Dream of Me/Believe in Me

yet bring a fair wind. She could confess all and throw herself on his mercy, but the mere thought filled her with dread. She could sneak off on her own before he sent her away, then return somehow as though just newly arrived. If Thorgold and Raven went with her, perhaps they could claim to have encountered their mistress on the way. But what chance was there that would work? Hawk had seen her too often and too clearly. She should have thought of that before embarking on what had seemed so sensible a plan, the selfsame plan now lying in tatters about her.
    She rose at first light, dazed by sleeplessness, still trying to decide what to do. To her relief, she saw no sign of preparations for her departure. But that meant nothing.
    No doubt the Hawk's men were ready to ride in an instant. Her stomach churned with hunger but she could not bear the thought of eating. She heard Daria's shrill voice coming from the kitchens and turned instinctively in the opposite direction. Scarcely had she done so, and before she could take more than a step, she ran right into the steward, who must have come up directly behind her.
    “Your pardon,” Krysta said quickly and tried to move away, but the young man moved as well, blocking her.
    “His lordship wants you.”
    “W-what do you … ?” she stammered.
    “He wants you,” Edvard repeated with a hint of impatience. “Upstairs in the tower room.” When still she hesitated, he gave her a little push in the right direction. Worse yet, he stood right there, watching to make sure she went.
    Krysta climbed the tower steps slowly. She was thinking desperately of what to say. If only she had a little more time, she might be able to come up with a plan of some sort or another. But time had run out and now there was nothing left to do save hope for the best. And pray, that might also help.
    The door to the tower room was partly open. She took a deep breath, gathered her courage, and pushed through it.
    The chamber took up the entire uppermost floor of the tower. It was dominated by the largest bed Krysta had ever seen, hung with richly embroidered curtains and covered with luxurious furs. She might have noticed nothing but that bed had it not been for a sight more arresting to the eyes. In a corner of the room, Hawk stepped into a tub of steaming water. She caught just a glimpse of his bare flanks before he lowered himself, preserving modesty but leaving plain for her befuddled sight the vast expanse of his heavily muscled chest and arms. That and his predator's smile.
    “Don't just stand there,” Hawk said. “Make yourself useful. I need my back scrubbed.” Before she could get her mouth around a response, he ducked under the water, came up flinging drops in all directions, and began lathering his hair. She watched with unwilling fascination. His skin was bronzed and beneath it muscle and tendon moved with easy grace. His nipples were small and flat. Under his arms were tufts of hair that looked even silkier than that on his head. He ducked again to rinse and came up with water streaming down his face. Opening one eye, he glanced at her. “Mayhap you did not hear me.”
    She had heard him all right, well enough to know what the edge in his voice meant. He was bound and determined on this, for some reason. Mayhap he regretted letting her go the previous day and meant to remedy that, a thought which set her heart to racing. Or mayhap he merely wanted to humiliate her before sending her on her way. Whatever his intent, angering him seemed a poor choice.
    Not that there were any good ones to be seen. With utmost reluctance, palpable in every step she took, Krysta approached the tub. She did not take her eyes from him but, once convinced she meant to obey, he ignored her completely. She blushed red and looked away quickly as he matter-of-factly went about his ablutions, grateful though she was that the water afforded some protection to her innocence. Or what remained of it after the awakening of desires she had not known she possessed.
    Just then she was discovering yet another of them, the desire not to let him have his way completely. He wanted his back scrubbed, did he? With docility that should have alerted him, she knelt beside the tub, picked up a cloth, and dunked it into the water. Applying it and all her strength, she set about to scrub the skin right off his back.
    Hawk laughed. Damn him, he thought her amusing. She redoubled her efforts. “Sheathe your claws,” he