Dream of Me/Believe in Me (38 page)

She smiled and squeezed his arm but did not take her gaze from the proud, hawk-emblazoned vessel now near enough for her to make out the men on board. Even this close to the wharf they were still rowing hard, until, at a single, shouted command, they upped oars at the same time as the sail was dropped. Smoothly, confidently, the ship settled beside the stone quay.

Cymbra took a quick, tight breath. She was distantly aware of the metallic rasp of the anchor being dropped, the stiffening of the men behind her, the fluttering of birds overhead. But all that was as nothing compared to the sight of the man who strode across the deck and leaped gracefully onto the quay.

The motion, and the freshening wind, ruffled the edges of the short, dark gray tunic he wore and sent a curl of thick, chestnut-hued hair tumbling across his brow. His eyes were the same vivid blue as Cymbra's, and his features were sharply chiseled, the bones strong beneath taut skin. His expression was achingly familiar for all that it was hard set with anger and resolve.

Hawk. Her dearly loved brother, whom she had not seen in half a year since his last visit to Holyhood but who looked exactly as she remembered him. He was as tall as Wolf himself, with the same broad sweep of shoulders
and chest, the same long, lithe torso and powerful legs. He wore the same air of command, exuded the same aura of relentless will.

A will perfectly expressed in the taut set of his square jaw and his gaze lit by cold, deadly rage. Cymbra swallowed against the lump of fear in her throat and stepped forward quickly.

“Hawk! How wonderful!” She threw her arms around his neck, hugging him fiercely as at the same time she tried to slow his remorseless advance. Her welcome diverted him only long enough to express his relief at finding her alive and whole.

“Cymbra,” he said with husky gentleness and returned her embrace, sweeping her around in a wide circle as he gazed down lovingly into her face. Lovingly and ominously. Slowly, he set her on her feet and carefully touched the bruise beneath her right eye.

She saw his conclusion and reached out frantically, but too late to stop him.

“Hawk, no!”

The solid thud of his fist connecting with Wolf's jaw seemed to echo off the surrounding hills with the force of a thunderclap. At once, the men of the guard drew their swords and advanced. So, too, did the men on board the Saxon vessel leap onto the quay with their weapons at the ready.

A bloodbath was heartbeats away when Wolf shouted, “Hold!” His superbly trained men froze where they were, but Hawk's kept right on coming until he, too, raised a hand. “Wait.” His sword in hand, he advanced on Wolf, who had not drawn his. A blow that would have knocked most men unconscious had scarcely fazed him. Yet did he rub his jaw thoughtfully as he regarded the enraged Saxon.

“You thieving bastard … you Norse scum …”

Cymbra's stomach plummeted. Desperate to intervene, she threw herself between the two men, but before she could plead for them to stop they both made a grab for her, intending to pull her to safety. She found herself yanked in two directions at once as the two fierce—and fiercely protective—warlords vied with each other to get her out of harm's way.

Wolf let go first and took a step back, though his eyes never left his wife. Hawk shoved her behind him but he was surprised and it showed.

Moving quickly to take advantage of that, Wolf said, “Cymbra has suffered no injury at my hands, and the men who did seek to harm her are dead.”

The enraged Saxon lord cast a quick glance over his shoulder to where his sister stood, pale but seemingly with no fear for herself. Though he could scarcely credit that, he had to ask, “Is this true?”

She nodded quickly but before she could say more, he turned back to Wolf.

“Who killed them?”

Flickers of firelight seemed to dance in the eyes of the Wolf, carrying memories of blood and vengeance. “I did.”

As Hawk considered this, Cymbra wasted no time. She stepped forward, commanding his attention. Her voice soft and husky, she said, “Sheathe your sword, brother. I am very happily wed. Truly, everything has happened for the best. If you will but give us a chance, my husband—” she held out a hand to Wolf and smiled at him, “my husband and I would welcome you properly.” With a bright if anxious glance at the hovering Saxons, she added, “And your men, too, of course.”

Hawk looked at the couple standing together, his sister so seemingly delicate and fragile beside the mighty Viking, the selfsame man whose savage death had been
uppermost in the Hawk's mind since the message arrived scant days before, revealing Cymbra's whereabouts.

