Come Back to Me (16 page)

"Vikings have ever gone adventuring," she said gently. "It is in our spirit, but besides that, we've really had no choice. The northlands are beautiful but can support only a small number of people. If a farm is divided among too many sons, soon it will support no one at all. Thus do many of us become traders and venture to the farthest reaches of the world."

"The Vikings who came to England did not do so to trade," Rycca said.

"That is true and terrible things have happened because of that. Moderation is needed. Therefore did the Lord Wolf propose this alliance. He believes that friendship between Norse and Saxon will encourage all concerned to turn their hands to more peaceful pursuits."

Her deep green eyes scanned Rycca's face for a moment. She smiled sadly. "You do not believe me or at least you do not believe it will work. Life offers no guarantees, but surely peace is worth the effort?"

Burning huts… smoke rising into air filled with screams… terror so great she could scarcely breathe. Aelflynne racing toward her, clutching the doll she loved so well
… a
shadow over her… the sudden cry and her arms outstretched toward Rycca hiding in the stable, their gazes locking for a fateful moment until a knife flashed, blood oozed into the ground, a small body went limp, and Aelflynne's eyes dimmed forever
.

"Peace," Rycca said emphatically, "comes only with power. When we are strong enough to crush our enemies, they will be our friends, not before."

Krysta did not mince words. "That is a terrible view of life."

"Nothing I have witnessed contradicts it."

Nothing save the kindness of a man who had no idea who she was yet pledged to protect her while asking nothing for himself.

A fluke, nothing more.

Not true.

"Stop," Rycca murmured.

"I'm sorry, I've kept you talking too long."

"No, not you, that isn't what I meant… It is I who must apologize. You've been very good to me and I've repaid you with rudeness."

Krysta smoothed the covers. "I take no offense. You are very tired." Softly, as though to her own child, she said, "Sleep now, Lady Rycca of Wolscroft. Tomorrow is a brighter day."

YET MUCH LATER, AS KRYSTA LAY IN BED BESIDE her husband, drowsily content in the aftermath of their lovemaking, she wondered if her hopeful promise could possibly be fulfilled. Stirring in Hawk's arms, she sat up and gazed at him. His eyes were closed, his rugged features relaxed, he looked like a man with nothing more on his mind than a decent rest.

She poked him lightly with her elbow. "You aren't asleep, are you?"

Without opening his eyes, Hawk sighed. "Why is it women always want to talk?"

She poked him harder. "Women?"

He opened one eye, cautiously. "Did I say that? I mean woman, of course, just one very singular, very adorable, occasionally maddening woman."

"Is Dragon very upset?"

"Men don't get upset. We get angry, enraged, irritated, bewildered, amused, and, very rarely, flummoxed, but never upset."

"Which is he?"

Hawk hesitated. He stopped pretending to sleep and gathered his wife closer. When her head was back down on his chest where it rightly belonged, he said, "I think he's hurt."

"I was afraid of that. She's very beautiful."

"It's not the beauty, or not mostly. He thought she was brave and other things as well, I suspect. Now he sees himself saddled with a wife too selfish to care about peace."

"She does care, she just doesn't think the alliance will work."

"What will then, more war?" Hawk spoke with the disdain of a man who has left too much of his youth on battlefields.

"This isn't a good beginning for them," Krysta said with a sigh.

Hawk nodded. "But a beginning it must be all the same."

Just then, Falcon made a little snurfling sound in the cradle close by their bed. Both parents stiffened, wondering if rest would prove elusive that night. But a moment later he settled back down, and shortly thereafter so did they.

But not quite completely. In the haven of her husband's arms, Krysta murmured softly, "A wounded dragon."

Hawk was almost asleep. "Seems to be."

Dangerous
, her mind whispered, but she was no longer awake to hear. In any case, it was not her concern.

The same could not be said for the Lady Rycca, who lay in the sumptuous bed in the immense guest room, counting the long hours of night and wondering what day would bring. Krysta's promise was kind, as was the woman herself, but not for a moment did Rycca think anything good lay ahead of her.

YET WITH MORNING CAME MORE OF THE cosseting of the night before. Rycca woke from belated sleep to a daze of sunshine, fair breezes, bustling servants, and a determinedly smiling Krysta. The day looked scrubbed clean and so did Rycca feel by the time she emerged from her second bath, donned the shift Krysta held out for her, and sat herself at the table by the windows. From there she could see beyond the roofs of the many dependencies and the high stone walls against which they clustered, all the way down to the town itself with its busy port. Only Winchester, seat of the king, was larger, and she had seen that but once.

