Dream of Me/Believe in Me

by Josie Litton

  Nor was this respite to last long, for scarcely were the halls finished than it was time to begin bringing in supplies for the feasting. Soon the hunt would ride out, staying in the field day and night while relays of servants brought the kills back to the dozens of women and children mustered to deal with them. Stag, deer, and boar would fall before flashing spear and speeding arrow while the young boys set their traps for smaller game.

  So, too, were the longboats putting out to sea, their great seine nets at the ready to bring forth cod and herring in abundance. The smoke fires would burn without cease. Great blocks of ice hauled from the river the preceding winter and kept packed underground would keep other foods well chilled. Some would be salted, some pickled. Several hundred Vikings would find no complaint for their stomachs' sake while the Lord of Sciringesheal hosted them.

  The lord … Wolf's thoughts strayed back to his brother's question. Lying naked in the sun, letting the warm summer air dry him, he said, “At the last possible moment, when else?”

  Dragon stared at him for a moment, then threw back his head and laughed. “Marriage has taught you prudence, brother.”

  Wolf grinned ruefully. “It's trying to, at least. But I've been thinking, she may not really mind. In fact, she might be relieved.”

  Dragon's look was bluntly skeptical. “How so?”

  “You know what it will be like—hundreds of men staying up all night, feasting and drinking, singing, telling war stories, making free with the whores. Most of them will get falling-down drunk, there will be at least a few knife fights. Cymbra wouldn't enjoy any of that.”

  “Don't know why not. Sounds like a fine time to me.” Dragon grinned again at his brother's look of reprimand. “But you're right, that sort of thing isn't for a lady. Unless, of course, the lady in question thinks she's worked her fingers to the bone to bring it all about and doesn't appreciate being told she can't come.”

  “Well, she can't,” Wolf said sullenly, “whether she appreciates it or not. Odin's breath, brother, you know how men react to her! I've called the jarls here to talk, not make slobbering fools out of themselves.”

  “I did wonder if you'd thought of that when you came up with this idea. For all that I don't mind provoking my sweet sister-in-law a bit, she really does need protecting, if only from herself.” He shook his head in wonder. “She still doesn't seem to have any idea of the effect she has.”

  Wolf sighed. As day had passed day and he saw how very hard and well his wife was working to make the feast a success, his feeling of guilt had grown. Yet he did not waver from his decision, recognizing it as the only one he could make.

  “I think what she wants most is what she can never have,” he said quietly.

  “What's that?”

  “A normal life. Just to be an ordinary woman doing ordinary things. In her heart, I believe she's always yearned for that.”

  Dragon leaned back against the mossy bank. “The gods are capricious. They withhold their gifts at will, yet do they sometimes lavish them so greatly as to be burden rather than boon.”

  They pondered that in silence for some little time but soon enough the respite ended. Both men rose, dressed, and armed themselves. As Dragon went to see to the horses, Wolf sought his wife to say a brief farewell.

  He found her in their lodge, bent over as she tried to pull a chest out from under the bed where it had been stored. Wolf stopped just inside the entrance and stared. His wife was so intent in her efforts that she hadn't heard him come in. He had a very pleasant view of her firm little bottom wiggling back and forth as she tried to get a better hold on the chest.

  “Need some help?” he asked pleasantly.

  Cymbra jumped at the sound of his voice and looked over her shoulder, but didn't let go of the chest. “No, I've almost got it. All I have to do is—” She gave it one more good hard tug and … Too hard. The handle slipped out of her hand and she was flung backward by the force of her own efforts, landing hard on what he had so lately admired.

  Before she could try to rise, Wolf was lifting her, setting her gently on her feet, and looking at her with concern until he saw that she was more irritated than hurt. Then he laughed and drew her to him. His big hand lightly rubbed the offended portion of her anatomy through her gown.

  “You should take more care,” he said. An imp of mischief prompted him to add, “I prefer that my property not be damaged.”

