Dream of Me/Believe in Me (42 page)

“No more!
This has to stop, right now, right here!
Put down your swords!”

Gasping for breath, having run all the way from the stronghold, Brother Joseph pushed his way through the mob. At the sight of Cymbra, all the color fled from his face. He fell to his knees in the sand and made the sign of the cross.

“Child,” he pleaded, “don't do this! You know what it means. Your soul—”

“I am damned either way,” she sobbed. “I can't let one of them die … not because of me—”

Wolf stepped away from Hawk, breaking the death lock of their blades. She gazed into his anguished face, seeing it blurred by her own tears. She loved him so much that she would gladly trade her life for his, as she would for her brother's.

Wolf took a step toward her, his back turned to Hawk, whom he suddenly ignored as though they had not been doing their damnedest to kill each other mere moments before. His eyes never left Cymbra as he began walking toward her. Quietly he said, “I'll put down my sword but you put down the dagger. We'll do it together, all right?”

She forced her gaze past him to Hawk. To her brother she said, “You, too. Both swords …
down.”

Hawk nodded quickly. Slowly, his gaze on her, he bent to lay his sword on the sand.

Wolf moved closer. Hawk still held his sword. Dragon closed in from the other side. Brother Joseph got to his feet and also moved forward.

Cymbra's breath came in pants, her heart beating so rapidly she thought it would break through her ribs. Eyes on her husband, she slowly began to lower the dagger from her breast.

Everything happened at once. Wolf dropped his sword and lunged for her. Hawk, startled by the sudden
movement and uncertain what it meant, straightened with blade still in hand. Dragon drew his sword and moved to protect his brother's back. Cymbra looked from one to the other in confusion even as she continued to turn the dagger away from herself. Momentarily distracted, she did not realize how close her husband was until—

“Noooo!”

Gray eyes met hers in surprise. He made a faint sound and stared down at his hands closed over his chest. Blood flowed between his fingers, around the protruding handle of the dagger, dripping down his tunic and flowing away into the sand.

“No!” Cymbra screamed again and tried to reach him, but Dragon was there first, thrusting her aside. Instantly, warriors surrounded Wolf, who staggered but fought to stay on his feet. Hawk made a grab for Cymbra but it was too late. He, too, was surrounded, disarmed and hurtled to the ground.

“Take them!” Dragon roared. In moments, the shocked Saxons were stripped of their weapons, bound, and led back up the hill to the stronghold.

C
YMBRA WRAPPED HER ARMS EVEN MORE TIGHTLY
around herself and stared at the far wall of the cell. She was shaking so hard she could scarcely stand. She needed all her self-control to keep from breaking down entirely.

In the adjacent cell, separated from her by thick blocks of stone, she heard Hawk and his men. He had called out to her, to determine if she was all right and reassure her that he would not let her come to harm. The words, meant to comfort her, had only filled her with even greater dread.

Hawk would die rather than see her hurt. She knew that beyond doubt. The moment the opportunity arose,
he would do or say something to shift all the blame onto himself. She couldn't let that happen.

Neither could she still her anguished thoughts of Wolf. Since being brought back to the stronghold, she'd had no word of him, no idea how he fared. Ulfrich must be with him but she was desperate to care for him herself, even as she knew she would not be allowed to do so.

She could only wait as the long, seemingly endless hours wore on. Outside, twilight turned the world to shades of gray. She could just make out a few stars shining through the iron bars cemented into the small window. From the window she could also see the great hall ablaze with light, so crowded that people spilled out onto the field beyond.

Standing on tiptoe, she curled her hands around the bars and strained to see as much as possible. She heard angry voices but the words were indistinct and gave her no news.

Finally, just when she thought she could bear it no longer, the crowd parted. Dragon emerged from the hall and strode toward the cells. Hawk saw him, too, and shouted, trying to draw his attention, but Dragon didn't so much as glance in his direction. Instead, he ordered the door to Cymbra's cell unlocked.

