Dream of Me/Believe in Me

by Josie Litton

  Scarcely had he uttered the question than hope rippled through him. Krysta was a woman of uncommon strength and courage. If she could have found any way to escape, she would have seized it. Quickly, Hawk urged his mount off the road and through the brush toward the river. His men followed, as did Thorgold and the dog. Barely had they reached the edge of the water than the animal began to bark again. He ran back and forth between the bank and the watching men. Finally, he sat down on his haunches, tongue lolling, and stared directly at Hawk.

  “Damn if he isn't trying to tell me something.”

  Hawk dismounted and walked down the bank until the water lapped at his boots. He stared up and down the river. In the quiet of late afternoon, the only sounds were the creak of saddles, the faint rustle of birds in the trees overhead, the hum of insects, and the low snorts of the horses. The silver gleam of a trout flashed by in the water.

  A few miles south the river would smash into rapids but here it ran wide and deep. There was only a scattering of rocks to be seen and a handful of dead tree limbs being moved along by the current. One of the limbs seemed to be dragging something—

  Hawk looked a moment longer but already he knew, for the dog was barking again and his own heart was soaring even as it tripped with dread. He went into the water in an instant and was swimming swiftly toward what he had seen before his men knew what he was about. Against the current, all his strength was needed to bring him quickly to the log. Before he was there, he knew he was right. Krysta was clinging to the wood, soaked and bedraggled, her face very pale, but when she saw him an exhausted smile lifted the corners of her mouth. Hawk redoubled his efforts, his mighty chest and arms straining. He reached her within moments and got an arm around her.

  “Are you all right?” he demanded gruffly, all the fear and dread of the past hours stark in his voice.

  She nodded but did not try to speak, saving what was left of her strength. For so long she had fought the current as it threatened to smash her into rocks or drag her under again that it was all she could do to cling to consciousness. Her body was weak but her spirit soared at the sight of Hawk.

  With rough tenderness, he said, “You have to let go now. Hold on to me.”

  She nodded again to show she understood but her cramped hands could scarcely move. Gently, he eased her off the log and into his arms. She clung to him as he battled his way against the current and back to the bank of the river. Before they reached it, his men were in the water, surrounding them and helping bring them ashore.

  Hawk carried Krysta out of the river and laid her carefully on the bank. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was ragged. Thorgold hurried over with a cloak. Hawk wrapped her in it and began briskly rubbing her arms and back. For long moments she did not move, but finally she lifted her head, met his frantic gaze, and touched a gentle hand to his roughened cheek.

  “You need to shave.”

  He stared at her, momentarily unable to make sense of her words. When he did, he laughed in relief, in thanks, and in sheer, unbridled joy. “Woman, if you can notice that, you must be all right.”

  “I'm fine,” Krysta assured him, then ruined it by wincing as she tried to sit up. Instantly, Hawk urged her back down. “Don't move. You're bruised from head to toe. That you're even alive is a miracle. You do realize that after this I'll be hard-pressed not to keep you locked up?”

  Krysta muttered something he couldn't quite catch. When he bent nearer, she repeated it. His eyes widened slightly before he grinned. “I'd consider it. Being locked up with you isn't the worst fate I can imagine.”

  Before she could remark on that, he lifted her again and carried her to his horse. As he placed her gently on the mount and swung into the saddle behind her, Krysta warned, “Udell may be after me.”

  Hawk took hold of the reins with one hand, wrapped a steely arm around her, and said, “I'm counting on it.”

  Signaling to his men, he turned back toward the road in the direction from which they had come. His intent was to get Krysta to safety before hunting down Udell. But he was well aware that such might be the Mercian's desperation that he would overtake them quickly. Within the hour, that suspicion was confirmed when the dog barked again. Swiftly, Hawk guided his horse from the road and into the surrounding trees. His men and Thorgold did the same. After his initial warning, the dog fell silent, watching alertly as the men dismounted and deployed.

  “Stay with her,” Hawk told Thorgold. The old troll nodded and guided Krysta farther into the woods. She began to protest but he hushed her firmly. Hawk spared a glance to be sure the pair had vanished, then gave his full attention to the road.

