Dream of Me/Believe in Me (74 page)

She did not open them at once but sat at the table, running her fingers over the leather covers. Without the books, the long hours would quickly grow torturous. But with them … For the first time in her life, she had nothing to do but read. No people to care for, no responsibilities to carry out, no duties to fulfill. How very odd that she should find such freedom only in captivity.

Through all that day and the next, Krysta read. Given her choice, she would have stopped only when her sight grew so blurred and her head so heavy that she had no alternative but to sleep. But Aelfgyth came with food, spotted an untouched tray, and sternly stood over Krysta until she was satisfied her mistress had eaten. She came again with hot water, the effort of heating and carrying it up the stairs being more than Krysta could ignore. The bath was welcome and she felt the better for it, but she sped back to the books as soon as she was dry. She read the psalms, delighting in the beauty of their poetry, savoring the stories they revealed, wondering at the men who had first written them. She plowed through Augustine, struggling to understand him, going back over and over to dwell on passages that eluded her. And Boethius—Hawk had even sent the book he himself had been reading. In it were notes carefully written in the margins giving Alfred's thoughts on the work he had translated. On and on she read as the second day blended into the third. Morning had turned to afternoon when she heard through the open windows the peal of a signal horn announcing the arrival of noble guests. Carefully setting down her book, she went to see who they might be. Her tower perch was too high for her to do more than make out the royal insignia waving from the banners carried by the equerries. But that was enough to shatter the strange peace of the last several days and remind her that the problems of the world were never to be denied for very long.

Day had fled when Hawk came. She heard his step outside the tower door before the iron lock opened. He stood for a moment at the threshold, garbed in black shot through with gold, gold again at his neck and on the powerful muscles of his upper arms, gold in the glint of his hair shining in the light of the braziers. Krysta sat curled on the bed, wearing only a shift for she had expected no visitor save faithful Aelfgyth. She started when she saw him but resisted the urge to reach for a cover.

He turned, closed the door behind him, turned again to face her. She heard him clear his throat. “You are well?”

Despite the books, she had braced herself for some admonishment. His concern surprised her. “Fine, thank you, and thank you also for the books. That was very kind.”

He looked a little embarrassed. “You are not accustomed to doing nothing. I thought it best if you had some activity.”

“It is true, the days would be very long without diversion.”

He nodded, standing with his hands tucked behind his back. Silence drew out between them. Before it became unbearable, Hawk's gaze lit on the table where the latest tray Aelfgyth had brought stood barely touched.

“Your maid says you aren't eating.”

Was that why he had come? Krysta wondered. Silently, she chided Aelfgyth for having said such a thing and for planting such worry in Hawk's mind.

“I most certainly am eating. If it appears I'm not, it's because my maid insists on bringing me meals five and six times a day. If I ate even half of what she sets before me, I'd look like the Christmas goose in short order.”

He started to laugh, caught himself and stopped, and continued to look at her sternly. “Be that as it may, you still aren't eating meat.”

“I've never eaten meat,” Krysta corrected.

“I would you do so. You cannot be healthy without it.”

“Do you think me sickly and a weakling? I assure you I am not.”

“Not now, but you will be if you do not eat properly. A good slab of beef, that's what you need, nice and rare, plenty of juice to strengthen your blood. I'll tell Aelfgyth to—”

“Nay, do not! I swear I could not swallow such a thing. If you try to compel me, I will be ill.”

“You exaggerate, but if you must be so finicky, I'll tell her to see it is cooked more, although that is a waste of good beef. Even so, you will eat it.”

“Hawk, truly I cannot! Please believe me.”

“Such a fuss over a little beef …” He paused, eyeing her. “I suppose I might be persuaded to relent.”

She was aware suddenly of her heart beating very fast. “How … persuaded?”

“I have been summoned to court. Come with me.”

Her mind stumbled over that. Surely he did not mean … “To Alfred's court?”

“It is the only one of consequence. You will enjoy it. There are more books, interesting people, all manner of diversions.”

He was there before her, looking utterly solid and real, yet the words he spoke made no sense. Bewildered, she shook her head. “How can I possibly come with all that stands between us?”

He ran a hand through his hair, unsettling it. She wished she could smooth it back and had to stop herself from doing so. “Nothing stands between us but what you have put there,” he declared. “There is naught but your own imaginings.” He looked at her closely. “Unless you merely seek some excuse to prevent this marriage.”

“No! How can you accuse me of that? It is only your
own good I look to. You must marry a lady and one without any taint of … of anything.”

“Of magick. Say it, Krysta, do not deny the word for it is of that you speak. Of magick and all the nonsense swirling around it, of pixies and elves and little people, of shape changers and changeling babies and even skelkies, that's what they're called, isn't it? Granted, you swim admirably well, but I have lain with you and you are as purely natural as I could ever hope a woman to be.”

She straightened up on the bed, on her knees, heedless of how her movement drew the shift more tightly around her. Her hair tumbled in glistening disarray down her back. Green fire like that caught in emeralds burned in her eyes. “You need not remind me of what passed between us! I remember it all too well. Indeed, the memory taunts me, for now I know the full extent of what can never be, even if you will not accept it. How is it I have a greater care for your honor and well-being than you do yourself? Have you thought of that? In your wisdom, great Hawk of Essex, do you know the reason for that?”

He shrugged broad shoulders and a flash of tenderness passed over his rugged features. “I suppose because you love me.”

She choked, struggled to breathe, emerged from a moment of panic to stare at him aghast. “I do not!”

“Krysta, delude yourself with tales of fantasy if you must, but do not lie.”