Hawkforte compelled even her gray and disordered thoughts. Shops lined the streets, often of two stories to provide living room above and with large gardens in the back. Here and there a goat nibbled grass or a pig lolled in cool mud. A sudden flash of white drew her notice to a small herd of sheep being led through the streets to market.

Half-a-dozen ships rocked gently beside the town quays. Gazing at them, Rycca wondered which one might have carried her to Normandy had fate so willed. Perhaps none, for her scheme was fraught with danger from the beginning, yet her mind still lingered a little while longer, reluctant to give up forever the hope of freedom so fleetingly found.

Krysta drew her back into the moment, but gently as though she sensed the regrets that had left shadows beneath Rycca's eyes.

"Your father arrived this morning," the Lady of Hawkforte said quietly. The firm set of her usually soft and generous mouth made clear what she thought of that. "He met with my lord. I know not what was said, though Wolscroft seemed much calmer when he emerged."

"Calmer?" Rycca's slanted brows rose. She looked away from the tray of food set in front of her for in truth she could not imagine eating anything. This latest news only increased the weight of anxiety that hung upon her. Events were spiraling beyond any hope of her influencing much less controlling them. She felt trapped within a cage with the walls growing ever tighter. "I do not believe I have ever heard that word used to describe my father."

"Ah, well, Hawk can have a remarkably soothing effect on people when he wants to." Krysta's smile suggested
soothing
perhaps did not best describe what had gone on.

"Even so…"

"Your dowry has been deposited with our priest, Father Desmond. He has agreed to marry you and Lord Dragon this afternoon."

What little color had been in Rycca's face vanished. She darted a quick look at Krysta and saw true sympathy in her eyes but determination as well. Sitting down beside her, Krysta took chilled hands in her much warmer ones and said earnestly, "I wish these were happy tidings for you but I know they are not. Yet do I beseech you, accept what must be."

"Why must it?" Rycca asked faintly. "I would have thought the Lord Dragon had reconsidered by now and decided the marriage not to his liking."

"He has done nothing of the sort, nor will he."

"Yet he did not want this marriage to begin with, he was merely resigned to it. And now he must have the worst possible opinion of me…" Her voice trailed off. She could scarcely bear what the man in whose arms she had lain and who had gifted her with such joy must think of her now. Bad enough that she had fled from a marriage meant to make peace, how much worse that she had given the virginity that rightly belonged to her husband to a man she believed to be a stranger. He must think her a coward, selfish, uncaring, and a wanton without a scrap of morals.

What a marvelous beginning to a marriage. She pressed her lips together tightly lest the groundswell of distress growing within her become known to all the world.

Krysta stood up. She gestured to the servants who hovered a discreet distance away, waiting to dress the bride. Not unkindly, for she was never that, but with simple directness, she said, "As to that, Dragon will not refuse but you still can. If you stand before Father Desmond this afternoon and refuse his blessing, there will be nothing anyone can do, not Dragon, Hawk, your father, or even the king himself. The Church is quite clear about that—no marriage without consent." She looked at Rycca frankly. "Of course, you must realize what will happen if you do that."

"I will remain under the authority of my father."

"Precisely, and he will punish you as he sees fit. The law gives him that right."

To Krysta's surprise, Rycca smiled faintly. "There is irony to this. My father would be pleased to have the marriage stopped."

"Because of the dowry?"

"No, not that. I think in an odd sort of way he takes pride in showing his wealth. But his hatred of Vikings knows no limits. So too does he despise Alfred for seeking terms with the Danes and for making this alliance with the Norse. Yet he would still punish me, mayhap even to death."

Krysta was silent for a moment. Quietly, she asked, "Do you know, was Wolscroft in alliance with Lord Udell?"

"The traitor? Your husband killed him, did he not?"

Krysta nodded. Her face grew somber as she remembered the events of the year before. How very close they had all come to tragedy. "There was not a breath of suspicion about Wolscroft, yet if he hates Alfred…"

"He thought Udell was a strutting fool, always bragging about what he could do. But the truth is Udell had the will to act, however misguidedly, while my father does not. He may rant and rave, yet survival matters most to him."

Krysta looked relieved. "No doubt that is why he was
soothed
by Hawk."

A tiny laugh escaped Rycca. The sound startled her. She looked from Krysta to the hovering servants and felt inevitability wash over her.