by Josie Litton
“So you have always said. What am I to believe then? That she became a creature such as Dragon spoke of or Sven thought to prattle about? Or that she was a woman as I am a woman, and that life became more than she could bear? So much so that not even her own child's arms could hold her?”
“She loved you! And wanted to stay with you.”
“Then why didn't she? How could she leave me?” A glistening drop appeared on Krysta's hand. Another followed. She stared, surprised, until she felt the dampness of her cheeks and knew she was crying. Never had she spoken of such things, rarely had she ever even allowed herself to think about them. But they were out now, raw and ugly, beyond recall.
Her chest hurt yet she forced herself to speak. “I'm sorry, you did not deserve this. I know you have always done your best for me, you and Thorgold both.”
“We did as your mother wished, as she would have done had she been able to remain with you.” Gently, Raven touched Krysta's cheek, catching the tears. “You share your mother's gift, to call those of us from the other world into this one. But always have I told you, there is another side to that gift. You can be called into the other world. That is what happened to your mother when her unhappiness in this world became too much for her to bear.”
Krysta sighed deeply. For just a moment, she wished to hide herself against Raven as she had so many times when very young, be covered by the black wing of her gown, and remain still and safe. Then had Raven called her fondly “my little chick” and they had both laughed over that. But she was a child no longer. Raven was right, every flight brought risk, yet the wide world beckoned still.
“Go and find him,” Raven said softly. “He is not a man of deception. If it is too soon to know what is in his heart, see what is in his eyes.”
Krysta nodded. She remained a moment longer close to Raven, gazing out at the sea. Then she gathered up her courage and her dreams, and went.
HAWK WATCHED HER COMING TO HIM ACROSS THE training field. With the day so still, he had tied a band around his forehead to catch the sweat that would otherwise sting his eyes. Shirtless, wearing only breeches, he lowered his sword and waved off the lieutenant with whom he had been sparring.
She looked much more at ease than she had the evening before, but he still sensed a strain in her. Her usually winsome smile seemed forced. All the same, he appreciated the quick, all-encompassing glance she swept him, followed by the darkening of her cheeks. That she was aware of him as a man was good.
“I hope you don't mind,” she said, and her voice was soft as the breeze that just then began to ruffle the tops of the trees. “The day is so warm, I thought you would like a drink.” She turned slightly, gesturing to the servants who followed her. Two young girls stepped forward with horn goblets and skins glistening with droplets of cool water drawn from deep wells.
Hawk sheathed his sword. His eyes never left Krysta as he smiled in turn. “This is most welcome. Thank you for it.”
Her flush deepened. Such a simple gesture, bringing cold water to laboring men, but it was the first domestic task she had performed at Hawkforte. Cautious yet of her status, wary of Daria, she had treaded lightly. Yet when she asked the servants to come with her and told them what was needed, they had sprung to obey with smiles that suggested she might not have so difficult a time to win them over as she had feared. Their master, however, was another matter.
Hesitantly, she met his gaze. As always, the light blue clarity of his eyes startled her. She felt as though she were staring into the heights of the sky at the peak of day. Her hands shook slightly as she filled a drinking horn and gave it to him. She watched with helpless fascination as he tipped his head back and drank, the powerful muscles of his throat working. With a smile, he returned the horn to her.
“If you wouldn't mind …”
She filled it again quickly, happy to have pleased him. She also felt relieved, for she saw no hint that her earlier worry had any foundation. Perhaps Raven was right and the Lord Dragon had merely spun a tale plucked by chance from the sea of his imagination.
The serving girls moved on to fill horns for the men. Hawk and Krysta were left alone. She was too self-conscious to speak, he too distracted. The breeze riffled her hair, pulling curls from the loose braid hanging down her back. Her brow was sun kissed. Freckles marched across her nose. Her mouth was very full, soft, and inviting. Too easily, he remembered how it had felt beneath his own.
