Dream of Me/Believe in Me

all three men staring at her. For once, she was pleased to command male attention so effortlessly.
    “Plants such as … oh, belladonna, for example. Or hemlock, thorn apple, monkshood … or oleander, Star of Bethlehem, castor beans … And then there's purple cockle, dwarf bay, flax olive, copse laurel …”
    “Lady, those are all deadly poisons!” the Moor exclaimed, propriety forgotten.
    She smiled sweetly—at him, at her dear brother-in-law, and most particularly at her husband. Lord and master, indeed!
    “They are, aren't they, for all that most can also heal when used properly. And there are many more of them, all so easily mistaken for edible. A leaf here, a root there … why, the least carelessness on the part of a cook and …”
    She sighed deeply but brightened as the servants reentered the hall. The men's eyes widened at the sight of the heavily laden platters being carried to the table.
    “Oh, good,” Cymbra said, “the next course.” She looked around at the others innocently yet was there an unmistakable note of steel in her silken tones. “You
are
all still hungry, aren't you?”
    H OURS LATER, LYING BESIDE HER HUSBAND IN THEIR bed, Cymbra was still inclined to smile. She would long remember the responses that had followed her little joke. Kareem looked at her as though she were some manner of being he had never seen before and wasn't sure he ever wanted to encounter again. Dragon was so startled he knocked over his drinking cup.
    And Wolf… ah, yes, Wolf… her dear husband had stared at her for only a moment before breaking out in rich, hearty laughter. Yet she could not begrudge his amusement for with it came his obvious pride in having so clever a wife.
    “I remember now why we left,” he declared, “or at least why I did. Not a single woman there reminded me of Frigg.” His gaze, both tender and ardent, left no doubt that such deficiency had been remedied.
    So she reminded him of a goddess. That was rather sweet and certainly deserving of acknowledgment, such task as she set herself to perform very shortly after they retired to their lodge. If in the process she demonstrated that a man and a horse also had much in common, all the better.
    But now she needed to sleep and couldn't, her mind still awhirl with thoughts, images, questions….
    Nadia's baby was wonderful. Cymbra's hand drifted to her flat belly. She'd love to have a child of her own. A dark-haired baby with gray eyes … a son or daughter for Wolf to adore as she knew he would, and other children to follow … please God …
    The Moor with his dark, liquid eyes and ready smile, his talk of exotic, faraway places, of a different world where women were kept apart in silken bowers, secluded for the pleasure of a man … She could never bear that,
never
, yet there was a strange excitement in the thought.
    Women intended solely for pleasure … Wolf had known such when he lingered in the villa by the Byzantine sea. A very generous man, Dragon had called their host, the collector—no,
connoisseur
of women. Red-haired Circasians, agile Nubians, and who knew what else … She had a sudden, too-vivid image of her husband, lounging on a couch, his long legs stretched out before him, lazily eyeing the beauties displayed for his selection.
    Would he have chosen her had she been among them?
    Stupid thought!
He had chosen her, indeed come all the way to Holyhood to claim her.
    For vengeance … for alliance … for whichever fate decreed when Hawk came.
    Since the day of her marriage, she had stalwartly kept her thoughts from the terrible promise her husband had made. She had gone so far as never even to glance toward the beach he had sworn would be stained with her brother's blood.
    She told herself she was merely being sensible. Wolf didn't really want to kill Hawk. He truly did want an alliance. All she had to do was convince her brother—when he came—that all was well and all would be.
    All she had to do … When he came …
    She made a small, involuntary sound of distress and turned over on her side. Huddled beneath the covers, her knees drawn up, she fought to restrain the tears that threatened to overtake her.
    Fought, that is, until she felt the brush of a hand on her bare shoulder, the sudden sensation of strength hovering over her, and heard Wolf's voice, sleep roughened but instantly alert.
    “Cymbra, what's wrong?”
    Only a tiny sound, a small movement, yet somehow he had known at once that she needed him.