by Josie Litton
For a moment, mounting fury held Daria in thrall. She did not move or speak but stared at Krysta with unconcealed malice. The silence drew out between them like a rank fog. Daria's mouth worked for some moments before she could manage sound from it.
“Beware how you speak of the Lord lest the words leap from your tongue as poisonous frogs, revealing to all the cursed witch you are.”
This was more even than Krysta could have expected and far more than she could bear. All her life she had lived among people who loved her, yet so sheltered an upbringing had not weakened her. To the contrary, it lay at the core of her strength.
With quiet dignity, she said, “Enough, Daria. I sorrow for the demons that ride you but I will not allow you to speak to me in this way. If nothing else, it is disrespectful to the Lord Hawk, whose bride I will be. Accept that and mayhap there can yet be accord between us.”
“Never,” Daria spat. She glared at Krysta, then turned and stomped off, leaving the air to vibrate with her anger.
When she was gone, Krysta moved over to the window and took a cleansing breath of fresh salt air. Steadier, she sat down on the bench overlooking the sea. It was a hopeless fancy, yet she wished that she could see over the vast miles to her beloved home. And if she could, what would the sight of home bring except a deep longing in her heart?
“What ails you?” Raven asked. She settled on the bench beside Krysta and peered at her with keen black eyes that missed nothing. “If your face was any longer, it would be hanging down to your knees. Did I not see you in all your glory just yestereve, sitting right beside your proud lord and him not giving off a flicker of displeasure?”
Krysta shrugged a shoulder but could not quite cast off self-pity. It had a tendency to cling. “Did you think that meant all was well?”
Raven made a small clicking sound, evidence of her impatience. “I thought it meant you'd done a damn sight better than I thought you would, but then I've never understood the ways of men. So what troubles you? No, wait, I'll guess. Dreadful Daria has been hereabout, spreading her own special brand of venom.”
“Is it so obvious?”
“It is, to me and everyone else. They're all whispering about how you looked last night, how Lord Hawk looked, how he looked at you when you weren't looking at him, and so on and so forth.” Raven shook herself at such foolishness. She tilted her head to one side and gazed at Krysta solemnly. “Of course, all they dare to do is whisper. That one still has power, she does, and she means to hold on to it.”
“I have no wish to bring strife into my husband's home.”
Raven snorted. “Strife is already here, girl. Strife is all that bag of bones knows. Not a hint of meat on her and not a bit of use to her save for making folks miserable. Besides, it's up to his lordship to decide what he wants or doesn't want in his home. From what I saw last night, what he wants is you.”
“Wanting isn't loving.”
“It's where most men start, so I hear.” Perceiving that little had changed in Krysta's mood, Raven sighed. “There now, you're made of sterner stuff than this. I can't believe she has brought you so low.”
“It isn't really her, it's what she told me. Did you know that Lord Hawk was married before?”
Raven glanced away. “I might have heard mention of it. She died a long time ago. They say he never speaks of her.”
“He never speaks of the battles he fought against the Danes when he was no more than a boy, either, but that doesn't mean they weren't important to him.”
“He thought poorly of her, so folks say. They're hoping you'll do better.”
“Mayhap I would if he weren't already in love with another woman.”
Raven's head snapped up. “What's that you say? What woman?”
“Daria didn't tell me her name, she only said there was another woman he wanted to marry. She called her a lady of true nobility.”
“And you believed her? What's addled your brains, girl? If he had a notion to marry someone else, what of it? Doesn't mean he loved her. Love and marriage have nothing to do with each other.” She caught herself. “Leastways, not usually. Besides, if Dreadful Daria said she was a lady of true nobility, that likely means she's as stiff a stick as Daria herself. No wonder Lord Hawk hasn't been brought to the altar yet. He ought to be down on his knees thanking the Danes for making so much trouble as to bring about this alliance against them.”
“Somehow, I don't see Hawk giving thanks to the Danes,” Krysta said with a reluctant smile.
But the idea had a certain appeal, so much so that she was still amused by it after Raven departed. The hall was quiet, preparations for supper not having yet begun. Dust motes danced in rays of sunlight filtering through the windows. She drew her knees up, leaned her head against them, and looked out over Hawkforte. She knew the manor far better now thanks to Edvard's tour but so much more remained to be discovered. Of the town beyond the fortress, she knew almost nothing. She could see it was prosperous, and if the new wood of many of the buildings was any indication, it was also growing rapidly. But the people remained a mystery to her. She had never lived in so large and crowded a place, had never even imagined doing so. One more thing to which she would have to adjust. She was mulling that over, wondering how she might make a place for herself amid strangers, when Hawk entered the hall.
Adrift in her thoughts, Krysta did not see him. He stopped at first sight of her and stared. The dull-haired serving girl of the last few days was gone but so was the ethereal goddess of the preceding eve, seemingly crafted from sea foam and sunlight. In both their places was a young woman—a very serious -looking young woman— simply dressed, her cheeks and brow slightly sunburned and her eyes pensive. She looked sad to him and he felt a sudden need to change that. Without questioning the impulse, he crossed the room and knelt beside her.
“Did Edvard tire you overmuch?”
