Dream of Me/Believe in Me

by Josie Litton

  Krysta began to sit up, meaning to tell him that she was fine, but before she could speak the damned nausea hit her yet again. Mortified, she groaned and pressed her hand to her mouth. Instantly, Hawk was on his feet, bending over her at the same time as he demanded of the queen, “What's wrong with her? She's ill. What's the matter?”

  Eahlswith bustled to Krysta's side, helped her to sit up just a little, and handed her the cup of chamomile that was already prepared. As she sipped it slowly, Eahlswith said, “She's been queasy every morning when she awakens for more than a week now.” Her eyes met Hawk's. “I was concerned that might no longer be the case after the battering she took in the river, but happily nothing has changed.”

  Krysta heard her as though from a distance and with bewilderment. Why on earth would Eahlswith be happy that she was still nauseated every morning? That made no sense at all. And why was Hawk staring at her like that, as though the ground had just dropped out from under his feet? He actually looked pale, and what was that he was saying?

  “Sweetheart, I'm sorry.”

  Sorry? Why would he be sorry?

  She shook her head, giving up trying to figure out any of it. Still scarcely half-awake, she said, “There's no reason for you to apologize. It's hardly your fault I have an upset stomach.”

  Hawk and the queen looked at each other. She raised an eyebrow. He reddened. “My dear,” Eahlswith said gently, “I know you did not have the benefit of a mother's guidance when you were young, but there were other women who helped to raise you, were there not?”

  What a very odd subject for the queen to want to discuss just then. All the same, Krysta did her best to respond. “I was raised by two faithful servants, Raven and Thorgold. But yes, there were women on my lands.”

  “And did they talk to you about … things?”

  “Of course. We always talked about the harvest, the weather, how people were faring and so on.”

  “I see … What about this—Raven, you said her name is? Does she have children of her own?”

  Krysta hesitated. She truly had no idea what Raven did when she went off. “I don't know … she might. We've never talked of that.”

  Eahlswith patted Krysta's hand, sent a sharp look in Hawk's direction, and ushered her ladies out of the room. When they were alone, he sat down again slowly, without taking his eyes from Krysta. The loudest sound was her chewing of the husk, which she tried to make as quiet as possible before she gave up and stuffed it under the bedcovers. After a moment, he cleared his throat. “Well, then … that is … basically you're all right … which is wonderful really, a tremendous relief… and that stuff you're drinking, it helps?” He gestured to the cup she still held.

  She brushed away a few crumbs with her free hand and said, “It's very good and the queen has been very kind. If you won't mind my saying, you don't look entirely well yourself. Perhaps Eahlswith could suggest something that would make you feel better.”

  Really, if he kept staring at her so oddly, she would think something truly was wrong with him. Without warning he smiled, a big flashing grin. “I don't think I really could feel any better. Well, no, that's not true, there is one thing that would help.”

  Krysta looked a little alarmed. He didn't mean buying her more gifts, did he? Cautiously she asked, “What's that?”

  He took the cup from her and set it on the table, then took both her hands in his very gently, looked deeply into her eyes, and said earnestly, “Getting married, right here in Winchester, as soon as you're able. Father Asser can do the honors, Alfred and Eahlswith will be delighted, and we can return to Hawkforte as man and wife.”

  Krysta's heart skipped. She felt cold, then hot, then nothing at all, so consumed was she by the sudden vision of her future thrust before her. Yet old fears lingered. “My mother—”

  “Was a fine woman, I'm sure. If she were here, I have no doubt she would tell you we should be married without any further delay.”

  He spoke emphatically, with unshakable certainty. The lure of his confidence was all but irresistible. Only honesty prevented Krysta from succumbing at once.

  “Hawk … there's something I have to tell you.”

  “Something else?” He looked surprised, then alarmed. Her servants … her mother … what else could there possibly be? “It's not anything about your father, is it?”

  “Oh, no, he was a perfectly normal man. But that's the problem, you see.”

  He tried, he truly did, but failed. “What's wrong with him being normal?”

  Krysta took a deep breath and held on to his hands.