“Dragon said he would take messages from you back with him. Did you speak with him?”
She shook her head. “It was kind of him to offer but I truly had nothing to say.”
He nodded, unsurprised. Already he knew she and her half-brother were not close. From what Dragon had told him of Sven, he was glad of it.
“You seem to be settling in well. If Daria disturbs you, tell me.”
Krysta was caught by surprise and uncertain how to respond. His willingness to help her with Daria warmed her, yet she was reluctant to involve him in family strife. “Thank you,” she murmured noncommittally.
Silence drew out between them again. Hawk broke it. “How do you think it's going?”
“How what is going?”
“Getting to know each other.” He made it sound like a task to be gotten through.
“Oh, that. I suppose it's going well enough.”
He looked relieved to hear it. “I think so, too. I know you like to swim, don't eat meat, can read, and like hair ribbons.”
“How do you know that last part?”
“Thorgold told me. I've been meaning to get some for you. What have you learned?”
“Well, I don't know exactly…. You read, you value peace, you are a strong leader … you think getting to know each other is easier than it really is.”
The words were out before she could stop them. Krysta groaned, stung by her own candor.
“I … what?”
“Your pardon, lord. I should not be so blunt.”
“No, that's all right. I prefer honesty to deception.” Yet he spoke coolly, making her think she was not the only one stinging.
“I only meant that perhaps men are so unaccustomed to knowing women that even a little knowledge seems like a lot.”
She had a point. He did think he knew her well on only short acquaintance. But in truth, he seemed to have learned more about her than she had about him.
“I read,” he said. “So much everyone here knows. I value peace. That, too, is obvious as it is the very foundation of our betrothal. I am a strong leader. True enough, but I could chalk that up to simple flattery. So tell me, lady, what else have you learned of me?”
Krysta was silent for a long moment. She knew he issued a challenge to her and she was torn whether to accept. To do so would be to bare at least a portion of her soul, were he astute enough to realize it. Yet pride drove her to make her point.
Slowly, she said, “You have a deep, rich laugh that seems to startle people, as though they were not used to hearing it so often. I wonder if it startles you, too. You like to skip rocks and are good at it. You are careful of children and do not wish to frighten them. You are not ruled by emotion. You did not like it when you thought me a servant yet desired me. You fought against that just as you fought against your anger when you discovered how I had tricked you. You drink only moderately, again I think because you do not like to lose control. You came of age in a time of brutal chaos, and as a result, order is very important to you. You love this land and these people with fierce strength. You would die for them and think the price worth paying. When you are tired, a tiny pulse beats above your right eye. Shall I go on?”
“No need, my lady,” Hawk said quickly. “I am humbled.” In truth, he was embarrassed and at the same time obscurely pleased. Never had he thought anyone could notice so much about him. It made him wonder what else he had inadvertently revealed.
He was looking at her, wondering simultaneously exactly how many freckles she had and whether he should invite her to go riding again,
when a sudden gust of wind distracted him. He glanced up, his eyes narrowing. The sky looked little different than it had a few hours before, white with high clouds, but he felt a sense of foreboding. He went very still, breathing slowly and deeply. The air smelled ripe and heavy. The morning had been so still, hardly a breath of air, then the sudden breeze, now a gust, followed soon by another, carrying that strange, torpid smell he'd encountered only once before.
Fate had called him to be a leader and a warrior, but he was a sailor to the bone. He knew the ways of wind and water, knew the sudden turning of the weather, knew by smell and touch and simple instinct what lay over the horizon.
“I need to speak with Edvard,” he said. “Come with me.”
THE HARVEST IS GOING WELL, MY LORD, THE STEW-ard said. He appeared puzzled to be summoned at such an hour when normally the Hawk was occupied with other matters, but, as always, he had his facts and figures ready to hand. “I estimate half the oat and barley crops have been brought in, as well as most of the apples. Work is proceeding smoothly. We should be finished by the end of the week.”
