Dream of Me/Believe in Me (66 page)

“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, Hawk 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.”

Krysta's eyes had widened during this telling. She had known bad storms before, snow that fell so thickly no one could stir from indoors for weeks, lashes of ice that bent full-grown trees to the ground. But never anything such as Hawk described. “You think that will come here?”

“I think there is a possibility and that is enough. However, there is nothing for you to worry about. Hawkforte's walls can withstand any blast.” He glanced toward the men, who were on their feet again, ready to resume work. To Krysta, he said gently, “Go now and rest. You have done enough.”

“Rest? But everyone else will be working through the night.” Everyone, she thought, save Daria and the priest, Father Elbert, for she had seen nothing of either of them.

“I certainly don't expect you to do that,” Hawk said. “You have already done more than most ladies would.”

Just how was she to take that, Krysta wondered. Had she shown herself to be less than a lady by the work she had done? Or did he simply presume she was of such delicate sensibility as to be incapable of doing more? Reluctantly, she remembered Daria's claim that he had wanted to marry a “lady of true nobility.”

“I am glad to help,” she ventured tentatively.

“There is no reason. All is proceeding very well. Go get some rest.” He gave her a little pat on the back to speed her on her way.

Hesitantly, Krysta went. She did not wish to gainsay him, much less present herself as less than a proper lady. Still, she glanced back several times over her shoulder, thinking he might relent. He was too busy to notice her, heaving huge bundles up onto the wagons with rhythmic ease that made her vividly aware of his strength and will.

Trudging down the road back to Hawkforte, she felt her gown sticking to her back. She glanced down at her hands, seeing them stained with dirt. Her face felt suspiciously as though it might be in the same condition.

Wincing at the thought of the picture she must have presented to him, Krysta plodded on. She was tired and the thought of sitting down in a cool, stone room was almost irresistible. Yet she loathed the notion. Everyone save Daria and her pet priest was hard at work. As she passed by one group on their way to yet another field, she glimpsed Raven perched on a bundle of sacks with Thorgold crouched beside her. They were chatting amicably with several of the townsfolk who seemed puzzled by them but still glad to have their help.

The littlest children were asleep already in the cool shadows at the edge of the fields where their parents were working, but those even a few years older were still scampering about, doing their best to gather up fallen sheaves. They could continue to contribute to the effort but Krysta was supposed to absent herself, being too refined a lady to possibly continue.

What hogwash! She was nothing of the sort and if Hawk wished otherwise, he was in for a keen disappointment. With a glance over her shoulder, she confirmed that she was out of his view. Resolve filled her. He might be angry later but that was a risk she was willing to take. She couldn't bear the thought of acting like such a weakling that she would take her ease while others labored through the night.

Coming upon a group of women bundling sheaves, Krysta saw her chance. She slipped in among them and began doing as they did without a word to anyone. For quite some time, no one noticed her. She was just one more pair of welcome hands—hands that were quickly sore and aching. The small of her back throbbed and her shoulders felt as though they were being wrenched from their sockets, but she persisted. Gather … tie … gather… tie… over and over until she lost all track of the passing hours. She could only be grateful that there were men to lift the bundles into wagons. The piles of oats waiting to be bundled
seemed never to lessen, for others were going before them, scything through the field. As one filled wagon pulled away, another appeared.

Night came and still they worked. The torches did help but it was the moon that lit their way, turning the world to brilliant silver and casting long shadows across the fields. Were it not for the bleaching out of all color, it might have been day. From time to time, a woman would break off to check on the children. All of them were now fast asleep and still the adults labored. The night was warm but the wind was increasing. Even knowing what it might portend, Krysta was glad of the faint relief it offered.

It was well after midnight, by the position of the moon, when a woman came up beside her, began gathering more sheaves, and suddenly stopped.

“My lady?”
Aelfgyth stared at her in shock. Like Krysta, she was sweat-stained, grubby, and exhausted. Her hair hung in tatters, as did Krysta's. Her face was smudged with grime, as was Krysta's. And her hands bled from a hundred tiny pricks of the oat sheaves, as did her mistress's.

“My lady, you cannot possibly be here!”

So tired was she, so numbed by the endless hours of exhausting toil, that Krysta could do nothing but laugh. “Then this must be a dream. What a relief! Obviously, I'm asleep in bed.”