He strode into the dank chamber, grasped her firmly by the arm, and pulled her outside. He said nothing, not even when she frantically pleaded. “Tell me how Wolf is! Has the bleeding stopped? Did Ulfrich stitch the wound? Did—?”

She broke off when the single, contemptuous look he shot her made it clear he would not answer. Forced to run alongside him to keep from being dragged, she had only a fleeting glimpse of the crowd pressing in around them, faces distorted, jeering.

Dragon pushed her into the hall. There were more
people in it than she had ever seen before, filling the space with their turbulent, roiling emotions. They fell silent the moment she appeared. A path opened up from the door down the length of the hall to the high table.

Cymbra gasped with relief when she saw Wolf sitting there. He looked somewhat pale and his face was clearly strained, but the bloody tunic had been replaced by a fresh one and he sat upright without obvious pain or difficulty Her instinct was to run to him but his cold, implacable gaze stopped her.

Dragon let go of her arm and stepped away. She swayed slightly and for a moment feared her legs would not hold her. Pride drove her to draw deeply on reserves of strength she scarcely knew she possessed. Slowly, her eyes never leaving his, Cymbra walked the length of the hall to stand before her husband and her lord.

And, too, her judge.

Firelight glittered in the torches set in brackets along the walls, casting shadows onto the high, peaked roof like brooding spirits gazing down on the scene. Smoke curled ghostlike from the remnants of the fire dying in the hearth. A few dogs skulked around, heads low, seeking the way out. The crowd stirred uneasily but no one spoke. That was left to the Wolf.

“Do you remember,” he said without preamble, “that I told you there are circumstances in which a higher duty must come before any other consideration?” His voice was flat, lacking any expression, but Cymbra was not misled. The pain he fought to conceal washed through her, pain not merely of the body but of the spirit. Pain so great it struck her like a mighty wave, leaving her dazed and confused.

Yet still did she understand what he had asked of her. Because of that higher duty, he had accepted her disobedience when she went to help Brita. Another man would not
have. Another man would not have held her so tenderly in his arms, brought her to such pleasure, talked and laughed with her, given her so very much while asking … what? Only for her trust despite all that stood between them, Saxon and Norse, seemingly destined enemies seeking however fragile a path to peace.

She straightened her shoulders and looked at him squarely. “I remember.”

“When we married,” he went on, “I made promises before my gods and yours to protect you as my wife. But I am not just your husband. I am also jarl and I am responsible for the protection of all my people.”

She knew too well that he had set aside those responsibilities on her behalf when he granted a swift death to the attackers of Vykoff, and that he was given ample reason to regret such leniency.

In the hush of the vast hall, Cymbra said, “I would never wish you to forget your duty to your people.”

“Then you will answer what I ask of you.” A muscle twitched in his jaw. For just a moment, his guard dropped enough to reveal the bleakness behind the mask of his imperturbable control. She had to press her lips firmly together to keep from crying out against it, knowing how very much he would want no one to know of his anguish. A moment later it was gone, concealed in an act of relentless will.

“Did you want your brother to take you from here?”

Cymbra hesitated. If she told him the truth—that Hawk had come back without her knowledge and had refused to leave until she accompanied him to his vessel— she had no doubt of the outcome. Her brother would be judged to have violated the alliance he had given every evidence of accepting. Wolf would have every right to claim his life for such an act of treachery and betrayal. His people would demand it.

But if she took the blame upon herself instead, she
would also take the punishment. At least then there was a chance that Hawk's life would be spared. Clinging to that thought, she gathered her courage and gazed into the eyes of her husband.

Wolf had asked for her trust and in that moment she gave it fully. She trusted him with her love, her loyalty— and her life.

“I went with him willingly.”

Savage pain rippled between them as Wolf absorbed the impact of her words. He flinched like a man struck and his face tightened further. She felt his last, faint hope die and the steel-cold resolve of the warrior take its place.

“A woman who seeks to leave her husband violates our laws.” He stared at her. “This is also the way of the Saxon, is it not?”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Desperately, she fought back tears. She could not make this harder for him by revealing her own terror and anguish, yet neither could she let him believe the worst. “I never meant to stab you. It was an accident.”

