Dream of Me/Believe in Me (25 page)

Mikal returned with yet more water and, after recovering from his surprise at seeing his wife on her feet, took over the task of helping her remain upright. Meanwhile, Cymbra quickly washed her instruments, covered the bed with a clean sheet, and warmed a swaddling blanket.

She had barely finished when Nadia bent double with the force of an even more powerful contraction. Her husband and Cymbra helped her back into the bed. Uncertain what he should do, Mikal made up his mind abruptly when he saw the plea in his wife's eyes. He took up his place at the head of the bed, holding her hands and offering her all the strength and courage he could give as she fought to bring their child into the world.

A child who was born moments later, sliding from his mother's body with a lusty wail that made Cymbra grin ear to ear. Quickly she did what was needful for the baby wrapped him in the blanket, and handed him to his parents. As they gazed in awe at the miracle they had wrought, she cared for Nadia, who was so caught up in the wonder of her son as to be oblivious to everything else.

With all as it should be, Cymbra relaxed a little and enjoyed the sight of the child. She joined his parents in exclaiming over his size, his thick head of black hair, and his obviously intelligent expression. When Mikal, bursting with pride, hurried off to make some broth, Cymbra encouraged Nadia as she put her child to her breast for the first time. The new mother jerked in surprise, her eyes flying to Cymbra's before she laughed shakily. “He certainly knows what he wants!”

“He's a strong, healthy child and will undoubtedly have an appetite to match. You must take care to get proper rest and eat healthy foods. I will prepare a tonic for you to drink now and I will send another daily for the next fortnight.”

Mikal returned with the broth and Cymbra left the new family alone while she prepared the tonic. As she worked, she paused long enough to pull aside a wooden shutter and glance outside. It was still raining but not as much as before, yet the light was grayer. With a start, she realized that she had been so caught up in the drama of birth as to make time slip by with deceptive fleetness. Far more of it had passed than she had realized.

She was worried momentarily but then pushed that aside, reasoning there was nothing she could do about it. As it was, she wasn't free to return to the hill fort until she was certain that both baby and mother were doing well.

Even then, she cautioned Mikal, “Send for me if anything untoward happens whatever the hour.” At his sudden frown, she added hastily, “Not that I'm expecting
trouble. Nadia did extremely well and your son is very healthy.”

Mikal beamed, both reassured and proud. But when Cymbra put on her cloak he sobered and began reaching for his own. “I will come with you, lady. You must not go alone.”

“And you must not leave your wife and child. They need you.” When still he hesitated, she said, “Mikal, tell me truly, who do you think would endanger me? Aside from the fact that no one is out in this foul weather, who should I fear?”

He had no answer for that and admitted as much. “I don't know, my lady, but it is the principle of the thing.”

“Do you allow your wife to go about the town on her own?”

The mere thought of trying to restrict Nadia in such a way surprised him. “Of course, but—”

“Do you trust me less than her?”

“Certainly not! But, my lady, we both know that is not what this is about. You are guarded, protected, as a sign of respect.”

She nodded, well understanding that. “Respect for my husband, not for me. Respect for me, or for any woman, would be to allow us to go about our lives unmolested.”

Mikal spread his hands, not unkindly but in acceptance of what was. “You speak of a different world, my lady.”

“Perhaps I do. Let us be practical then. Even in this flawed world, no man would risk the jarl's anger.”

“Anger?” Mikal looked at her as though she had just described a howling wind that froze men's blood in their veins as though it was no more than a summer's breeze. “My lady, I most profoundly hope I am never so foolish as to incite such
anger.
Were I to do so, it is the last thing I would ever do.” He shuddered at the very thought. “Save for dying, of course, and that would be a kindness.”

Cymbra chose not to dwell on what exactly Mikal imagined her husband capable of doing. She was occupied enough with the sudden realization that the Rus trader had, all unknowingly done exactly what he most feared.

Brother Joseph, Ulfrich, and Brita had obviously known of her husband's order that Cymbra remain in the fort, but Mikal had not known, nor had Nadia. Cymbra had told them only that Nadia should come to the fort when her labor began because everything needed to care for her was there. Pride, resentment, whatever had kept 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 hanging
it 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 of
an 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 enraged Viking who stood, feet planted solidly apart, fists on his hips, glaring at her.

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, determined
to 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.