by Josie Litton
It did not occur to Krysta to lie. Neither her pride nor her innate honesty would have allowed her to do so despite the obvious peril. Head high, the pain of her heart well concealed, she said quietly, “So he who was my half-brother has named me.”
A curse broke from Udell that should have shriveled the leaves on the trees. Hard on it, he advanced on Krysta. “God's blood! You dared to refuse me and worse! You who are nothing? Never have I borne such insult and I will not now!” He looked around wildly for some way to release his rage.
Seizing the moment, Esa said, “A servant or slave who strikes a lord is flogged. That is the law.”
The other lords around Udell started at this but quickly they cast hard, speculative looks at Krysta. The ladies tittered, aroused by shock. Udell was breathing hard. He paced back and forth, his fists opening and closing, staring at Krysta as though he still could not believe the offense she had done him. He looked away only to gaze fixedly at his sister, as what she had just said slowly penetrated the fog of rage clouding his mind.
“By God, that is true! The law speaks clearly. I will be satisfied with nothing less!”
One of the Mercian lords, a man of Udell's years but seemingly more cautious temperament, looked uneasy. “But, lord, the Hawk … ?”
Udell whirled on him, eyes bulging. “Matters not! Do you hear me? He matters not! The law is the law. There is nothing more precious to Alfred, is there? Always he has insisted we live within it, and the illustrious”—his voice dripped scorn—“Hawk of Essex is always at his right hand ready to enforce the royal dictates. Well, now, let him live with this! Let him see the law in action as it is meant to be!”
Before anyone else could raise objection, Udell pointed to a nearby post. “By God, I will have justice and without delay! Tie her there!”
Hard hands seized Krysta. She cried out and struggled to free herself. “Do not! I am on the king's lands! Only Alfred can pronounce judgment!” In fact, she did not know if this was true but such was the custom in Vestfold and she had to pray it held in Wessex as well.
“Alfred will know better than to gainsay me on this,” Udell declared. “If he does so, Mercia will rise against him!”
Before she could speak again, Krysta's arms were yanked around the post and swiftly secured by a rope. Esa herself darted into the stables and returned with a whip, which she handed to Udell. As a last step in all she had set in motion, she seized the dagger of a lord standing nearby before he could think to stop her, strode to Krysta, and slashed open the back of her gown.
As it fell open to reveal the slender line of her bare back, so too did silence fall. Krysta heard the frantic beating of her heart as well as the hastily in-drawn breaths of those gathered around her. Hear, as well, the crack of the whip as Udell struck it against the ground. Getting the feel of it, she supposed in a far corner of her mind, before using it to tear open her back and avenge himself for the humiliations she had cast upon him.
There was no one to stop him; even the ravens were gone. Later, if Hawk was angry or Alfred displeased, the damage would be done. Desperately afraid, she closed her eyes and prayed for strength. Above all, she did not want to shame herself. She was concentrating very hard on that, her body braced for the blow she was sure was coming, when a well-familiar voice broke the stillness.
“Hold.”
Krysta jerked her head around and saw Hawk, who stood calm and impassive, his arms crossed over his broad chest, not even looking at her. Beside him panted the stable boy who had run to alert him to what was happening.
Udell's mouth worked. He cracked the whip again and gazed at Hawk in challenge. “Your slave has broken the law. She struck me and for that she will be flogged.”
Hawk studied the wound on Udell's face without comment. He glanced at Esa for a moment as she fairly bounced with excitement. His gaze on her was contemptuous but it went blank again as he turned his attention to Krysta. He walked to where she stood tied to the post and slowly looked her over. Not a hint of his thoughts escaped him as he said, “Did you put that mark on him?”
She swallowed hard against the bile rising in her throat and nodded. “He was beating his dog. I tried to stop him. We struggled over the stick and it slipped.”
Hawk heard her out but when she was done he said, “It makes no matter why it happened. A servant cannot strike a noble.”
