by Josie Litton
In the midst of all this Dragon returned, and hearing of what was happening, he immediately joined the search. At the hour when Hawkforte should have rung with laughter and song, there were only the quick tread of feet and low-voiced murmurs of concern that slowly darkened to something worse.
HER HANDS WERE BRUISED. SHE FELT THEM THROB-bing in the darkness. Her fingers were scraped and bleeding. Her legs ached and her heart beat painfully. Beyond exhaustion, Krysta sagged against the wall. For more hours than she knew, she had searched the chamber, feeling over every inch of stone trying to find something she could use as a weapon. All she had encountered was slick, damp rock and hopelessness.
Chilled to the bone, she was shivering helplessly, and the strength of her mind that had carried her so far was beginning to crack. The darkness pressed in on all sides, unrelieved, unrelenting. Daria truly had buried her alive and soon she would return to finish the job. Without a weapon, Krysta would have little chance against her.
Her face stung and with a start she realized that it was because of the hot tears trickling down her cold cheeks. So weary was she that she did not sob or in any way cry out, she simply wept silently and helplessly. Leaning against the wall, hugging herself, she thought again of the child asleep within her.
“I'm so sorry,” she said brokenly. “I know I have to save us and I've tried so hard.”
Her voice sounded very odd in the darkness, as though it came from some source other than herself. Yet she felt less alone for having spoken.
“Daria will come back. She is mad and she means to kill us. I will fight her, even without a weapon, but we have little chance.”
She pressed her hands to her flat belly and imagined she was touching her child, a small, smiling baby with hair the tawny shade of Hawk's and eyes as green as her own. A baby who would grow to be a sturdy toddler, racing about Hawkforte, learning at his father's side until one day he, too, would be a strong man and noble leader. There in the darkness, sorrow a bottomless hole within her, she imagined she could almost see him, not Hawk yet very like him, so young and yet confident, reaching out a strong arm even as he smiled at her with gentle reassurance.
This baby who had little chance of coming into the light of the world, yet he seemed a man grown and so very real. As though she had called him into being.
Dazed, she stared into the darkness. Her eyes were open, tears still flowing from them, yet there he stood like a bright, shimmering vapor in the unmistakable shape of the man she knew to be her son.
“Falcon,” she murmured, and his smile deepened.
A sob broke from her. She stretched out her arms, frantic to touch him just this once before eternal darkness closed over them both. If only her love was strong enough to withstand death, to give him the chance to live as he was surely meant to. If only …
Yearning for her son, Krysta reached too far and stumbled. She went down hard on her knees, gasping in pain. When she looked up again, the vision was gone.
“Nooo!”
The cry was ripped from her heart. What torment was this to show her a glimpse of a future never to be? Why this added torture when there was already so much to bear? Was God truly so cruel?
Sobbing, she struggled to rise from the floor but weakness overcame her. Why bother to stand, why keep fighting, why not just give up now? Surely death would close around her as easily as the darkness did.
Or perhaps not … for what was this just within the touch of her fingers, this solid something she had fallen beside? Slowly, Krysta lifted her head. She still could see nothing but by carefully feeling what she had just found, her despair gave way to hope. Hard within her grasp, firm and real, was what gave every evidence of being a solid iron bar of a kind that might be used on the windows of a cell. This one had no windows but there was that small opening in the door. Had it once been closed over by the very bar she now clutched?
Carefully, Krysta got to her feet. She fumbled into the darkness, finding her way back to the wall. Without it, she would have been lost entirely. Moving slowly along it, she positioned herself to the side of the door where she would be best concealed when it opened.
Holding the bar in one hand, she touched the other to her sleeping child. Her tears were gone. In their place was a smile identical to her son's.
“Thank you,” she murmured and felt her fear flow away. In its place was hard, clear resolve.
