Dream of Me/Believe in Me

by Josie Litton

  THE AIR WAS TOO STILL; IT CLUNG TO HER LIKE A shroud. Krysta turned over restlessly, the ropes of her bed creaking beneath her. Raven fluttered nearby, grumbling. Loath to disturb her, longing to escape the burr of sleeplessness, Krysta rose. She slept nude—who did not?—but donned a shift for modesty's sake before stealing forth from the hall. The night air was warm with an exotic scent of far-off lands carried on the sea breeze. She looked up and saw the sea above, the ribbon of stars stretching from horizon to horizon, not a wisp of cloud to mar them. The moon had long since set, the stars the only light save for the flare of watch fires at intervals along the walls. Coils of dark smoke rose from them, drifting around the silhouettes of men who paused in their patrol to speak a few words and survey the night together.

  Hugging the shadows, she drifted toward the inner edge of the walls. There was no clear thought in her mind of where to go or what to do until she saw the embers glowing red in the smithy's forge. All day the ring of hammer on metal sang out from there yet now was it stilled, the only sounds the faint call of an owl and, closer by, a rustling in the straw. That and a soft mewing. She crept closer, scarcely breathing. The tabby raised her head, eyeing Krysta with frank appraisal. After a moment, she blinked and returned her attention to the tiny kittens clustered at her belly. There were six in all, most still suckling but a few, milk-full, asleep. Balanced on her knees, Krysta observed them from a courteous distance. She had seen kittens many times before but never quite this young, pink and blind from the womb. Likely they had been born this very night. Their mother had picked a goodly spot, warmed by the forge but tucked back in a corner well padded by straw. She appeared to know her business. As Krysta watched, the tabby laved her kits with a rough tongue, making their skin flush red. She broke off once, distracted by the scurry of a bold mouse who, under other circumstances, would have made a fine late-night snack. It escaped unscratched, thanks to her preoccupation.

  “I'll bring you herring tomorrow,” Krysta murmured. “You shouldn't have to hunt while your babes are so young.”

  The tabby blinked again as if in acknowledgment and returned to her task. Krysta continued to watch her, finding the sight of maternal care oddly soothing. So much so that she woke with a start as her head hit her chest. She had no idea how much time had passed but her legs were cramped. She moved them stiffly, bending to rub the calves as she hobbled from the forge.

  He saw her first bent over, indiscernible in the predawn light. To the east, the horizon was rimmed with gray. To the west, stars still shone brilliantly. A freshening breeze blew off the sea, ruffling the tunic Hawk had cast on hurriedly when he woke from the sort of dream he had not had since tender manhood. Either his betrothed arrived promptly—and proved herself a warm and willing woman—or he must needs acquire a mistress. A man of his responsibility and supposed dignity could not afford such preoccupation with the gentler sex as he had known in his youth. For whatever reason, his juices were stirring. Best he heed them.

  He was set on that, having decided in his mind, when he spied the girl coming from the forge. What did she want there in that place of fire and steel? What possible purpose could she have? And why, if she was wont to wander about at night, had she not clothed herself more properly? So far as he could see, she wore only a shift that the night wind shaped to her body. A very nice body, so he thought, slender and lithe. Never mind that, why was she creeping about? Or was she? She seemed in some distress.

  For so large a man, he moved with stealthy grace. Between one breath and the next, he seemed to materialize directly in front of Krysta. She gasped, fear washing out the pain in her limbs. For an instant she didn't recognize him, and her fear mounted. What folly to be caught alone, scantily dressed, in the dark by an unknown man who might intend … what? A moment later, he moved and she knew him, not by his features, which she still could scarcely see, but by the essence of him, somehow already familiar to her.

  “My lord …”

  “What do you here?” He did not wait for her reply. “Have you no better sense, woman, than to wander about in the night wearing no more than …” He flicked a finger at the thin fabric of her shift where it billowed along her arm. She stepped back so suddenly that she would have lost her balance had not he caught her. They stood, scarcely a hand's breadth apart, his arm a band around her waist. So many impressions, flooding her so suddenly. The heat of him and the strength, the puzzlement in his eyes, the need to smooth his troubled brow, to offer comfort and far more.

