Dream of Me/Believe in Me (77 page)

“Latin?” Alfred exclaimed. Now he truly did look at her as though she were some species of being he had never before encountered. “You read Latin?”

“I am fortunate to be able to do so. Brother Malcolm was a very kind and patient teacher. When he died, we all mourned him deeply.”

“Did your people heed the word of the Christ?” Father Asser asked.

Krysta nodded. “We all did, and so have many others in the years since. Even my father, toward the end of his life, saw it was not something to be afraid of but rather the hope of a better world.”

“Then Brother Malcolm's years were well spent,” Alfred said. “He must have been an unusual man to see the possibilities of instructing a young girl. I have always believed that a man of sound judgment builds on a modest foundation and gradually proceeds to greater things. Perhaps it would be possible to offer some simple instruction
to the daughters of some of our lords and see if they are inclined to go further.”

“An excellent idea, my lord,” Hawk said at once and won a surprised but thoroughly approving look from Krysta. He saw it and grinned as he added, “Provided, of course, they do not shirk their womanly duties.”

“We could have none of that,” the king agreed. “Still, it might be possible—” He broke off, considered the matter for a few moments, then smiled apologetically. “You must forgive me. My mind always runs to how I might better accomplish the earthly tasks to which I have been set. At any rate, my dear, the first copy of a new book has just been finished, a treatise on the organization of government. I have come to view it and when I invited Hawk to accompany me, he said he thought you might like to do the same.”

This
was the excursion the king had in mind? How extraordinary and how telling of the man. And how kind of Hawk that he would think to include her. Just one more of his many virtues to haunt her in that arid wilderness beyond the present day, but she would not dwell on that. Greatly excited at the prospect of seeing any new book, let alone being one of the very first to see it, Krysta smiled warmly. “I would love to do that, my lord. Until I came to Hawkforte, I had seen only a very few books. Now it seems that I cannot get enough of them.”

“An admirable affliction, my dear,” the king said and kindly offered his arm. Hawk and Father Asser were left to follow as Alfred escorted her into the scriptorium.

It was, Krysta quickly decided, every bit as wonderful a place as she could ever have imagined. First, there were the smells. The crisp aroma of fresh parchment, the acrid scent of glue, the rich and heady fragrance of fine leather mingled with the sea-sour whiff of ink, the metallic tang of gold, and the pungent odors of ground rocks and plants mixed to make paints. She closed her eyes for a
moment and breathed deeply, knowing that forever after she could be put down anywhere, smell that unique blend of essences, and know precisely where she stood.

Yet was that only the beginning. On tall wooden desks, books stood open, some in the process of being created, others completed and being read. Their colors leaped out at her, brilliant gold, blue, red, green, and black entwined in the serpentine forms of letters and also in the delicate, complex illustrations scattered throughout each work.

She was staring enraptured at a capital
A
constructed of intricately intertwining vines in which myriad birds perched when Hawk cleared his throat, recapturing her attention. Alfred and the priest had moved on to a table at the far end of the room where an elderly monk stood guard over the precious new book. “You have charmed the king,” Hawk said lightly. “That is no small feat but I expected no less of you.”

His praise warmed her but it also left her flustered. “I know nothing of charm, my lord,” she said honestly. “It was not covered in my education.”

“True charm cannot be taught, my lady. Perhaps it comes from an open heart and a gentle spirit.”

She looked at him in frank surprise, then burst out laughing. “Forgive me, my lord, but for you of all men to call my spirit gentle … Did I not just yesterday suggest your skull would be the better for being dented by an oar?”

Hawk laughed as well but his eyes on her suddenly held a shadow of concern. “Better you speak your mind clearly than you bestow false smiles and hide ill-thought behind them.
That
is all too common here where power gathers, and you would do well to remember it.”

His warning sobered her for already she had some sense of what he meant. The undisguised contempt of Lord Udell and his sister was not forgotten. She wondered
if there were others who would resent her as readily and shivered inwardly at the thought.

Hawk's hand closed warm and strong on hers. Without further delay, they rejoined the king and Father Asser.

T
HE QUEEN S SOLAR OCCUPIED THE MIDDLE
floor on the eastern side of the royal residence. It was a bright and cheery room, well suited for the constant work of weaving, sewing, and embroidering, to which even the most noble ladies were expected to devote themselves. Krysta made her way there with the help of a maid after her visit to the scriptorium. She understood that the king and Hawk had much to discuss, and though she would have liked to hear what they said, she was not surprised to find herself gently but firmly dismissed. Her natural inclination to go off alone was thwarted when Hawk excused himself for a few minutes to escort her back to the residence, and found a maid to assure him she would get where he clearly expected her to go. His reward was a bemused frown that turned into a gaze of pure longing the moment his back was turned.

As soon as Krysta stepped inside the solar, she was certain she had made a dire mistake. Several dozen ladies were gathered there, of all ages but alike in the sumptu-ousness of their dress. They reminded her of the glorious
birds sitting on the vines of the
A
, each garbed in magnificent plumage and seemingly interested only in what went on beneath their noses. At the moment, that meant Krysta. Before she could draw a breath, she was pierced by gazes both curious and knowing. They froze her in place and for an awful instant she thought she would not be able to move. Then Eahlswith, that wise queen and gentle mother, saw her. The queen's smile seemed a rope thrown into a storm-tossed sea. Krysta went to her gratefully and took the seat she indicated directly beside her.

“I was hoping you would come,” Eahlswith said. “You must tell us all about your visit. Is the new book everything my husband hoped?”

Several of the nearby ladies adopted expressions of polite interest but one did not. Lady Esa continued to give all her attention to the exquisite bit of embroidery she was stitching. Only the slight, sardonic curve of her lovely mouth hinted at her thoughts.

