Dream of Me/Believe in Me

by Josie Litton

  His sister sputtered in anger but the icy coldness of his gaze and the hard set of his features reminded her belatedly of the steely will he never hesitated to wield.

  She was still glaring at Hawk when he gestured to the short, stocky man. As he approached, Hawk surveyed him more closely. The fellow was troll-like, thick through the shoulders, slightly stooped, with bandy legs as though he lurked under bridges waiting to surprise the unwary traveler. His bright stare beneath furry brows suggested he wasn't averse to such mischief.

  “I be Thorgold, lord,” he said. “Servant to the Lady Krysta.”

  “Do I take it your arrival means the lady will grace us soon with her presence?”

  The biting edge to Hawk's words would have prompted most men to take a step back. Thorgold merely shrugged his broad shoulders and spread his gnarled hands.

  “She comes when she comes, lord.”

  And that, it seemed, was that. Short of airing his irritation to the odd little man, Hawk had scant choice but to let it pass. He turned the trio over to Daria and returned his attention to Edvard, but not without a final glance at the girl. She was trailing after the other two as they proceeded across the bailey. Startled to be discovered watching him over her shoulder, she stumbled, caught herself, and flashed a look of pure chagrin that for some reason amused him mightily.

  Several moments passed before he realized that Edvard's surprised expression came from the unaccustomed sound of his master chuckling.

  THAT SELFSAME SOUND WARMED KRYSTA ALL THE way through, sending little tingles down her back as she followed Thorgold and Raven, and the dour-faced woman, toward the servants' hall. She didn't dare another look over her shoulder but that was not for lack of temptation. Her common sense—in which she took great pride—managed to assert itself just barely enough to stop her.

  He was so big. Easily the biggest man she had ever seen save for the brief glimpse she'd had a few months before of the mighty jarl of Sciringesheal, Wolf Hakonson, when he came to speak with her half-brother. Then was she summoned for a rare visit to her family's manor, never imagining why until she was told weeks later that she was to be given in marriage to the Wolf's own brother-in-law, the feared Saxon lord called Hawk.

  He had the eyes of a bird of prey, she thought, yet when he laughed … A smile curved her full mouth set beneath a slightly upturned nose. When he laughed, Lord Hawk almost made her believe that her precautions were not even necessary. Being a woman of prudence, she set aside that notion, carefully to be sure, for it created a little bubble of happiness within her that she wished most fervently would grow.

  If it were to do so, it would have to be protected from the sharp-eyed gaze and equally sharp-tongued speech of the Lady Daria, who, she gathered, had the running of the household. Indeed, everything about the lady appeared barbed, like an irksome nettle best avoided.

  Daria led the way across the bailey toward a low, wooden building. Built of split logs notched and mortared together, and sheltered beneath a high-peaked thatch roof, the hall was plain in comparison to the vivid woodcarvings and paintings that ornamented Norse structures.

  Entering, Krysta needed a moment or two for her eyes to adjust from the glare of day. Although ample in size, the building seemed eerily silent for all the servants were about their chores. She heard the faint buzz of a bee, smelled the aroma of dry rushes on the dirt floor, and slowly looked around.

  At the center of the hall was a large hearth framed in stones and set beneath a smoke hole surrounded by soot-stained rafters. To either side of the hearth, running down both the long sides of the hall, were curtained alcoves for sleeping. It being day, the curtains hung open, revealing sparsely furnished sleeping quarters.

  “You two may lay your pallets in here,” Daria told the women, pointing to an empty alcove. “As for you—” She regarded Thorgold. “The men's hall is on the other side of the bailey. You may sleep there. I expect each of you to keep your quarters tidy at all times, appear for meals promptly, and do whatever tasks are assigned to you. Do you understand?”

  Black-garbed Raven opened her mouth to reply but Thorgold forestalled her. “Perfectly, lady. We will give you no trouble.”