  “He was a normal man and men don't always seem to feel the same emotions that women do. Perhaps it's because you're raised as warriors. My mother loved him but he wasn't able to love her in return. She couldn't stay here in this world without the bond of love to hold her. Just as she could call beings from the other realm into this one, she in turn was called there.”

  Hawk frowned and she could see he was struggling to understand. Quickly, before she could think better of it, she said, “I didn't tell you the truth about why I came to Hawkforte disguised as a servant, or at least not the whole truth. I did think that if I could get to know you first I could be a better wife, but I wanted to be the best wife possible so that you would fall in love with me.” Her voice dropped, becoming little more than a whisper. “That way, wouldn't have to worry about suffering the same fate as my mother.”

  Slowly, Hawk nodded. “And now this troubles you because … ?”

  Really, was the man so dense? If he couldn't see that she yearned for his—

  “I don't believe it!” Hawk jumped up, paced a few yards from the bed, whirled, and glared at her. “I absolutely don't believe it! After all that's happened, you can lie there and claim you don't know that I love you? God's blood, woman, are you deaf, dumb, and blind? You have turned my life upside down, made me doubt my own reason, yet I accepted all without complaint. I asked you days ago if you wondered why that was. Did you have no thought to what I meant when you yourself had said you had more care for my honor than I did because you loved me? Did you not think for even a moment that I would have more care for you for the same damned reason?”

  As romantic declarations went, it lacked poetry. Yet Krysta heard him out with heart pounding and eyes aglow. He loved her? He loved her! How could she have been so foolish? Surely, had he not loved her, he would have wrung her neck by now.

  She gave a little shriek of joy, scrambled off the bed, and launched herself into his arms. Hawk caught her with a look of horror.

  “What are you doing? You're bruised from head to toe. Why are you jumping out of bed? For God's sake, woman, you'll turn my hair white before my time.” With great tenderness, he laid her back down but continued to hold her. Krysta snuggled against him, overwhelmed with happiness. She could think of nothing but the storms they had weathered, born of her own conscience and Udell's lack of one. But now they had come to safe harbor, they were together, and the future lay before them golden with promise.

  With a contented sigh, she turned in his arms. Her hand lay against his broad chest. She loved the strength of him, so different from her own strength yet complementing it perfectly. How she had missed him, longed for him, needed him. Unconsciously, she moved her hand over the granite bone and muscle lightly covered by fine linen. How easily that could be cast aside. How readily they could be together without hindrance. It had been so very long …

  “Oh, no!” Hawk sat up with unconcealed alarm. He looked at her darkly. “I swear I will not last out a year before you drive me truly mad. What do you think to do here? Do you think I can lie like that, with you in my arms, breathing your scent and being touched by you without needing to make you mine? You who are so bruised and battered, yet by the grace of God still—” He shook his head as though to clear it.

  “Still what?” Krysta asked. She propped herself up on her elbows, the better to look at him as he got off the bed and stared at her … nervously? Was that it? H
ow curious, but perhaps men got like that when they were in love.

  “Never mind. Go to sleep.”

  “I have slept a day and more. I cannot possibly sleep more now.”

  “I will tell Eahlswith to drug you again.”

  “Fie on you for such a thought! I will not drink it. Nay, do not go. I need amusement.”

  “Amusement?” He looked torn between anger and laughter. “You toy with me?”

  She sat up further, smiling. The shoulder of her gown slipped away, revealing the creamy swell of her breast. “Aye, I will if you will permit it.”

  He was tempted, so tempted. She watched the battle raging within him, saw the moment when his sterner self won, and sighed with disappointment. “Go then.” Mutinously, she flopped back against the pillows. “I will be fine.”

  “You will be,” he agreed as he strode to the door. Over his shoulder, he said, “But I will send you amusement, lady, as is fitting for a bride.”

  Such was Krysta's lingering innocence that she did not take that for the dire threat she shortly discovered it to be.

  KRYSTA WINCED, TRIED TO MOVE, WINCED AGAIN, and stared at the queen beseechingly. Eahlswith smiled. “You look absolutely lovely, my dear. It's coming along very well.”

