Dream of Me/Believe in Me (79 page)

“Not supposedly but truly. How I wish you could see that!” Her voice broke and she rose quickly from the bed, thinking only that she must get away from him, somewhere off by herself where she would not have to hide her torment and her shame. But Hawk would have none of it. He caught her to him with gentle but implacable strength and refused to let her go when she struggled to be free.

“Krysta, sweetheart,” he pleaded, “you upset yourself over nothing. Whatever stories you were told, they matter not.”

“They matter to me.” Her voice crumbled. Lacking any other place to do it, she hid her face in the shelter of his broad chest.

Hawk sighed deeply. He put his arms around her, holding her close with no more thought than to keep her from crying. She was such a strong, spirited woman that it was easy for him to forget how her pride had been devastated by the contemptible action of her dullard half-brother, may he rot in hell for all eternity. It would all be put right, Hawk remained convinced of that, but it would take time. That being the case, he would just as soon spend it doing something pleasant.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured again and lowered his head, nuzzling her neck. A delicate shiver raced through her. He bent down slightly and scooped her up into his arms. Beside the bed, he paused and said softly, “If you truly don't want this to happen, say no now.”

She looked at him with such anguish in her eyes that for a moment he was afraid she really would say it. All his
self-control was needed to keep him from crushing her mouth with his, and silencing her words. But instead she reached out and gently, lingeringly stroked his face, as though memorizing him with her fingertips. He groaned with sheer relief and swiftly rising passion, and lay her down on the bed.

H
AWK WAS GONE WHEN KRYSTA AWOKE
the following morning. That was just as well, for barely had she lifted her head from the pillow than she was assailed by a fresh round of the nausea that had troubled her the day before. This time it followed to its natural conclusion and left her gasping as she staggered back to bed. Her maid came shortly thereafter and Krysta did her utmost to look perfectly well. She had no thought of breakfast but the young girl brought a tray and set it directly on the bed.

“The queen said you were to eat as much as possible, my lady. She promises it will make you feel better.”

Wondering how Eahlswith had guessed her stomach would still be disordered, Krysta tried to imagine how she could politely decline the food. But a glance at the tray reassured her. There was nothing save another cup of the infusion of chamomile that had helped her yesterday and several dry husks of bread. Ordinarily, such a meal would hold no appeal for her but she suddenly found herself tempted to try it.

And after she had, she felt noticeably better. Enough
so that she was able to rise and dress without either dizziness or nausea. Delighted by her swift recovery, Krysta thanked the maid and left her chamber. She was making her way in the direction of the queen's solar when Esa intercepted her.

Gloriously dressed and exquisitely beautiful, with absolutely no sign that
she
had woken up nauseous, Esa smiled coldly.

“Why, it's the little servant girl. Of course, if you were a servant in my household, I would insist you dress better and do something with that awful hair of yours.”

Krysta thought she was perfectly well dressed in a simple but attractive gown of forest green. She had let her hair down, tied back loosely along its length by several of the ribbons Hawk had given to her. Yet she had to admit she looked far less elegant than Esa.

“Let me pass,” Krysta said and tried to go around the lady, but Esa merely laughed and rolled her eyes, setting off titters of amusement from her followers. Did she never go anywhere alone?

“In such a hurry to get to the queen, are you? Poor, sweet Eahlswith is gulled by you now but that won't last long. Soon enough even she will realize how utterly un-suited you are to marry a lord who stands so high in the estimation of the king. I'm surprised Hawk even brought you here, but perhaps he intends for Alfred to see just how unworthy you are to be his wife.”

“I have no wish for conflict with you,” Krysta said with dignity. Again she tried to continue on her way but the passage was small and Esa was able to block her.

“You could not survive conflict with me,” the lady said bluntly. “You would do well to remember that. Since you are clearly as ignorant as you are inept, I will tell you that my brother, the Lord Udell, is first among the lords of Mercia. Oh, it is true that the family of the queen still imagines that honor is their own, and even that fool
Wolscroft thinks himself important, but they are quite mistaken. My brother now outstrips them all in the number of his shieldbearers and the acreage of his lands. He will bear no slight to me. Alfred knows this well. Were it not for the importuning of that Viking savage Hawk's poor, benighted sister wed, none of this would have happened.”

“And yet it has happened,” Krysta said, looking at her more closely. Did she have no thought for matters beyond her own immediate wishes? “The people want peace. What can you do to bring it about?”

The challenge so startled Esa that she was at a loss for words, if only for a moment. “You would do better to ask what I can do to prevent it. Have you any notion what would happen to Alfred's stand against the Danes if he could no longer hold together the alliance of the Saxon kingdoms?”

Krysta really had very little idea of that since she knew almost nothing about how Alfred had put together the alliance to begin with. But obviously, it would not be anything good. “Why,” she asked, “would the Saxons be so foolish as to rebel against the leader who has brought them unity and peace?”

Esa shrugged. “You really are quite simple, aren't you? They will do it because they are men. Men always like to fight and strive against each other. The moment one gains any supremacy, all the others are discontent. Alfred is no longer young. He has worn himself out in the struggle against the Danes. Besides, there are many who find his preoccupation with learning to be weak and foolish. Who needs such things when all that really matters is power?”

As much as Krysta truly wanted to believe that Esa was merely being provocative, she had a sinking feeling that the lady was entirely serious. Looking into her clear gray eyes, she saw nothing but sharp ambition and contempt.

“Lord Hawk values learning,” Krysta said. “He owns books and he reads them.”

“What of it? Such is the fashion today.”

“It is not fashion with him. He has a keen mind and the will to use it.”

