Dream of Me/Believe in Me

by Josie Litton

  Barely had the queen spoken than the bells began to ring, their clear voices calling out the summons to prayer at the ninth hour after sunrise, the hour at which Hawk and Krysta would be consecrated to each other in marriage.

  Suddenly, time sped up and there seemed scarcely a moment to draw breath. The door was thrown open, she was ushered out, ladies holding high the train of her cloak. She sped down the stairs, aware of, yet untouched by, the hundreds of eyes turned toward her. A white mare waited in the courtyard. She mounted and was led by children past cheering crowds to the royal chapel. The sun was very bright.

  Her heart was pounding. She could not draw a breath. And suddenly it was all right because Hawk was there, coming toward her, garbed in black velvet and gold. He held out his arms and she went into them. His strength made her feel feather-light as he settled her so gently beside him.

  Father Asser awaited them at the entrance to the chapel. Nearby, Alfred and Eahlswith beamed.

  “Why come you here?” the priest asked.

  “For the blessing Our Lord gave at Cana,” Hawk replied.

  Thus did the ritual begin. The prayers were read over them and they were escorted into the chapel. There at the altar they knelt to receive from the hand of the priest the bread and wine of the mass. For Krysta, it was a time of peace stolen from the turbulent world. She bowed her head in thankful prayer where previously she had prayed in desperation for Hawk's safety. The chants of the monks resounded through the hallowed space, incense perfumed the air, and always she was vividly aware of the vital presence of the man kneeling close beside her.

  They rose at Asser's bidding and Hawk slipped onto her finger a simple band of gold, symbol of their union for all time. With her hand clasped firmly in his, they left the chapel to receive the good wishes of the assembled crowd.

  Krysta blinked in the light, momentarily blinded and felt the unwinding of the coil of fear that had existed in her from the day she learned of her fate to wed a stranger in a far land. It spun away on the cheers of the people and her own light heart, fading faster and faster until it was gone but for the faint wisp of mere memory. In its place was joy so great she thought if she just stepped a little more firmly, pushed a little harder against the restraining earth, she would soar right into the clouds. To prevent that, and simply because it felt so very good, she kept tight hold of Hawk. Escorted by the jovial throng, they walked the short distance to the great hall of the king, where they were engulfed in celebration.

  Chapter NINETEEN

  SO NOW THEY WERE WED. THAT WAS FINE, just as he'd wanted it. A bit more complicated in the doing than he had imagined but done all the same. The second time for him but he wouldn't think of that. No memories would taint this union.

  Hawk ran a hand over his jaw, reassured himself it was still sufficiently smooth, and reached for the towel to dry his face. He was alone in the room he had occupied since coming to Winchester. Through the adjoining door, closed at the moment, he heard the laughter and fussing of the women who had escorted Krysta to her chamber. That he was alone was a feat of maneuvering in which he took just pride. With Alfred's connivance, he had slipped away from the bridal feast shortly after the bride herself took her leave surrounded by the ladies and flushing slightly from the ribald jokes that rose on air well scented with mead and ale. He wondered just then if she had reddened because the jokes embarrassed her or because she was restraining her laughter. With Krysta, he suspected the latter and was damned glad of it.

  His worthy lieutenants had held off the pack that tried to follow him and Hawk had made good his escape. Now he had nothing to do save wait. He glanced at the closed door and wondered how long. There was a flurry of sound and movement in the next room. The door to the passage opened, then closed. Quiet descended.

  The ladies were gone. That was good. Krysta no doubt awaited him. Also good, indeed he was profoundly relieved to be married to a woman he knew would not shirk the marriage bed. He'd just take a few more minutes to make sure he had himself under control. She was with child, after all. Never mind the burst of pride he felt at getting her that way so soon, he was still in a quandary about whether or not to tell her. On the chance that she had any fear of childbirth, he preferred to wait as long as possible. But she was an intelligent woman and she was likely to figure it out for herself. Whether she did or not, he was resolved to treat her with the utmost gentleness. It was astonishing that she and the baby both had survived the battering in the river, and he wanted no more chances taken with either.