She started, so surprised was she by his sudden appearance. He loomed beside her, so big and so very near. His hair was matted to his head, his cheeks darkened by a day's growth of beard. He looked sweaty and grubby, and absolutely wonderful.
“No, not so much. Have you been training all this time?”
He nodded though he scarcely knew what she had asked. Her voice flowed through him, soft and faintly husky, gentle as a caress. “Did you see all you should?”
“I think so.” She smiled faintly. “Edvard was very thorough.”
Hawk smiled in turn. “He is ever that.” He rose and took a seat beside her. She moved over to make room for him. They shared the bench companionably. “What do you think of Hawkforte?”
She said what had been in her mind before he came to eclipse all other thought. “It is very big.”
He looked surprised. “Do you think so? Winchester is far larger.”
“I can scarcely imagine that. My home—my old home—would fit in a corner of the burgh. My brother's holding is far larger than that, nearer to Hawkforte's size, but in land rather than in people.”
Hawk nodded, thinking of how the Norse lived. “I have been to Sciringesheal. That is a good-sized town and a busy port.”
Krysta hesitated but curiosity overcame her. Best she should learn the measure of this man now. “Is it true you went there to take back your sister from the Wolf?”
He cast her a swift look but did not appear offended. “Is that what people say?”
“They do, and the skald sang of it the first night I was here.”
“The truth is I went to Sciringesheal to kill the Wolf. I believed he had kidnapped my sister and I feared her dead, or worse yet suffering terribly. I wanted nothing so much as his blood on my sword.”
“Why then does he live?” Krysta asked softly.
“Aside from the fact that in any duel between us, victory might favor either one or perhaps neither? We could have ended by killing each other, but Cymbra insisted she was happily wed and begged me to believe her. Instead, I thought she was lying to protect me and took her away by stealth.” He sighe
d. “To her credit, she forgave me, as did Wolf after he arrived here to reclaim her. The idea for the alliance between Norse and Saxon was Wolf's to begin with but he quickly enlisted Alfred's support. You know the rest.”
She did, or at least she could easily surmise it. The king had thrown his wholehearted support behind an alliance and the marriages meant to support it. Whatever Hawk's feelings for that lady of true nobility, he would never gainsay his king.
“I am glad it worked out well for your sister and Lord Wolf,” she said and meant it truly, even as unspoken in her heart was the hope they might somehow prove to be as fortunate.
“They are in love.” He spoke the last word as though it was a strange, odd thing come clumsily to his tongue. A word from an unknown language that had been explained to him yet remained mysterious.
Sadness weighed heavily on Krysta's shoulders. She kept them straight but with an effort. Were she braver, she might have asked him if he believed in love. But the thought of his likely answer terrified her. Best to remain in blissful ignorance where hope at least had a chance to grow.
“I have been thinking about your reason for coming here as you did.”
She swallowed against the tightness of her throat and waited.
“This matter of wanting to get to know me better—is that really why you did it?”
Krysta nodded. She took a breath, steadying herself. “It seemed a good idea at the time.”
If he meant to mock her, he would do so now. She waited … hoping yet scarcely daring to hope….
“The notion may have merit.”
Krysta opened her eyes, belatedly aware that she had closed them as though in prayer, and stared at him. “Do you mean that?”
He frowned. “Do not read overmuch into my words. I merely meant it would not necessarily be a bad thing for us to know each other before we wed.” Swiftly, he added, “That does not mean I approve of what you did. It was a harebrained scheme.”
She was silent for a moment before she smiled. “We have hares in Vestfold. They are large animals with very powerful back legs, capable of leaping great distances.
They survive the worst winters snug in burrows they dig deep beneath the ground and they seem able to thwart the wiliest predator.” Her eyes met his. “Even the hawk.”
The sound of his laughter surprised them both and so startled a serving lad carrying bowls into the hall that he backed out hastily, juggling his burden in an effort not to drop it.
“You don't look anything at all like a rabbit,” Hawk observed. As compliments went he supposed it wasn't much, but he had little experience in such matters. Moreover, he was suddenly preoccupied with the thought of legs, long, smooth, silken legs wrapped around him.
“I need a bath,” he said and stood up. He wasn't retreating, precisely. He just needed a little time to himself to adjust to the discovery that his intended bride had a sense of humor. He valued honor above all else, and he prized intelligence. He was no more immune to beauty in a woman than was any other man. But secretly he thought a sense of humor among God's greatest gifts.
Krysta resisted the impulse to ask if he wanted his back scrubbed again, but only just. At the mere thought of saying such a thing, much less the real difficulty she had not saying it, she pressed her lips firmly together, but she couldn't keep them there, so strong was the smile that demanded to be let loose.
“Edvard didn't show me the sauna.”
“I'll have to do that … sometime. I'll see you at supper.” He waited, needing to see the little nod she gave.
Later, lying in the tub in his own quarters, he leaned his head back against the rim and searched the ceiling for answers. How did one get to know a woman? And what did such knowing mean? Men said they knew a woman when they had possessed her but Hawk dismissed that as an empty claim. He had risen from enough beds more aware than ever of the essential mystery of women to believe that fucking was the route to knowing any of them.