  “I didn't damage the chest. It just slipped out—” Abruptly, she realized what he meant and her eyes flared. “Property, Wolf? Are you sure you want to claim that when I'm not even wearing your—what did Dragon call it—your mark?”

  He laughed and held her against him despite her attempt to resist. “Do you wear nothing at all, I claim you. Indeed, especially then.”

  This deliberate provocation earned him a glare but he was well pleased by it. Dragon wasn't the only one who found his wife teasable. Wolf did, too, and he was in a much better position to take advantage of it.

  Her cheeks were flushed and she was glaring at him so fiercely that it was all he could do not to laugh again.

  Instead, he tipped her back against his encircling arm and took her mouth. For just a moment, she resisted but quickly enough her lips parted to admit the thrust of his tongue. He went slower then, stroking and savoring her until she gave a little moan of frustration and began tugging him toward the bed.

  They had lain there entwined, in the soft hours of the morning, making the most of what little time they had before the preparations for the feast drew them apart once more. Now Wolf had thought to say his farewells quickly but that plan was gone from his mind as though it had never been. Yet he realized full well that the hunt was already assembling—men, horses, and dogs waiting—with every available hour needed for their task.

  But he had other, more personal needs, and if his wife's urgent efforts to get them both to the bed were any indication, so did she. Abruptly, he made up his mind. He bunched her skirts in his hand and pulled them above her hips. She gave a little gasp as he touched her intimately but that was drowned out by his groan of pleasure at finding her already sweetly pliant.

  Moving quickly, mindful of each fleeting moment, he maneuvered her to the bed, turning her and gently but firmly urging her down on her knees on the mattress. She stiffened a little in surprise but he soothed her with a touch.

  “Easy,” he murmured huskily. “You'll enjoy this, I promise.” Pulling her gown out of the way, he bared her lovely bottom. Moving behind her, he freed himself quickly.

  “Spread your legs a little more, love.”

  When she complied, he bent his long, powerful body over the graceful curve of her back and moved carefully between her thighs, rubbing her lightly, letting her adjust to him. Her hips swayed, pressing back against him. He slipped one hand around to her front, stroking and kneading her, and heard her cry out softly. Only then, with the hot drumbeat of passion surging through his veins, did he thrust into her hot, slick sheath. She gave a little sob of pure relief and tightened around him. He reared back, seizing her hips between his hands, and held her fast as he plunged into her again and again. As he felt her begin to quiver around him, he leaned forward again, laying his mouth against the softly vulnerable spot between her neck and shoulder. Without warning, he let her feel his teeth.

  She climaxed with a scream, her pleasure going on and on, drawing him with it as the seed of life poured from his loins. His heart hammered against his ribs, his lungs labored like bellows. So intense was his release that he collapsed over her, carrying them both down onto the bed.

  Long moments later, the Norse Wolf revived enough to remember that his men were waiting. With a groan, he adjusted his clothing and levered himself off the bed. Cymbra lay on her side, her flanks gleaming softly white in the light filtering through the shutters, a smile curving her luscious mouth. She was deeply asleep.

  Reminding himself that he was the strong, indomitable male, the Scourge of the Saxons stumbled back out into the
day. Breathing deeply, he took a few moments to steady himself before joining the several dozen men mounted and waiting by the gates.

  Dragon was holding his horse for him. As Wolf swung up into the saddle, his brother grinned. “That was certainly quick.” The words had just penetrated his dazed state and Wolf was just turning his head to react to them when Dragon added, “Very wise to make no long farewells, brother.” He smiled innocently. “Always best to leave them wanting more.”

  The Wolf laughed as he lifted his head to a sky so blue as to be an ache behind the eyes. Pleasure still resonated within him but he felt something far beyond that, a vast, all-encompassing delight in the world itself simply because it included one remarkable woman.

  He grasped the reins in his powerful hands and dug his heels into his mount's sides. Over his shoulder, he said, “I promise you, my wife wants for nothing.”