“I am pleased to hear that, but the end of the week will not do. The harvest must be completed by tomorrow.”
Edvard gaped at him. “Tomorrow? But, lord, how is that possible? Except for the garrison itself, everyone is working from dawn to dark in the fields as it is.”
“We will take torches into the fields. The watch will be kept as always but the rest of the garrison will put their swords aside to pick up scythes. By tomorrow nightfall, I want to see bare fields. Moreover, the oat and barley is not to be stacked in the fields to dry but is to be brought inside wherever it can be stored.” He gestured around the room where they stood. “If you have to fill this very hall, do it.”
“Lord … the sheaves will rot.”
“They won't be here long, only a day perhaps. Put the children to gathering the rest of the apples.” He turned to Krysta. “Will you go with them? Help them to manage?”
“Yes, of course, but what is wrong that there should be such hurry?”
“Perhaps nothing, but we may be in for an unusually bad storm. If that happens, we could lose everything still in the fields.”
Edvard paled at the thought. He clutched his accounts tightly. “That cannot be allowed. Such waste would be abominable.”
“My point exactly,” Hawk said. There was comfort in knowing that it was only waste they would face, not disaster. So wealthy was Hawkforte that it could withstand even the loss of half its crops without threat of starvation. Yet he was determined there would be no such loss, or at least no more of it than he could prevent.
Edvard rushed off to spread the word as Krysta hurried to assemble the children. She went to Edythe first, rightly judging that the little girl would have her friends organized. In short order, they were all trooping off toward the orchards.
On the way they passed one of the fields gold with high, feathery-topped stalks of oat waving in the breeze. Hawk and his men were already there. The soldiers of the garrison and Hawk's lieutenants had, indeed, put aside their swords and taken up scythes. It would have been a startling scene were it not for the master of Hawkforte himself cutting through sheaves of oat as though he had been born to the task. The peasants and townsfolk who were also working the field were astonished. The sheer impact of so unlikely a spectacle reminded them of how extremely serious the situation was and they fell to with a will.
As did the children who scampered up the heavily laden branches of the apple trees to shake the fruit into waiting blankets held out by their fellows. They shortly had so many baskets filled that a wagon was needed to haul the bounty back to Hawkforte. While they waited for it to return, Krysta insisted they sit down under the trees and rest.
“Why does Lord Hawk think a bad storm is coming?” Edythe asked as she finished drinking and passed the water skin to Krysta.
Never had water tasted so good as it did after the hot work in the orchard. Several of the children were flopped on their backs, already dozing. Others clustered nearby, listening quietly.
“I don't know,” Krysta admitted, “but I am sure he has good reason.”
“The day seems little different from any other,” Edythe persisted.
“It does smell a bit odd though, don't you think?” Krysta had noticed that only as they were working. Mingling with the perfume of the apples was a deeper, heavier odor she couldn't identify.
Edythe took a sniff and frowned. “Yes, it does but it's not a bad smell. I wonder where it's coming from.”
“I warrant you wonder about a great many things,” Krysta said with a smile.
The little girl shrugged. “That's true. Mama says I ask too many questions but she always tries to answer them just the same. Papa says if I wag my tongue so much, it will come loose and fall off.”
“I wouldn't worry about that happening.”
“Oh, I don't, that's just Papa wanting a bit of quiet after working all day. Besides, Aelfgyth, says it's good to wonder about the world, otherwise how would we ever learn anything?”
“Aelfgyth? Is she your sister?”
Edythe nodded. “She is and she's desperately glad to be your maid. She was surprised, at first, when Dreadful Daria sent her to you because she's never gotten along with her, but then she realized—” The little girl broke off abruptly, taking a sudden interest in the blades of grass she was plucking.
“It's all right,” Krysta said. “Not that I would encourage disrespect, but I understand people have feelings they can't always contain.”
Edythe nodded gratefully but did not continue. Krysta hesitated, reluctant to gossip, yet too curious to let the matter drop. “What did Aelfgyth realize?”
