Dream of Me/Believe in Me

she didn't really, but they all moved off suddenly before he might have a chance to reconsider the good humor they apparently did not trust. In an instant, it seemed, she was gone, yet did she linger in his thoughts after his steam andthe mug of cider, after the evening's meal was eaten, the stories sung, the fires banked. Later, even as he slept, she danced through his dreams, laughing. God's blood, he was a fool after all.
    T HE AIR WAS TOO STILL; IT CLUNG TO HER LIKE A shroud. Krysta turned over restlessly, the ropes of her bed creaking beneath her. Raven fluttered nearby, grumbling. Loath to disturb her, longing to escape the burr of sleeplessness, Krysta rose. She slept nude—who did not?—but donned a shift for modesty's sake before stealing forth from the hall. The night air was warm with an exotic scent of far-off lands carried on the sea breeze. She looked up and saw the sea above, the ribbon of stars stretching from horizon to horizon, not a wisp of cloud to mar them. The moon had long since set, the stars the only light save for the flare of watch fires at intervals along the walls. Coils of dark smoke rose from them, drifting around the silhouettes of men who paused in their patrol to speak a few words and survey the night together.
    Hugging the shadows, she drifted toward the inner edge of the walls. There was no clear thought in her mind of where to go or what to do until she saw the embers glowing red in the smithy's forge. All day the ring of hammer on metal sang out from there yet now was it stilled, the only sounds the faint call of an owl and, closer by, a rustling in the straw. That and a soft mewing. She crept closer, scarcely breathing. The tabby raised her head, eyeing Krysta with frank appraisal. After a moment, she blinked and returned her attention to the tiny kittens clustered at her belly. There were six in all, most still suckling but a few, milk-full, asleep. Balanced on her knees, Krysta observed them from a courteous distance. She had seen kittens many times before but never quite this young, pink and blind from the womb. Likely they had been bornthis very night. Their mother had picked a goodly spot, warmed by the forge but tucked back in a corner well padded by straw. She appeared to know her business. As Krysta watched, the tabby laved her kits with a rough tongue, making their skin flush red. She broke off once, distracted by the scurry of a bold mouse who, under other circumstances, would have made a fine late-night snack. It escaped unscratched, thanks to her preoccupation.
    “I'll bring you herring tomorrow,” Krysta murmured. “You shouldn't have to hunt while your babes are so young.”
    The tabby blinked again as if in acknowledgment and returned to her task. Krysta continued to watch her, finding the sight of maternal care oddly soothing. So much so that she woke with a start as her head hit her chest. She had no idea how much time had passed but her legs were cramped. She moved them stiffly, bending to rub the calves as she hobbled from the forge.
    He saw her first bent over, indiscernible in the predawn light. To the east, the horizon was rimmed with gray. To the west, stars still shone brilliantly. A freshening breeze blew off the sea, ruffling the tunic Hawk had cast on hurriedly when he woke from the sort of dream he had not had since tender manhood. Either his betrothed arrived promptly—and proved herself a warm and willing woman—or he must needs acquire a mistress. A man of his responsibility and supposed dignity could not afford such preoccupation with the gentler sex as he had known in his youth. For whatever reason, his juices were stirring. Best he heed them.
    He was set on that, having decided in his mind, when he spied the girl coming from the forge. What did she want there in that place of fire and steel? What possible purpose could she have? And why, if she was wont to wander about at night, had she not clothed herself more properly? So far as he could see, she wore only a shift thatthe night wind shaped to her body. A very nice body, so he thought, slender and lithe. Never mind that, why was she creeping about? Or was she? She seemed in some distress.
    For so large a man, he moved with stealthy grace. Between one breath and the next, he seemed to materialize directly in front of Krysta. She gasped, fear washing out the pain in her limbs. For an instant she didn't recognize him, and her fear mounted. What folly to be caught alone, scantily dressed, in