Dream of Me/Believe in Me (61 page)

K
RYSTA TOO WAS FRESH FROM A BATH. SHE
had dressed with care, choosing a gown the same shade of teal blue as sometimes lingered in the sky at the turning of the sun. She had never seen the gown before and only now realized that her chests must contain quite a few items that were entirely new to her. Either they had belonged to her mother and been held in waiting for her, or Raven had been procuring them all this time, no doubt with Thorgold's able assistance. Glad though she was for their foresight, she had to wonder what had made them believe she would need such garments. Certainly the thought had never occurred to her.

Her half-brother Sven had called the Saxons dirty and said they lived in their own filth, but she had seen no evidence of that. In the warmth of summer, people seemed to bathe regularly and the women were forever sweeping out their cottages, airing their bedding and the like. Nor had it escaped her notice that after Daria retired for the night, the servants were inclined to pair off and drift down to the
river. Their laughter floated on soft evening breezes, along with what sounded like energetic splashing.

She was glad, then, to be able to appear before them suitably groomed and garbed. Glad, too, of Aelfgyth's kind help. The young woman insisted on brushing Krysta's hair for her, murmuring compliments on the color even as she struggled with the riotous curls.

“Did your mother have hair like this, my lady?”

Krysta glanced away from the small bronze mirror that revealed a reflection she had scarcely ever seen. “I don't know. My mother went away when I was very young.”

Aelfgyth's hands stilled for a moment before resuming their soothing rhythm. “She died?”

“No, she just went away. Raven and Thorgold have told me only that she was very beautiful, nothing else.”

“Forgive me if I ask too much, my lady, but is that customary among the Norse? I mean for a wife to leave her husband like that? It happens here sometimes when folk follow the old ways and handfast before seeking the blessing of the Church. They are only sworn to stay with each other for a year or unless a child is conceived, so sometimes such couples part.”

“The Norse do that as well but I don't think many wives leave their husbands after a child is born. Still, I suppose it happens.”

Aelfgyth was silent again for so long as she could contain her curiosity. Swiftly enough, she said, “Could you not visit your mother?”

Krysta hesitated. She had surprised herself by mentioning anything about her upbringing and knew not how to put the question aside with due delicacy. Finally, she said, “She went very far away. I could not follow. At any rate, my father was a good man and I would have missed him sorely as I did when he died a year ago.”

The maid nodded sympathetically. She finished
smoothing Krysta's hair as best she could and secured it with a ribbon the same shade as her gown. “You look lovely, my lady.”

Krysta mustered a smile but it wobbled away before she stepped from the room. Last night, she had thought only of how the Hawk's people would react to her sudden transformation. This night, her thoughts were solely of him. He was already in the hall when she arrived, talking with several of his lieutenants and the redoubtable Edvard. The conversation broke off as she entered. Hard-faced men shot her quick, sharp looks. A few nodded in her direction but none spoke to her directly, yet was she suddenly, acutely aware of being the focus of all eyes. Her throat tightened and for just a moment she had to fight the impulse to run back up to her tower room. But Raven was right, she was made of sterner stuff. She held her place, back straight and chin tilted proudly, through the seemingly endless moments until Hawk stepped forward. It truly was only moments, for which she was grateful. Grateful, too, for the swift glance of approval he gave her.

The chair he had called for last evening remained in place beside his own. He handed her into it and sat down, his lieutenants quickly following suit. There was a general rustle throughout the hall as everyone did the same. Only the servants who worked at meals were left bustling about with heavy platters and skins of wine. She caught a quick glimpse of Raven and Thorgold in their accustomed places. They both looked cheery, Thorgold going so far as to grin.

His good humor might have had something to do with the feast being laid before them. With a day's warning that the Hawk's bride had arrived, the cook and his army of assistants had outdone themselves. An entire roasted pig was paraded in on a litter carried by four serving boys. The cheers greeting this sight had barely died away before haunches of venison and lamb followed,
along with platters of succulent crabs, eels, and oysters. Heaps of round loaves of bread were distributed and bowls of fresh greens offered.

As was fitting, Hawk was served first, but he in turn served Krysta, offering her only the choicest morsels. Such courtesy was duly noted by his people, who smiled and nodded among themselves. Surprised by the outpouring of such delicacies, Krysta was momentarily distracted. She returned to herself just as Hawk was about to place a slice of pork on her side of the silver platter they were sharing.

“Oh, no, thank you,” she said hastily.

“You do not care for pork?”

“I'm sure it's excellent but I don't eat meat.” She smiled apologetically. “However, everything else looks wonderful.”

Hawk frowned. “You must eat meat elsewise you cannot be healthy.”

Krysta hesitated, seeking some way to respond without appearing to disagree with him. She shrugged lightly. “No doubt what you say is true for some but I have never eaten meat and I assure you, I am perfectly healthy.”

“Never?” He was genuinely shocked. The only people he knew who eschewed meat were a few monks and none of them struck him as particularly vigorous. For everyone else, meat was much sought after and always appreciated. “Surely your parents had better care of you than that.”

“My father provided for me very well. I wanted for nothing.”

He was about to dispute that when her omission distracted him. “Your father? What about your mother?”

Krysta suppressed a sigh. To be called upon for the second time in less than an hour's span to explain something she had never spoken of with anyone save Thorgold and Raven was unsettling, yet did she gird herself to reply
honestly. “My mother left a short time after I was born. During their time together, my father had given her a manor of her own a day's ride from his main holding. It became mine and there I remained until I left to come here.”