  So he'd just wait. They had all the rest of their lives together. There was no point being in any hurry….

  The adjoining door flew open. Krysta stood there, barefoot, clad in a translucent shift of pure white silk, her glorious riot of hair tumbling over her shoulders, beaming the same winsome smile that never failed to make his heart catch. She looked like a very beautiful and very naughty pixie.

  “They're gone,” she exclaimed and flung herself into his arms. On tiptoe, dropping kisses along the curve of his jaw and at the corners of his mouth, she chanted, “Gone, gone, gone. We're alone!” Drawing back slightly, she bubbled on. “Wasn't the ceremony wonderful and the feast, I never imagined it would be so much fun. The jugglers were amazing and the acrobats, incredible! I'll never be able to thank Alfred and Eahlswith enough. And Athelflad, to tell you the truth, I was a little intimidated at the idea of meeting her but she turned out to be so sweet. She says we must come and visit when we can. Her husband thinks the world of you, he goes on and on about how brilliant your campaigns have been. He was a little jealous that you got to kill Udell but he's over it now.”

  “Over it … ?” Surprised, and powerfully aroused by her nearness, Hawk struggled to grasp the torrent of words, failed, and promptly gave up. She was happy, that was enough. She was also tugging at his hand, leading him to the other room.

  “You have to see what they did. It's so lovely.”

  He paused at the threshold. The chamber was filled with candles, each flame a miniature sun gleaming in the softly shadowed darkness. Flowers were strewn across the floor so thickly that each footstep released their scent. The bed was hung with gossamer curtains that fluttered lightly in the soft breeze admitted through the windows that stood open to the night sky. Sprinklings of petals adorned the bed linens and pillows. Into that feminine bower he stumbled, a thoroughly masculine and befuddled presence.

  He had been that way since first catching sight of her as she came to him on the white mare, the horse garlanded in ribbons held by laughing children. For just a moment, she had looked like a glorious idol adorned with jewels and gold, a distant creature beyond the touch of any man. But then she had seen him, and the look in her eyes … Ah, that look. He would carry the memory of it into the world beyond.

  Now she was here, adorned in little more than her satiny skin. His hand looked very large and dark against the slender curve of her shoulder. Slowly, he drew her to him. The bruises were faded but he thought of how recently she had been hurt, and hesitated.

  “Oh, dear,” she murmured.

  He yanked his hand away as though burned. “What?”

  She looked up at him through the thick fringe of her lashes and he saw the laughter dancing in her eyes. “Marriage hasn't turned you bashful, has it, my lord?”

  Bashful? There were men who would fall over holding their sides, rolling around on the floor at the thought of the Hawk of Essex being bashful. There were women, not all that many but a fair enough number, who would be equally amused.

  Yet even as he thought that he felt a dull flush creeping up over his face and realized she wasn't entirely wrong.

  “I wouldn't say bashful … exactly. But you've been through a lot and I wouldn't want to hurt you.”

  “Oh, Hawk.” So tenderly did she speak his name that it lingered like a caress. He was still savoring it when she sat down on the bed, took his hand in hers, and drew him to her. “Never could you hurt me. Only your absence can do that.”

>   That clinched it. There was only so much a man could stand and he had reached his limit. Teetered right over it, really, for he could do naught but join her on the bed, gathering her to him, running his hands over her as though he could not quite believe she was really there with him. His wife.

  Hesitation vanished as easily as did their garments. They came together hungrily, rejoicing in each other. Yet for all that Hawk went very slowly, drawing out her pleasure until she was mindless with need for him. Even then he lingered over her, passion pierced by tenderness and lit by wonder that her exquisite body held within it such mystery. When his mouth drifted over her hips and soft belly where their child slept, he knew joy so fierce as to eclipse all else. With the greatest care, he entered her but kept the rhythm of their lovemaking gentle. Her release when it came so enthralled him that his own struck without warning. It went on and on, seeming without end, until with a vast groan he slumped against her. With the last of his strength, he rolled over to protect her from his weight. She curled close, her head on his chest, panting softly. Long moments passed before her eyes drifted open.

