Dream of Me/Believe in Me (86 page)

She stared at it hesitantly. The current was still flowing fast. Ordinarily, to trust herself to it would be madness. And yet it had not killed her when by all rights it should have. She was weary and a little bruised but that was as nothing against what might well have happened. Somewhere up ahead were rapids. She was quite sure she had not come upon them yet and that she would not survive doing so. But if she could keep aware and leave the river before the rapids, she just might have a chance.

The pool lay in the shadow of several old oak trees. One of them was dying. A long arm of a fallen branch lay on the bank, almost in the water. Tentatively, Krysta pushed it into the pool. She watched until she saw it float. Quickly, before she could think better of it, she stripped off most of the clothes that had so weighed her down. Wearing only her shift, she waded back into the water, grabbed hold of the tree limb, and kicked toward the river.

H
AWK DREW REIN AT THE EDGE OF TH E CLEARING
. He took note of the boat drawn up on the shore and of the marks left in the soft earth. A wave of his hand brought Thorgold to his side.

“Let the dog have a go at this.”

Scarcely had the animal been set down than he began to race around the clearing, nose to the ground. He did
this faster and faster, narrowing his search area, until within minutes he was back on the forest trail and trotting north. Half a mile on, where the road forked, he moved left unerringly.

“Good dog,” Thorgold said and whistled him back up into the saddle.

“How did you know about the clearing?” Thorgold asked as they rode on.

“I've used it myself,” Hawk replied. “Just beyond are rapids. You either portage around them or go on by horse. It's the second of the main routes into Mercia. I thought there were too many of them fleeing court to go this way and it seems most didn't. But Udell had other ideas.”

His face was grim as he spoke. They had ridden relentlessly since earliest day. It was now afternoon but no hint of fatigue marked the Hawk or any of his men. Nor could they afford to let any creep over them. Udell had far too great a lead. To catch him they would have to press themselves to the limits of endurance and beyond. Or they would have to get very lucky.

The dog was luck, Hawk thought. Without him, they would not have known for certain that they were on the right road and they could not afford to go wrong again. But it would take more. Much more.

They continued on upriver. Long ago, when his life had seemed to consist of nothing but battles, Hawk had learned the trick of falling into a watchful reverie. It allowed his weary mind and body some measure of rest while keeping him alert to danger. Now he sought that state purely for release from the anguish that had tormented him from the moment he learned that Krysta was in Udell's hands, but he did not find it.

A thousand times he berated himself for not anticipating what the Mercian might do. He had been too confident of being able to defeat Udell, too certain the traitor would fall neatly into the trap set for him. And perhaps he
would have if Krysta had not been at court to draw his eye and spark his rage. She should have been left safe at home in Hawkforte, even if he'd had to keep her locked up to do it. But no, he had put his own belief that confronted by king and court she would give up any notion of rejecting their betrothal above all other regard.

And now she could die.

He inhaled sharply, stabbed through by a thought more painful than any blow he had ever taken in his life of battles. He could not lose her! By God, he could not! Please God, he would do anything, bargain with anything, promise anything.

Hawk had rarely prayed. He saw little point in it since it was not his observation that God favored any side in battle. He had seen men he would have given his life for die in an instant while others escaped death time and time again. His own continued life he credited to his skill, to luck, and to whatever fate might have planned for him. He found some pleasure in the mass, if only for the brief respite it offered from worldly concerns, but he did not consider the recitation of prayers to be prayer itself.

Now he prayed as he had not known he could do, prayed with all his heart and soul while the long miles passed and time inched by. If God would spare her, he would do anything, even give her up if that was what was needed. He could live without her, however barren that life would be, if only he knew she yet lived somewhere in the world. To imagine a world without Krysta was more than he could bear.

The dog barked.

Hawk returned from his bleak reverie to see Thorgold struggling to contain the animal, who was trying to leap out of the saddle. “Something's spooked him,” Thorgold said. He gave up trying to hold the dog and let him down.

Barely had he done so than the animal began rushing in circles, seeking a scent.

Hope flared in Hawk. Mayhap they were closer than he had thought. If something had happened to delay Udell—

The dog continued in circles, nose to the ground, but without success. He grew increasingly agitated as he failed to find what he sought. Thorgold dismounted and went to him. “What's the trouble, boy?”

The dog lifted his head and whined softly. His tail drooped.

“Have we lost him?” Hawk asked. He could not imagine how. Udell would have no greater goal than to reach Mercia and his stronghold. Leaving the road would slow him down tremendously, and he could not return to the river because he had left his boat below the rapids. Unless he had arranged for another boat, but there was no sign of that, no clearing where boats could be brought ashore, no indication of horses milling about as riders dismounted.

“Nay,” Thorgold said, “he's been this way all right but the scent isn't fresh. Still, something got this fellow going.” He patted the dog's head reassuringly and made to return to his horse. At once the animal stiffened, looking toward the river. He raised a front paw, stretching out both nose and tail.

“He was trained for hunting,” Hawk said. All his senses were suddenly, keenly alert. He too looked toward where the glint of fast-running water shone through the trees. “Could Udell have doubled back for some reason?”

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.

U
DELL 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.