  Mindful of the seamstress directly beside her, wielding what must be the sharpest pins in the world, Krysta chose her words with care. “Is it done?”

  “Almost,” Eahlswith replied. “What do you think, Martha, another hour or so?”

  “Hmmmpf.”

  Thus having signaled her agreement, perhaps, the seamstress continued with her devilish work. Krysta closed her eyes and prayed for patience. Three days had passed since the queen had judged her fit to leave her bed. Three days of endless toil in preparation for what was apparently intended to be the largest wedding held in Winchester since the marriage of the royal couple's daughter. Indeed, Athelflad and her husband were only two among the hundreds of guests invited for the occasion. They were streaming in from all over England, eager to do the renowned Hawk honor. And no doubt curious to get a look at his Norse bride.

  Already the celebrations had begun. Nightly in the great hall, mummers, jugglers, minstrels, acrobats, and the like performed their arts for the amusement of the ever growing assembly. Outside in the courtyards and spilling over into the town, common folks joined in the festivities. A wedding at the end of summer when the harvest was in, and in the aftermath of Udell's defeat, gave everyone the perfect excuse to cast ordinary life aside and celebrate. From highest to lowest, youngest to oldest, all the residents of Winchester went about smiling and carefree, save perhaps the seamstresses and the cooks who would have their own rest when the deed was finally done.

  If it ever was, as Krysta had truly begun to wonder for it seemed to her that day passed day and her gown came no nearer to being finished. Yet, within the hour, while still she avoided gazing into the vast mirror of polished bronze brought from the queen's own quarters, the redoubtable Martha straightened her back, rose laboriously to her feet, and proclaimed, “There.”

  The ladies clustered around, clasping their hands and exclaiming. Krysta gathered her courage and dared a peek such as she had avoided through all the long, laborious process. There was a goddess in the mirror, deep within the glowing sheen of the bronze. Adorned in rich silk and velvet the hues of a summer forest bathed in shafts of sunlight, the cloth studded with pearls and costly gems, a cascade of golden hair spilling over her shoulders, she gazed back impassively at the mere mortal staring at her.

  Gaping, really, for Krysta could not contain her astonishment. That could not possibly be her. She was … freckled, disheveled, often wet. She laughed and groaned, sweated and sighed just like all mortals. But not like the creature in the mirror, who smiled suddenly, a winsome smile of piercing sweetness as though beckoning her into a mystery.

  “Oh, my.” A sigh of sound, nothing more, but it was enough to make Martha snort.

  “Oh, my, indeed.” She dusted off her hands and looked at Krysta of the mirror with satisfaction. “ 'Twas worth every moment though I doubt my poor eyes will recover. Never again will I make such a gown.” She glanced around at the array of fabrics still filling the room, fruit of Hawk's unbridled gift giving. “Unless, of course, your ladyship wants another.”

  “Oh, no!” The very thought dismayed her although she knew something would have to be done with the fabrics if only because Hawk obviously intended that to happen. She was beginning to understand that he was extremely good at getting his own way. “That is, not just now.”

  As it was, other seamstresses were already at work on lesser but still luxurious gowns, shifts, and all the rest that Eahlswith insisted had to be made. Moreover, just that morning the queen had announced that the wedding gifts were arriving. General hilarity among the ladies greeted Krysta's dismay. Hawkforte was a large keep, true enough, but surely there was a limit to how many gold plates and cups, finely woven wall hangings, chests of spices, furs, and the like that any one place could accommodate.

  Yet still the tribute to Hawk poured in. That was how she thought of it, tribute to the man who stood at Alfred's right hand, who had slain Udell and who married as a pledge of peace between Norse and Saxon. He deserved every bit of it, she had no quibble with that. She was just feeling a little overwhelmed, that was all.

  “Perhaps you should sit down now, dear,” Eahlswith said. She gestured to Martha and her helpers. The magnificent gown was deftly removed, leaving Krysta in her shift. A stool was set beneath her and a cool drink pressed into her hand.

