by Josie Litton
“Very nice men,” Nadia had pronounced them when Cymbra came to visit her and the baby. “Mikal says everything will be all right. He says not to worry.”
Cymbra wished she could feel the same way but she knew Hawk too well. He had not risen to be one of the mightiest lords in England, sworn directly to the great King Alfred himself, by leaving anything to chance.
Several times now he had tried to get her alone but always Wolf or Dragon intervened. When her brother was about, she was watched constantly. Even when she asked Hawk simple, innocent questions about people at Holyhood—Miriam, for instance, who thankfully was well—she could feel her husband listening to every word they exchanged.
She resented that, knowing it to be completely unnecessary, yet she was hardly about to challenge her husband's will just when she was trying to convince everyone of how very happy she was. Worse yet, Wolf seemed to realize her quandary and didn't hesitate to take advantage ofit.
Only the preceding evening, as they all sat at table, he had announced that more Norse should consider acquiring Saxon brides because Saxon women were so amenable, so agreeable, so—and here she had almost choked—biddable. He'd all but congratulated Hawk on raising a sister who knew her proper place. Worse yet, she'd been forced to smile through it all rather than upturn a vat of ale over his head as she more properly should have done.
And Hawk had just sat there nodding at this apparent bit of male wisdom. Cymbra snorted scornfully. If for one moment they would try thinking with what was between their ears rather than between their legs, perhaps they would—
But no, that wasn't fair. The problem was that Wolf and Hawk—and Dragon too—all thought far too keenly and deliberately. Soon now, very soon, they would come to conclusions about each other. She could only pray that the outcome would be as she wished.
Pray and seek to do everything she could to bring about the alliance they all claimed to want.
That evening, as they supped, Cymbra waited for the lull in the conversation that came inevitably when the men were feeling well fed and content. It was always about then that Wolf summoned the skald to weave his tales. Before he could do so, Cymbra asked innocently, “Do you think you might be done with hunting for a while?” She glanced around at the men, as though the thought had just occurred to her.
Wolf leaned back in his chair, surveyed her tolerantly, and voiced their mutual puzzlement. “Is there any reason why we should be?”
“Only that we have enough food to feed everyone here and in the town many times over throughout the winter and beyond. I just thought you might like to do something different.”
“Such as?” Hawk asked.
Such as decide to stop continually testing and provoking each other, but it wouldn't do to say that. Instead, she suggested brightly, “I thought we might go sailing.”
“Sailing?” Dragon repeated as though he had never heard the word.
“Sailing,” she said firmly. “Hawk loves boats and so do all of you. I thought it would be nice to see more of the coast. Coming here, I was struck by how beautiful it is and I thought—”
“A race,” Wolf said as though he had finally understood what she meant.
Hawk nodded. “My vessel against yours. Excellent.”
“No!” Cymbra protested. “That isn't what I intended. Haven't you tested each other enough by now? Wouldn't it be possible to just relax a little and enjoy yourselves?”
Husband and brother both looked at her as though she'd spoken in some foreign tongue neither understood.
Dragon laughed. “Give it up, sweet sister. Testing each other is how we relax and enjoy ourselves. But a race is a splendid idea.” He grinned at Hawk. “How much of a head start do you think you should have?”
“Head start? Why would I want that?”
“Well, you don't know these waters, and after all, you're only Saxon and it wouldn't really be fair to—”
That did it. The challenges—and the wagers—flew fast and furious. Cymbra resisted the temptation to throw up her hands but only barely. At length, when they finally noticed that she was still there, Wolf strove to make amends.
“Elskling, ” he said, “why don't I have one of the servants fetch your lute? You can play for us.”
“By all means,” Hawk agreed. “I haven't heard you play in months and I've missed it.”
Pleased, if surprised, that they would choose so tranquil a pastime over the fierce tales of the skald, Cymbra was happy to comply. But after she had played the first few tunes, she noticed Hawk frowning.
“That isn't your lute,” he said, “What happened to the one taken from Holyhood?”
She welcomed this opportunity to tell him of her husband's thoughtfulness. “It was damaged. Wolf very kindly got me this one to replace it.”
Hawk sat back in his chair, smiling at her pleasantly. With no warning whatsoever, he asked, “Was that before or after he kindly dragged you away from the man who was whipped?”
“How did you—?” Hurriedly, she looked to Wolf. “Did you tell him that?”
Her husband was silent for a moment, regarding Hawk steadily. At length, he said, “No, I didn't. Where did you hear about it?”
Hawk shrugged. “You know how it is, people talk.”
“Especially to visitors with coin to spend and a willingness to listen?”
“Perhaps. At any rate, Cymbra hasn't answered me. Was it before or after?”
“Before,” she said, not waiting for Wolf to reply for her as she was certain he would. “And I think perhaps you misunderstood what happened with that man. He was a thief. His crime was great for he tried to rob two families of their livelihoods. It's true that I wasn't allowed to care for him after he was punished, but Ulfrich did.”
“Then you suffered no distress from what happened?”
She hesitated, both unwilling and unable to lie. “You know I was … sheltered from such things and you know why. But my husband's rule is just. It is his responsibility to maintain order for the protection of his … that is, our people.”