  “See to it that you don't. Your mistress has already created quite enough of a bad impression by not arriving here in a timely fashion. Frankly, if my brother were inclined to listen to my counsel, he would not embark on so ill-conceived a venture as this marriage is sure to be. He will rue the day.”

  Having rendered her judgment on the matter, Daria departed. Not a moment too soon. Thorgold had to put a restraining hand on Raven.

  “Easy, she is of no account. Forget her.”

  “Fine for you to say,” Raven muttered. Her thin neck arched, her head bobbing angrily. She took a breath, swelling her chest, then let it out and shook herself with a soft rustle. “I would suggest pecking out her liver but it is likely filled with bile and unappetizing.”

  Krysta laughed. She put an arm around each of her friends and gave them a reassuring squeeze. It had not been easy for them to come here. She knew their willingness to do so was testament to the love and devotion each had given her from the very moment of her birth. She returned it in full measure.

  Much as she wanted to think only of her startling impressions of Lord Hawk, she knew duty came first. With a glance around the alcove, she wrinkled her nose. “I suggest we see what we can do to make ourselves comfortable.”

  Thorgold nodded, gave her a smile, and vanished out the door. Shortly he returned with the first load of their belongings. As he shuttled back and forth, Krysta and Raven hastened to clean and straighten the humble chamber. Or at least Krysta tried. When it came to preparing a pleasant, safe place to nest, Raven had no equal. She bustled about, seemingly everywhere at once, and in no time the alcove was transformed.

  Every trace of dust was swept away, simple wooden beds set up, and stools and a small table put in place. Bringing in the last load, Thorgold glanced about and nodded. “Best leave it at this. Much more and questions will be asked.”

  About to unpack a lush weaving of a forest glen in which small animals and various other creatures gamboled about, Krysta nodded regretfully. From what she had seen so far, Hawkforte's servants were housed snugly enough but allowed no luxuries.

  “We'll leave the rest for later,” she said, reluctantly setting the weaving aside.

  With the chamber made suitable, she had her first chance to think about what she had so far accomplished. She was actually inside Hawkforte, had even seen its master, and no one seemed any the wiser. The little bubble inside her grew a notch. What had seemed a somewhat risky scheme requiring great caution was working out even better than she could have hoped.

  Observing her smile, Raven and Thorgold exchanged looks. It fell to the old woman to speak. “It isn't too late.”

  “Whatever do you mean?”

  “You could say you were too eager to wait for an escort but feared discovery on the roads if you traveled as yourself.” Her thin shoulders rose and fell. “Who knows, he might even believe you.”

  “Only if you tell him now,” Thorgold said. “Wait much longer and the man will know himself played for a fool. They don't like that.” He smiled as though at amusing memories. “No, indeed, they don't.”

  Krysta jumped up from the bed where she had been sitting and stared at her friends in amazement. “I have absolutely no intention of telling him. That would put everything wrong. However will I learn what I must if I fail to persevere now?”

  “What is there to learn?” Raven countered. “All men are alike … prideful, stubborn, ignorant …”

  “Presumptuous, unseeing, clumsy …” Thorgold continued.

  “They must have some redeeming qualities,” Krysta protested. “When he looked at me, I felt—” She broke off, trying to recapture exactly what it was she had felt when those startlingly blue eyes met hers. She had sensed great strength, intelligence, and something more … something powerful and entrancing,
drawing her into it…. Passion?

  Was the master of Hawkforte a man of passion?

  She shied away from the thought even as it tantalized her. As her husband, he would have the right to possess her as no one ever had. She knew the basics of what his ownership would mean but sensed there was a great deal more simmering just below the surface in the shadowed, roiling world of the unseen from which both terror and beauty could emerge so suddenly.

  Passion aside, he'd had the wit to help forge an alliance that meant peace for his people and her own. That spoke of intelligence and self-discipline. She valued both, yet it was the lingering thought of a husband's rights and her own wifely duty that brought a flush to her delicate cheeks and caused her loyal servants to exchange knowing looks.