  Dragon's laugh followed him out through the gates and down the hill. Wolf gave the horse his head and the powerful animal quickly leaped to the gallop, long legs stretched out, hooves throwing up clods of earth. The wind streamed by, the ground flying beneath them. Horse and man raced on, one with a world that was open, wild, and free.

  Chapter EIGHTEEN

  CYMBRA MADE A FINAL COUNT OF THE BARRELS laid up in racks in the storage shed, added it to the other tallies she had taken, and nodded. “I think we are finished.”

  Beside her, Brita's shoulders sagged with relief. The half-dozen women with them exchanged weary smiles that bespoke the same emotion.

  It was near midnight on the last day before the guests were due to begin arriving. Rarely had any of the women been up at such an hour, for the deep of night was a time when spirits roamed and sensible people kept to their beds. The darkness made them uneasy yet they had done their best to ignore it. Cymbra was grateful for that and much else.

  She and many others had labored long and hard at a mammoth task that should more rightly have taken a month rather than a mere week. Yet it was done. Everything was in readiness.

  “Go to your beds,” she said after hugging each woman and offering her thanks. They stood just outside the storage shed, cooled by the freshening breeze from the sea. The sky appeared as a helmet of stars. A few stray wisps of gray smoke rose from the banked fires always left burning in the kitchens and the great hall. Slumbering birds rustled in the thatched roofs while an owl hooted nearby.

  “Rest well, for truly no one has earned it more. I wish I could tell you all to just sleep for the next few days but alas, there will be yet more to do before we may have fair respite.”

  “Do not concern yourself with that, my lady,” one of the women said. “All that remains now is to prepare the food, serve it, keep the drink flowing, and clean up. Beside what we've already done, that seems easy enough.”

  The other women nodded their agreement. They went off to get what sleep they could, comforted to know that at least now the end was within sight.

  Brita walked with Cymbra partway across the hill top before taking her own leave. She slept in the women's hall, set apart for the unmarried women and strictly off-limits to the men. So it would remain in the coming days as well. The women, including Brita, had let her know how much they appreciated that. In the past, misunderstandings had been known to occur especially when the mead and ale flowed freely.

  Alone, Cymbra paused for a moment and looked up at the star-draped sky. The night was a little cooler than it had been, the first faint reminder that summer would end soon. She wrapped her cloak more closely around herself as she picked out the familiar shapes above. Her eyes were drawn to the Great Bear, standing astride the heavens.

  She caught herself wondering if perchance Wolf was also looking at the stars and smiled at the thought. It amazed her that even with miles separating them, she was able to feel his presence so clearly. It was almost as though if she only closed her eyes and reached out with her heart, he would be there.

  She hoped he was resting, for judging by the sheer quantity of game that had flowed back into the hill fort, rest was much due. They had enough meat not only for the feasting but for the winter as well. Although what she was going to do with that bear, she didn't know. At the very least, it would need heavy seasoning. She preferred thinking about that rather than of her husband challenging such a deadly creature.

  With a little sigh, she glanced toward the berm, seeing there the dark, looming shapes of the men posted at guard. Unlike at Holyhood, they were all awake and alert, hard men keen of eye and swift of sword. Several had turned away from their scrutiny of the approaches to the hill fort and were watching her. She had no doubt they were following the Wolf's orders and would continue to do so until she was tucked up safely for what remained of the night.

  With a last look at the stars, she went into the lodge. As always when she was alone, the bed looked very large and uninviting. She undressed quickly, folded her clothes and put them away, and on impulse took one of Wolf's tunics from the chest. She dropped it over her head, then giggled, for it came almost to her ankles and all but slipped right off her altogether.

  Clasping it around her, she got into the bed and pulled the furs up over herself. Slowly, she touched the finely woven cloth, brushing it lightly with her fingers, imagining beneath it not her own body but the hard, powerful body of her husband. She felt his strength reach out to her, wrapping her gently. She snuggled farther down and let dreams of him carry her away.

