Dream of Me/Believe in Me

in the quiet of the room in the high tower, he realized it was gone.
    He reached out a hand and with utmost care traced the soft curve of his wife's cheek, passing a finger lightly over the fullness of her lips and down along her delicate throat to where her life's pulse beat. Unbidden, he remembered his first impression of her, recalling how he had thought her something other than human. He knew the truth now; she was utterly and completely a woman endowed with all the mysterious power and grace that had been missing from his life.
    She had come to him in an act of vengeance that became an act of redemption. With endless courage and generosity, she had banished the pain of the past and given him a future filled with hope. Cymbra the healer had healed him.
    Now together in everlasting love, they would bring the blessing of peace to both their lands.

I have been thinking about your reason for coming here as you did,” Hawk mumbled. She swallowed against the tightness of her throat and waited.
    “This matter of wanting to get to know me better—is that really why you did it?”
    Krysta nodded. She took a breath, steadying herself. “It seemed a good idea at the time.”
    If he meant to mock her, he would do so now. She waited … hoping yet scarcely daring to hope….
    “The notion may have merit.”
    Krysta opened her eyes, belatedly aware that she had closed them as though in prayer, and stared at him. “Do you mean that?”
    He frowned. “Do not read overmuch into my words. I merely meant it would not necessarily be a bad thing for us to know each other before we wed.” Swiftly, he added, “That does not mean I approve of what you did. It was a harebrained scheme.”
    She was silent for a moment before she smiled. “We have hares in Vestfold. They are large animals with very powerful back legs, capable of leaping great distances. They survive the worst winters snug in burrows they dig deep beneath the ground and they seem able to thwart the wiliest predator.” Her eyes met his. “Even the hawk.”



FOR
    MM AND KT
    FOR KEEPING ME HOPPING

Chapter ONE

    H
OOVES POUND OVER THE HARD-PACKED road, dusty in the summer's heat, clods of dirt flung high as the horsemen ride for the proud fortress close by the sun-flecked sea. A day's hunting is well done. Thrown across the mounts' sweat-streaked hindquarters, the carcasses of boar and stag drip blood into the thirsting earth. Cheers resound through the bailey yard, welcoming the lord home, celebrating the kill.
    Lord Hawk, master of Hawkforte, dismounts, handing the reins of his destrier to a stable boy. He is a big man, standing head and shoulders above other men, heavily muscled, hard faced, with watchful, sky-blue eyes and the lithe stride of a natural warrior. This day he is pleasantly tired, glad of the diversion offered by the hunt. Glad, too—though he would be loath to admit it—that another day has slipped by without the arrival of his bride.
    His unknown, unwanted bride. He sighs and runs a hand through thick chestnut hair that curls at the nape of his corded neck. A man of his position should marry if only to sire sons. This he knows, even grudgingly accepts, but he would have preferred a woman of his own choosing, not thisfaceless female sent as a pledge of peace in the effort to bind Norse and Saxon together that they might better stand against the rapacious Dane.
    For this reason his sister, the beautiful Lady Cymbra, had wed the powerful Norse jarl, Wolf Hakonson the previous year. Hawk can hardly do less himself for the promise of peace, yet he nurtures no hope that his union will be as successful as that of his sister and the man once known as the Scourge of the Saxons.
    He will be glad enough if he can merely tolerate his bride, but he has no way of judging that until she deigns to arrive, something she appears in no hurry to do. However, on this day, there has been progress of a sort….
    M Y LORD …
    Hawk turned, seeing his steward approach across the yard. The man was hurrying but cautiously so, one shoulder turned just a little away as though with a view to quick retreat. Had it reached that point, Hawk wondered, when his own people had to go in fear of him because his temper had become so uncertain? He suppressed a sigh, hoping it was not true, for such weakness would afflict his pride as much as his stubborn sense of fairness.
    “What is it, Edvard?” he asked, making an effort at cordiality. Already, the brief escape offered by