Dream of Me/Believe in Me

enraged Viking who stood, feet planted solidly apart, fists on his hips, glaring at her.

Chapter FOURTEEN

    T HE FIRST SIGHT OF HER HUSBAND EMPTIED Cymbra's lungs and left them starved for air. Memory could not encompass the reality of him. Shorn of his helmet and leather armor, wearing only a simple tunic, he was yet bigger, harder, more massive, more virile even than she could recall.
    He was also … grubby. He looked as though he'd slept in his clothes, which undoubtedly he had. He needed to shave, as his jaw bore the dark shadow of a week's growth of whiskers. His hair was unkempt, falling thickly to his broad shoulders.
    He looked …
wonderful …
enraged …
exciting …
infuriated …
tantalizing …
dangerous.
    “You—” He got out that much from between gritted teeth, no more. She couldn't bear to hear what he would say, what accusations he would throw at her—all unfortunately true but still intolerable. She had done
nothing
wrong, or at least not when weighed against the right she had also done.
    “I had to!” Cymbra blurted. “A woman and child's lives were at risk. And besides,” she hurtled on, determinedto say it all before he could stop her, “Mikal knew nothing of your order. He's entirely innocent, as is Nadia. I'm the only one to blame, no one else.”
    She stopped as abruptly as she had begun and stood, her arms hanging at her sides, looking at him. Surely he would understand. She thought of all they had shared, the joy they had made together, and told herself he would never really hurt her.
    “I warned you,” Wolf said. He advanced toward her, his face implacable. “You had every chance to mend your ways. Too much chance, it now seems.” He stopped, scarcely the length of a man away from her, and shook his head regretfully. “You leave me no choice, Cymbra.”
    She could have stood almost anything better than the disappointment in his voice. That and the intent stamped clearly in every inch of his bearing. He
had
warned her. She knew exactly what he meant to do.
    No one had ever struck her. In all her life, she had never experienced any such thing. She knew full well how unusual that was, but that made no difference. Besides the physical hurt and humiliation, she truly doubted whether she would ever be able to forgive him for not understanding.
    “You—” It was her turn. She searched for words and found none. There was nothing but hollow pain, pulsing within her, and the acid resentment of her anger spilling up and over any wall she could ever hope to build.
    Her lips moved stiffly, forming each separate word with care. “Don't … you … dare.”
    He looked at her, she thought, as though at a horse that had suddenly opened its mouth and spoken. A woman daring to defy him must be as rare a beast. For just an instant he paused, but his intent did not waver. He continued toward her, speaking quietly with regret that in no way lessened his resolve.
    “You will remember this, Cymbra, and then we will go on. You will not be so foolish again—”
    That did it. The walls crumbled and all poured out. “Foolish? It is not
foolish
to help people in need! It is not
foolish
to trust in my own judgment! You told me—
told me!
—to take care of things here. Or perhaps you don't remember that, husband. Perhaps it is conveniently forgotten. Would you return to a dead woman and child, and me simpering that they died because I couldn't venture a quarter mile into a town? Would you have me live with that on my conscience for the rest of my life.
Would you?”
    No, not merely a horse that spoke. A pink one that sprouted wings, flew around the room, and sang. He looked so startled that she was almost tempted to laugh, just for a moment, before the urge to cry overtook her.
    She'd be damned if she'd give him that. Oh, no! Instead, she'd give him—Hardly knowing what she did, she reached across the table, seized the first thing she touched, and hurled it straight at Wolf.
    The ball of cheese hit his chest with a hollow thud and fell to the floor, rolling away into a corner. He watched it roll, looked at her, and looked at the cheese again, now lying still and slightly dented. When he raised his head once more, the light in his eyes had changed. Gone was the ominous darkness. In its place was silver fire.
    “The first time I saw you,” he said, almost pleasantly, “I thought you needed messing.”
    “W-what?”
    “Messing. You looked too perfect to be real.” He glanced around almost