Dream of Me/Believe in Me

by Josie Litton

  Krysta went very still. She looked at Raven closely. “Do you think that is true?”

  The older woman shrugged. “The priest claims not. He said it was all her idea right back to the beginning. According to him, she stole Hawk's seal and forged the letter rejecting the Lord Wolf's offer of marriage to the Lady Cymbra. Thus she set all in motion, so says Father Elbert. But she disputes him, claiming he was the one behind it all even unto the plan to kill you, and she but a pawn duped into believing, she obeyed the will of God.”

  “So they denounce each other and there is no way to know who is telling the truth.”

  “Thus it seems,” Raven agreed. “Not that it matters. They are both sent away, Father Elbert back to his monastery to be judged by the good priests there and Lady Daria to close confinement in a convent.”

  Krysta's shoulders sagged with relief. Glad though she was to be free of them, she was gladder still that Hawk had not soiled his hands with blood. There had already been so much of that in his life. Now was the time for him to enjoy the fruits of peace.

  Beginning with the greatest fruit of all, their son …

  She sought to kill you and our child …

  The words rang clear in Krysta's mind. Last night she had been too exhausted and terrified to heed them but now they returned with stark clarity. He knew. Somehow, Hawk knew she was with child and he had said nothing to her. That devil!

  “I must dress,” Krysta said firmly, “and find my dear husband. There are one or ten things I need to say to him.”

  Raven chuckled but a moment later she was gone, just before Aelfgyth bustled into the room.

  “I knew it!” the maid exclaimed. “I go off for just a few minutes and you're out of bed, trying to do everything by yourself.” Without giving Krysta a chance to reply, she hurried over, took the gown from her hands, and dropped it over her head. “You've been through a terrible time,” Aelfgyth informed her. “I can't even bear to imagine what it was like but I'm dead sure that it was hideous.” She turned Krysta around briskly and began doing up her laces. “You can't expect to go through something like that without it taking a great toll on you, which is why”—she urged her bemused mistress toward a stool, sat her down, and went to work on her hair—“why you cannot expect to be doing for yourself like this. If the Lord Hawk found out you were up and about, trying to manage on your own, I know what he'd say. That dear man has already been through so much, you don't want to worry him any further, do you?”

  “Well, no, of course not but—”

  “My mother always says butts are for the rear ends of pigs. Which hair ribbons would you like? The rose and mauve would look lovely with this gown, don't you think?”

  Krysta nodded, for there seemed nothing else she could do, so intent was Aelfgyth on seeing to her.

  “There,” Aelfgyth said when she was satisfied with the results. “You look beautiful. Would you like me to bring you something to eat?”

  Krysta shook her head. “Thank you, but no. Where is Lord Hawk?”

  “Downstairs. I'll just tell him you're awake. He'll be so relieved that you're feeling better. He was right here most of the night, wouldn't leave your side. He did fall asleep for a few hours, holding your hand, but he was awake before dawn. There's so much to see to, of course, but even so he should have some rest—”

  Aelfgyth broke off as Krysta headed toward the door. If anyone was going to tell Hawk anything, it was she. When she thought that he hadn't said a word to her, probably going all the way back to Winchester when he'd had that decidedly strange look on his face just because she was nauseated. Even when they made love, he had never mentioned it, only touched her with such gentle passion….

  A blush overtook her. She was not so annoyed with him after all. She could think of nothing save how much she loved him and how truly blessed they were to be together.

  Speeding down the steps, Krysta wondered if she would tell Hawk of the strange vision that had come to her in the cell. Had she not tried to reach out to the young man she believed to be her son, she would never have stumbled over the iron bar and could not have delayed Daria's attack long enough for Hawk to arrive.

  She paused just before entering the hall and touched a hand gently to her belly. As yet there was no sign of the life that dwelled there, yet she already knew her child well. “Let your wings grow strong, little Falcon,” she murmured, and felt the pearl of her happiness glow brightly.

  When she stepped into the hall, her eyes found Hawk at once. He was seated at the high table, deep in conversation with Dragon and Thorgold. All three saw her and broke off their talk. Hawk stood and went to her. He was frowning.

