Dream of Me/Believe in Me (30 page)

“I do indeed,” Kareem said. “A fine man, very fine. He had a fondness for almonds.”

“But the honor goes to my noble brother now,” Dragon continued with a grin. “Soon every fancier of fine food will have to be able to say that he's been to Sciringesheal or no one will take him seriously.”

Wolf laughed, picked up a spear of wild asparagus, and chewed it thoughtfully. When he was done, he said, “I hope you carry a full cargo of spices, Kareem. For a man who used to consider that anything not still moving counted as food, I've become damn particular of late.”

The Moor grinned broadly. “I boast the fullest possible assortment, my friend, including some brought from the farthest reaches of the world, islands beyond Cathay.”

“I didn't know there was anything beyond Cathay,” Cymbra said. She had been largely silent until now, content to listen, but this so sparked her curiosity that she had to speak. “Indeed, I will admit that I have heard some say even Cathay is a myth.”

“Cathay is very real,” Kareem said pleasantly. “I myself have met men from there.”

Wolf nodded. He turned to his wife. “Cathay is real, sweetling. Kareem has met men from there.”

She frowned slightly. Although an excellent wine from the vineyards of Sicily had been served, her husband had drunk very little of it and Kareem none at all, being forbidden by his faith. Yet did both men seem to be behaving … peculiarly.

Still, she was not about to comment on it. “How fascinating. Is it true that their eyes are shaped differently?”

“Indeed they are, being slanted and drawn up at the edges.”

“Their eyes are slanted,” Wolf told his wife, “and drawn up at the edges.”

“They almost resemble the almonds Hakim Bey liked so much,” Kareem added.

“Like almonds,” Wolf said.

Cymbra stared at them. What strange performance was this? Why was her husband repeating what Kareem said as though she were incapable of hearing it?

“Do you also carry almonds?” she asked.

“Beautiful almonds as well as many other nuts. It will be my pleasure to bring a complete sampling tomorrow.”

“He has all sorts of nuts, sweetling. You can try some of each tomorrow.”

“And fabrics?” she asked.

“Dozens of different kinds—the finest silks, the most beautiful brocades, the sheerest linens—”

“Silks, brocades, linens,” Wolf repeated. “The best of everything.”

“Any animals? I have the most desperate craving for a pet monkey.”

“Alas, no, they do not travel well.”

“No animals,
elskling
, but I'm sure—” Wolf broke off
abruptly and stared at her. “Why would you want a monkey?”

He'd called her sweetheart again, and this time he was sober. She couldn't help but be pleased. “I don't actually. I just wondered how long it would take for you to stop repeating everything our guest says.” She smiled at Kareem. “Your Norse is excellent and less accented than my own. I understand you perfectly.”

“I am pleased your lady finds it so,” the Moor said to Wolf.

Dragon laughed. He beckoned a servant to refill the goblets, then said, “I believe you are confusing Cymbra.” After a quick glance in her direction, he widened his eyes with mock alarm. “In fact, I think you're annoying her.”

“I am not annoyed,” she said. “I merely seek to understand why Kareem does not address me directly.”

“Because you are the property of another man,” Dragon said cordially. “It is as unthinkable for him to speak to you directly as it would be for him to touch you.”

“That's absurd!” Quickly remembering herself, she addressed the Moor. “I am sorry, I don't wish to be rude, but I have never heard of such a thing.”

Wolf shrugged. “It is commonplace in the East.”

“A very civilized place, the East,” Dragon commented. When his sister-in-law glared at him, he laughed. His gaze fell to the torque at her neck. “You bristle at being called property yet you wear my brother's mark.”

“I wear a bride's gift.” Her eyes flared. “Or do you perceive no difference between a wife and, say, a horse?”

Dragon was seized by a sudden fit of coughing that, oddly enough, seemed to be contagious. It afflicted Kareem as well. Only Wolf appeared immune, and he seemed to be having a hard time keeping a straight face.

“Is it so absurd to say that a wife is different from that?” she demanded.

He shook his head until he was sure he could speak.

“No,
elskling
, of course it isn't.” Whatever kindly thoughts she might have had for him as a result of that vanished in an instant when she saw his look of masculine amusement.

Abruptly, she realized what a wife and a horse had in common—both were mounted by a man. Her face flamed. Before she could react, Wolf moved judiciously to calm her.

“The ways of the East are different from ours but that isn't to say they are wrong. Wives are deeply respected, sheltered and protected, provided with every possible luxury. Surely that isn't so terrible.”