  Over his right shoulder, a star fell. The streak of silver distracted Krysta just long enough for reason to return. “Look,” she said, and when he turned to do so, she slipped from his hold like water through the crevices of a stone.

  He caught at air, scowled. She thought to flee, thought better of it. He was a hunter, it was wiser not to give him anything to pursue.

  “What was your mistress thinking to send you here? She found two servants of rare ugliness, couldn't she have found a third?”

  “They are not ugly,” Krysta protested, instantly affronted. Thorgold and Raven were beautiful in her eyes.

  The Hawk closed his for a moment, summoning patience. “It matters not. Why did she send you?”

  Ah, why indeed? To spy on him, to ferret out the essence of his nature, to conspire that he might come to love … herself. Oh, yes, that would explain itself easily enough.

  “To see to her comfort, lord.”

  His laugh was mocking. “Then she sorely misjudged the situation, didn't she? Is she truly that innocent?”

  Was she? Just then it was not innocence Krysta felt. Knowledge was stirring in her, ancient, feminine, irresistible. But he was waiting, his silence demanding an answer. “She is … as she is, lord.”

  What more could she say? She was as she was. He would love her for it or destroy her. It was in God's hands.

  A moment more he stared at her. His broad chest rose and fell as a sigh escaped him. Into that silence, he spoke a single syllable. “Go.”

  She went, swiftly and without looking back, knowing there truly was no escape.

  THE AIR, HEAVY AT THE START OF DAY, GREW HEAVIER as the hours passed. By afternoon, the sky was a lowering gray tinged with yellow. Dogs went about with their backs arched or slunk low to the ground. Horses whinnied anxiously. People hurried about their tasks, women doing their wash early and taking it in before it was fully dry. The sea grew unnaturally calm without a breath of wind to stir it. Inhaling deeply, Krysta felt her chest ache or perhaps it was her heart. Pierced by longing for the crisp, pine-scented breezes of home, she ventured down to the beach. The tide was out but the birds who should have been taking the opportunity to feed were nowhere to be seen. Even the gulls were absent. She stayed only a short while, driven off by the mournfulness that hung over the place.

  Back within the burgh, merchants were taking in their stalls and lowering their shutters. The lanes were being stripped bare. Even the wooden troughs from which horses drank were being moved inside. The sky hung ever lower, seeming to brush the tops of the distant hills. Apprehension prickled down Krysta's back. She had seen wild storms at home when cyclones raged off the North Atlantic but this was different. The strange color of the sky and the leaden air set her nerves on edge. She looked for Raven and Thorgold but found no sign of them. Gone to ground somewhere, no doubt.

  Even the smith was finishing his work early. He grinned when he saw the basket of herring she carried and waved her on to where the tabby lay enthroned. The gift was accepted with blinking courtesy and promptly devoured. Krysta lingered a few minutes, watching the kittens sleep, then took her leave. Just outside the forge, she was buffeted by a sudden swirl of wind. She tucked her head down and made for the women's hall at the other side of the compound. But before she could get very far, the sky opened and a sheet of rain soaked her to the skin. Staggering at the sudden onslaught, she looked around for closer shelter, saw the stables, and ran for them. Inside, the door closed firmly behind her, Krysta sighed wit
h relief. The tumult of the storm was growing ever stronger. A sudden clatter of wind smashing against the wood-plank walls drove her deeper within. Water dripped from her gown. She bent over to wring out the hem just as a bolt of lightning rent the sky, bringing with it a crack so loud as to deafen her momentarily. A mere glimpse of the finger of fire caught through a shutter torn from its hinge was so bright as to be almost blinding. Dazed, uncertain what to do, she looked around in all directions. The whinnying of a horse and the deep-voiced response of a man drew her toward the far end of the stables. She thought to remain out of sight, comforted merely by the presence of another, but such was not to be. Just as she neared, the man turned. She saw his features in the glow of yet another bolt of lightning, like harshly beautiful stone.

