Dream of Me/Believe in Me

them—save when they were gone.
    Gone. Cymbra stiffened suddenly. She leaned forward, staring. There was no mistake. She scanned every part of the palisade that she could see, and not a guard was in sight. Holyhood's security was more gesture than reality, but never before had there been no guards at all. Something was wrong.
    Very wrong.
    Vikings.
    Hawk would have been taking the cell apart with his bare hands.
    The gray-eyed man was so calm.
    So unconcerned.
    From the wrath of the Norsemen preserve us, oh, Lord.
    She turned, already running, meaning to call the alarm.
    Running … straight into steely arms and a merciless hand that slammed down over her mouth. Hot, piercing terror tore through her. She struggled with desperate strength but uselessly. In an instant, she was lifted high against a rock-hard chest and felt herself being carried through her room, down the winding steps of the tower, out into the night.
    “Be silent,” Wolf said implacably. “If you scream,anyone who comes will die.” He looked down into her eyes to see if she understood. She did. He released her mouth so she could breathe more easily but he did not lessen his hold on her or slow his stride. She was dimly aware of other men moving alongside them, more in number than the prisoners had been, swords gleaming. She caught a glimpse of the gates of Holyhood standing open. Then the fortress was behind her and there was only night and wind. And fear so great it threatened to swallow her.
    W OLF GLANCED DOWN AT THE WOM AN IN HIS AR MS . Her pallor worried him, as did her silence. She hadn't fainted as he'd thought she might but she was unnaturally still. Her eyes were very wide and he felt her heart beating like the wings of a frantic bird against his chest. Yet she had conquered her fear when he warned her it would mean death for others.
    He understood nothing about her—not her kindness to captive Vikings, not what he had heard her say to Miriam about the cruelty of the world. She was utterly beyond his experience.
    It wasn't supposed to be that way, he reminded himself again. She was supposed to be a captive woman taken for vengeance. She was supposed to suffer for the insult done him and the willingness to condemn innocents to continued war. He'd had her fate all planned. And now …
    She was probably cold. He'd have to do something about that. Ahead, he saw the gleam of starlight on water and the dark shape of the dragon prow. The rest of his men—those hidden from Derward, who was too blessedly stupid even to wonder how six men could have managed so large a vessel—were already at the oars.
    Wolf waded out into the water, hardly noticing as it lapped around his legs. Young Magnus was right besidehim. Wolf directed a single, warning glance at him and handed Cymbra into his arms.
    Magnus had the great sense not to speak or move, to give absolutely no indication that he was capable of any feelings whatsoever. He might have been holding a sack of wheat.
    In an instant, Wolf was on the deck and had retrieved her. Magnus let out a relieved breath, dunked all the way under the water, and came up grinning. Wolf shot him a wry look as he turned toward the hold.
    He took the ladder down and straightened, his head just clearing the deck. The hold ran the length of the vessel but was separated into several compartments. Aft was the space used for storing supplies including weapons. Adjacent to it were the men's quarters, although they used them only in the worst weather, generally preferring to sleep on deck.
    Toward the bow was an area most often used for booty or trade goods. It was empty now save for a single thin pallet. Wolf frowned when he saw it. He had intended that the Lady Cymbra's conditions be deliberately harsh at first, the swifter to break her will and make evident her dire circumstance.
    Now he was reluctant to leave her there even for the short time needed to get clear of Holyhood. Still, he had little choice. Until their escape was made good, his first duty was to his men.
    Laying her on the pallet, he grasped her chin and forced her to look directly at him. “Don't move,” he ordered, then released her and deliberately pushed her down farther. She said nothing, merely stared up at him from the silken fall of her hair and the soft, floating cloud of the bed robe, making him think she was either too afraid to say or do anything or was merely being sensible. Either way, he was satisfied—for the moment.
    He went back on deck,