  And when they did, she laughed.

  Hawk just managed to lift his head and look down at her, then at himself. He would have chuckled too, but it required too much effort. It was enough to fall back against the pillow and give fervent thanks that none of his enemies could see him as he was just then, bedewed with the labor of love and covered with clinging flower petals.

  THEY LINGERED A WEEK IN WINCHESTER. FOR THE first three days, they did not stir from the bower. Food, wine, water, every conceivable need was brought to them. They slept, fed each other delicacies, made love, took playful baths together, and slept again. Time passed too swiftly.

  On the fourth day, Hawk emerged to take part in the games held in honor of the marriage. He received the usual good-natured ribbing about his absence along with the predictable suggestions that with his strength so sapped, he would be a less than formidable adversary. This he took in mellow humor before going out onto the field to defeat the half-dozen opponents foolish enough to face off against him. These worthies departed limping and wiser.

  He enjoyed himself tremendously. Seated beside Eahlswith in the reviewing stand, Krysta endeavored to do the same. Through the first of his matches, she scarcely breathed and held so tightly to the arms of her chair that her nails left marks in the wood. By the third match, her hands were folded in her lap and her neck no longer felt so tense that it might snap off. By the fifth match, she even managed to cheer. At the end of the sixth, when no further opponents presented themselves, she whooped with joy, ran out onto the field, and right there in front of everyone kissed her sweaty, begrimed, contented warrior.

  When the time came at last to leave, Krysta could not hold back her tears as she parted from Eahlswith.

  “No mother has treated a daughter more kindly than you have me. I will never forget it.”

  There were tears in the good queen's eyes as well. “I will miss you, my dear, as I miss my own daughters. You have reminded me that love is the source of all true strength and courage.”

  “We will be back,” Hawk said gently as he saw the women's distress. “I come often to Winchester and Krysta will come with me.”

  There was comfort in that, but even so, Krysta turned twice in the saddle to wave farewell to the woman who had filled a hole in her life she truly had not wanted to admit existed.

  They were some little way still from the port of Hamtun when Hawk glimpsed something down the road that made him draw rein. Krysta did the same, as did the men riding behind them. A moment later, she saw what Hawk's keen eyes had glimpsed first. Thorgold came riding toward them on a shaggy pony, the dog Udell had beaten loping along happily at his side.

  “I wondered where you'd gotten to,” Hawk said. He greeted Thorgold with obvious pleasure that warmed Krysta. So, too, was she delighted to see the dog, who ran circles around her horse, frantically wagging his tail.

  “He's well again! How wonderful. Are you keeping him, Thorgold?”

  “It's more a matter of him keepin' me, lass. But we seem to make a good pair.”

  “I'd say you do,” Hawk agreed. “We missed you at the wedding.”

  “Ah, well, now I was there, don't ye know. I'm not one to let pass a fine feast and that was the finest I've ever known. I just prefer to keep a bit to the shadows. But it's right glad I am to see ye got the job done, lad.”

  They rode on, Thorgold beside them. It was not long before Hawk noticed ravens swooping from tree to tree along their route but he said nothing about that. Nor did he comment when one raven in particular followed them all the way into Hamtun. There were just some things a wise man did not remark upon.

  Their ships awaited them. While the horses were being loaded, Krysta sat on a bale of hay and watched. Although the animals were superbly trained, including for travel by ship, the process was still dangerous and had to be done with care. One wrong step and a horse could go into the water, possibly being injured in the process. If an animal panicked and bolted, the men around him could likewise be hurt. Hawk saw to the boarding of his own mount as well as Krysta's, then helped with the others. Last aboard was Thorgold's shaggy pony, who clip-clopped up the gangway as though born to do so.

  They sailed on the tide into a day so brilliantly clear as to sting the eyes. As Hamtun and the road to Winchester faded from sight, Krysta felt swept by regret, but her mood improved when Hawk left the rudder to one of his lieutenants and came to sit beside her in the prow.