  He did not have long to wait. The pounding of hooves galloping toward them signaled Udell's approach. Long ago, Hawk had worked out a system of hand gestures so that he could issue orders to his men in silence when necessary. He had found it useful more than once and now he did so again.

  Udell and his Mercians never saw the rope strung across the road that stopped the horses in the lead. As the animals reared, panicky, their riders were thrown. Udell landed hard but regained his feet quickly, coming up with his sword drawn. Instantly, Hawk was upon him. As his men engaged the others, he cut Udell off from any help and closed in on him remorselessly. The Mercian paled at the sight of the warrior facing him, but he too was blooded in battle and knew his only hope lay in attack. He came in swiftly, slashing with the broadsword he held clasped in both hands. Hawk merely let him come, easily blocking every blow, all but overwhelmed by the urge to draw out Udell's death. The temptation was great but the thought of Krysta stopped him. She needed care and rest without delay.

  As Hawk raised his sword yet again, he found himself suddenly swept clean of all sense of hate or lust for revenge. In his heart and mind, in the essence of his spirit, there was only gratitude that Krysta lived. Beside that nothing else mattered. For the first time since learning she had been taken, he drew a breath that felt pure and free. Deep within him a single shining thought unfolded: By thy will, Lord.

  Chapter EIGHTEEN

  UDELL FROZE, HIS EYES WIDE AND STARING fixedly beyond Hawk. Whatever he saw appeared to fill him with horror but he had little time to contemplate it. The blade of finely honed steel wielded in the hand of a master slashed through air and man together. The Mercian died in an instant, his head severed from his body. His blood drained into the rich earth of the land he had thought to usurp from its anointed king.

  Hawk lowered his sword and looked around. He saw that Udell did not go alone to his fate. The other Mercians were falling to the men Hawk had handpicked for the task. Within minutes, there was only stillness.

  Until the ravens cawed.

  Hawk wiped his sword clean on Udell's cloak. He signaled to two of his men.

  “There's a village about an hour east of the clearing. Get together some of the peasants and see this lot buried.”

  He would not leave even traitors to the ravens and the wolves. But neither would he give them any further thought. Quickly, he sought out Krysta, finding her a short distance into the forest. She was still wrapped within his cloak, her hair hanging in a sodden mass down her back, and her face so white he swore he could count every freckle. When she saw him, she sprang up, glared at him, and flung herself into his arms.

  “You had better be all right, you had just better!” she yelled, striking her fists against his chest. The blows were so soft he could scarcely feel them but he knew better than to let her see that.

  “Ouch! Stop that, woman! Udell did not cause me such discomfort as you now inflict.”

  “Is he—?”

  “Of course he is. Now put him from your mind. Thorgold, did you never think to teach this wench manners? Look at her, beating me when all I've done is pull her out of a river and get rid of a nuisance.”

  “I'll leave the manners to ye, lord,” Thorgold said with a chuckle. He whistled for the dog and headed back to the road.

  “I do have manners,” Krysta said plaintively. “Trul
y I do, it's just that you bring out the worst in me. I cannot think when I am around you. Every time I try to do so, I stumble over feelings that overwhelm me.”

  Her reward for this befuddled confession was a heart-stopping grin that stole her breath. She had yet to recover it when Hawk swept her into his arms, carried her back to his horse, and set off for Winchester, which he intended to reach with absolutely no further delay.

  They entered the city shortly after nightfall. Every torch was lit and watch fires blazed from the guard towers. Alerted to Udell's treason, crowds were gathered in the streets. They cheered mightily as Hawk and his men rode by. Alfred himself came out to greet them in the courtyard of the royal residence.

  “My dear friends!” the king exclaimed. “You have ever been in our thoughts and prayers. Praise God for restoring you to us.”

  Krysta was received into gentle hands, but the moment Hawk dismounted he reclaimed her. Holding her high against his chest, he said, “I thank you, my lord. Udell is dead. Now if you don't mind, I would like to make arrangements to return to Hawkforte.”