HAWK HAD BEEN AFRAID BEFORE. ANY MAN WHO didn't know fear in battle was an idiot and probably a dead one at that. Fear could be good. It could stop you from doing insanely stupid things and even sometimes keep you alive for another moment, another breath, another hour, another day, another battle.
This was different. Terror ate at him, making his soul burn. He wasn't sure which was worse, the sickening anguish he felt or the rage that accompanied it.
She was gone. After hours of searching, he was convinced that Krysta was truly gone. But how and why remained unknown to him. He had questioned every guard, seeking any hint that someone might have done at Hawkforte what Udell had managed at Winchester. But that had happened at night, and Krysta had vanished while yet it was day. The guard had been vigilant as always and no one had seen anything. Not a person out of place, not a single suspicious action, not a hint that his life was about to come crashing down around him.
This was worse than Udell. Then, he had known who had taken her, the danger she faced, and what he must do. Now he knew nothing except that the pain he felt was not to be borne.
Was it possible she had gone of her own free will?
The question had first come to him hours before when he learned that Thorgold and Raven were also not to be found. He had dismissed it at once, stunned even to have thought it. But over and over again as the night wore on, the same doubt flared. Could she have lain in his arms, shared the heights of loving passion, laughed and teased, tantalized his mind as well as his body, and it all meant nothing? Had she clung to her determination that they should not be man and wife?
He shook his head, struggling to clear it. The very notion was absurd, a sick figment of his tormented imagination. Krysta loved him as he loved her. She had put aside all her doubts and fears when they wed. Besides, were that not so he would know it, for she had no subterfuge in her. She was as guileless as clear, sparkling water.
And she was gone.
Not of her own free will, of that he was certain. Someone had taken her, somehow, somewhere. Taken her and, he recalled as a fresh bolt of agony ripped through him, their child.
He would take Hawkforte apart stone by stone if need be. He would scour the surrounding land, put aside his love for it and strip it bare if he must, but he would, by God and all the saints, find her.
“Brother …”
He turned, seeing Daria yet not truly seeing her until he forced himself back from the dire vision of destruction he had conjured and stared into the grave face of his half-sister.
“Brother,” she said again, “it is very late. Surely everyone is exhausted, yourself included. Would it not be better to resume in the morning when there is light to see by?”
Light? There was no light and would never be again without Krysta. He was not tired, such consideration did not exist. If it did for others, so be it. It made no difference to him.
“Go to your bed.”
She stared at him and he noticed yet again the flatness of her eyes. “I only meant …”
“I know what you meant.” He did not want to be unkind. There was too much pain already to add to it. “Those who wish to do so will continue to search.”
She frowned. He wondered if it could really be out of concern for him and felt the thought slip away. Nothing in his experience with her said it could be so. Nothing.
Her husband had rebelled against Alfred and died for it. Daria had been thrown from the heights of anticipated power to sufferance in her half-brother's household. She had no reason to want Krysta found.
Did she have reason for even more?
&nb
sp; He stared at her, trying to think, but his mind moved sluggishly before the onslaught of raw emotion. His marriage to Krysta had stripped her of what power she had enjoyed at Hawkforte. What was left for her, then?
His marriage … But there had been another marriage before his, that of his sister Cymbra and the Norse Wolf. A marriage begun in violence and intended revenge that, grace of God, turned swiftly to true love.
Wolf had proposed the alliance of Norse and Saxon against Dane. Wolf had suggested his own marriage to Cymbra to solidify that alliance.
An answer had come back to Wolf, insulting him deeply, rejecting both marriage and alliance. An answer sealed with the Hawk's own sign yet never written or known by him.
The mystery of who had sent the message that could so easily have provoked war remained unsolved.
He shrugged impatiently. Why think of such things now when Krysta's fate hung in the balance?
“Go to your bed,” he said again and turned away.