“The book is wonderful, my lady,” Krysta said, ignoring Esa determinedly. “It is very well organized and clearly written, setting forth those laws King Alfred believes are essential to the good ordering of the kingdom. It is divided into three sections, the laws as they pertain to men who pray, men who work, and men who fight. The script itself is in a very able hand, much easier to read than some I have seen, and the book as a whole is magnificently illustrated with each first capital on a page done in gold and many beautiful pictures drawn throughout.”

“How relieved I am to hear it,” Eahlswith said, “for I vow, my dear husband cares almost as much for his books as he does for his children, and that is saying a great deal indeed.”

The ladies smiled kindly, all save Esa, who rolled her eyes slightly.

Either the queen did not see her or she chose to ignore
such behavior. Krysta suspected the latter for she had already surmised that Alfred's queen was as wise in her own way as he was in his.

“What did you think of the scriptorium?” Eahlswith asked.

“I think it the most wonderful place I have ever seen,” Krysta said candidly. “We were there long enough for me to read parts of several books, and the king was so kind as to say that I could borrow one.”

“How wonderful that you read,” the queen said. “I have thought from time to time of trying to learn, but with the children and all, I have rarely had a free moment.”

Krysta nodded, imagining how very difficult it would be even for a queen to steal time from her “wifely duties.” “I was fortunate to be taught as a child.”

“Fortunate?” Esa's voice was soft but carried far. Several of those in attendance perked up their ears as though this was what they had been waiting for. The lady smiled winsomely. “I would hardly call it fortunate to be raised without parents on the far edge of nowhere. From what I hear, Vestfold is a terrible place, barren and savage. No wonder you were so anxious to get here that you disguised yourself as a servant to make the trip.” She looked down her lovely nose at Krysta and inquired sweetly, “That is why you adopted such an outrageous pretense, isn't it, my dear?”

Before Eahlswith could intervene, Krysta said, “No, that is not why I did it. Vestfold is far from barren. It holds a haunting beauty all its own and I was in no way anxious to leave.”

“I see,” Esa said, her expression making it clear she did not. “Then did you merely think it …
fun
to pretend to be a servant and fool the Lord Hawk?”

The other ladies tittered. This was rare entertainment and it was clear they relished it. Again, the queen looked about to break it off but Krysta forestalled her. She was
not about to leave the impression that she was unable to stand up for herself.

“My reasons are my own, lady, and not to be paraded before such as you.”

Esa's eyes narrowed. Her lovely mouth looked petulant. “A poor parade it would be, I am sure.” She paused, giving her followers time to voice their further amusement with the same light scattering of swallowed laughter and looks of furtive humor.

“Pray excuse this,” Eahlswith said. “Gossip travels on the wind and is about as useful as any chaff that does so. Unfortunately”—she pinned her gaze on Esa—“there are those among us without wit to ignore it.”

At once, Esa adopted an expression of repentance. “Oh, my lady, if I have given offense I am most sorry. It is only that I am like most everyone else here, so in awe of the Lord Hawk, so appreciative of all he has done, that the mere hint of insult to him rouses me to … well, I would say anger were it not such an unwomanly emotion.”

Krysta was having no trouble feeling that emotion herself. Her fingers twitched as she fought the urge to pick up one of the ewers of cool water standing nearby and upend it over the smirking face of the Lady Esa.

Eahlswith set aside the tunic she was stitching for her royal husband. Quietly but firmly, she said, “Lady Krysta is betrothed to Lord Hawk, their marriage a vital cornerstone of the peace our king builds between Norse and Saxon to protect us from the ravages of the Dane. Let us remember that Our Savior blessed the marriage at Cana
and
He told us that peacemakers are blessed. Therefore must we conclude that this union will be doubly worthy in His eyes.”

Krysta's throat tightened. She wanted to cry out to the queen that she was wrong, there was no blessing to be had, and that Hawk must marry elsewhere for his own honor and well-being. But thankfully, no words could
escape her. She remained mute while Esa pouted rebel-liously and resumed her embroidery with short, stabbing pokes of the needle that seemed to add nothing whatsoever to the design.

When the moment had passed and the ladies returned to their sewing, Eahlswith summoned a maid. She gave her a softly worded instruction, then resumed her stitching. A short time later, a young monk came in nervously, clearly unaccustomed to being in the exclusive company of women. He carried with him a book.

“If you would not mind, my dear,” the queen said to Krysta, “I thought perhaps you might read to us as we sew. I am certain whatever may be contained within these pages is far more elevating than mere chatter.”

The monk hesitated, but under the steady stare of the queen he reluctantly turned the book over to Krysta. She examined it cautiously, delighted to discover that it was a volume of the tales of a fabled Greek called Aesop.

“I have heard of these but have never read them. They are said to be wonderful.”

Eahlswith smiled encouragingly and picked up her sewing. With great care, Krysta opened the book and began to read.

T
HE REMAINDER OF THE AFTERNOON FLOWED
smoothly, at least in part because Lady Esa pleaded a headache and departed, taking her followers with her. With them gone, the mood in the solar seemed to ease although Krysta wasn't sure whether she only imagined that. Certainly, she was far more relaxed.

With the men busy elsewhere, the ladies took their midday meal together. For the first time, Krysta found herself enjoying the company of women. She remembered how Hawk had teased that she would feel better when she
could “sit around, do needlework, gossip …” and how annoyed she had been, only now to find the experience very different. Over the meal, the ladies talked about the stories Krysta had read, drawing parallels to their own lives and laughing as they did so. Some of the women were nicer than others, some wittier, but she could see something to like in each of them … now that Lady Esa was no longer among them.