Dream of Me/Believe in Me (87 page)

“There's a village about an hour east of the clearing. Get together some of the peasants and see this lot buried.”

He would not leave even traitors to the ravens and the wolves. But neither would he give them any further
thought. Quickly, he sought out Krysta, finding her a short distance into the forest. She was still wrapped within his cloak, her hair hanging in a sodden mass down her back, and her face so white he swore he could count every freckle. When she saw him, she sprang up, glared at him, and flung herself into his arms.

“You had better be all right, you had just better!” she yelled, striking her fists against his chest. The blows were so soft he could scarcely feel them but he knew better than to let her see that.

“Ouch! Stop that, woman! Udell did not cause me such discomfort as you now inflict.”

“Is he—?”

“Of course he is. Now put him from your mind. Thorgold, did you never think to teach this wench manners? Look at her, beating me when all I've done is pull her out of a river and get rid of a nuisance.”

“I'll leave the manners to ye, lord,” Thorgold said with a chuckle. He whistled for the dog and headed back to the road.

“I do have manners,” Krysta said plaintively. “Truly I do, it's just that you bring out the worst in me. I cannot think when I am around you. Every time I try to do so, I stumble over feelings that overwhelm me.”

Her reward for this befuddled confession was a heart-stopping grin that stole her breath. She had yet to recover it when Hawk swept her into his arms, carried her back to his horse, and set off for Winchester, which he intended to reach with absolutely no further delay.

They entered the city shortly after nightfall. Every torch was lit and watch fires blazed from the guard towers. Alerted to Udell's treason, crowds were gathered in the streets. They cheered mightily as Hawk and his men rode by. Alfred himself came out to greet them in the courtyard of the royal residence.

“My dear friends!” the king exclaimed. “You have ever been in our thoughts and prayers. Praise God for restoring you to us.”

Krysta was received into gentle hands, but the moment Hawk dismounted he reclaimed her. Holding her high against his chest, he said, “I thank you, my lord. Udell is dead. Now if you don't mind, I would like to make arrangements to return to Hawkforte.”

Looking at the exhausted woman asleep in the Hawk's arms, Alfred said apologetically, “I don't mind at all. However, I'm not the one you have to convince.”

Even as he spoke, Eahlswith descended the steps to stand at her lord's side. She glanced at Hawk, peered at Krysta, and clucked. “That poor dear child. Bring her inside at once. She needs a bath, rest, good food, and care.”

“Of course she does,” Hawk agreed. “But quickly, my lady, if you wouldn't mind. We start for Hawkforte at dawn.”

The gentle queen, loving mother, and mild-mannered helpmate, gazed at the mighty Hawk, who towered above her, unshaven, blood-splattered, and as fearsome a sight as to dwell in the nightmares of any man. She frowned.
“You
may start whenever you wish, my lord. But your lady remains here until I say she is fit to travel.”

Hawk looked to Alfred in surprise but the king merely shrugged. “I would just give in if I were you,” he said quietly. “It's so much simpler in the end.”

Thus blessed with new understanding of the inner workings of the royal marriage, Hawk trudged up the steps in Eahlswith's wake. The queen's ladies met them at the top and promptly clustered about, chirping with concern. He was allowed to go as far as Krysta's chamber and even to deposit her on the bed. That done, he was dismissed. Scarcely did he realize what was happening than the door was closed firmly in his face.

It remained closed through that night and into the
next day, as did the door connecting the two chambers. Whenever Hawk knocked, as he did regularly, he was met by one of any number of sweet-faced, gentle-voiced ladies who told him flatly he could not come in. Krysta was asleep, he was informed. She needed her rest. She would be fine. He would be told when he could see her.

He appealed to Alfred, who shrugged again and suggested they go hunting. This they did, but upon returning late in the afternoon only to be barred yet again from Krysta's door, Hawk rebelled. He insisted on being admitted, which threw the gentle ladies into a flutter and caused the queen to be summoned. To Eahlswith, he pleaded his case.

“I only want to see her for a moment,” he said, feeling ridiculous, for when had he ever pleaded with a woman for anything? Yet he was so grateful that Krysta lived and that she was being properly cared for that he could do nothing but entreat.

Eahlswith took pity. She allowed him to come into the room and stand beside the bed but with a caution to remain quiet. Just as he had been told, Krysta was deeply asleep. She lay on her back, her glorious hair shining clean and neatly braided, the top of a chaste white shift peering from above the covers. A great surge of relief went through him as he finally saw her but it was gone in an instant, replaced by shock.

A livid purple and blue bruise covered most of her right cheek. On the other side, her forehead was badly scraped and swollen. Her wrists were bandaged. He turned to Eahlswith, who said softly, “She was tied for a time. The ropes cut her wrists and ankles. We must be grateful that was the only harm Udell did to her directly. The rest came in the river. She is bruised from head to toe but no bones are broken and—and no other damage was done. She will recover but she cannot possibly go anywhere for some time yet.”