HOW COULD THIS BE? IT WAS WELL AFTER MIDNIGHT yet Hawkforte blazed with light. Not a man, woman, or child had sought rest. In every nook and cranny, every outbuilding and dependency, every passage and every chamber, people were searching. The night air resounded with the constant calls: “Lady Krystaaaaa … Lady Krystaaaaaaa …” On and on, enough to drive her mad
Why did they care? What did it matter to them whether the Norse whore was found? Why was Hawk not raging with anger for all the trouble she was causing and had caused
from the very beginning? Why was he not glad to be rid of her?
Not that it mattered. She had waited far too long to consider any change in her plans. She would just have to be more careful but she was clever enough to manage that. Far, far more clever than any of them.
Best not to wait any longer though, have it done and enjoy the anticipation of the discovery, the fury that would erupt. Oh, yes, that would be very good indeed.
KRYSTA BLINKED ONCE, THEN AGAIN BEFORE SHE WAS certain of what she saw. Still very dim but growing stronger, a light was approaching. Her stomach clenched and she took tighter hold of the iron bar. The impulse to cry out on the chance that the light belonged to rescuers was very strong but she forced herself to remain quiet. Rescuers would likely be calling out to her. In the utter silence of the cell and the passage beyond, she heard nothing.
Nothing save for her own prayers offered up for the safety of her child in the moments before the light grew brighter.
Daria's face loomed at the tiny opening in the door. Her mouth twisted and her voice was very high.
“There now, you've waited long enough. Did you fear I would not return? But I have and look what I've brought you.”
She held an object up to the opening. It glinted with the sharp sheen of metal.
“Do you recognize it? You should. It is Hawk's own knife. You will die by it and he will be blamed.”
Despite herself, Krysta could not prevent the sharp inhalation of her breath. Daria heard it and laughed. “So surprised? But how else would I do this? It's perfect, really. Hawk never wanted peace with the Norse, not really. He rejected Wolf Hakonson's offer of alliance, he sent the message saying he would never allow his sister to be wed to a filthy Viking, then he raged when the Wolf took her anyway and made her his wife. Did Hawk not go to Sciringesheal himself and steal her from there, only to finally have to return her to the Wolf when he came upon Hawkforte with a mighty army? The peace they pledged then was false in the Hawk's heart, he wanted only revenge. As for marrying you, he loathed the idea but was forced into it by Alfred. Now our great king will have every reason to be enraged at Hawk, as will the Norse themselves. He will be disgraced, cast down, just as he deserves to be. Alfred will kill him even as he killed my own foolish husband.”
“No!” Krysta exclaimed. “All this is lies! Hawk never rejected the alliance and he would never betray it. He did not send that message to Wolf and no one would believe him capable of killing me!”
“Why? Because he has pretended affection for you? That's all it is, you stupid girl! When you are found with his knife in you, and people remember what went before, he will be blamed.”
Dread filled Krysta. Beyond question, Daria was mad. Her mind was so twisted that she truly believed what she said. And that meant she would have no hesitation to act upon it.
“Step back!” Daria ordered shrilly. “If you give me no trouble, I will make it quick. Otherwise, I promise you will linger.”
Krysta said nothing, only looked inward and summoned all her courage. She gripped the iron bar in both hands.
The door opened. Daria thrust the torch into the darkness, trying to locate Krysta. Huddled in the shadows off to the side, she managed to remain out of sight.
“Come forward and show yourself! By God, if you do not, you will beg for death!”
Only a little more, just let her take a few more steps into the chamber …
Light inched across the dirt floor. Krysta drew a breath, held it …
“Where are you! You cannot hide!”
The knife was raised, cold steel shining.
Gripping iron, Krysta sent up a quick prayer and lifted both hands over her head. She took a quick step forward, into the light, and swung her arms down hard.
“Aaaaaggghhh!”
Daria's legs gave way. She went down hard but the blow had only struck the side of her head. She was still conscious, screaming, and struggling to her feet.
“Kill you! I'll kill you! How dare you—!”
