Dream of Me/Believe in Me (84 page)

And she did feel cold, so much so that she began to tremble. She wanted to wrap her arms around herself but could not lift them. Indeed, she could do nothing but stare at him with all her longing in her eyes.

“You are a foolish woman.” He spoke with gruff tenderness and yanked her to him, engulfing her in his arms, warming her with his strength. They tumbled back across the bed, limbs entwining, mouths seeking.

Hawk tried, he truly did, but four days without her had left him ravenous. Even as he struggled to go slowly, to assure her readiness and draw out her pleasure, his need mounted unbearably. Groaning, he cupped her breasts, squeezing them together, his mouth moving from one to the other. Beneath his tongue, her nipples were hard and full. He suckled her urgently as he thrust a steel-hard leg between hers, opening her to him. Her arms closed around him in fierce embrace as though never to let him
go. The soft, curly apex of her thighs brushed his engorged manhood as her hips arched.

“Please,” she whispered tautly, less entreaty than demand.

He took her mouth, his tongue plunging deep, and felt her guide him just a little within her. He went slowly, beads of sweat showing on his forehead, as he struggled to give her all the time she needed to adjust to him. Even then, he held himself very still, not moving except at the very tip, stroking the hot, silken sheath that held him so snugly. Darkness swirled behind his eyes as a wall of sensation struck him with such force that he was robbed of breath. Gasping, he raised his head and watched in fascination her own surprise at the swiftness of her climax. In the distant regions of his mind still capable of thought, he realized he was not the only one who had found four solitary days to be exquisite torment. When pleasure ebbed a little, she lay beneath him, panting softly, her hands moving over his back with tender strength.

Hawk rose above her, taking his weight on his knees and arms. He gave her a moment to recover, no more, before driving into her hard and deep. The exquisite milking sensation of his own release seized him and he erupted in surging bliss that seemed to go on forever.

From the crest of pleasure to which he had so swiftly taken her, Krysta soared yet higher. Wave after wave of ecstasy rushed through her seemingly without end. She sobbed, crying out his name, and clung to Hawk as the world flew apart and she with it.

T
HEY WOKE SOME HOURS LATER TO THE DISTANT
sounds of revelry in the king's hall, where their absence no doubt sparked amusement. It did not matter. They came together again more slowly, drawing out their pleasure and slipped seamlessly from it back into gentle
sleep, only to be awakened again a short time later by the tantalizing aroma of fresh baked bread. It drew them to the tray left in Krysta's room, no doubt by her thoughtful maid. With childlike glee, they carried the repast back to bed and fed each other choice morsels until such intimacy had its inevitable result. They finally slept deeply and without dreams, not stirring again until the full light of dawn flowed through the high windows and over their entwined forms.

“I must see the king,” Hawk murmured, scarcely awake as he kissed the sweet curve of Krysta's breast. He moved his hand over her belly and between her thighs, stroking her, and was rewarded by a soft whimper of pleasure. His lean cheeks roughened by a night's growth of whiskers teased her skin primed to exquisite sensitivity. She arched against him, tangling her fingers in his hair, and traced the hard curve of his mouth with the tip of her tongue. “Later.” Whatever reply he might have made was lost in the quicksilver flare of his own response. The king would have to wait.

As he did until well into midmorning when Hawk finally slipped from the bed. He stood beside it, gazing down at the woman turned on her side facing him, her hands tucked under her chin and an expression of utter innocence upon her lovely face. A deep, contented sigh escaped him. The world felt completely right and Hawk himself so utterly at peace that if he ran into Udell right then, he decided he would kill him quickly instead of drawing it out as he had thought to do when learning that the Mercian traitor had dared to put his hands on Krysta. Moved to mercy in his present mood, he would be content merely to lop off his head. Such was the astounding effect of a good woman, he mused, as he looked around for whatever it was he had thought to find.

Clothes, that was it, and some water to wash with. He could shave later. Alfred had seen him in far scruffier condition
when they sloughed through days and weeks of chasing the Danes from battlefield to battlefield. He was buckling on his sword as he left the chamber, spied a serving girl, and learned the king's whereabouts. Alfred was in the stables visiting with a colt born just that morning to his favorite mare. The king looked up as Hawk entered, assayed his disheveled condition, and shook his head ruefully.

“A restless night, Lord of Essex?”

Hawk grinned. “Actually quite a refreshing one, sire.” He bent down to admire the colt. “May he be as steady as his dam and as fast as his sire.”

Alfred nodded. “They make a good combination.” He got to his feet and dusted off his hands. “Udell left in the night.”

“Good. I assume Athelred awaits him at the border.”

“He does, although he had some difficulty convincing my daughter to remain behind.” The king could not suppress a proud smile. “Athelflad thought to ride with him.”

“A true daughter of your house, my lord.” Wise enough to have sniffed out Udell's perfidy and sent her royal father swift warning of it. “Udell should have ample time by now to grow careless. I ride within the hour. Between us, Athelred and I will squeeze the life from his traitor's bones.”

“Ordinarily, I'd suggest bringing him back to stand trial but—”

Alfred did not have to go further for Hawk understood full well. The king focused his attention where it belonged, on the Danes. It was only by so doing that he had forged and kept the peace. Udell would not be allowed to distract him from it.

Hawk took his leave a short while later. He went around to the barracks where his men were housed. His lieutenants awaited him. Keen-eyed men long skilled in intrigue, they had known full well what the outcome with
Udell would be. Their horses were saddled and waiting. Behind them, drawn up rank upon rank, Hawk's personal guard, the most feared army in all of England, was mounted and ready. Sooner even than Hawk had promised, the force rode out through the gates of the royal residence and down the long road heading north out of Winchester. Hawk turned once in the saddle, eyeing the room where Krysta slept as it faded into the distance.