  “Should you be out of bed? Are you rested enough? Aelfgyth was supposed to come and get me. You have suffered a terrible ordeal and—”

  “Enough,” Krysta murmured. She raised herself on tiptoe and touched her lips lightly to his. Against them, she said, “I am the most fortunate of women. Whatever ill I have experienced is naught compared to the joy you give me.”

  He sighed deeply into her mouth and clasped her to him. Around them, the men and women of Hawkforte assembling for their evening meal grinned and nudged one another. The kiss deepened, all else forgotten, as the two fated lovers put aside the tumultuous past and looked to their blissful future.

  Only when the laughter and encouragement of the crowd finally reached him did Hawk recall himself. He smiled broadly. Looking over Krysta's head back toward the high table, he said something drowned out by the din of the cheering crowd. It took a moment for Dragon to realize what it was, and when he did, a shiver ran down the back of that stalwart warrior. For the Lord of Hawkforte, his beloved lady nestled in his arms, had spoken the words most guaranteed to strike dread into the foot-loose, fancy-free heart of the Dragon. “You're next.”

  About the Author

  JOSIE LITTON lives in New England where she is happily at work on a new trilogy of historical romances. She is also at home at www.josielitton.com.

  Turn the page for a sneak preview of

  Come Back TO ME

  available November 2001 wherever Bantam Books are sold

  DAMN, DAMN, AND DAMN AGAIN! THE cursed habit h ad followed her all her life since tenderest childhood. How she loathed being different, how she despised always knowing. Lie to her and she would be happy, trick her into believing what was not and she would be delighted, prevaricate, falsify, fib, and palter, nothing would thrill her more. To be in blissful ignorance, never to know or at least not to know beyond the ordinary ken whether someone spoke the truth or lied, that was her great dream as much as freedom itself, for it was a kind of freedom all its own. Let her be done with truth!

  He was a man, nothing more. A stranger and a threat. She was glad to be done with him. Lies.

  Her mouth set thinly, she came away from the moss-draped rock and launched herself back upon the course of least resistance through the wood. She would reach Hawkforte before dark. She would wrangle her way upon a merchant ship bound for Normandy. She would find Thurlow there and together they would make a new life far from the loathsome threat that hung over her were she foolish enough to remain in England.

  And that, for anyone who cared, was truth.

  There was silence in her mind and in the wood, as though nature itself stilled before her blind determination. She drank it in, nodded once and hurried on. It did not occur to her to glance back or even train her hearing in that direction. Not that it mattered. Had she done so, she would have perceived nothing. The Dragon moved over the land like smoke, fathomless and irresistible.

  He caught up with the lad scarcely an hour after the first sign of movement. It would have been quicker but he'd hung back awhile, making sure he hadn't been spotted and waiting for the right moment to take him by surprise. He intended to make this quick and get it done with before the boy could hurt himself struggling. After that there would be time for the customary courtesies.

  And so it would have been but for one of those vagarie
s of nature that can never be anticipated. A family of grouse was at home in the underbrush. Dragon's sudden passing roused the parents to protective fury. The male flew from the nest batting his wings and squawking furiously. The female arched her neck, stretched out her wings protectively, and hurled her own dire threats.

  The clamor was answered by a slew of other birds who lifted into the air, cackling, cawing, hooting, shrieking and scolding until the hitherto tranquil wood fairly rang with their outrage. The noise penetrated even the fog of Rycca's fatigue and made her look round in surprise.

  Surprise that turned swiftly to shock.

  The handsomest man she had ever seen.

  A shiver of disbelief rippled through Rycca. She did not linger to contemplate the stranger's sudden reappearance or her own absurd thoughts. Instead, she turned and ran with all the desperate speed her weary body could muster.