He noted how his sister's hand nestled in the far larger, scarred hand of the Norse Wolf. How she instinctively moved closer to him as she spoke. How even now she glanced quickly at her husband as though for reassurance and comfort.

Her husband.
It didn't seem possible. In his heart, he still thought of her as the little girl whose safety and welfare had been his first concern since he was hardly more than a boy himself and they were orphaned. Though he knew full well that she had grown into a woman—and a woman of stunning beauty at that—he had long ago decided that he would never compel her to marry. Since she had never brought it up herself, he simply hadn't thought of it.

Until now. After all the weeks of dreading her fate— the agonizing visions of her abused and suffering, perhaps even dead—to find her seemingly safe and even happy required more of a change in his thinking than he could swiftly make.

Yet he could take some time and consider at least the possibility that, as she had said, everything had happened for the best, unlikely though he still thought that was.

“All right,” he said, his gaze on Wolf, who was also regarding him steadily. Slowly, he did as she had bidden, returning his sword to its scabbard. Yet did his hand linger on it. Raising his voice so that his men could hear, he added, “We will tarry here awhile.” He shifted his attention to Cymbra. “And see for ourselves this happiness of which you speak.”

She heard the doubt—and the challenge. Rather than acknowledge either, she smiled and, linking one arm through her brother's and the other through her husband's, led the two mighty warriors back to the hill fort.

Wolf's guard followed along with the Saxons. They made an odd procession—two war bands primed for battle following with seeming docility in the trail of a beautiful woman even as they exchanged glares with one another and fingered the hilts of their swords.

“And the people here are really wonderful, Hawk,” Cymbra was saying as they passed through the gates at the top of the hill. “Some come from as far away as Russka. Nadia and Mikal, who live in the town, just had a baby son. I helped deliver him. And we had a visit from a Moor who lives in Constantinople, can you imagine that? He brought the most incredible spices and fabrics. Oh, and you must meet Wolf's brother, Dragon. He knows the most fascinating stories, he can hold you spellbound for hours. And—”

Over her head, the two men exchanged glances.

“She didn't used to talk this much,” Hawk observed grudgingly. Had he not been so struck by the change in her, he would not have been driven to mention it.

Wolf raised an eyebrow. “Really? You mean she may quiet down eventually?”

Cymbra stopped in midstep and looked at them both. When she saw the smiles tugging at their hard mouths and the teasing gleam in their eyes, she laughed with relief so great as to be scarcely contained. Yet did she inform her husband chidingly, “Don't count on that happening anytime soon. Everything is still so new here and so interesting, I'm bound to comment on it.”

Wolf sighed but he didn't look displeased. On the contrary, he regarded her so lovingly that warmth flooded her cheeks. None of that escaped Hawk's notice. Yet did he remain unconvinced. He still wanted to hear much more about how that bruise had happened. It was all well and good for the Viking to kill the men who had sought to harm his wife, but what about keeping her safe in the first place? And why were her clothes wrinkled and water-
stained with bits of sand sticking to them? Did she have no proper servants to see to her?

So, too, he noted the shadows beneath her eyes, hinting at lack of adequate rest. At the thought of the demands the Viking, as her husband, was no doubt making on Cymbra, Hawk's anger surged anew with raw, primitive force, only to be counteracted by the glowing smile his sister was bestowing on that same Viking.

No, she was not a little girl anymore. Still, it remained to be seen if she was truly a happy wife or simply trying to convince him of that to avoid bloodshed. Not for a moment did he doubt that Cymbra would willingly sacrifice herself to save others. As her brother
and
her lord, the latter still very much in force while he considered whether to accept her marriage, it was up to Hawk to protect her even from herself. With such thought in his mind, he took due note of the high walls surrounding the hill fort, the watch-towers and the men stationed in them.

His keen interest did not elude Wolf, who said dryly, “Perhaps you would like a tour of the defenses?”

Cymbra held her breath, fearing her brother would take that as sarcasm. But instead he nodded assessingly “Perhaps I would. It was brought to my attention recently that my own defenses were lacking.”

Wolf nodded with some sympathy. “I made a study of fortifications some years back. It convinced me that the highest walls are only as good as the men standing on them.”