Hawk set down the pork she did not want, placing it on his own side of the platter. Her brief explanation raised far more questions than it answered. Yet was he reluctant to probe too sharply where hurt might well linger. “Where did your mother go?”

“Away.” Hastily, she added, “But my father was a good man and, as I have said, I was well provided for.”

“No doubt … But why did your mother have her own residence instead of sharing your father's?” He paused, not wishing to force an answer but driven to know all the same. “I understand that among the Norse the custom of a powerful man having more than one wife has not entirely died out.” He was imagining a senior wife who would not have welcomed into her own home the winsome beauty Krysta's mother undoubtedly had been, but that notion was quickly set aside.

“It most certainly has died out in my family,” she informed him tartly. “My mother was my father's second wife only because the first had died. He had children by that first union, my half-brother Sven among others, and I gather he thought it best to keep his lines apart.”

It still seemed an odd arrangement to Hawk but he said nothing more of it. He knew something more of her than he had a few moments before, and that pleased him. Moreover, he thought he had a glimpse into why she was so concerned that their marriage be a success. Her own parents' union had not been, elsewise her mother would not have left or, he thought more likely, been sent away. Understandably enough, she wished to avoid the same fate. That conclusion left him well satisfied. The business of getting to know a woman was not so hard after all.

In good humor, Hawk decided to overlook her curious notions about food until a later time. In the meanwhile, he made sure she had a decent meal of crab and oysters, which, truth be told, he also enjoyed. It also pleased him to hear her impressions of Hawkforte, which he drew from her steadily in between succulent bites and the sips of wine he urged on her. Edvard seemed to have done his usual thorough job, for Krysta had seen aspects of the domestic side of Hawkforte unknown even to its master. He knew cloth was woven … somehow … just as he knew food was preserved, clothes made and washed, children and animals tended, and a hundred sundry other tasks done that were so much a part of ordinary life as to be noticed only in their absence. But he had never inquired into the actual doing of them until now. Not that he had suddenly become interested in such matters. Rather, he was too absorbed in the delectable soft tones of Krysta's voice and the pleasure of watching her full, rose-hued lips move for it to matter much what she was saying.

Indeed, so enjoyable did he find the experience that when she fell silent, the master of Hawkforte, the stern taskmaster of several thousand fighting men, the war leader who scarcely ever let a day pass without rigorous training, tossed down the remainder of his wine and said, “Come riding with me tomorrow.”

I
T WAS IN HIS MIND TO SHOW HER HAWKFORTE HIS OWN
way. He hoped that under his guidance she would feel some small measure of the tug he experienced whenever he returned from a journey and caught the first sight of smoke rising from his fires. At any rate, it seemed the thing to do. The stable boys had received his instructions and carried them out to the letter. The pretty little mare they led out for his inspection was agile and obedient. She was pure ebony from end to end, the color so rich as to
glow with a silver sheen. When he rubbed her nose, she blew softly and tried to nuzzle into his pockets for the apple he ended up giving her sooner than he had intended. With a laugh, Hawk reflected that such behavior was useful in both a horse and a woman. He was indulging that notion when Krysta arrived. She had almost, but not quite, managed to tame the mass of her curls beneath a veil that matched her dun-hued gown, chosen, he suspected, because it would continue to look well when splattered with mud. He smiled approvingly at her foresight but sobered when he saw the expression in her eyes. She was unmistakably wary if not outright afraid. When the mare pranced gracefully, no more than showing off, Krysta backed up hastily.

“I think perhaps you should know that I haven't ridden all that much.”

Hawk was surprised. Everyone rode; even a peasant could sling his leg over a donkey and get where he was going. Ladies no less than lords took great pride in their ability to sail over any obstacle and ride for miles without tiring.

“How much is ‘all that much’?” he asked.

She looked away, her cheeks coloring. “Almost not at all.” Hastily she added, “In Vestfold there really isn't all that much reason to ride. We use boats to get everywhere.”

He supposed that made sense, although every Viking he had encountered rode extremely well. Still, he had to take into account her unusual upbringing.

“Here we ride,” he said gently, “and so will you. It really isn't difficult.”

As she continued to look doubtful, he drew the mare forward and gently placed Krysta's hand on her nose, then laughed at his betrothed's reaction.

“She's so soft!”

“She is that and she's very well behaved.” He gestured
to a stable boy to hold the mare's reins. Krysta's eyes widened when Hawk placed his hands on her waist and lifted her easily into the saddle. For the first time, Krysta found herself looking down into the face of her husband-to-be. The strangeness of that heightened her unease.

“Oh, I don't think … I'm not really ready to …”

“Of course you are. Now hold the reins like this.” She fumbled with them for a moment but caught on quickly. When he was sure she was seated securely, Hawk called for his own mount. The gray stallion was led out prancing and snorting, causing the mare to shy. Instinctively, Krysta reached down and patted her side, murmuring to her reassuringly. Beneath her touch, the mare quieted. Pleased, not to say surprised, Krysta laughed. All night she had tossed and turned, worrying about how she would manage to ride with Hawk. Not for the world would she have attempted to refuse but she had dreaded making a fool of herself. Now, it seemed, she would not.

Near giddy with relief, she beamed him a smile so beguiling as to rob him of breath. They rode out past the high walls of the fortress, down the path that led behind the hill and away from the town. He kept the pace slow at first but picked it up as she gained confidence. They were trotting when they came up out of the wood onto the broad cliff above the sea. Gulls whirled overhead and sunlight sparkled off the water. The tang of salt mingled with the perfumes of wild grasses and flowers. Although the day was still young, the air was already warm.