He said nothing for a moment, then merely shrugged, as though a wound that could have killed him was of no consequence. “You are not accused of that.”

She knew he was sparing her a charge that would surely have meant a death sentence. Knew, too, that there must be many among the crowd who disagreed with his decision even if they would not dare to challenge it.

Slowly, Wolf rose. For just a moment, he pressed his hands on the edge of the table to steady himself, then stood unaided.

His voice was low and hard, filling the hushed great hall where it seemed nary a person so much as breathed.

“You sought to leave your husband without his knowledge or permission. That is a violation of our laws. So, too, you sought to leave here without the knowledge or
permission of your lord. That also is a violation. For both those offenses, you will be punished.”

Fear filled her. She fought to conceal it, clinging to trust, remembering love. No one moved for a long moment. Then Dragon stepped forward again and took her arm. He said nothing, only led her from the hall. Outside, they turned not back toward the cells but in the opposite direction—toward the punishment post.

C
YMBRA STOOD, HER CHEEK RESTING AGAINST THE
rough wood. Leather ropes bound her wrists. A slight breeze warmed by the multitude of torches touched the bare skin of her back. Wolf himself had opened her gown, cutting through the laces and spreading the fabric as far as her shoulders, no further. She heard his breath shudder as he did so and closed her eyes against the anguish that continued to come from him like molten waves.

The crowd was quiet yet she knew it was there. She could hear the shifting of many bodies, feel the confusion of their emotions—anticipation, vengeful pleasure, yet also bewilderment, regret, and dread. Of a certainty, none of them had ever seen the wife of a jarl whipped, never even imagined such a thing could happen. Yet this was a wife who had betrayed her husband, and the law was very clear about that.

Cymbra, too, was afraid. Yet she felt oddly separated from herself, as though she stood apart and watched it all happen to a different woman.

A sudden thought occurred to her and she frowned. Would Wolf do it himself? He could tear his wound open. She should warn him—The absurdity of that hurtled her back into the moment. She was suddenly, vividly aware of what was about to be done to her. She pressed her head against the pole, closed her eyes tightly, and prayed for courage.

Hawk was not praying. He was at the cell window with a clear view of what was happening. If he didn't wrench the bars out of the stone, it would not be for want of trying.

He had shouted himself hoarse, first insisting the blame was his and demanding he take Cymbra's place, then making murderous threats.

Brita, too, had tried to intervene, only to be dragged off by several of the women who were her friends and no doubt worried what her fate would be if she drew the attention of the Wolf.

Brother Joseph remained and Cymbra could hear him praying softly nearby. She turned her head and saw not the monk but the man who had wielded the lash against the thief. For just a moment, her eyes met his. He started and looked away hastily, but not before she saw the measure of his own dread.

Saw, too, what he carried coiled in long black loops dangling from his hand. Her stomach heaved. She clenched her teeth and tried again to pray.

W
OLF FELT THE TOUCH OF HIS BROTHER S HAN D ON
his arm and emerged from the numbness into which he had fallen since returning from the beach. He was vaguely aware that his wound ached and that he was weak from loss of blood, but that was as nothing compared to the far graver wound he had suffered.

She had gone with Hawk willingly.

Until Cymbra herself said that, he had retained some hope. She would avow her innocence, swear she had never meant to leave him, and pledge her love and loyalty. He wouldn't have to hurt her, at least not physically. He'd be left with the problem of Hawk as the one responsible, and he had no idea how he would manage that without breaking Cymbra's heart, but at least he could have tried.

Now there was no chance. She was condemned by her own words. Distantly, he knew he should be enraged by her betrayal of him. Had she ever meant anything she said, any soft word or gentle touch? Had it all been a sham from the very beginning? Anger surged in him but he couldn't sustain it. Anguish overcame all else.

He couldn't remember hurting so much since his parents' death and even then he had been so focused on what was needed for survival that he'd had little time to grieve. This was different. He felt a sense of loss so shattering that he could not begin to imagine how he would ever move beyond it.