  “God's blood.” It sounded like a plea for deliverance.

  “I'm sorry, I was caught in the storm. The women's hall was too far.”

  The words tumbled over each other. The air seemed to crackle with a strange smell that made the fine hairs at the back of Krysta's neck rise. Hawk stepped away from the stallion he had been steadying. What was the point of trying to calm the horse when he couldn't calm himself? All day, he had stayed away from this woman, driving himself and his men on the training field and at the hunt. When despite all that she remained steadfast in his mind, he had made the decision to send her to his dear brother-in-law with proper escort and a message inquiring as to the whereabouts of his absent bride. The whole sorry business was the result of Wolf's conniving, let him sort it out. Now here she was, right in front of him, tempting as a draft of cool water to a parched man, dangerous as the storm that had thrown them together … again.

  Wolf would say it was Loki's doing. The god of mischief delighted in tormenting hapless humans. Hawk supposed it was as good an explanation as any.

  “Come here.”

  “No.” She spoke without hesitation, clearly and unmistakably. Something stirred within him, the suspicion that it was an odd sort of servant who would reject an order so readily. A moment more and the thought was gone, burned out by the driving need to compel her obedience.

  “No?” He smiled. “You are a woman, are you not? And a servant? And on my lands? How then do you tell me no?”

  Her chin lifted. “You are not my lord.” It was a weak excuse and they both knew it.

  His smile deepened. “You have nothing to fear. I merely wish to confirm what I already know.”

  She had been afraid the moment he spoke but now a bolt of true dread shot through her. What he already knew? Did that mean he had seen through her masquerade? Yet he had called her servant as though she were a thrall unable to gainsay her master.

  “I am a freewoman, lord, and unwed. I can say no to any man. Unless …” Her eyes narrowed, surveying him. “Unless you care not what a woman says.” The curl of her lip made it clear what she thought of that.

  “I care,” he said and she relaxed just a little. “And I have told you, you have nothing to fear. Now come here.”

  “I would rather not.”

  It was the work of an instant to reach out and take her. He knew she could not possibly resist him. He was a warrior, honed to battle, and a natural hunter. Beside him, she was helpless. Or was she? Somehow, he could not imagine hurting her.

  “You know what is between us. I have seen that in your eyes.”

  His bluntness took her unprepared. Was he truly saying that he desired her … her, the servant of his betrothed? Did he have no care for what that would mean to her … his betrothed? Were the feelings of his wife-to-be of no concern to him?

  “I will not lie with you.” The wind chose that moment to die away. Her voice sounded unnaturally loud in the sudden stillness.

  “I did not ask you to.”

  Her cheeks flamed. She assumed she had mistaken the situation and was humiliated. “I thought … Never mind.” She turned to go, thinking to escape while the storm was at an ebb. Hawk thought otherwise. His hand lashed out, grasping her arm. Before she could react, he drew her to him.

  “You are a woman, like any other. I have only to convince myself of that and this foolishness will end.”

  She had time to draw a breath, just one, before his mouth was on hers. Her first, instantaneous response was shock. She had never been kissed, although truth be told she had imagined it from time to time, especially of late. But no imagining had prepared her for the reality of his touch, not harsh or cruel but enticing, tempting … drawing her out of solitude, presenting her with intimacy. His lips were firm, parting hers, the heat and taste of him suddenly in her mouth. She gasped and dug her hands into his broad shoulders, buffeted by a force she had not known existed. He made a rough sound deep in his throat and gathered her closer.

  Her spirit leaped in instant recognition. The wildness within her answered his own. She savored the thrust of his tongue, teasing with hers, suddenly bold where she had mere moments before been utterly unaware. Oh, yes, this was what she wanted, had always wanted in the blood and the bone. This was a man to make her own, to enlarge her soul, father her children, travel with her through life's journey. She knew all that in a heartbeat and she rejoiced in it. Without thought, she tangled her fingers in the thick silk of his hair and drew him closer, claiming him. The kiss became hers, kissing him, prelude to drawing from him the essence of life itself.