  “Even dear Athelflad,” the queen said, “who is rarely discomposed by anything, found the preparations for her wedding tiring and we had half-a-year for that, not a mere fortnight.”

  Privately, Krysta could not imagine undergoing such rigors for six months but she did not say so. She was deeply grateful to Eahlswith for all that the good woman was doing, and that she did say.

  “You have been so kind, I will never be able to adequately thank you.”

  The queen smiled and actually looked a little embarrassed. “No thanks are needed, my dear. I'm enjoying myself thoroughly.”

  Krysta thought it fortunate that somebody was, but by the time the sun rose on her wedding day, her own spirits had improved greatly. For one thing, she was no longer nauseated. Indeed, she felt filled with energy and health. Slipping out of bed as the first rays of light filtered through her windows, Krysta stood for a few minutes gazing out at the town. So crowded was it with noble guests and their servants that there were people sleeping outside on pallets thrown down wherever there was room. Fortunately, the weather could not have been better. Fall had come with rich, dappled warmth. Insects still buzzed in the bushes and scarcely a leaf had changed color. The only real indication of the season were the splashes of gold and red to be glimpsed here and there in the surrounding wood. That and the shortening days that brought night on more speedily than weeks before.

  The thought of night made Krysta feel suddenly flustered, and wasn't that foolish? She did not go to her bridal bed a virgin and was deeply glad of it. Imagine trying to cope with all the guests, the ceremony and the rest, while worrying about the coming night in the arms of a stranger. Hawk was dearly known to her, no stranger but the man she loved and trusted above all else in the world. She closed her eyes for a moment and whispered the hope that night would come on swift wings and overtake the laggard day. For laggard it was, each moment seeming to stretch out intolerably.

  The queen and her ladies came while she was yet at the window. They brought food, bath water, and welcome chatter. Glad though she was of the distraction, Krysta still wished for something, anything that would speed up time. Each moment passed with aching slowness but despite that, when the bells heralding sext rang out, she was surprised. Midday already and the ceremony scheduled for nones. Suddenly there was not so much time left after all. Three scant hours for preparations that seemed endless. She laughed when her nails were buffed, both fin
gers and toes, but had to admit the pearly glow that resulted was very pretty. She suffered through the endless brushing of her hair, upon which the ladies insisted even when she warned them it would only make her tresses even more wild. Some small degree of order was achieved with hair ribbons so weighted down with jewels that she had to remember not to tilt her head back.

  And then, surprising her by its sudden arrival, came the moment to dress. Clad in a shift of linen so finely woven as to feel weightless, wearing silk hose gartered at the knees, Krysta held out her arms as three ladies lowered the gown over her head. The bodice was entirely of forest-green velvet embroidered with gold thread and pearls interspersed with jewels. The wide sleeves gathered at her wrists and the skirt were gored and inset with tawny silk visible only when she moved. Intricate patterns of gold thread and jewels coiled along the square neckline and the hem of the skirt. The gown was laced at the sides beneath her arms, drawn snugly enough to emphasize the high fullness of her breasts and her slender waist. Heavy gold brooches set with rubies secured the cloak of amber silk that hung from her shoulders down her back and for several yards beyond. Her tawny hair, each riotous curl perfumed and gleaming, spilled over her shoulders, held back from her face by a circlet of gold and gems that matched the brooches.

  When all was done, the ladies stepped back and afforded her a look in the mirror. Only by carefully tipping her head first to one side and then to the other did Krysta manage to convince herself that what she saw reflected in the polished bronze was truly … herself.

  “Astonishing,” she murmured, watching as the remarkable creature's lips moved just as her own did.

  Eahlswith smiled. “You would look lovely in anything, my dear, but the gown suits you very well. No bride has ever been more beautiful.”

  Krysta turned to the queen and took her hands in hers. With all her heart, she said, “I will never forget your many kindnesses and I hope I will always prove worthy of them.”

  Tears shone in Eahlswith's eyes. “You will, child, of that I have absolutely no doubt. Now go to your marriage with joy for it is truly blessed.”