Though he called her servant instead of slave, it too made no difference. He had publicly acknowledged what there was no point in denying. Sven had disowned her. She had no family and no position. In the eyes of the law, she was no better than any other landless peasant.
Shame filled Krysta. Through its crawling pain, she heard Hawk say, “Your wergild is high, Udell. Wouldn't you rather have that?”
“Are you offering to pay it?” the Mercian shot back. He sounded in high good humor, as though he had never enjoyed himself more, as well he might for surely he had never before had a man of the Hawk's stature in such a position.
Yet was Hawk silent for a moment, as though thinking the matter over. Finally, he said, “I will pay it.”
Udell chuckled. He waved a hand around to his attentive audience. “What a magnanimous gesture. I am almost tempted to accept and indeed I might were I not so fervently devoted to the rule of law. After all, has the king not impressed upon us the sacred nature of the law, that only it stands between us and anarchy? How then can I put my own personal gain above obedience to such vital rule?” He sighed long and loud at the sacrifice he was making. “No, I must insist. Only a flogging will do.”
Still without expression, Hawk said, “The law specifies twenty lashes for such an offense.”
Krysta cringed inwardly, wondering how she could possibly withstand such punishment.
“Twenty lashes will leave her too damaged to be of further use to me,” Hawk went on. “I will pay twice the wergild.”
The crowd gasped, for this was a truly impressive sum. Only a very few lords of the land could afford to pay it, and the receipt of such bounty would make Udell an even more potent force to be reckoned with. The Mercian understood that full well. His expression left no doubt that he was sorely tempted. But whether it was the reminder of the blow she had delivered to him in the courtyard four days before or the still-throbbing wound to his face that would likely leave him scarred for life, Udell would not relent.
“No,” he snarled. “My honor demands that she suffer the whip.”
“I grow tired of haggling,” Hawk said. He reached over, pulled together the back of Krysta's gown, and said, “A master is responsible for the actions of his servants, therefore this fault is ultimately mine. Twenty lashes are nothing to me. I will take the whipping for her.”
Chapter SIXTEEN
HAWK SPOKE SO CASUALLY THAT HE might have been discussing nothing more than the most minor inconvenience. But those who heard him thought differently. As one, they gasped and immediately began to mutter among themselves. Twenty lashes were no small matter even for the strongest among them. What manner of man would offer to take such punishment to spare a woman?
Krysta could not bear the thought of Hawk hurt and far preferred to bear the pain herself.
“No!” she cried out, struggling against the ropes.
Trying his damnedest to control anger so great that it threatened to overwhelm him, Hawk came very close to slamming his hand over her mouth. And why not when every time she opened it, she made things worse? First to the queen, now to the insufferable Udell. Was there no end to her impulsiveness? Or to the proud courage of her nature that forbade her to take the easy way out of any situation?
He couldn't let himself think like that. Indeed, it would be far better if he thought of nothing at all except how to get her away from Udell and the Mercian crowd in the fastest, safest way possible. After that … He allowed himself a scant moment to consider what he would do once Krysta was beyond harm, then returned his attention to Udell.
“Surely you don't expect me to wait all day? A
gree and let's be done.”
Udell sucked in his breath. Hawk watched impassively the struggle playing out on the Mercian's scowling features. He had already rejected the payment of wergild, even twice the normal amount. To go back now and try to take it would make him appear ridiculous, and that, above all, so vainglorious a braggart could not bear. In his rage, no doubt he had savored the thought of making Krysta suffer but without seeing the trap into which the Hawk had led him. Hawk was, by law, her master. He had, by law, the right to inflict punishment on her. But he also, by law, had the right to take such punishment on himself when she had transgressed against another. Such was never done yet the law supported it. Alfred's law. The very law Udell claimed to uphold.
“Well?” Hawk said. He looked faintly bored, as though he had better things to do and would get on with them as soon as this small annoyance was sorted out.