  He broke away, gasping, his cheeks stained dark, and stared at her in disbelief. “What are you doing? I thought you loyal to your mistress. Is this some game you play?”

  A game? She reeled back, stunned by his reaction. It was a game only if life itself could be called such. But she had done something wrong, out of step, far worse than when she presumed to play with the children. It was her lack of experience, her ignorance about the ways of people, that was to blame. No, it was herself and the fierce, unbridled urgings he unleashed within her.

  “I did not mean—” she began, but he stopped her with a quick slice of his hand through the storm-heavy air.

  His breath came harshly. “Were you another, this would not end here, but it needs must if there is to be peace. I am sending you back to Vestfold, let your mistress make of that what she will.”

  “Sending me back? No!” How could she possibly arrive if he was sending her away? She had thought to slip off and return appropriately transformed. If she was dispatched, no doubt with escort, there would be no chance for that. He would be left to curse his ever more tardy bride while the peace they both wanted became ever more elusive.

  “I am not yours to send away,” she tried.

  His gaze scorched. “You will be mine if you remain and that I cannot allow. Now get you from here lest we both forget the duty owed your mistress.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to suggest that her mistress was a kind and forgiving woman, ever understanding, ever tolerant. She sought to betray herself with … herself. What a travesty.

  She went, welcoming the shock of the cold, wet air even though it did nothing to dampen the heat within her.

  Alone, Hawk slumped against the side of the stall and took a deep, shuddering breath. He had been wrong to think this foolishness. It was far worse, a sweet madness making him forget all else—duty, honor, even simple sense. She would leave in the morn, he would make damn certain of that. And he would bring all his formidable will to bear on the task of forgetting she had ever existed. He might even have some scant hope of succeeding.

  With a heavy sigh, he turned to go. Light from the oil lamp he carried fell across his hand and arm. Halfway out of the stable, he stopped suddenly and stared at the dark stain that lay across his palm and up beyond his wrist. That was odd; he couldn't remember touching anything that would have left such a stain. Not that he would remember necessarily or that there was anything unusual about a bit of dirt. But he had washed his hands shortly before the storm began, prior to sitting down for a few minutes with one of his precious books. The stain had not been there then.

  A black stain, still wet as he discover
ed when he dabbed a finger to it. A heavy, dull black … like the green-eyed girl's storm-wet hair he had touched in drawing her to him. The same girl who so readily disobeyed a direct order from a man hardened warriors would not cross. The servant with no duties whose hands were soft as down. A suspicion formed in his mind. He all but dismissed it in an instant, thinking it beyond all bounds of foolishness. Yet did it linger….

  KRYST A DID NOT A PPEAR IN THE H ALL T HAT EVENIN G. She stayed out of sight, wrestling with what to do. All night she tossed and turned, trying to decide on some course that might yet bring a fair wind. She could confess all and throw herself on his mercy, but the mere thought filled her with dread. She could sneak off on her own before he sent her away, then return somehow as though just newly arrived. If Thorgold and Raven went with her, perhaps they could claim to have encountered their mistress on the way. But what chance was there that would work? Hawk had seen her too often and too clearly. She should have thought of that before embarking on what had seemed so sensible a plan, the selfsame plan now lying in tatters about her.

  She rose at first light, dazed by sleeplessness, still trying to decide what to do. To her relief, she saw no sign of preparations for her departure. But that meant nothing.

  No doubt the Hawk's men were ready to ride in an instant. Her stomach churned with hunger but she could not bear the thought of eating. She heard Daria's shrill voice coming from the kitchens and turned instinctively in the opposite direction. Scarcely had she done so, and before she could take more than a step, she ran right into the steward, who must have come up directly behind her.

  “Your pardon,” Krysta said quickly and tried to move away, but the young man moved as well, blocking her.