  Dragon followed swiftly. He saw no reason to let the boy exhaust himself any further. Best he face what he rightly had coming and be done with it. Then they would settle the matter of why he was alone and where he was heading. Dragon would see him safely there whether his destination be Hawkforte or not, and whether the lad wanted the company or not. Not mere protectiveness alone dictated that he do so. There was also the matter of curiosity. He sensed a story behind the lad's solitary journey, and if there was one thing Dragon loved, it was a good story. Indeed, people claimed he had a collection of them to rival that of any skald or bard. There were even some who said Dragon should have been one of that happy fraternity, traveling from manor to manor proclaiming the great tales of the age. Fate had called him to a different life, that of warrior and leader. So be it. He still enjoyed those evenings spent round the fire when the ale flowed freely and he held an audience spellbound in the magic of his words.

  The lad truly was desperate, Dragon realized suddenly, for he was moving far more quickly than he should have been after the miles he had already covered. With a shake of his head, Dragon closed the distance between them. The boy had strength and stamina, there was no doubt of that, but Dragon was a man full grown, trained to hardship and war, at the peak of his powers. His legs were steel, rippling with muscle, devouring ground. He ran without effort, moving easily over every obstacle, remorseless and inescapable.

  The boy seemed to realize that suddenly as he darted a glance over his shoulder. Dragon was so near that he could see the shock in eyes so wide and thick-fringed they must surely provoke teasing. A sudden, dark thought flashed through his mind. Perhaps the boy had a particular reason for taking such desperate measures to escape. A memory rose sharply despite its being long years old. Little more than a child, torn from his home by the ravages of war, Dragon had set sail upon the world's seas in the company of his older brother. In the hold of a ship, at night, a man … Even now, Dragon grimaced in disgust. He had fought and fiercely so, but alone he would not have escaped. It was Wolf, already big for his age and with the skill that would make him one of the most renowned warriors of their day, who had saved him. Striking with savage intent, he gutted the attacker, leaving him to writhe in his death throes as he hugged Dragon fiercely and swore they would survive against all enemies and all dangers.

  So they had done, rising to vast wealth and power, but not climbing quite so far that Dragon had forgotten how it felt to be young, helpless, and very afraid.

  Mildly chagrined by his own kinder self, he nonetheless called out to the boy, “There's no need for this. I'm not going to hurt you. Just stop and we'll talk.”

  The look this earned suggested Dragon must have suffered a recent head injury in addition to that done to his nether parts. With a last backward glance, the boy redoubled his efforts to get away.

  Dragon sighed. He took half a dozen more strides and flowed smoothly into the air, bringing his quarry down in a single motion. Even then, he rolled as they hit the ground, taking the impact himself and sparing the boy all but a simple jarring. He might have done better to knock the wind out of him for the brat struggled furiously, kicking out in every direction and doing his damnedest to get his teeth into any portion of Dragon that presented itself.

  “Oh, no, you don't!” Dragon exclaimed. “I've had enough from you.” He bounded to his feet, hauling the boy up with him, and gave him a good shake. “Calm down! All I want to do is talk.”

  That accomplished precisely nothing. Flush-faced, wide-eyed, the lad continued to struggle with all his might. Prudently, Dragon held him off at arm's length and even so kept a careful watch on his flailing limbs as they slowly but inexorably wound down. He waited until the miscreant had scarcely enough strength left to twitch before he tried again.

  Pleasantly, he asked, “Are you ready to talk now?”

  The boy was panting so hard he probably wasn't capable of speech but he did manage a glare of pure venom.

  “No? I can wait.” He continued to hold the boy a few inches above the ground, dangling at the end of a very long, very strong arm. At the same time, he repeated quietly, “I am not going to hurt you.”

  When the boy looked at him in utter disbelief, Dragon added, “Oh, I considered it rightly enough. You deserve a thrashing for what you did. But I'm willing to allow that you may have thought you were acting in self-defense, even as I myself was when I seized you. Any man has a right to protect himself.” Deliberately, he awarded the stripling a title he would not merit for many years yet. On closer appraisal, the lad might be even younger than Dragon had thought. Cheeks that had been red with exertion were paling rapidly, revealing damask smooth skin without the slightest trace of even an infant beard. The boy's features were delicately drawn, a straight and slender nose sitting above a full mouth and gently rounded chin. But it was those eyes, those huge, slightly uptilted eyes the precise shade of clover honey that sent a prickle of apprehension down Dragon's back. A sudden, hideous suspicion stirred in him.