“That Lady Daria wasn't looking for the best maid in the world for you. She was always complaining about Aelfgyth's work so she obviously didn't think much of it, which is what made her choose Aelfgyth for you.”
Krysta laughed and shook her head ruefully. “I'm surprised I didn't end up with a dozen or more maids, for I have the impression Daria thinks very little of anyone's work.”
“Oh, that's the truth! There's absolutely no pleasing her so everyone has given up trying. If you do something exactly the way she said she wanted it done so it's perfect, she'll turn around and claim she wanted it done differently.”
“How tiresome of her,” Krysta said, even as she wondered at how the high-handed woman had managed to avoid outright rebellion among the servants. No doubt it was their respect for Hawk and their gratitude for the safety he provided that kept them at work.
“Perhaps things will change now,” Edythe said with a sidelong glance.
“Perhaps they will,” Krysta said but made no promises. She was not eager to tangle with Daria despite Hawk's assurances that she could bring any problems to him. But beyond that, she could not even begin to assert herself as Hawkforte's mistress before she was wed to its master.
The apple gathering resumed a short time later. By dusk, the children were done. Krysta led them back to the fields where torches were being set up, as Hawk had ordered, but they might not be so needed now for the sky was clearing, the rising wind pushing the clouds away. An almost full moon cast a brilliant ribbon of silver over the land.
Food was brought out to the fields. The people ate quickly, making do with chunks of bread and cheese and mugs of cider. Everyone looked bedraggled and tired, but determined. Krysta left the children with their mothers and went off to find Hawk. He was working with a group of men bundling sheaves of oat and throwing the bundles into wagons for transport. For a few moments, she stood off to one side watching him. He was taller than the peasants and townspeople, and much more heavily muscled, but beyond that there was nothing to set him apart from the others, no visible sign of his rank or authority. Yet was there no mistaking that he was the leader even as he worked right alongside the others, doing as they did. He spared himself no task and nothing missed his eye. If a man needed help hefting bundles into the wagon, Haw
k was there to offer a quick, encouraging word and lend his own strength. When water was passed around, and offered to Hawk first, he shook his head and let it go by until all the rest had drunk. Only then did he ease his own thirst. Even as he told the other men to rest for a few minutes, he continued to work, pausing only once to glance up at the sky.
He paused again when Krysta joined him. He tossed another bundle of sheaves into the wagon, wiped his arm across his forehead, and nodded to her. “Are you finished in the orchards?”
“We are. I've sent the children to their mothers. They'll sleep beside the field while the grown-ups work.” On her walk from the orchards, she had seen how much had been accomplished in only a few short hours. Yet there was much more still to be done. “Are you still convinced there will be a storm?”
Hawk shrugged broad, bare shoulders begrimed by hours of hard labor. Bits of oat stuck to his hair and skin. Krysta had to resist the urge to remove them one by one. “If we are fortunate, it will skip to one side of us or the other. If it comes at us directly, it will be a storm such as I have seen only once before.”
“Where was that?”
“At Winchester. I was there with the king. It was five summers ago. The day before had been very still, as this one began, then the wind picked up slowly, bringing with it the smell of lands far distant from here. By morning, when Alfred and I went out sailing, the wind was heavy but we thought little of it for the sky remained clear. We were out only a few hours when the storm came up over the horizon. A wall of clouds charged at us, thunderheads grayer than any I have ever seen. Ahead of them, the sky turned yellow. Within minutes, the water churned so fiercely that we almost capsized. As it was, we barely made it into a sheltered bay before howling winds and sea battered our boat to pieces. We had to swim the last few hundred yards and it took all our strength to do so. To our great good fortune, we were able to wait out the storm inside a cave, but when we emerged the world looked transformed. Trees were knocked down, the beach had vanished, the grass was flattened, and all the peasants' huts were destroyed with many killed. Even the timber roof of the church was ripped off.”