  “We will be back soon, sweetheart,” he said as he drew her into the circle of warmth beneath his cloak. It was brisk out on the water and she was glad of his care. “It is my preference to keep Christmas at Hawkforte but Alfred may visit us before then and bring Eahlswith along.”

  “That would be wonderful. Perhaps we can also visit them in the spring.”

  Hawk did not answer, thinking that come spring she would be in no condition to travel. Yet no doubt she would still expect to be swimming, sailing, and all the rest. He would have to watch her carefully. The thought did not trouble him overly much, indeed he felt an unexpected sense of pleasure. There were worse things by far for a man to do.

  Mindful of all she had been through so recently, Hawk resolved to make this journey as easy for her as possible. By late afternoon of the first day, he signaled the ships to put in to shore. When Krysta expressed her surprise, he said, “It is better for the horses to have some exercise.”

  “You did not put in on the way to Winchester.”

  “Udell's plotting made the journey urgent.”

  She nodded and he turned away lest she catch him rolling his eyes. The nonsense about the horses prevented the argument he was sure would happen if she thought he was coddling her.

  They made camp on a sandy shore close to a swift-running brook. While some of the men formed a perimeter guard and others went out to hunt, Hawk enjoyed a rare moment of tranquility with his bride. Beneath the star-draped sky, they supped, laughed over tales Thorgold told, and finally withdrew a little away to sleep until the first faint light of dawn drew them back to their journey. Thus did they proceed until on the afternoon of the fourth day, the cliffs near Hawkforte came into view.

  Standing in the bow, his arm around Krysta's shoulders, Hawk looked out toward the fair, green land lazing in the early fall sun and knew a sweetly piercing contentment. Krysta felt it too, for she looked up at him just then and said softly, “I will miss Winchester, my lord, but it is very good to be home.”

  Home. His and hers together. Hawk's arm tightened around her. His pleasure in the moment was boundless.

  “Truly, sweetheart, I am so glad to get you back here safely that I swear, I'll even be glad to see Daria.”

  Krysta gasped a little at his bluntness but she smiled. No doubt or worry hovered over them as the ships turned toward the quays and the crowd already gathering there.

  THEY WERE BACK, HER OVERWEENING HALF-BROTHER and the Norse whor
e who should by all rights be dead or at the very least dismissed. Inexplicably, she was neither. The fierce pleasure of the moment when that Viking fool stood in Hawk's own hall and denounced the stupid bitch, even calling her a creature of unnatural union, was no more than cherished memory. The dark joy of what should have followed—Hawk outraged at the insult done him, the alliance of Norse and Saxon shattered beyond repair, the land torn by violence that would destroy the hated Alfred and bring the honors and riches so long overdue—was still denied. So cruel and perfidious was fate that defeat seemed snatched from certain victory.

  Almost but not quite, for she was not done yet. She had come too far, endured too much to give up. Besides, it would be easier now. They would imagine themselves secure and would drop their guard. She would hide herself behind false humility and bide the moment she was sure must be coming. Then would she strike, the instrument of righteous justice, and all the poisoned torment of her twisted heart would be satisfied at last.

  God of vengeance, let that moment come quickly. Let the sins committed against her through all the years of slight and derision be washed away in blood.

  “Let me not wait long, Lord, that I may do thy bidding.”

  “Lady?” Beside her, Father Elbert turned with that look of concern in his eyes she saw far too often. Abruptly, Daria realized she had spoken out loud.

  Her thin face hurt with the effort to smile. “A prayer, nothing more, Father. Surely that is permitted?”

  “Most certainly. I only wonder if this is the best moment.”

  She frowned at the implication of criticism, however mild, but swiftly hid her thoughts.

  When Hawk stepped onto the pier, habit causing him to sweep his keen gaze over the assembled crowd, he saw nothing to cause him any concern. Turning, he held out his arms to Krysta and lifted her from the ship. The moment he did so, the crowd erupted in wild cheers and pressed forward to greet them.