  Without warning, his free hand darted out and snatched the cap that swaddled the imp's head.

  “Noooo!” Slender fingers flew to stop him, too late. Masses of silken hair glinting with the sheen of copper tumbled free. Dragon stared in disbelief. A girl. He had been brought to his knees by a girl. The realization stunned him if only because in all his experience with women—his very long, very considerable experience— nothing remotely similar had ever happened. In all modesty, no female had ever looked upon him with other than warm encouragement and affection. That may have been because of his appearance although he'd never thought anything of how he looked one way or another. And perhaps his wealth and position had impressed some. But he suspected it had much more to do with the simple fact that he adored women. Utterly, completely, unreservedly adored them. Women were the greatest of the gods' considerable accomplishments, the best gift, the most marvelous delight that could be bestowed upon the earth and upon man, including his own lucky self. Women were soft and strong, they smelled good and had beguiling smiles, they gave life and made it count for something. In bed, out of bed, he delighted in them. Old, young, in between, he found their presence a constant source of comfort and enjoyment. That one of these marvelous creatures might actually seek to do him harm left him stunned.

  Not that he could blame her. She must have been absolutely terrified and while he was thinking about it, what in hell's name was she doing traveling alone? No wonder she was gotten up as a boy, but that was scant protection. If he'd had more than a few seconds to look at her earlier he would have realized at once what he had finally discovered. A girl.

  “It's all right, sweetling,” Dragon said gently. He set her down with the utmost care, watchful lest in her exhausted state she topple over. “There's nothing for you to be afraid of. No one's going to hurt you. I'll see you safely to wherever you're going and—”

  She turned and, fleet as a young doe, ran. He stared after her in amazement. Where had she possibly found the strength to try to escape yet again? It was truly amazing and just one more testament to the extraordinary mystery of women. Not that he coul
d let her go, of course. She might get lost, or have trouble finding food, or be cold once night came, or run into some man with altogether the wrong sort of attitude toward women. Dragon couldn't allow any of that to happen. Nor could he allow her to harm herself by dashing through the woods probably paying no attention at all to her surroundings.

  Frowning with concern, he hurried after her.

  Rycca's breath came in labored gasps. Her legs were lead, the effort of running agony. Only the desperate courage deep within her kept her from slumping to the ground in defeat. Of all the cruel tricks for fate to play upon her. She had escaped the brutality of her family and their nightmare plans for her future only to find herself in the hands of the most terrifyingly powerful warrior she had ever seen in her life.

  And the handsomest man.

  If she had possessed even a whisper of breath to spare, she would have laughed in sheer disbelief at herself. Even now, fleeing for her life, she could harbor such a thought. She must be possessed of some inner demon.

  Only truth.

  Truth be damned! And with it all the rest that life had inflicted upon her. She would not fall to the warrior or to her own weakness. She would run until her heart burst if she had to but she would never, ever give up. Surrender was for the craven and meek. She was neither. Heedless of the tears of exhaustion and fear that streamed down her cheeks, Rycca ran on. She did not see the ground change around her, did not notice the trees thinning away, paid no heed to the sea shining below the cliff that suddenly loomed before her. Nor did she hear Dragon's frantic shout. Drained of strength, bereft of hope, driven only by despair, she tumbled straight over the cliff face. A strangled scream broke from her. Grasping at bushes, she tried to halt her headlong plunge. The effort failed and with a last sob of terror she glimpsed the white-foamed breakers rushing up toward her.

  Dragon saw the girl disappear over the cliff and fought the wave of sickness that clawed at him. He could scarcely believe what his stubborn pursuit had wrought but there was no denying the brutal result. The girl was gone, might even at that moment be dead or dying, and it was his fault. With a horrified groan, he flung himself down the cliff side, scarcely controlling his fall as he slipped and slid until leaping the last dozen feet to the beach.