Dream of Me/Believe in Me

to time, especially of late. But no imagining had prepared her for the reality of his touch, not harsh or cruel but enticing, tempting … drawing her out of solitude, presenting her with intimacy. His lips were firm, parting hers, the heat and taste of him suddenly in her mouth. She gasped and dug her hands into his broad shoulders, buffeted by a force she had not known existed. He made a rough sound deep in his throat and gathered her closer.
    Her spirit leaped in instant recognition. The wildness within her answered his own. She savored the thrust of his tongue, teasing with hers, suddenly bold where she had mere moments before been utterly unaware. Oh, yes, this was what she wanted, had always wanted in the blood and the bone. This was a man to make her own, to enlarge her soul, father her children, travel with her through life's journey. She knew all that in a heartbeat and she rejoiced in it. Without thought, she tangled her fingers in the thick silk of his hair and drew him closer, claiming him. The kiss became hers, kissing him, prelude to drawing from him the essence of life itself.
    He broke away, gasping, his cheeks stained dark, and stared at her in disbelief. “What are you doing? I thought you loyal to your mistress. Is this some game you play?”
    A game? She reeled back, stunned by his reaction. It was a game only if life itself could be called such. But she had done something wrong, out of step, far worse than when she presumed to play with the children. It was her lack of experience, her ignorance about the ways of people,that was to blame. No, it was herself and the fierce, unbridled urgings he unleashed within her.
    “I did not mean—” she began, but he stopped her with a quick slice of his hand through the storm-heavy air.
    His breath came harshly. “Were you another, this would not end here, but it needs must if there is to be peace. I am sending you back to Vestfold, let your mistress make of that what she will.”
    “Sending me back? No!” How could she possibly arrive if he was sending her away? She had thought to slip off and return appropriately transformed. If she was dispatched, no doubt with escort, there would be no chance for that. He would be left to curse his ever more tardy bride while the peace they both wanted became ever more elusive.
    “I am not yours to send away,” she tried.
    His gaze scorched. “You will be mine if you remain and that I cannot allow. Now get you from here lest we both forget the duty owed your mistress.”
    It was on the tip of her tongue to suggest that her mistress was a kind and forgiving woman, ever understanding, ever tolerant. She sought to betray herself with … herself. What a travesty.
    She went, welcoming the shock of the cold, wet air even though it did nothing to dampen the heat within her.
    Alone, Hawk slumped against the side of the stall and took a deep, shuddering breath. He had been wrong to think this foolishness. It was far worse, a sweet madness making him forget all else—duty, honor, even simple sense. She would leave in the morn, he would make damn certain of that. And he would bring all his formidable will to bear on the task of forgetting she had ever existed. He might even have some scant hope of succeeding.
    With a heavy sigh, he turned to go. Light from the oil lamp he carried fell across his hand and arm. Halfway out of the stable, he stopped suddenly and stared at the darkstain that lay across his palm and up beyond his wrist. That was odd; he couldn't remember touching anything that would have left such a stain. Not that he would remember necessarily or that there was anything unusual about a bit of dirt. But he had washed his hands shortly before the storm began, prior to sitting down for a few minutes with one of his precious books. The stain had not been there then.
    A black stain, still wet as he discovered when he dabbed a finger to it. A heavy, dull black … like the green-eyed girl's storm-wet hair he had touched in drawing her to him. The same girl who so readily disobeyed a direct order from a man hardened warriors would not cross. The servant with no duties whose hands were soft as down. A suspicion formed in his mind. He all but dismissed it in an instant, thinking it beyond all bounds of foolishness. Yet did it linger….
    KRYST A DID NOT A PPEAR IN THE H ALL T HAT EVENIN G. She stayed out of sight, wrestling with what to do. All night she tossed and turned, trying to decide on some course that might