“Absolutely,” Hawk agreed. “I'm very relieved to know you can … accept such things, especially as they seem to be very common around here. But tell me, how did you feel about witnessing the executions of those men who raided the settlement?”
Cymbra pressed her lips together tightly and shot another quick look at Wolf. He was lounging in his chair, long legs stretched out in front of him, a horn of ale held lightly in one powerful hand. With a sardonic lift of his brow, he said to Hawk, “You have been busy. Or should I say, your men have.”
Hawk also appeared completely at his ease. He even went so far as to chuckle. “Just taking an interest. Nothing wrong with that, is there?”
“Of course not. Did your interest extend to finding out how those men died?”
“As a matter of fact, it did. Personally, I would have gone for something a little more likely to stick in people's minds.”
Wolf nodded pleasantly. “Now there we can agree. I actually had intended … I suppose you could call it an object lesson. But I decided against it at the very last.”
“Really? Why?”
“Cymbra was insisting on being present, something about feeling it was her duty as wife of the jarl. I didn't want her upset so we just lopped their heads off, made a quick job of it.”
“Very kind of you. I take it then that those men you fought together—and by the way, I'm sure that was very impressive—became the object lesson?”
“You could say that.”
“And you insisted Cymbra witness it. She was actually forced to do so by your brother”—he glanced in Dragon's direction—“acting on your orders.”
“No!” Cymbra exclaimed. “That isn't what happened. In fact, Dragon made sure I didn't see the … the worst parts.” Dismayed by what Hawk had learned, and how he interpreted it, she blurted, “I don't think it's a good idea to have your men listening to gossip.”
“Oh, really? What do you think they should b
e doing?”
She stared at him, momentarily at a loss, then seized on the first thing that came into her head. “Sailing. That's why I suggested it. They should be sailing.”
He gave her a most peculiar look, combining tenderness, perplexity, and suspicion. She ignored it and picked up her lute. They'd wanted music; they'd damn well have it.
And they would go off the next morning, after telling her she couldn't come along because the sailing would be so fast and rough that she wouldn't enjoy it. She managed to smile through that and continue smiling when they returned hours later, tunics stiff with salt spray, faces wind scoured, seeming in high good humor.
“A tie,” Wolf said with some amazement. “We raced four courses, I won twice, Hawk the same.” He clapped his brother-in-law on the back, a blow that would have leveled a lesser man but which Hawk appeared not even to notice. “Not bad at all. How about we give it another go tomorrow?”
So they did, and the next day and the next. Grateful though Cymbra was that the parade of bloody carcasses had stopped, she chafed at having to remain in the hill fort, seeing to her womanly tasks, while the men amused themselves.
Almost a fortnight after Hawk's arrival, she sat ignoring the sewing in her lap and struggled to come to terms with the fact that she felt neglected. It was absurd, really, and even admitting the truth to herself was embarrassing.
She was surrounded by people who cared about her, most particularly a husband and a brother who were both determined that she should be happy. She had a household to run as well as her work as a healer. Her days were full and her nights …
Although she was alone, color suffused her cheeks. Regardless of his exertions during the day or what hour he finally retired, her husband never failed to make passionate love to her, often rousing her in the early hours of the morning to do the same again. She existed in a cocoon of sensual satisfaction, gentle care, and safety.
And she chafed. Really, she must be the most contrary woman ever born.
Wistfully, she looked out beyond the shore. Sunlight sparkled on the water. Seals played in the waves near the islets that guarded the approach to the port. Farther out, where sea and sky blurred together, she could make out the sails of proud longships speeding so swiftly that they seemed to fly.
Even as she watched, they turned landward. She set aside her husband's tunic, still to be mended, and went to greet the returning men.
SO SOON, CYMBRA MURMURED. THE MOMENT THE words were said she regretted them. She sounded like a petulant child, always wanting more instead of being glad of what she had.
“It's been almost a fortnight,” Hawk reminded her with a smile. “I do have to get back to Essex.” He touched her cheek gently. “You can understand that, can't you?”
“Yes, of course, I'm very glad that you've stayed this long. Certainly, you have responsibilities at home. I know that.”
Beside them, Wolf said, “Your brother is always welcome to return, elskling.”
“And you are both always welcome at Hawkforte. But now I must carry word of all this to King Alfred. He will be most interested to learn of it.”
Time seemed to speed up then, moving far too quickly as her final hours with her brother dwindled to nothing. Too soon, the farewell feast was done, the last embraces given and loving words said. Standing beside Wolf on the wharf, she watched the proud, hawk-emblazoned vessel vanish into the mists beyond the rocky islets. As it did so, a gull called long and hauntingly out over the water.
On the cusp of that eerie sound, Cymbra recalled her brother's words and belatedly realized why they had stuck so oddly in her mind. King Alfred would be interested. Wouldn't pleased have been a better way to describe the monarch's likely reaction to news of a Norse/Saxon alliance?