“Piss on you, Hawk of Essex!” Udell snarled. “You think I won't flog you because of who you are? You think you can make such an offer to me and I will be afraid to take it?”
Hawk let the insult go by with a mere shrug of his broad shoulders. He flicked a bit of dust from the sleeve of his tunic. “Whatever you're going to do, I wish you'd make up your mind.” He glanced over to the side as though just noticing the man who had arrived minutes before.
“My lord,” Hawk called to him, “will you confirm that I am within my rights? As I am unwilling to have my property damaged but am willing to take the punishment upon myself, he must release her.”
There was a quick inhalation of breath as Alfred stepped into the circle of lords and ladies. The bolder among them dared to show frowns of disapproval yet they all gave way before him, falling back as rats do before the master catcher.
The king surveyed the scene with a thoughtful air. His gaze lingered a moment on Udell's mutilated cheek, then passed on. Calmly, he said, “The Lord of Essex has the right of it. The girl must be released.”
Even as he spoke, he gestured to the men-at-arms who just then came running around the corner of the stable. Their sergeant moved forward and with a quick nod of approval from Hawk, cut the ropes that held Krysta. Holding the back of her gown closed with one hand, she laid the other on Hawk's strong arm. Just then she needed contact with him more than anything else. He did not look at her but he did put his hand over hers, completely covering and protecting it.
“Well?” he asked again, raising an eyebrow at Udell.
The Mercian stared from Hawk to the king and from them both to the swiftly expanding circle of armed men gathering around them. Alfred's men some of them, but now pouring in from all sides the men of the Hawk. They were coming from every corner, every direction, some off the training fields, others from their leisure. All armed, all with the keen-eyed readiness of the most superb fighting force in all of England, renowned even above the army of Alfred himself. Men bloodied in battle, spoken of as legends, whispered to have followed their lord into the very maw of hell. Men who would die for him without hesitation but who were far more likely to kill without a second thought.
“You know damn well I cannot flog you!” Udell protested. “I would not live to take two steps!”
Hawk did not bother to deny it. Indeed, the notion amused him. Cheerfully, as though offering a friendly suggestion, he said, “We could try single combat. If I fall to you, my men are honor bound not to take vengeance.”
Udell's mouth twisted convulsively. Single combat against the Hawk. There were men who had done that. Of course, none of them happened to be alive. “Are you challenging me?” the Mercian demanded, and his voice broke on the brittle edge of fear.
Hawk's smile deepened. Seeing it, Krysta shivered and even Alfred paled slightly. The Lord of Essex, vanquisher of the Danes, champion of his people, the most feared warrior in all of Britain, glanced around at the watching lords and ladies who had thought to rise to ever greater power on the ambitions of the man who now stood before him cringing in the face of certain death. Slowly, he returned his attention to Udell. In a voice that carried to the far reaches of the circle, he said, “Not yet.”
The words still reverberated on the air when the Mercians dispersed. They went swiftly, the ladies tripping over their gowns and the lords elbowing them out of the way in their haste to be gone. Udell went too, but not without difficulty. Esa gripped his arm, struggling to hold him back. In the rush to be away, her coif had been knocked to one side and there was a rip in the sleeve of her under tunic.
“He has insulted you!” she cried out. “And she has done even worse! You cannot let them go unpunished!”
“What would you have me do?” her brother demanded. He spared one more look at Hawk and scowled at Esa. “Die? Would that satisfy you, you greedy, grasping harridan?”
At her outraged shriek, Udell raised his hand and cuffed her so hard that she fell back into a pile of offal deposited by the horses. He went on without another look, disappearing around a corner of the stable. Krysta took a step toward the filthy, stunned woman only to be stopped by Hawk, who simply lifted her off the ground so that her feet moved to no effect.
“If you would excuse us, my lord,” Hawk said courteously, “we have troubled you long enough.”