“I'm not, I'm not!” Hot tears flowed down her cheeks, “Oh, God, I am! Curse you. I love you! I should not, cannot, but it does not matter. I lost my mother, my father, my home. I can lose you and survive.”

He took a step nearer to the bed, even held out a hand to her, but he caught himself and let it fall. He was there to challenge, not to comfort. To win rather than console. “And beyond that, more than mere survival, can you do that, too?”

“Damn you!”

“As I damned you in the hall when you said we would not wed. But, sweet lady, it is not for you to decide. You will come with me to Winchester, to the king, and we will see what fate holds for both of us.”

“And if I will not?”

“Your half-brother gave you to me as servant, slave, whatever I desire. You
will
come, Krysta. As I stand before you, so shall it be.”

Never, Hawk of Essex!

The words remained unspoken. He could compel her, as she knew full well. He could take her to Winchester as he had sent Sven to Vestfold, in irons if necessary. Her pride rebelled and her curiosity was caught, a potent combination made more potent still by her simple longing to be with him.

To Winchester and the king. The scholar-king of books and learning. The valiant warrior against the Danes and all the ravages they represented. The hope of peace … and love.

To Winchester then and fate be damned.

W
IND FILLED THE SAILS OF THE LONGSHIPS
passing through the strait to the south of the port of Hamtun. There where the rivers Test and Itchen joined, just opposite the diamond-shaped island with the ridge of chalk running like a backbone along its breadth, the water took on a hard chop. For once, Krysta had no wish to be at the rudder, glad simply to watch Hawk as he expertly maneuvered their vessel between the pebbly shore of the mainland and the chalky cliffs of the nearby island. Sunlight glinted off the thick mane of his hair. When he smiled, his teeth flashed brightly against his burnished skin. He was shirtless, wearing only breeches for even out on the water the late summer afternoon was pleasantly warm.

For three days they had sailed on fair winds, anchoring only at night. For three days she had watched the passing countryside with its verdant valleys, plentiful rivers, and rolling chalk downs. For three days she had done her utmost not to think of the man who was never far from her side. Not once had he mentioned her confession of loving him, nor had he spoken again of her belief that
they could not wed. He seemed intent on ignoring both, yet she wondered if what seemed to be lack of concern or interest wasn't instead the workings of a master strategist.

He touched her, never carnally or romantically, but lightly and even seeming impersonally, the strength of his hand on her arm to steady her when the boat rocked, the quick stroke of his finger along her cheek to brush away spray, the pressure of his leg against hers as they sat together, on and on through each day in myriad tiny contacts that kept her constantly on edge and aware of him. And then there were the nights … Hawk insisted on sleeping beside her, pointing out that there was very little sleeping space on the vessel and what there was, everyone had to share. He made her concern sound silly, as though there could be no conceivable reason why she would object. To be fair, he did not touch her at night, but each morning she woke mortified to find herself curled against him, saved from humiliation only because he slept deeply and seemed unaware of her weakness.

And weakness it was, of that she had no doubt, like sweet wine flowing through her veins and fogging her mind. A hundred times, nay a thousand, she caught herself staring at him. The beauty of land and sea, great as it was, could not hold her, but the beauty of the man proved a compulsion she could not resist. He was so perfectly formed, so ideally male, so innately graceful. It was all so easy to remember how he felt in her arms and in her body….

Krysta groaned and turned her head away but not before Hawk heard her. “Something wrong?” he asked pleasantly. She murmured in the negative but that did not satisfy him. “Are you sure? The water's gotten rough. You're not feeling nauseated, are you?”

His cheerful solicitude made her frown. “I don't get seasick.”

“Anyone can, you know. I did myself one time when
we hit a squall somewhere way the hell off the coast of Gaul. There wasn't a man on board who wasn't emptying up his guts. Why, the deck was slippery with it, and the smell— Oh, I'm sorry, that's probably not the best story to tell right now when you aren't feeling well.”

“I'm feeling perfectly fine! Or I was until you chose to share your charming reminiscences.”

He adopted an expression of such blatantly false repentance that it would not have gulled a newborn lamb. “Forgive me, I'm not used to having a woman on board ship. It's too easy to forget.”

“You
forgot
I am a woman?” If she gave him a really hard shove, was there a chance she could knock him overboard?

“Not forgot exactly. It's just that you fit in so well. You don't talk a lot or complain about the food. You do not need any special treatment. Believe me,” he added hastily, “I mean that as a compliment.”

“And to think people laud the Dragon of Landsende for his way with women. I'm amazed it isn't you they go on about instead.”

“Well, that's nice of you to say but …”

“I wasn't saying it!”

“Now don't get upset. Just because I won't let you steer right now—”

“I don't want to steer!”

“You're getting emotional. It's probably from being cooped up. You'll feel better when we get to Winchester. You'll be in the company of other women, you can sit around and do needlework, gossip, that sort of thing.”

“You know, I'd be willing to bet one of these oars could put a really big dent in your skull.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You think so? I wouldn't be so sure. It's pretty thick.” He allowed her several moments to struggle against uttering the obvious response, then burst out laughing. The look he gave her was boldly
male and sent a shiver straight down to her toes. “On top of everything else, you're fun to tease.”

“Everything else?” Disgruntled, she couldn't help adding, “You mean besides being just like one of your men?”

Hawk grinned. He leaned over and dropped his voice to a gravelly murmur. “Sweetheart, if that's what you think, we need to find another nice, secluded beach. Or better yet a large bed someplace where no one will disturb us for a very long time.”