He supposed she would be concerned when she found him gone. Perhaps she would think he should have awakened her. But there had been too many farewells in his life; he had a keen dislike of them. Besides, he would be back within scant days and all would be well between them. Reassured that he had taken the proper course, Hawk continued on his way, his mind clear and untroubled, filled with pleasant thoughts of killing Udell.

H
ES GONE WHERE? KRYSTA ASKED. SHE STARED AT
Eahlswith in bewilderment. What was this the queen had just told her? Hawk gone after Udell and without a word to her? That could not be.

“He left at midday,” Eahlswith repeated. She looked at Krysta sympathetically. “I know you are surprised but this is how men are. I cannot count the number of times Alfred marched to battle without saying a word to me.”

She must still be asleep and dreaming, Krysta thought. That had to be it. Whatever the king had done, Hawk would not leave her like this. He would at least tell her he was going, reassure her all would be well, kiss away her fears and—

Oh, lord, no wonder the man preferred to sneak off. How could he possibly want to be saddled with her worry when he needed to turn his mind to the task at hand?

Yet she was still shocked by his sudden absence, and vaguely hurt. Her resentment faded as the day wore on
and she was left with only worry. She was well aware of Eahlswith doing her best to draw her into the circle of ladies and so distract her that she would not think overmuch of Hawk. Not more than with every other heartbeat, rather than with each and every one. A hundred or more times she told herself he was the most feared warrior in all of England, leader of the most renowned army, his skills long honed in battle and fortified by keen intelligence. Beside him, Udell was no more than vermin. But even vermin could get lucky. Victory came as much by chance as by strength.

When she could no longer contain herself, she murmured apologies and slipped away to the little church near the scriptorium. There she went on her knees to pray long and earnestly that God in His mercy would shine His light on Hawk and cast his enemies into darkness. She prayed heedless of the young priests who moved about quietly, lighting the tall candles and singing the offices of the day. Only when she realized that they were singing complines did she return to any sense of passing time. She had come at nones when the sun was high above the tops of the trees, and it was now the hour before sleep. In between, the soaring peace of vespers had slipped past without her notice. Slowly, she rose on legs that seemed scarcely able to hold her. Her body was stiff and sore from her vigil but the balm of peace had flowed over her heart. For that, she was deeply grateful.

Outside in the cool night air, Krysta paused for a few moments to look at the stars. Was it merely a fancy of her mind to wonder if Hawk might be looking at them, too? How desperately she wished that she might reach out and touch one of the sparkling lights against the deep velvet black sky and in the doing, touch him as well.

She was sighing, wondering how she would ever sleep alone, when a shadow moved around the corner of the church. She had only a moment to wonder who it might
be before a hand slammed down hard over her mouth and a powerful arm closed around her waist, yanking her off her feet.

“Bitch,” the voice hissed in her ear. “Did you truly think you could challenge me and not pay?”

Terror roared through Krysta. She kicked out frantically and tried to sink her teeth into the hand over her mouth. For her trouble, she was hurled to the ground so hard that the air was knocked from her. Her arms were pulled behind her and roughly tied. As she tried to regain her feet, she was flung down again and her ankles roped together.

“Quickly,” Udell ordered, his voice thick and harsh. Hard hands lifted her. She was carried away into darkness.

H
AWK TURNED HIS MOUNT IN A TIGHT
circle, carefully examining the marks on the moist ground and the signs told by broken branches. A large group on horses had passed that way just hours before and done so in great haste. Not far away, near where the road forked, a bundle lay dropped as though fallen from a saddle. One of his lieutenants opened it and with a laugh, drew out a lady's mantle. He shook it free and held it up for all to see. The back was elaborately embroidered with a garishly large butterfly done almost entirely in gold.

“I never thought I'd say this,” Hawk declared, “but I'm glad of the Lady Esa's unique taste in garments.”

Thus assured, they continued on the right track, the force moved quickly. Within the hour, Hawk was certain they were closing in on the Mercians. The droppings left by their horses were that fresh. He nodded grimly as he saw they were heading directly into the trap set by Alfred. Just as they crossed the border into Mercia, when they imagined themselves to be safe, they would be caught in a pincer between Athelred and Hawk himself. The women
would likely survive for no one would seek their deaths, although Athelflad might have something to say later about Esa's fate.

Yet as the prints left by the horses became clearer, Hawk's easy mood began to darken. He had taken the measure of the Mercians at court and knew their numbers. It seemed to him there were fewer mounted than he would have expected. Concerned, he called a halt and got down to look at a clear stretch of the prints more closely.

“Is there a problem, lord?” one of his lieutenants asked. He waited nearby, astride his mount and holding the reins of Hawk's stallion.

Slowly, Hawk straightened. He continued to stare at the prints as he said, “I make this a dozen or so short.”

Hearing him, the men closest by glanced at one another in surprise.

“The ground is very soft, lord,” the lieutenant ventured. “Some of it looks rode twice over.”

“Possibly,” Hawk agreed, yet he was unconvinced. The thought began to form in the back of his mind that perhaps the Mercians had not all stayed together. In their panic to get away, some might have struck off on their own. That
was
possible, yet it was also possible that there was something more at work. Something vastly more threatening.

Udell was a vain, treacherous, venal bastard. But he wasn't stupid. No man actually could be stupid and survive any length of years in the cauldron that was English politics.

Hawk was mulling that over, on his haunches beside the hoof prints, when he looked up suddenly and noticed the ravens clustered in the trees overhead. They had not been there minutes before, of that he was quite sure. But then he had learned the hard way to pay much more attention to such matters than ever he had before.