Dream of Me/Believe in Me

her from revealing that “everything” included herself, she who was as much captive as bride.
    Horror filled her as she comprehended the extent to which she might have placed Mikal in danger. With it came even greater resolve that no one but herself would pay the price for defying the Wolf. If indeed there was a price to be paid.
    Although she was by nature an honest and forthright person, it occurred to her that perhaps her husband need not know of this. She would return safe and sound. Why should he be troubled by something that was over and done?
    Such thoughts sped her on her way. She checked once more on Nadia and the baby, reassured Mikal yet again, and took her leave. The light was fading rapidly as she passed out of the town and began to climb the hill to the fort. She was more tired than she had realized and the climb left her just a little breathless.
    Near the top, she paused, looking ahead through the rain, and saw with relief that the gates were still open. Swiftly she passed through them and hurried, a gray shadow, through the rain until she came to the lodge she and Wolf shared.
    With a sigh of relief, she went inside and returned her medicine box to its proper place beside the table. Removing the gray cloak, she shook it well before hangingit spread between two pegs set into the wall. The braziers were lit, warming the room and casting a cheering glow. She gave silent thanks to Brita, who undoubtedly had thought to light them.
    For a moment she was tempted to crawl into the huge bed and go straight to sleep. But the churning of her stomach reminded her that she had eaten almost nothing that day.
    It would be time for supper soon. In the meanwhile, she decided to look in on the kitchens and see how the meal was progressing. Perhaps she'd just grab a taste or two to tide her over.
    Donning a dry cloak, she left the lodge, skirted around the timbered hall, and went down the short flight of stone steps into the kitchens. They were as crowded as she had expected at this hour.
    A dozen or so women worked around several tables, preparing meat for roasting over the great fire in the hall, scraping fish, and peeling vegetables. Children helped stir simmering pots from which delectable aromas wafted. Other women were taking loaves of bread out of the brick ovens, placing them in baskets to be carried into the hall along with golden rounds of cheese and platters of bright berries.
    Cymbra slipped in unseen and promptly made for the berries. She took several, popped them into her mouth, and was just savoring their sweetness when a sudden silence descended. Glancing around, she found herself to be the object of all eyes. One by one, the women stopped what they were doing, knives and spoons halting even in midair, and stared at her.
    Suddenly aware of her berry-stained fingers, she tucked them behind her back and said self-consciously, “I missed midday meal.”
    No one replied, no one so much as moved. They might have been statues frozen in place by the breath ofan ice god. Except for the dawning looks in their eyes of… sympathy, concern … fear.
    Cymbra's heart pounded against her ribs. She swayed slightly and put out a hand to steady herself against the table. Too late, she remembered what she should have noticed before, and would have if she hadn't been so tired and preoccupied with her hunger.
    The lodge, the bed into which she had been so tempted to creep, and on the foot of that bed, her husband's cloak left where he had tossed it.
    The Wolf had returned to his lair. While she was away, disobeying his most clearly expressed orders and despite his clear warning of what would happen were she so foolish to do so.
    Yet even as she thought of that, she couldn't help but be elated. He was back, he was safe. She was overjoyed … and filled with dread. Tremendously relieved … and deeply apprehensive. Even as she ricocheted between contrary emotions, another joined the mix. She resented being so worried when she should have been so happy.
    She had merely done what was right. He should see that and agree. She lifted her head, straightened her shoulders. He would have to see; she would insist that he do so. She would—
    “Out.”
The single growled command ripped apart the unnatural silence. Pots dropped, knives fell from hands, footsteps thudded. In an instant, the kitchens were empty.
    Save, that was, for Cymbra, who turned to greet her lord, her noble husband, the man to whom she had sworn obedience. The