  “Mortals,” Thorgold murmured just before he ambled off to find his sleeping place. He would toss some belongings in the men's hall to make it look as though he were there, but the small bridge he'd noticed just before entering Hawkforte appealed to him far more.

  “You should rest,” Krysta suggested to her black-garbed friend when they were alone. The journey first by sea and then by horse had tired them all but Raven was the oldest of the trio by far, so old indeed that Krysta had no idea of her true age. Now that their destination was reached, it seemed only sensible that she take her ease.

  But Raven would have none of it. “Perched on a horse is a poor way indeed to see a land. I would know more of this Lord Hawk's wealth and what sway he holds over this place.”

  With that, she was gone. Krysta had no chance to remind her to be cautious before there was a faint, fast-fading flutter of wings beyond the hall.

  A short while later, having smoothed her gown and hair as best she could, Krysta also emerged, albeit in a somewhat more conventional manner. She stood for a few minutes, enjoying the touch of the sun on her skin, before surveying the busy scene.

  The manor of Hawkforte was hard by the sea on the southeastern coast of Britain in the place she knew was called Essex. It dominated a point of land that controlled sheltered bays on either side. Watchtowers were set at intervals all along the high timber walls, giving a commanding view of movements by land or sea. Higher still was the central tower that rose above the bailey yard, standing fully four stories tall. Accustomed as she was to the strongholds of the Norse, Krysta still could not help but be impressed.

  It being day, the wide wooden gates in the outer walls stood open. A steady stream of people, horses, and wagons moved through them. Krysta peered at the Saxons with unfettered interest, observing that contrary to the foolish rumors she had heard, they lacked both horns and cloven feet. A small smile tugged at her mouth as she saw her own good sense confirmed. They were people like anyone else. Soon they would be her people even as their master would be … well, no, not her master but her husband certainly, and she was determined that he would never have cause to rue that no matter what dour Daria had to say about it.

  She would be the best possible wife the Lord Hawk could ever hope for, an ornament to his hall, a comfort to his days, a partner in his endeavors to bring peace between their peoples. What more could he possibly ask for? Truly nothing, and that being the case, he would love her as she must be loved were she not to suffer her own mother's fate.

  A shadow moved behind her eyes. The dull echo of old pain rippled through her. Her mother … gone from her so long, who had risked her life for mortal love and lost. Her father had desired her mother, of that there was no question, but he had not loved her as she needed to be loved and so the tenuous connection between them stretched too thin to hold. With its snapping came the loss not only of the dream of love but also of a child, Krysta herself, left behind to the care of Thorgold and Raven. They had, as she grew, warned her that the same fate could befall herself. She had scarcely contemplated their warning, for that was when the thought of any man in her life seemed so remote as to be absurd, back before the summons to her family's manor, to stand beneath the hate-filled gaze of her half-brother and learn she was to be given in marriage to a stranger who, should he fail to love her, would all unknowingly destroy her life.

  But that would not happen, she was quite resolved. Hawk would love her. Never mind that she had scant knowledge of men and even less of marriage. Aware that in her ignorance she might make some dreadful error that could ruin everything, she had hatched the admittedly unusual but, she thought, reasonable plan to come to Hawkforte as one of her own servants. Cleverly disguised, she would learn everything she could about the man whose wife she was to be. When she had done so, the servant girl would vanish—the black dye washed from hair that was naturally golden—and the Lady Krysta would appear, fully prepared to be the best—and best loved— wife the Lord Hawk could ever have.

  It all made perfect sense to her; indeed, she was quite pleased to have thought up so resourceful a plan. True, Thorgold and Raven had tried to discourage her, until she reminded them, gently to be sure, that they were hardly experienced in such matters. The intricacies of marriage were at least as much a mystery to her beloved servants as they were to Krysta herself. But not for long. Oh, no, before very many days had passed, she was certain all her questions would be answered, her concerns resolved, and her course clear.

  All perfectly sensible.

  So where to begin? As she studied the activity in the bailey, she noted that the people looked healthy, well fed, and adequately if plainly dressed. Everybody seemed to have some task to do and was going about it diligently. There was even a little group of children sitting together as they carded wool.