Not that it didn't have its uses, it surely did. But this notion Krysta had that they should know each other before they wed—how could that be done?
He had never spent any time with women, not really. The only woman he cared for was Cymbra, and he had deliberately sent her away to her own residence to keep her safe from the strange gift that made her both a great healer and vulnerable to the pain of anyone near her. Even after she'd learned to control that gift, he had still kept her secluded, realizing full well how men would fight for her once they glimpsed her beauty. Wolf had settled that problem, for which Hawk was duly grateful, but now he was with the problem of how to get to know Krysta.
Men learned to know each other on the training field and in battle. Bonds forged in armed camps lasted a lifetime, whether that be measured in hours or decades. Yet he could hardly invite Krysta to join him in swordplay, at least not the sort that involved a blade. His contrary mind, ever irksome, suggested another sort of play in which they might indulge but he repressed that firmly. Taking her to his bed would make her his wife in his own eyes and those of his people. The blessing of the Church would be mere formality.
Not that he wasn't tempted. The cooling water did nothing to discourage his desire for her and, indeed, nothing concealed it. The mere thought of her was enough to arouse him, a fact he observed ruefully. But this business of a wife, that was altogether different from a temporary mistress or chance encounter. It was for the long term, therefore patience was counseled.
She could read. That might be a starting place. They could talk of books. He had read more than fifty books in his life. He would regale her with them, she would be suitably impressed, and they would …
He sighed, trying to imagine such an unlikely course. Mayhap there were better ways. His mind chewed on it until the sun slanting through the windows alerted him to the passing hour. He rose and dried himself quickly before dressing for the evening meal. When he caught himself pulling out a tunic the color of which he thought might appeal to Krysta, he groaned in disgust and threw it back into the chest. But a moment later he took it up again and donned it, telling himself it was merely the easiest to hand.
So did the master of Hawkforte descend to his hall, and to the woman who awaited him there.
Chapter SIX
KRYSTA TOO WAS FRESH FROM A BATH. SHE had dressed with care, choosing a gown the same shade of teal blue as sometimes lingered in the sky at the turning of the sun. She had never seen the gown before and only now realized that her chests must contain quite a few items that were entirely new to her. Either they had belonged to her mother and been held in waiting for her, or Raven had been procuring them all this time, no doubt with Thorgold's able assistance. Glad though she was for their foresight, she had to wonder what had made them believe she would need such garments. Certainly the thought had never occurred to her.
Her half-brother Sven had called the Saxons dirty and said they lived in their own filth, but she had seen no evidence of that. In the warmth of summer, people seemed to bathe regularly and the women were forever sweeping out their cottages, airing their bedding and the like. Nor had it escaped her notice that after Daria retired for the night, the servants were inclined to pair off and drift down to the river. Their laughter floated on soft evening breezes, along with what sounded like energetic splashing.
She was glad, then, to be able to appear before them suitably groomed and garbed. Glad, too, of Aelfgyth's kind help. The young woman insisted on brushing Krysta's hair for her, murmuring compliments on the color even as she struggled with the riotous curls.
“Did your mother have hair like this, my lady?”
Krysta glanced away from the small bronze mirror that revealed a reflection she had scarcely ever seen. “I don't know. My mother went away when I was very young.”
Aelfgyth's hands stilled for a moment before resuming their soothing rhythm. “She died?”
“No, she just went away. Raven and Thorgold have told me only that she was very beautiful, nothing else.”
“F
orgive me if I ask too much, my lady, but is that customary among the Norse? I mean for a wife to leave her husband like that? It happens here sometimes when folk follow the old ways and handfast before seeking the blessing of the Church. They are only sworn to stay with each other for a year or unless a child is conceived, so sometimes such couples part.”
“The Norse do that as well but I don't think many wives leave their husbands after a child is born. Still, I suppose it happens.”
Aelfgyth was silent again for so long as she could contain her curiosity. Swiftly enough, she said, “Could you not visit your mother?”
Krysta hesitated. She had surprised herself by mentioning anything about her upbringing and knew not how to put the question aside with due delicacy. Finally, she said, “She went very far away. I could not follow. At any rate, my father was a good man and I would have missed him sorely as I did when he died a year ago.”
The maid nodded sympathetically. She finished smoothing Krysta's hair as best she could and secured it with a ribbon the same shade as her gown. “You look lovely, my lady.”
Krysta mustered a smile but it wobbled away before she stepped from the room. Last night, she had thought only of how the Hawk's people would react to her sudden transformation. This night, her thoughts were solely of him. He was already in the hall when she arrived, talking with several of his lieutenants and the redoubtable Edvard. The conversation broke off as she entered. Hard-faced men shot her quick, sharp looks. A few nodded in her direction but none spoke to her directly, yet was she suddenly, acutely aware of being the focus of all eyes. Her throat tightened and for just a moment she had to fight the impulse to run back up to her tower room. But Raven was right, she was made of sterner stuff. She held her place, back straight and chin tilted proudly, through the seemingly endless moments until Hawk stepped forward. It truly was only moments, for which she was grateful. Grateful, too, for the swift glance of approval he gave her.
