Dream of Me/Believe in Me

wrong with that? It's how it should be.”
    Cymbra prayed for calm even as she glared back. “That may be the stupidest thing I've ever heard. I'm not sure, maybe it's only the second or third stupidest, but I think it really does have a chance at being first.”
    He started to speak, cut himself off, and stared at the wall, pointedly ignoring her.
    “Fine,” she said, “have it your way, but I'm not leaving. My husband has told me to see what can be done for you and that's exactly what I will do.”
    When he still refused to acknowledge her, Cymbra took hold of the fur throw covering the lower half of his body and gave it a good, sharp tug. Had Dragon's reflexes not still been so swift, she would have had him bare as a babe.
    “By Odin, woman!” he roared. “Have you no decency at all?”
    Pleased to get any reaction from him other than sullen silence, Cymbra settled for lifting the edge of the fur far enough to expose the ugly puckered scar on his left thigh.
    “I am a healer,” she informed him as she poked at the long red welt. “If your modesty is offended, I apologize, but you really need not be embarrassed around me.” She gave him a confident smile. “Perhaps it would help to just think of me as a man.”
    Behind her, Ulfrich had a sudden need to clear his throat. He coughed so heartily that Cymbra decided to fix him an infusion of black currant and comfrey. He sounded as though he needed it.
    Dragon was looking at her most peculiarly. She supposed he was struck by her good sense.
    “There now, you see,” she said, “it's as I thought. The wound has healed on the surface but there is deep scarring below. The muscles and tendons are badly knotted. They must be exercised slowly and patiently to restore their vigor.”
    She frowned. “I don't wish to be critical, but whoever treated this wound did a very bad job of it.”
    “I thought the same,” Ulfrich declared. He peered over her shoulder, recovered from his coughing fit but sounding rather hoarse. “Frankly, my lord, a blind man could have done better.”
    Dragon grimaced. “Since the care was my own and I was in rather a hurry to get it done, I don't think you should be so critical.”
    “Your own?” Cymbra was horrified. “There was no one to help you? How could such a thing have happened?”
    He sighed, resigned to having to tell her the story. “I stopped in Jutland on my way back from Byzantium. Outside the market at Hedeby, I was jumped by half-a-dozen Danes. I killed them, of course, but not before one of them did this.” He gestured to his leg.
    “You killed all of them?” Cymbra asked, her eyes widening.
    “They were brigands only not warriors,” he said, accounting it no great thing. “Were it not for a patch of mud I slipped on, none of them would have landed a blow.”
    “Where were your men?” Ulfrich asked. Unlike Cymbra, he was not surprised by the Dragon's fighting prowess.
    “I was alone, having just visited a … friend.”
    Ulfrich chuckled. “Is it possible this friend had a husband who didn't take kindly to your presence?”
    “I suppose,” Dragon admitted matter-of-factly. “I didn't pause to ask the scum who hired them.”
    Cymbra schooled herself to take no notice of his frankness. She did spare a moment's thought for the sheer determination and courage it must have taken to treat such a wound alone. Had he not been able to stanch the bleeding, he would likely have died. She suspected he knew that but would never acknowledge it.
    “Very well,” she said briskly. “Tomorrow you will begin a regimen of baths, massage, and exercises. In addition, I will give you a tonic to drink thrice daily. If all goes well, within a fortnight you will be able to return to the training field but only for limited periods.”
    She smiled at him reassuringly. “I will explain all this to Wolf so that when you do return, he will know better than to overstrain you and set back your recovery.”
    A look passed between warrior and wise man. Ulfrich opened his mouth to speak, but Dragon forestalled him.
    “Brew your tonic and if it isn't too vile, I'll drink it. But as for the rest—” He shrugged shoulders as broad as Wolf's own. “The fever is gone. I return to the field tomorrow, and if I get a whiff that my brother thinks me an invalid, he'll be the one whose wounds need tending.”
    Cymbra heard him out, smiled sweetly, and said, “The fever will return again and again until this woundhas healed properly. If