“Something I thought I knew,” Hawk said. His face was grim as he added, “Unfortunately, the man I trusted to lead those men turned out to be an incompetent clod-head.”

The look in his eyes as he said that was so chilling that Cymbra could hardly bring herself to speak. Yet did she have to know. “What happened to Sir Derward? Did you hold him responsible? I mean … did you …”

“He hanged himself,” her brother said curtly. At her look of shock, he added, “It was the more merciful end for him.”

“More merciful? But suicide … he doomed his soul—”

“There's no reason to dwell on this,” Wolf said quickly. He cast a warning glance at his brother-in-law. “Obviously, Rooster Brain's … uh, Sir Derward's life was forfeit. The details don't matter.”

“Rooster Brain?” Hawk repeated. He shook his head wryly. “That's a perfect description.”

How nice that they were in such accord, Cymbra thought tartly, but she had other concerns. “What about the other men? Wolf said he left them tied up. You didn't … ?”

“They're fine,” Hawk assured her. “There was only one man guilty of failing in his duty and he paid for it.” He turned his attention to his host. “And since we're on the subject, I'd like to know why all this happened. Why you came to Holyhood, why you saw fit to remove my sister from there, why you brought her here. I want answers to all that and more.”

“And you shall have them,” Cymbra said before Wolf could respond. “But in due time. First, you must be shown to your quarters and your men also made comfortable. I'm sure you'd like to bathe, and while you're doing that, I must see to a proper welcoming feast. We've just had quite a few guests but they've departed.” The relative calm of the hill fort compared to recent days had not escaped her notice. “How nice that we can just be together as family.”

The two men looked at her with twin gazes of such incredulity that she was tempted to burst out laughing. Only the extreme seriousness of the situation—with life and death hanging in the balance—stopped her.

“Family,” she repeated firmly just in case either of
them had not gotten her point. “And speaking of that, here's Dragon.”

She smiled warmly at him. “My brother has arrived. Isn't that wonderful?”

“Wonderful,” Dragon repeated dutifully, his keen eyes surveying Hawk. Abruptly, he shifted his gaze to his brother. “Is it wonderful?”

“So far,” Wolf said carefully. The three huge, fierce warriors stood in a semicircle around Cymbra, seeming to dwarf her. She wondered for just a moment if they could possibly be aware how similar they were not merely in size but in stance—hands resting on the hilts of their swords, feet planted firmly apart, gazes alert—and in manner as well. Each was a warrior and a leader to the very marrow of his bones, accustomed to danger and death. Yet was each also a protector, caring and compassionate to those who were weaker or in need. She was convinced that given the right circumstances, they could be the best of friends. Resolve like finely honed steel swept through her. They damn well would be before she was through.

Deciding this was not the moment to mention that, she laid her hand lightly on Hawk's arm. “If you will come with me, I will show you to your quarters.”

He was about to agree, eager to get her alone so that he might question her without hindrance, when Wolf stepped between them. He did it so smoothly that Cymbra didn't even see her hand removed from her brother's arm and placed instead in her husband's.

“That won't be necessary,” Wolf said. “You have the feast to see to. Dragon will show Hawk and his men to their quarters.”

Smiling, or at least showing his teeth, Dragon moved smoothly between his startled sister-in-law and her brother at the same moment as Wolf drew her back, separating her further from Hawk, who scowled and looked about to protest.

Before he could do so, Cymbra said, “Yes, of course, you're absolutely right. I'll see you shortly, brother.”

Without giving him a chance to object, she turned away quickly and hurried to the kitchens. Her heart was beating very fast and she murmured a prayer that Hawk and Dragon would not come to blows. Or Hawk and Wolf. Or any of the Norse and Saxon. That all those superbly conditioned warriors would refrain from using their savage skills to brutalize one another at least until she could get a good meal into them.
And
a sufficient quantity of ale to improve their spirits or, preferably, knock them out altogether.

“My lady,” Brita said anxiously when she caught sight of her mistress. “My lady, we heard—”

“Yes, yes, my brother is here. It's wonderful, I'm thrilled. Now quickly, there's a great deal to be done.”