Cold steel shining. The knife had been flung loose from Daria's hand and fallen across the far end of the chamber. Without hesitation, Krysta dropped the iron bar and lunged for the knife. She had to get it before Daria did … had to—
Her fingers were closing on the hilt when mad laughter filled the chamber. She looked over her shoulder and was struck numb by terror. Daria loomed above her, clutching the iron bar.
“Think to thwart me, do you? I will kill you any way I must and still Hawk will take the blame. You stupid, stupid f—”
Her eyes were bulging. She dropped bar and torch together, both hands clawing at the steely arm that had come suddenly around her neck and was choking the life from her.
Hawk. Yet a Hawk such as Krysta had never seen, his features tight with rage, his gaze empty of mercy, the warrior who haunted the nightmares of the Danes.
Krysta dropped the knife and flung herself at him, pulling desperately at his unyielding arm. “She is your half-sister, you share the same father! Do not kill her!”
He looked at her in disbelief. “She sought to kill you and our child yet you ask me to spare her?”
“To spare yourself! Do not stain your hands with her blood! Do this and it will follow you all your days. Think, Hawk! It is peace you want, not more death!”
Daria's feet were kicking futilely in the air. Her eyes rolled back in her head. She was moments from eternal judgment. Slowly, his gaze never leaving Krysta, Hawk eased his strangling hold.
“I think I have always known there was something wrong with her.”
He spoke so sorrowfully that Krysta's eyes stung with tears. She reached up and touched his face. On the ground the torch still burned, throwing writhing shadows across the chamber.
“She suggested we call off the search until morning,” Hawk said. “I fell to thinking about how much she stood to lose with you here yet how cheerful she had seemed about it. She was never a cheerful woman, not for any reason. It did not stand to reason she would be now.” He sighed deeply. “Praise God I followed her.”
Krysta nodded. Reaction was setting in and she could do little more. All her strength was needed to stumble after Hawk down the long passage and back up into the manor, where they were instantly seen and surrounded by frantic searchers.
Chapter TWENTY-TWO
ALIGHT WAS SHINING IN HER EYES. KRYSTA turned her head, trying to escape the brightness, only to find she could not. The fog of sleep had lifted and in its place came awareness that something
was out of place.
She sat up slowly and took a long look around. She was in her chamber, the one she shared with Hawk, lying alone in the vast bed. Her body felt unusually heavy as though she had slept a long time without moving.
A long time, indeed, for she remembered it had been after midnight when Hawk carried her up the stairs, and now the room was filled with angled sunlight streaming through the windows. Off to the west, she could just make out the riotous colors of sunset. She had slept almost a full day. She was throwing back the covers to rise from the bed when memory flooded back.
Daria … the cell … the terrible hours of darkness … the beautiful vision of her son … and then the final struggle with the madwoman whose life she had found herself driven to save.
“Oh, my,” she murmured, for there seemed nothing else to say. She was hurrying to dress, anxious to learn what had happened while she slept, when Raven appeared.
“Thank heavens!” Krysta exclaimed. “I've been wondering where you were and Thorgold as well. Daria didn't try to harm you too, did she?”
Raven gave herself a good shake and glared at the mention of the madwoman. “And how could you think she did not when neither of us was there to see to your safety? That horrible priest, Father Elbert, lured us into the woods and trapped us within a circle of iron. Villainous foe! Try though we did, we could not free ourselves.”
“Does Hawk know about him? I should have told him last night but I was so tired. Father Elbert knew I was with Daria but he said nothing, did he?”
“Nary a word, and yes, indeed, your lord knows all. That fine fellow, Lord Dragon, found and freed us, bless his soul, and let no one be surprised when special favors come his way. He told the Hawk what happened but Dreadful Daria was already proclaiming for all the world to hear that it was Father Elbert who had led her down treason's path. She claims he is working for the Danes, pledged to destroy the alliance in return for wealth and honors from them.”
