you wish,” she said, and raised herself on tiptoe to brush her lips against his.
    They arrived late in hall after that, but at least they got there. All things considered, Wolf counted that a victory. He forgot it quickly, though, when the sight of Dragon's empty seat reminded him of problems yet to be solved. Cymbra saw his concern and touched his hand gently.
    “He woke this afternoon and had some broth before going back to sleep,” she said as Wolf pulled out her chair for her. “That is really best for him right now.”
    She did not add that the broth contained a sprinkling of herbs from her medicine chest guaranteed to assure Dragon would sleep untroubled by pain. She saw no reason to bore her husband with such details. The grateful look he gave her as he took his own seat convinced her she was right.
    His even more obvious surprise and pleasure when the meal began furthered her confidence. Not that he didn't give the pike in cream sauce a suspicious look when it was set before him, but after a single bite any doubt he had vanished. The well-seasoned pork, rounds of herbed bread, peas in butter and wild mint, and delicately flavored squab that followed even brought a smile of approval from Olaf the one-eyed, who had been conspicuously absent from the hall of late, wisely preferring to prepare his own food until the crisis of the women was past.
    That it was behind them was confirmed as uncharacteristic silence descended over the timbered hall. The usual cacophony of conversation, laughter, and insults was stilled while people ate … and ate and ate. At length, when there was scarcely a bone left to gnaw, a roundof hearty belches and a burst of cheers acknowledged Cymbra's culinary success.
    She welcomed it with a sigh of relief and relaxed for the first time since entering the hall, only to stiffen a little when she caught her husband studying her assessingly The look on his face bewildered her. “What?”
    “I'm just wondering if it was really your beauty that made Hawk hide you away or if he feared he'd never get his men to leave any table you provisioned long enough to fight.”
    His smile deepened until he was actually laughing. “I can just imagine his warriors waddling into battle waving haunches of goose or hurling a pie or two at their enemies. If nothing else, they'd certainly have the advantage of surprise.”
    That absurd image made Cymbra smile in turn, yet the very mention of her brother and battle sent a dark ripple over her pleasure. It was on the tip of her tongue to say something to Wolf about his threat to kill Hawk, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. The accord between them was still so new, and she feared somehow still fragile, that she preferred to let the matter lie.
    Besides, she really didn't believe there was any chance that her husband and her brother would fight. Hadn't Wolf said that his first choice was an alliance with Hawk? She had only to convince her brother that she was happily, willingly married and all would be well.
    Wolf watched the flicker of emotion behind his wife's lovely eyes and silently cursed himself for a fool. Why, in the midst of such harmony, had he reminded her of the shadow that lay over them? Granted, the matter was on his mind, but that was no reason to speak of it to her, even indirectly.
    The problem was that she distracted him so easily, there were times when he hardly recognized himself. And he didn't care for that at all.
    Still, it was difficult to nurture any resentment in the aftermath of the best meal he'd ever eaten, and even more difficult later, when his lovely wife, clad only in her glorious chestnut hair, sat beside him on their bed and played him to sleep with the lute whose giving had brought her to happy tears.
    B Y MIDMORNING THE FOLLOWING DAY, CYMBRA WAS close to tears again but for a far different reason. She had decided that Dragon Hakonson was the worst patient she'd ever encountered and she was on the verge of telling him so.
    “If you do not do as I say,” she enunciated slowly and clearly, “you will
never
fully recover. You will have to live with the results of this injury for the rest of your life.”
    His dark brows drawn together, his heavily muscled arms crossed stubbornly over his massive chest, the Dragon glared at her. “And what's