  Children fascinated her; she had been the only child in her own home. There she had lived from her birth until the day scant weeks before when she left for the journey to Essex. While her father lived, he had visited her frequently but he never even suggested that she leave her home and come to the family seat, where her half-brother and half-sisters, the children of his first marriage, resided. After his death, she had remained apart, content enough with her life. Yet she had always had the unsettling sense that she was merely biding time, waiting for something to happen.

  Now it had and she could not repress her excitement, especially since she had actually seen the Lord Hawk. Eagerly, she scanned the bailey again but there was no sign of him. She was disappointed but not overly so, for there were still the children. Irresistibly drawn to them, she approached with caution, unsure of her reception, but when a hazel-eyed urchin looked up and smiled, her hesitation vanished.

  “May I help with that?” she asked, indicating the wool they were carding. One of the little girls, apparently the leader of the small group, regarded her for a moment, nodded, and handed her a set of paddles set with wire teeth closely fixed together. Krysta settled down beside them on the dusty ground, studying how they went about their task and trying hard to do the same. Her first few efforts were clumsy. The paddles were more difficult to manage than she'd thought and she skinned her knuckles several times.

  “Like this,” the little girl said and placed her small hands over Krysta's, showing her the proper motion. With that help, she did better and soon felt she had the knack of it. When the children nodded approvingly, she couldn't help but be pleased.

  They worked in silence for a short time before the little girl asked, “You're one of the foreign lady's servants, aren't you?”

  Krysta nodded, disliking the lie but telling herself yet again that it was necessary. “My name is Ilka.”

  “People say Lord Hawk doesn't want to marry her. He's only doing it for the alliance.”

  Despite the tightening of her throat, Krysta managed to reply. “Perhaps he'll change his mind when he gets to know her.”

  “Perhaps.” The little girl looked unconvinced.

  “What's your name?” Krysta asked after a pause.

  “Edythe.” She introduced the others, who nodded shyly.

  “What else do you do besides this?” Krysta asked.

  Edythe shrugged. “All sorts of things. We help with the flock
s, bring wood and water, cook, whatever needs to be done.” She hesitated a moment before adding, “Lady Daria likes everyone to be busy.”

  “What about Lord Hawk? Does he think you should work all the time?”

  Edythe cast her a glance from beneath sooty lashes. “Lord Hawk is a great and powerful noble. He has concerns far beyond here.”

  That told Krysta much. Understandably enough the Lord of Hawkforte left domestic matters to a woman. If he noticed at all that she was an extremely demanding person, he either did not care or saw no reason for change.

  Or did he? He had, for whatever reason, agreed to take a wife who would be expected to manage his household. Perhaps he would appreciate someone whose view of such matters was very different from that of the Lady Daria. Or perhaps not. One more thing for Krysta to discover.

  She would have sighed just then had not one of the children leaned over and whispered to Edythe, “She's going.”

  Following the direction of their collective gaze, Krysta observed Lady Daria departing Hawkforte in a lavishly appointed litter balanced between two pairs of horses. Several harried-looking servants followed on foot behind her. The lady was leaning out between the curtains, inciting the grooms to keep the horses under better control, complaining about the bumpiness of the road, and otherwise making her feelings known.

  “Gone to market,” Edythe explained. Quickly, she and the other children bundled up their carding. Before Krysta's eyes, their demeanor changed from solemnity to exuberance.

  “Now's our time to play,” Edythe said and grasped Krysta's hand, drawing her with them.

  They went, laughing and skipping, through the gates and down to the river that twined along the base of the hill. Krysta spared a quick glance at the moss-draped bridge that spanned the sparkling flow of water but chose not to inquire too deeply into what stirred beneath it.

  The children were tumbling over one another like puppies. She was delighted to see it, having sensed that their earlier constraint was unnatural. Did everyone at Hawkforte, or at least all those not under the lord's direct command, have to pretend they were something other than they were to appease Demanding Daria?