  Looking at the exhausted woman asleep in the Hawk's arms, Alfred said apologetically, “I don't mind at all. However, I'm not the one you have to convince.”

  Even as he spoke, Eahlswith descended the steps to stand at her lord's side. She glanced at Hawk, peered at Krysta, and clucked. “That poor dear child. Bring her inside at once. She needs a bath, rest, good food, and care.”

  “Of course she does,” Hawk agreed. “But quickly, my lady, if you wouldn't mind. We start for Hawkforte at dawn.”

  The gentle queen, loving mother, and mild-mannered helpmate, gazed at the mighty Hawk, who towered above her, unshaven, blood-splattered, and as fearsome a sight as to dwell in the nightmares of any man. She frowned. “You may start whenever you wish, my lord. But your lady remains here until I say she is fit to travel.”

  Hawk looked to Alfred in surprise but the king merely shrugged. “I would just give in if I were you,” he said quietly. “It's so much simpler in the end.”

  Thus blessed with new understanding of the inner workings of the royal marriage, Hawk trudged up the steps in Eahlswith's wake. The queen's ladies met them at the top and promptly clustered about, chirping with concern. He was allowed to go as far as Krysta's chamber and even to deposit her on the bed. That done, he was dismissed. Scarcely did he realize what was happening than the door was closed firmly in his face.

  It remained closed through that night and into the next day, as did the door connecting the two chambers. Whenever Hawk knocked, as he did regularly, he was met by one of any number of sweet-faced, gentle-voiced ladies who told him flatly he could not come in. Krysta was asleep, he was informed. She needed her rest. She would be fine. He would be told when he could see her.

  He appealed to Alfred, who shrugged again and suggested they go hunting. This they did, but upon returning late in the afternoon only to be barred yet again from Krysta's door, Hawk rebelled. He insisted on being admitted, which threw the gentle ladies into a flutter and caused the queen to be summoned. To Eahlswith, he pleaded his case.

  “I only want to see her for a moment,” he said, feeling ridiculous, for when had he ever pleaded with a woman for anything? Yet he was so grateful that Krysta lived and that she was being properly cared for that he could do nothing but entreat.

  Eahlswith took pity. She allowed him to come into the room and stand beside the bed but with a caution to remain quiet. Just as he had been told, Krysta was deeply asleep. She lay on her back, her glorious hair shining clean and neatly braided, the top of a chaste white shift peering from above the covers. A great surge of relief went through him as he finally saw her but it was gone in an instant, replaced by shock.

  A livid purple and blue bruise covered most of her right cheek. On the other side, her forehead was badly scraped and swollen. Her wrists were bandaged. He turned to Eahlswith, who said softly, “She was tied for a time. The ropes cut her wrists and ankles. We must be grateful that was the only harm Udell did to her directly. The rest came in the river. She is bruised from head to toe but no bones are broken and—and no other damage was done. She will recover but she cannot possibly go anywhere for some time yet.”

  Hawk shook his head numbly. “I didn't realize … riding back here, she was asleep most of the time and I was just so glad to have her alive that I didn't think—”

  Eahlswith laid a hand on his arm gently. “You know as well as I that bruises take time to show. Getting her here quickly was the best thing you could have done.”

  His face was anguished as he looked at the pale, still figure lying in the bed. “She must be in pain.”

  “She was when she awoke this morning although she tried her best to conceal it. I gave her a soothing draft and she slipped back to sleep. Nothing will heal her as quickly as sleep will do.”

  And he'd been banging on the door, demanding to be admitted.

  Eahlswith saw the look in his eyes and correctly interpreted it. “Listen to me. I will tell you exactly what I would tell either of my own sons. You are not to blame for this in any way, and even more important, you saved her. She is here, she will recover, the two of you will be together again. Give thanks for that and let the rest go.”

  Hawk nodded, not trusting himself to speak. His eyes burned and his vision was blurred. He knelt beside the bed and took Krysta's hand very gently in his. Holding on to her, he bowed his head.