She puzzled over it for a moment, then shrugged and told herself she was fretting over trivials. Hawk's departure saddened her for she loved him dearly and would miss him. Yet it was also a relief, for now she could stop fearing the nightmare that had haunted her since the very beginning of her marriage. There would be no confrontation between her husband and her brother. Indeed, far from being enemies, they showed every sign of having become friends.
The wind picked up just then and she was glad to snuggle closer beside her husband. Wolf had an arm around her shoulders. He squeezed gently and smiled down at her. Together, they walked back up to the stronghold.
Cymbra woke the next morning to a strange sense of calm, almost like that which presages a violent storm. Yet the cloudless sky and sparkling sun hinted at nothing of the sort. Her first thought was that her brother was gone and she missed him. But she took such longing firmly in hand and turned her mind to her duties.
Now that all the feasting was over and the food well stored for the winter, there was time for the women to relax a little. But only a little, for the weaving had been neglected and must be resumed. So, too, Cymbra wanted to be sure she had gathered every possible flower, seed, grass, and bark that could be useful in the coming winter. Her garden was well begun and she looked forward to expanding it the following spring, but wild plants would always be necessary to add strength to the tamer variety.
She went in search of Wolf and found him just coming off the training field. Her sheer pleasure at the sight of him made her smile. Although she missed Hawk, she felt as though in some ways her marriage was only now beginning, free as it was from doubt and fear.
With love shining in her eyes, she went to her husband and laid a hand lightly on the bulging muscle of his upper arm. “I trust you have not overstrained yourself, my lord.”
He raised an eyebrow but already his smile came, drawn by her own. “Surely you've noticed, my lady, that I am only given to excess when I am with you?”
She blushed, which made him laugh and caused her to swat at him in playful reprimand. He reached out teasingly to grab her even as she danced away, laughing in her own turn. Around them, Dragon and the other men made a show of seeing nothing even as they observed the merriment of the jarl and his wife with tolerant grins of their own.
“You wanted something?” he asked when he had caught her and drawn her close against him. She inhaled the heady scent of leather, horses, and man, and momentarily forgot everything else. Only with effort did she recall her purpose.
“Oh, yes, I need more wild plants for the garden and to dry for the coming winter. Brita will go with me and Olaf, too, if you will kindly give your permission.”
She said the last lightheartedly, a teasing bow to his rule, but to her surprise he considered it seriously. She was astonished to see him hesitate. “Wolf—?”
He stared at her silently for a long moment during which she had the uncanny sensation that he sought to look into her very soul. Slowly, he took a breath and seemed to relax. He even mustered a faint smile as he said, “Of course, go but don't linger too long.” His expression changed again, becoming sensual. “I would we had some time together before supper.”
It was on the very tip of Cymbra's tongue to suggest they take that time right now. She well remembered her one trip to the sauna and would not be at all reluctant to repeat it. But Brita and Olaf were waiting, as were several traders who hovered nearby, hoping to speak with the jarl.
With a sigh, she promised to return promptly. Before she could move away, Wolf caught her hand, raised it to his lips, and pressed a light kiss into her palm. Again she was tempted to change her plans, but she only laughed and fled, aware of his warm gaze following her.
With Brita and the ever-watchful Olaf, she spent a pleasant morning in the hillsides and groves just beyond the town. Toward midday, they ventured down to the beach, where Cymbra found seaweed useful for clearing the chest and treating disorders of the skin. Olaf looked especially skeptical when she told him this but he already had some experience with her treatments, having the benefit of an ointment that eased the aching of his joints, and wouldn't entirely dismiss anything she said.
“If there is worth to be found in that,” he said, lookin
g down at the pile of seaweed she had collected, “you'll be the one to do it, my lady.”
She thanked him prettily for the compliment and a short while later they made their way back to the fort. With the sea lanes soon to be closed by winter, Sciringesheal was thronged with traders, many of whom were passing back and forth through the gates in the berm. It seemed to Cymbra that the guards on the watchtowers were more numerous than before but she wasn't really sure of that and thought little of it in any case.
The day lengthened and soon enough she was busy with preparations for the evening meal. Having seen the women well started at that task, she left the kitchens and was walking toward the lodge, intending to bathe and change before seeking her husband, when a ripple on the edge of her awareness drew her up short.
A man was coming toward her. A very tall man wearing a long, brown cloak that enveloped his head and face. She had a moment to be surprised that any man would approach her so directly when he walked straight past her without slowing. Under his breath, yet with each word distinct, he said, “Come with me, Cymbra.”
Hawk.
Disbelief roared through her. She had seen him leave, he could not possibly be here. Yet he was and like this, concealed, come by subterfuge to seek her out and—
The realization of what her brother had done chilled her to the very marrow of her bones. Not for a moment did she mistake the meaning of his presence. For all her effort and all his seeming acceptance, he did not believe that she was happily wed. He thought the opposite and he had come to correct it.
Come right into the heavily guarded hill fort, right past the guards, into the very heart of the Wolf's lair to take from it that which the Wolf claimed as his own.
He would die. She knew it as surely as she breathed. Her brother would die and she would be the cause.
On legs that scarcely felt able to carry her, fearful that at any moment someone would realize what was happening and raise an outcry, she followed the cloaked man around a corner of the stables and out of sight.