Alfred worked hard to confine a grin but failed entirely. He laughed outright when Hawk tossed a shocked and protesting Krysta over his shoulder. Her objections were drowned out by Hawk's own men joining in the relieved merriment. Guffaws and helpful suggestions to their lord trailed off behind them as Hawk strode back to the royal residence.
“Put me down!” Krysta demanded before they had passed through the double doors to the great hall.
Hawk ignored her and kept right on going. Passing startled servants, surprised priests, amused lords, and, it seemed to Krysta, most of the population of Winchester, he stopped finally at the entrance to his own quarters, shoved the door open with his foot, and walked into the chamber. Without pause, he went straight to the bed and dumped her on it. She came up quickly on her elbows in time to see him stride back to the door and drop the heavy wooden bar across it. Assured they would not be interrupted, Hawk returned his attention to his wayward betrothed.
Standing beside the bed, he began removing his boots. Half bent over, tugging them off, he said matter-of-factly, “You are the most infuriating woman I have ever known.”
Krysta looked at him cautiously. He didn't sound angry and he certainly didn't look it but she knew him far too well to be misled by that. Udell had walked the keen edge of death only a short time before because of Hawk's concealed rage. That it was so little in evidence meant nothing.
“What are you doing?”
He looked up at her, as though surprised she had to ask. “Taking my boots off.”
“W-why?” She wasn't nervous, absolutely not. Nor did she feel the deep thrumming of desire stirring within her. She was merely curious, that was all.
“Because,” Hawk said as he straightened and un-clinched the sword belt around his waist, “they're heavy and I wouldn't want you getting walloped at a crucial moment.”
If her mouth continued to open and close like that, she would be mistaken for a fish. This was really carrying matter-of-factness too far. If he thought she was just going to lie there and accept what he intended after almost four days of scarcely a word between them, not to mention everything that was hanging between them, then he—
—Had been willing to be whipped in her place.
What possible chance did she have to resist such tender valor? The man had absolutely no sense of fairness at all. But, oh, lord, he surely did have a beautiful chest, all rippling muscle and burnished skin, and her hands just begged to be run over it. Propping herself up a little higher, Krysta tossed her hair out of the way—no sense obstructing her view—and said, “Do you understand I'm only doing this because I want to have beautiful memories of the time we had together?”
About to strip off his breeches, he stopped and stared at her. “When you're in the abbey, bent over your
parchments, all hunch-shouldered and bleary-eyed?”
“Don't joke. You'll be an old man then, too.” It was impossible to imagine him old. He would always be young to her no matter how many years passed.
He pulled off the breeches, tossed them aside, and joined her on the bed. Catching glistening strands of her hair around his fingers, he said, “According to Thorgold, I'll still be buying you hair ribbons. Now do you honestly believe that stubborn old troll is wrong?”
His hands were on her breasts, caressing them through the fine linen of her gown. His bare, heavily muscled thigh was pushing between hers. His mouth was hot along her throat. So very hot … as though she were about to go up in flames at any moment. Yet she shoved her hands against his shoulders and forced enough space between them so that she could look at him.
“What did you call Thorgold?”
Reluctantly, he gave up sweetly tormenting the hollow at the base of her throat and said, “A stubborn old troll. Would you describe him differently?”
Her heart sputtered, started again at double speed. “You think Thorgold is a troll?”
Hawk shrugged those massive shoulders she was unconsciously stroking. “He disappeared on me just the other morning. One minute we were talking and the next he was gone. Who does that kind of thing?”
“Trolls … ?”
“I'm no expert but it seems to fit. Before he went he told me my mind has wings I have yet to unfurl.”
“Thorgold is a poet.”
“So it seems. Notice I'm not asking about Raven. Best I leave that alone, I think. Is it my imagination or did Udell have a pecked look to him?”
Krysta sighed deeply and felt the tight coil of sorrow that had existed within her these many days loosen a notch. “Udell and I had an … encounter four days past. Somehow it must have disturbed the ravens and they attacked him.”