“Oh, does he?” How strange it was that Esa could even sneer prettily. “You know him so well? And, of course, it is his
mind
that interests you. What do you do when you are alone, sit around and have long discussions?”

Her ladies laughed openly, egging her on. Krysta felt anger rise within her and tried to contain it but could not entirely. “You concern yourself where you should not. How well I know Lord Hawk is none of your affair.”

“Is it not?” Color flooded the lady's delicate cheeks but not a mottled color, rather a smooth, rosy hue that only made her look lovelier even as her mouth thinned angrily. “I know him far better than you do for I have known him far longer,” she paused, smiled coldly, and added, “although by no means so intimately, for unlike you, I am not a fool.”

She took a step closer to Krysta, filling the air with her perfume of lavender and honeysuckle. A rather overpowering odor, Krysta thought, which put her in mind suddenly of the flowers scattered over the dead.

“He's already had you so there is no longer any mystery to you. You are just like any other woman he has lain with except that you—an irresponsible creature foolish enough to shame him by tricking him into believing you were a servant
and
immoral enough to lie with him without the bonds of marriage—you are somehow supposed to help bring about peace with the Norse. How utterly idiotic. Hawk has never cared for anything except his lands. He dispenses with anything that does not serve his power and once he sees that you do not—” Esa shrugged and
looked at her with contemptuous pity. “I warrant you will be gone before the moon turns.”

Sickness crept over Krysta, not of the body as she had experienced earlier but of the spirit. Beneath her superficial beauty, Esa was a despicable woman, driven only by the selfish lust for power and position. Yet none of that prevented her from being right, and even more right than she realized for the shadow of Krysta's birth was as yet unknown to her. Of that Krysta was certain, elsewise Esa would have thrown it up to her along with everything else. That was small consolation and did nothing to ease the hollow sense of helplessness that swept over her.

Esa seemed to realize that she had done sufficient damage, for the moment. With yet another pitying smile, she stood aside and let Krysta pass. But just as she did so, the lady called out, “Run to the queen now, little servant girl. Let Eahlswith console you while she may. But remember, she has no power. I and my brother do and we will not hesitate to use it.”

Krysta did not look back as she hastened from the passageway but Esa's parting words lingered in her mind. Was the lady truly so foolish as to promise war with Mercia if she did not get her way? And was there any real chance of that coming to pass? Thoughts of her own future slipped aside as Krysta contemplated the possibility that Esa's threats might be more than idle. But how to find out? She was still mulling this over as she entered the queen's solar. Eahlswith was there with her ladies. She smiled when she saw Krysta.

“Come and sit down, my dear. How are you feeling?”

Somewhat self-conscious after what she had revealed to the queen the day before, Krysta was glad of her matter-of-fact welcome. “Very well, thank you, my lady, and thank you also for your kind care. I am most grateful for it.”

“Not at all, I was happy to help. Do you feel well enough to read to us again?”

Krysta could not imagine circumstances in which she would not wish to read. She took up the book of Aesop's stories and began where she had left off. Yet did the problem of Esa and the Mercians linger in her mind. She was wondering if she might have a chance to speak of it when at midday Eahlswith laid down her sewing, dismissed her ladies, and suggested that Krysta join her in her garden.

Surrounded by walls and accessible only through a doorway from the bottom of the stairs that led to the queen's solar, the garden was a sanctuary of quiet. In the center stood a small pool where birds drank. Nearby, an ancient oak spread its arms generously to shade a stone bench. Late-blooming asters and daisies still raised their heads in the carefully tended flowerbeds. So, too, did a few hearty herbs yet waiting to be plucked. Eahlswith bent to remove a stray weed and looked about her with wistful pleasure.

“Alfred had this garden made after the birth of our first child. He wanted me to have a quiet place to which I could withdraw when the bustle of the court became too much.” She gestured to the bench. “I used to sit on that bench and watch our children play. Sometimes I can still see myself there just as I was years ago, and see the children as they were, throwing their balls and rolling their hoops. I must admit there are times when I miss them terribly.” Eahlswith sighed, then drew herself up and shrugged apologetically. “Forgive me, my dear. I had a letter this morning from my daughter, the eldest of my children, Athelflad. She is married to the Ealdorman Athelred of Mercia. Athelflad is a dear girl and we remain close despite the distance separating us. Yet we are little alike for she has always taken after her father. Now she
writes to say she and Athelred are beginning construction of more fortified burghs.”

“This concerns you?” Krysta asked softly.

“I suppose it should not. Towns where people feel well protected are good for trade and that alone is reason to build them. Yet I wonder if Athelflad and her husband have more than just that in mind.”

As she spoke, the queen walked to the bench and sat down. Krysta followed her. Together, they looked out over the protected garden where the turmoil of the world seemed kept at bay.

“Mercia is at peace, is it not?” Krysta asked. Mindful of kind Eahlswith's feelings, she thought to go very carefully. But the queen had inadvertently given her a chance she could not resist.

“What is left of Mercia is at peace,” Eahlswith corrected gently. “Fully half the land was lost to the Danes years ago. Indeed, I suspect all of Mercia would be in Danish hands today had not Alfred's father, who was then King of Wessex, come to its defense.”

“Was that when you and Alfred were married?”

“Yes, after the battle at Nottingham where the house of Wessex turned back the Danes. Alfred was only a younger son then and none thought he would be king one day. But so it came to pass and Mercia has benefited from it. He has been a kind and just … adviser.”

“Adviser? To the King of Mercia?”

“There is no king of Mercia. The last one was a client of the Danes. When he died, the ealdormen and bishops of English Mercia declined to name a successor. Instead, they gave many of the powers of the king to one of their own, Ealdorman Athelred, my daughter's husband.”