  Later, leaving the chamber, he still felt deeply shocked and subdued. But by the time he stepped out into the brilliant sun of a fading summer day, anger was surging within him. Even as he fought to control it he wished Udell might yet be alive if only so that he could kill him again. But the Mercian was gone beyond his reach and Athelred would deal ably with the others. Lacking any outlet for his rage, Hawk sought some way to distract himself. He walked aimlessly until he found himself outside the scriptorium. After hesitating briefly, he went inside. The priest Asser was there, looking over another copy of Alfred's law book that was nearing completion.

  Seeing Hawk, he took his leave of the scribe. Together, they walked back outside.

  “There is something I can do for you, my lord?” Asser asked.

  Hawk nodded. He had not known what he intended when he entered the scriptorium but it was clear to him now. “I wish to commission a book.”

  The priest looked surprised. “You have scribes of your own at Hawkforte?”

  “Able men but not so skilled as some here. I want this to be a special book.”

  “And the subject … ?”

  Hawk thought for a moment. “Birds, something to do with that. Real information about them, not just the tales people tell. With illustrations that make them seem to come alive.”

  “A laudable idea, my lord, but if you will forgive me, I had not realized your great interest in this area.”

  “I have none,” Hawk admitted. “But the Lady Krysta does. I intend this as a gift for her.”

  The priest looked at him for a moment, then smiled. If he thought it strange to give a book to a woman, he did not show it. “I see. Well, then, we must find the best hand for this. There is a young monk here who daily feeds the birds in the garden. I have noticed him observing them and making sketches. I think he might do.”

  “I leave it to you then.”

  “Be assured I will see to it. Is there anything else I might help with, my lord?”

  Hawk thought for a moment and grinned. “Not unless you happen to know where in Winchester I could find hair ribbons.”

  Asser admitted he did not but a dairymaid bringing fresh milk to the scriptorium did and she was delighted to tell Hawk. He went off realizing that the quickest way past his anger was to think of Krysta and what would be likely to please her. He spent the rest of the day doing just that and was a happy man for it.

  PROPPED UP AGAINST THE PILLOWS, KRYSTA LOOKED out over the expanse of the bed to the cluttered room beyond. To no one in particular, she said, “Someone has to s
top him.”

  Several of the ladies giggled. Seated nearby on a chair from which she had removed several bolts of cloth, Eahlswith smiled. “I think it's terribly sweet.”

  “Oh, it is,” Krysta agreed bemusedly. She looked at the swirls of color lying on the bed, indeed taking up a great deal of it. “But if this goes on much longer, any woman in all of England who wants a hair ribbon will have to get it from me. Not to mention the most beautiful perfumes, the rarest fruits, more silk and velvet than I could ever imagine using in a lifetime.” She continued to scan the room, shaking her head. “And all those jewels. What am I ever going to do with them?”

  “Wear them?” one of the ladies suggested. She spoke kindly but with the same dazed amazement as had characterized all the ladies since Hawk's gifts began arriving late the previous day. With the morning, Krysta had awakened to find her chamber transformed into a treasure room and still the gifts continued to appear.

  She was having difficulty coming to terms with it because with her return to consciousness had come a return of the nausea that had plagued her since shortly after her arrival in Winchester. The queen's remedy of dry husk and chamomile had worked once again, but Krysta was still stiff and sore from all the bruises. A hot bath did make her feel much better, especially since it was scented with some of the rare oils Hawk had sent. But a look in the mirror as her hair was being brushed made her shudder. She could not bear the thought of him seeing her like that.

  When he came by later in the day, she pleaded fatigue but sent out a message thanking him for the gifts. No doubt he would be content with that, for what man wanted to be in a sickroom?

  Hawk was there the next morning when she awoke. He was seated beside the bed in the chair previously occupied by the queen, who hovered in the background with her ladies. He had an extremely firm look on his face, as though it would take nothing short of an act of God to move him. When he saw that she was awake, he smiled. Leaning forward, he said gently, “Good morning. How are you feeling?”