Dream of Me/Believe in Me Read Free

previously unencountered force of nature, he said slowly, “I give you my word.”
    Sir Derward and several other knights protested, but she was not to be denied. They were effectively helpless against her, Wolf noted, for clearly none was willing to touch her. That was good. Perhaps he wouldn't have to kill all of them. It was preferable to leave men alive who could speak of how they had been undone.
    Yet neither would any oblige her by opening the cell doors. Without hesitation, she did it herself. It was a struggle and he winced to see the effort demanded of those slender hands, but she persevered until at last one of the iron bars rose and she was able to open half of the double door.
    “These need to be oiled,” she said over her shoulder at Sir Derward. “So do the hinges on the palisade gate.” So mundane a subject, matter-of-factly mentioned, stripped the moment of whatever menace it should have possessed. He wondered if she made a habit of disconcerting men in that manner and suspected that he already knew the answer.
    All his men were on their feet, watching her relentlessly. He swept them a quick, warning glance that none misinterpreted.
    Mine.
    They knew it and kept a careful distance from her, but they couldn't contain the urge to stare. Nor could he blame them.
    Cymbra looked quickly at the other men and as swiftly looked away. She concentrated on the leader. He was more than enough to manage. Except for her brother, she had never seen as tall a man or one so powerfully built.
    Interestingly, captivity didn't seem to trouble him. She could scarcely imagine how Hawk would be in such circumstances; probably taking the cell apart with his bare hands. But not this man. He appeared the very soul of calm and reason.
    “Are any of your men wounded?” She was standing close enough for him to smell the faint honeysuckle scent of her skin and feel her warmth. For an instant, his senses reeled. He had to remind himself that she was only a woman, and an enemy at that.
    “No.”
    “Good.” She turned and gestured to an older woman who remained outside the cell. The woman's dried-apple face was creased with fear. Her eyes never left her mistress as she handed over the pile of blankets she held.
    Cymbra said a soft word to her and turned back to the cell. She began to give him one of the blankets, realized his hands were still tied, and frowned. “You cannot remain like that.”
    He waited, not moving, curious to see what she would do. After a moment, she put down the blankets, removed a small knife from a sheath at her waist, and approached him. “Please,” she said, gesturing to the ropes that bound his wrists.
    He held out his hands to her. She looked at them,then up at him very quickly before returning her gaze to the ropes. The knife was only middling sharp, or perhaps he had to make allowance for her lack of strength. She had to saw for several minutes before the ropes finally parted.
    They stood almost touching, his hands free, her knife easily within his reach. She looked up again, their gazes locking and he saw, quite clearly, that she knew her own vulnerability. Understood it full well, yet was trusting him to keep his promise not to harm her.
    “Thank you,” he said quietly. Rubbing his wrists, he took a step back.
    She nodded and, with her eyes averted, handed him a blanket. But she didn't stop there. Instead of leaving the rest for him to distribute, she handed one to each of his men after first cutting through his bonds. She did so silently, and he saw that she did not look directly at any of them, but her simple act of aiding—and thereby acknowledging—each man was one more surprise.
    That done, she turned back to the old woman, who had used the time to fetch a basket and ewer. These too she handed through the open cell door under the watchful gaze of the guards. Cymbra set them down near Wolf, then straightened. Her hands were folded in front of her. He wondered if she did that to keep them