Hawk shook his head numbly. “I didn't realize … riding back here, she was asleep most of the time and I was just so glad to have her alive that I didn't think—”

Eahlswith laid a hand on his arm gently. “You know as well as I that bruises take time to show. Getting her here quickly was the best thing you could have done.”

His face was anguished as he looked at the pale, still figure lying in the bed. “She must be in pain.”

“She was when she awoke this morning although she tried her best to conceal it. I gave her a soothing draft and she slipped back to sleep. Nothing will heal her as quickly as sleep will do.”

And he'd been banging on the door, demanding to be admitted.

Eahlswith saw the look in his eyes and correctly interpreted it. “Listen to me. I will tell you exactly what I would tell either of my own sons. You are not to blame for this in any way, and even more important, you saved her. She is here, she will recover, the two of you will be together again. Give thanks for that and let the rest go.”

Hawk nodded, not trusting himself to speak. His eyes burned and his vision was blurred. He knelt beside the bed and took Krysta's hand very gently in his. Holding on to her, he bowed his head.

Later, leaving the chamber, he still felt deeply shocked and subdued. But by the time he stepped out into the brilliant sun of a fading summer day, anger was surging within him. Even as he fought to control it he wished Udell might yet be alive if only so that he could kill him again. But the Mercian was gone beyond his reach and Athelred would deal ably with the others. Lacking any outlet for his rage, Hawk sought some way to distract himself. He walked aimlessly until he found himself outside the scriptorium. After hesitating briefly, he went inside. The priest Asser was there, looking over another copy of Alfred's law book that was nearing completion.

Seeing Hawk, he took his leave of the scribe. Together, they walked back outside.

“There is something I can do for you, my lord?” Asser asked.

Hawk nodded. He had not known what he intended when he entered the scriptorium but it was clear to him now. “I wish to commission a book.”

The priest looked surprised. “You have scribes of your own at Hawkforte?”

“Able men but not so skilled as some here. I want this to be a special book.”

“And the subject … ?”

Hawk thought for a moment. “Birds, something to do with that. Real information about them, not just the tales people tell. With illustrations that make them seem to come alive.”

“A laudable idea, my lord, but if you will forgive me, I had not realized your great interest in this area.”

“I have none,” Hawk admitted. “But the Lady Krysta does. I intend this as a gift for her.”

The priest looked at him for a moment, then smiled. If he thought it strange to give a book to a woman, he did not show it. “I see. Well, then, we must find the best hand for this. There is a young monk here who daily feeds the birds in the garden. I have noticed him observing them and making sketches. I think he might do.”

“I leave it to you then.”

“Be assured I will see to it. Is there anything else I might help with, my lord?”

Hawk thought for a moment and grinned. “Not unless you happen to know where in Winchester I could find hair ribbons.”

Asser admitted he did not but a dairymaid bringing fresh milk to the scriptorium did and she was delighted to tell Hawk. He went off realizing that the quickest way past his anger was to think of Krysta and what would be
likely to please her. He spent the rest of the day doing just that and was a happy man for it.

P
ROPPED UP AGAINST THE PILLOWS, KRYSTA LOOKED
out over the expanse of the bed to the cluttered room beyond. To no one in particular, she said, “Someone has to stop him.”

Several of the ladies giggled. Seated nearby on a chair from which she had removed several bolts of cloth, Eahlswith smiled. “I think it's terribly sweet.”

“Oh, it is,” Krysta agreed bemusedly. She looked at the swirls of color lying on the bed, indeed taking up a great deal of it. “But if this goes on much longer, any woman in all of England who wants a hair ribbon will have to get it from me. Not to mention the most beautiful perfumes, the rarest fruits, more silk and velvet than I could ever imagine using in a lifetime.” She continued to scan the room, shaking her head. “And all those jewels. What am I ever going to do with them?”

“Wear them?” one of the ladies suggested. She spoke kindly but with the same dazed amazement as had characterized all the ladies since Hawk's gifts began arriving late the previous day. With the morning, Krysta had awakened to find her chamber transformed into a treasure room and still the gifts continued to appear.

She was having difficulty coming to terms with it because with her return to consciousness had come a return of the nausea that had plagued her since shortly after her arrival in Winchester. The queen's remedy of dry husk and chamomile had worked once again, but Krysta was still stiff and sore from all the bruises. A hot bath did make her feel much better, especially since it was scented with some of the rare oils Hawk had sent. But a look in the mirror as her hair was being brushed made her shudder. She could not bear the thought of him seeing her like that.

When he came by later in the day, she pleaded fatigue but sent out a message thanking him for the gifts. No doubt he would be content with that, for what man wanted to be in a sickroom?

Hawk was there the next morning when she awoke. He was seated beside the bed in the chair previously occupied by the queen, who hovered in the background with her ladies. He had an extremely firm look on his face, as though it would take nothing short of an act of God to move him. When he saw that she was awake, he smiled. Leaning forward, he said gently, “Good morning. How are you feeling?”

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.”