Dream of Me/Believe in Me

out the first thing that came into her head: “You can't mean it!”
    They were standing near the open gate in the berm surrounding the hill fort. Cymbra had just returned from the town, where she had treated a burn suffered by a young boy who strayed too close to one of the many open fires.
    Fortunately, it wasn't serious and the boy would be fine. His gratitude at the relief of his pain and his parents' thankfulness had reminded Cymbra yet again of why she was a healer.
    Or at least she was if she was allowed to be, and that teetered in the balance. Her heart lurched the moment she realized Wolf had returned early from visiting a settlement on the opposite side of the fjord. Seeing him crossing the field, bare-chested after a swim, laughing withseveral of his men, Cymbra tried to make herself as inconspicuous as possible. But for some reason, the concealing disguise of her plain gray cloak didn't work.
    He came straight at her, his face hard and his manner implacable. In an instant, he assessed the situation—correctly, damn him—and rendered his verdict.
    “I can't go into town at all? Not even with an escort? That's absurd! I'm not a prisoner here! I'm—”
    His hands came down heavily on her shoulders, abruptly stopping her. “You are my wife and a disobedient one at that. Or are you going to claim you did not know that you were only to leave here with permission
and
with an escort?”
    Cymbra would have given just about anything she had to be able to claim it but she could not. It was just that in the past week the unbroken accord between them had made her believe Wolf was coming to trust her. Now the realization of how foolhardy she'd been to think any such thing struck her hard.
    “I could not find you to ask,” she said, “and a child was hurt. I could not wait.”
    “Then the child should have been brought to you here.” His lean, hard fingers moved against the coarse fabric of her cloak. Were it not for his intimate knowledge of her body, even to the graceful way she moved, he would never have recognized her, so well disguised had she been by the anonymous garment.
    He scowled as a possibility occurred to him. “How many times have you worn this, Cymbra? How many times have you concealed your identity to evade my will?”
    Unable to meet his eyes, she looked down. Her gaze swept the broad, heavily muscled expanse of his bare chest. She swallowed hard and stared hastily at the ground, rubbing her foot in the dust. “Not often and only when it was necessary.”
    His hands tightened again, compelling her attention.
    The thought that she had defied him not once but several times sent a surge of anger through him. Had she been anyone else, there would be no question but that she suffer punishment sufficient to reform her ways.
    He knew that was the proper response to such disobedience, knew it was his duty to impose such punishment to uphold the order and discipline vital to survival. As jarl, he was required to put aside his personal feelings and do as he knew was right. Yet, understanding that full well, he could not act as he knew he should.
    Instead, he said, “It is not your place to decide what is necessary or not. My orders are to be obeyed in all circumstances.”
    A small voice of caution warned Cymbra that this was not the time to challenge him. Hadn't he said something to her about a man being more inclined to grant favors when he was in a mellow frame of mind? If she had any sense, she would seek to placate him, work whatever feminine wiles she possessed to get her own way.
    Apparently, sense was not one of her great attributes.
    “Even when those orders are wrong? Surely you don't believe I could come to any harm? No one in Sciringesheal is so foolish as to displease you.”
    He lifted an eyebrow. “No one? Only my Saxon wife, it seems.” When she would have answered that, he forestalled her. “I have treated you with great patience and restraint from the beginning, and I continue to do so. Were that not the case, you would be punished right now for your disobedience.”
    He took hold of her chin and forced her to look at him. “Let us understand each other,
wife.
My word is law here. You will do exactly as you are told—exactly—or you will suffer the consequences. Is that clear?”
    The color fled from her face, only to return with a vengeance. Her fists curled at her sides as her eyes blazed. “So I am not to use my own judgment even when I know itto be sound? I am merely