“Quite right,” Kareem affirmed. “The harem is a fine custom. There's a great deal to be said for it.”

“What is a harem?” Cymbra asked. She'd come too far to back down now.

Before Wolf could reply, ever-helpful Dragon did so. “Where the women live, secluded from the world, seen only by their lord and master.” He raised an eyebrow, inviting her reaction.

Kareem glanced from one brother to the other and stepped in hastily.
“All
the women of the household, old and young, mothers, aunts, cousins, daughters as well as wives, and the very young boys, too. It's a very spacious part of any residence with its own gardens, courtyards, fountains, and so on. Very pleasant, very nice.”

“But the women are not allowed to leave there?”

“Oh, no, they can leave. They must only go veiled from the eyes of other men, of course, and with escort. That is all for their own comfort, obviously.”

“I see.” She glanced at Wolf and murmured, “However did you miss requiring a veil, husband?”

“There are other kinds of harems,” Dragon commented. He ignored his brother's quelling look and went on cheerfully. “Remember Erik Leifson?”

“Dragon …” Wolf's tone of warning went unheeded.

“He had the villa just outside Constantinople, near the beach. Still does, as far as I know.”

Kareem nodded. “Yes, of course I remember him. He is still there and doing extremely well for himself.”

Dragon grinned. “I'm sure he is. Very generous fellow, Erik. Always wants his friends to be happy.”

“I don't think this is—” Wolf began.

“Now there's a harem,” Dragon continued blithely. “Erik isn't just a collector, he's a connoisseur.” He sighed deeply, savoring memories. “There was a Circasian … incredible woman, had hair red as fire … and a Nubian with remarkably beautiful eyes who had trained as a gymnast and could—” He sighed again. “Remind me why we finally dragged ourselves away, Wolf, I forget.”

“What I'm trying to remember is why I didn't leave you there,” his brother muttered.

Dragon laughed. “You need me to liven things up?” As Kareen stroked his beard and chuckled, Dragon nodded thoughtfully. “All in all, I'd say the way of the East is better. A man always knows where his women are, at his beck and call, exactly as they should be. As for the women, they have no thought but pleasing their master and they're the happier for it.”

Silence followed this ringing declaration. Wolf studied his drinking cup, apparently with an eye to crushing it. Dragon lounged back in his chair, well pleased with himself. As for Kareem, he made a manful effort to conceal his amusement but did not entirely succeed.

Cymbra folded her hands in her lap and smiled. With perfect pleasantness, she asked, “Tell me, my lord Kareem, do you carry any medicinals in your cargo?”

“Medicinals?”

“He's not sure what you—” Wolf began.

“I heard what he said.” Cymbra smiled again, aware of 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. Without waiting for an answer, he turned her into his arms and held her close.

“Did you have a bad dream?” he asked, stroking her back soothingly.

Not trusting herself to speak, she shook her head against his massive chest. He tried to lift her chin so that he could look at her but she resisted, burrowing closer to him. With a sigh, he lay back.

“Dragon didn't really upset you, did he? He was just teasing.”

That surprised her enough to wring an answer. “No, of course not.”

“Kareem then? He's a good soul, he wouldn't dream of offending you or—”

“No, not him either.”

Wolf was silent for a moment. Slowly, he said, “Well, that seems to leave me. What have I done,
elskling?”

“N-nothing!”
Her tears broke suddenly, streaming down her cheeks and onto his chest. She sobbed convulsively, unable to stop, as her bewildered husband held her, alternately trying to calm her and demanding that she tell him what was wrong.

Finally, she brushed the tears away and looked at him. “I—I'm sorry. I don't know what's the matter with me.” She paused a moment, sniffed, took a shuddery breath. “I'm fine, really.”

He didn't answer, only looked at her before abruptly swinging his legs over the side of the bed and standing. Naked, he strode to the table beneath the window, poured wine into a jeweled goblet, and brought it to her.

“Drink this.”

Obediently, she took a swallow, then another. He held the goblet for her until she indicated she'd had enough. Putting it aside, he sat down on the edge of the bed, took both her hands in his, and stared earnestly into her eyes.

“Now,
elskling
, would you
please
tell me what's wrong?”

He looked so … so rumbled, and concerned … and endearing with a lock of hair falling over his forehead and a night's growth of beard shadowing his jaw. He was a man others feared, a man of ruthless strength whose name was whispered with mingled awe and dread. Yet he sat there naked on the side of their bed in the middle of a night that had given him little rest and patiently pleaded with his wife to tell him what troubled her.