  SCANT HOURS LATER, ALMOST BEFORE THE FIRST hint of dawn, Cymbra was back at work. The baking had begun. There was endless dough to mix, knead, set to rise, knead again, and so on throughout what promised to be a very long day. Some of the dough was sprinkled with precious caraway and fennel seeds, and some had spices and herbs mixed right into it.

  Cymbra made one of her own favorites that had become one of Wolf's, small round loaves of flour flavored with sweet, tangy cardamom. The scent of them lingered pleasantly on the air. She had just finished when a sudden shout drew her to the door of the kitchens. Several of the guards on the berm were gesturing out toward the sea.

  Cymbra climbed up on the palisade wall, shaded her eyes, and looked in the direction they indicated. She could just make out a proud longship entering the harbor. From the emblem on its sail and the comments of the guards, she gathered the first of their guests would arrive within the hour.

  Before she could even begin to worry about receiving any of the Viking lords in Wolf's absence, another shout from the guards drew her notice to the horsemen rapidly approaching the fort. The wolf's-head emblem was clearly visible on the banner carried in front. Greatly relieved, Cymbra gave hurried orders for water to be heated so her husband could bathe, then she herself saw to the laying out of his clothes.

  As she was doing so, he strode into the lodge, a big, forceful presence seeming to bring with him the wild scents of forest and plain. She flew into his arms, embracing him with such strength that he laughed.

  “Easy, sweetheart, I'm not fit company until I've bathed.”

  She laughed, ignoring the various, inevitable stains on his tunic that spoke of the fury of the hunt. When the women had brought buckets of heated water and left, carefully concealing their smiles, she helped him off with his clothing.

  But when she took soap in hand to wash him, he shook his head. Very seriously, he said, “I've been without you for four days, Cymbra. Touch me now and Dragon will be left to explain to our guests why I'm not there to greet them.”

  With a smile that swept over her from head to toe, he added, “I wouldn't mind that but they would and I'd rather not have to undo the trouble it would cause.”

  Resigned to his good sense, yet flattered by his unconcealed desire, she took his hand and placed the soap in it. “All right, but promise me you will not be such a good host as to remain at table with them too long. Let them eat and drink and wench themselves into oblivion, but come to me this night.”

  His quick but ardent kiss assured her of his intent. She left him then and did
not expect to see him again until the feasting, but he surprised her. On his way to greet their guests, he stopped in the great hall where she was supervising the placement of drinking cups and the ornate eating knives Wolf had ordered as a gift for each visiting lord.

  The women who surrounded her, receiving their final instructions, saw him and flitted away like clouds before a strong wind. Cymbra smiled, gazing at him with frank enjoyment. His thick, ebony hair was still slightly damp and drawn back from his brow with a golden band. So, too, his tunic of crimson wool was intricately embroidered with golden symbols of enduring strength. The same symbols were embossed on the golden bands fastened at his wrists. He wore the wolf's-head torque that was a larger version of the one he had given her, the bloodred eyes glinting in the afternoon light.

  Frustration pinched at her when she considered how many hours remained until they could steal time alone.

  With a sigh for what must be borne, she went to him and laid her hand lightly on his broad chest.

  “The garment suits you, my lord.”

  He inclined his head at the compliment but his eyes were strangely guarded. With a hand on her elbow, he drew her off to one side of the hall. Quietly, he said, “I thank you for all you have done. No one else could have managed it so well.”

  She stared at him for a moment, puzzled by the tension she felt in him, then let that go and smiled. “But you don't know what I've managed. You haven't been home long enough to find out.”

  “I need not see for myself. I trust you.”

  Cymbra's breath caught. She gazed up into his silvery eyes and felt a spreading warmth of happiness that seemed to blossom from deep within. She would have been delighted to tell him how he made her feel—or better, to show him—but they were being pulled in different directions. He had to meet their guests and she had to change before meeting them herself.