Dream of Me/Believe in Me

thought of as her proper place, including the brother who had given her a home. Yet she managed Hawk's household well enough and generally had the sense to keep her endless complaints from his ears.
    Not today though. Today, she so brimmed over with afflictions as to banish caution.
    “What could she be thinking of to send these three with no warning?” she demanded, standing with her hands on her thin hips, glaring at him. “Did she consider the inconvenience to us? And why are they here? Does she think to find Hawkforte wanting? Does she imagine it poorer than what she has known in the barbaric northlands?”
    With each question, Daria's shrill voice rose a notch until at the end she was fairly shouting. Hawk was a forbearing man but there were limits to what he would permit. His authority, and the simple prudence of any male, demanded he put a stop to such distemper.
    “Curb your tongue, Daria, it pleases me not. See to quarters for them and be swift about it.”
    His sister sputtered in anger but the icy coldness of his gaze and the hard set of his features reminded her belatedly of the steely will he never hesitated to wield.
    She was still glaring at Hawk when he gestured to the short, stocky man. As he approached, Hawk surveyed him more closely. The fellow was troll-like, thick through the shoulders, slightly stooped, with bandy legs as though he lurked under bridges waiting to surprise the unwary traveler. His bright stare beneath furry brows suggested he wasn't averse to such mischief.
    “I be Thorgold, lord,” he said. “Servant to the Lady Krysta.”
    “Do I take it your arrival means the lady will grace us soon with her presence?”
    The biting edge to Hawk's words would have prompted most men to take a step back. Thorgold merely shrugged his broad shoulders and spread his gnarled hands.
    “She comes when she comes, lord.”
    And that, it seemed, was that. Short of airing his irritation to the odd little man, Hawk had scant choice but to let it pass. He turned the trio over to Daria and returned his attention to Edvard, but not without a final glance at the girl. She was trailing after the other two as they proceeded across the bailey. Startled to be discovered watching him over her shoulder, she stumbled, caught herself, and flashed a look of pure chagrin that for some reason amused him mightily.
    Several moments passed before he realized that Edvard's surprised expression came from the unaccustomed sound of his master chuckling.
    T HAT SELFSAME SOUND WARMED KRYSTA ALL THE way through, sending little tingles down her back as she followed Thorgold and Raven, and the dour-faced woman, toward the servants' hall. She didn't dare another look over her shoulder but that was not for lack of temptation. Her common sense—in which she took great pride—managed to assert itself just barely enough to stop her.
    He was so big.
Easily the biggest man she had ever seen save for the brief glimpse she'd had a few months before of the mighty jarl of Sciringesheal, Wolf Hakonson, when he came to speak with her half-brother. Then was she summoned for a rare visit to her family's manor, never imagining why until she was told weeks later that she wasto be given in marriage to the Wolf's own brother-in-law, the feared Saxon lord called Hawk.
    He had the eyes of a bird of prey, she thought, yet when he laughed … A smile curved her full mouth set beneath a slightly upturned nose. When he laughed, Lord Hawk almost made her believe that her precautions were not even necessary. Being a woman of prudence, she set aside that notion, carefully to be sure, for it created a little bubble of happiness within her that she wished most fervently would grow.
    If it were to do so, it would have to be protected from the sharp-eyed gaze and equally sharp-tongued speech of the Lady Daria, who, she gathered, had the running of the household. Indeed, everything about the lady appeared barbed, like an irksome nettle best avoided.
    Daria led the way across the bailey toward a low, wooden building. Built of split logs notched and mortared together, and sheltered beneath a high-peaked thatch roof, the hall was plain in comparison to the vivid woodcarvings and paintings that ornamented Norse structures.
    Entering, Krysta needed a moment or two for her eyes to adjust from the glare of day. Although ample in size, the building seemed eerily silent for all the servants were about their chores. She heard the faint buzz of a bee, smelled the