Dream of Me/Believe in Me

still amused by it after Raven departed. The hall was quiet, preparations for supper not having yet begun. Dust motes danced in rays of sunlight filtering through the windows. She drew her knees up, leaned her head against them, and looked out over Hawkforte. She knew the manor far better now thanks to Edvard's tour but so much more remained to be discovered. Of the town beyond the fortress, she knew almost nothing. She could see it was prosperous, and if the new wood of many of the buildingswas any indication, it was also growing rapidly. But the people remained a mystery to her. She had never lived in so large and crowded a place, had never even imagined doing so. One more thing to which she would have to adjust. She was mulling that over, wondering how she might make a place for herself amid strangers, when Hawk entered the hall.
    Adrift in her thoughts, Krysta did not see him. He stopped at first sight of her and stared. The dull-haired serving girl of the last few days was gone but so was the ethereal goddess of the preceding eve, seemingly crafted from sea foam and sunlight. In both their places was a young woman—a very
serious
-looking young woman— simply dressed, her cheeks and brow slightly sunburned and her eyes pensive. She looked sad to him and he felt a sudden need to change that. Without questioning the impulse, he crossed the room and knelt beside her.
    “Did Edvard tire you overmuch?”
    She started, so surprised was she by his sudden appearance. He loomed beside her, so big and so very near. His hair was matted to his head, his cheeks darkened by a day's growth of beard. He looked sweaty and grubby, and absolutely wonderful.
    “No, not so much. Have you been training all this time?”
    He nodded though he scarcely knew what she had asked. Her voice flowed through him, soft and faintly husky, gentle as a caress. “Did you see all you should?”
    “I think so.” She smiled faintly. “Edvard was very thorough.”
    Hawk smiled in turn. “He is ever that.” He rose and took a seat beside her. She moved over to make room for him. They shared the bench companionably. “What do you think of Hawkforte?”
    She said what had been in her mind before he came to eclipse all other thought. “It is very big.”
    He looked surprised. “Do you think so? Winchester is far larger.”
    “I can scarcely imagine that. My home—my old home—would fit in a corner of the burgh. My brother's holding is far larger than that, nearer to Hawkforte's size, but in land rather than in people.”
    Hawk nodded, thinking of how the Norse lived. “I have been to Sciringesheal. That is a good-sized town and a busy port.”
    Krysta hesitated but curiosity overcame her. Best she should learn the measure of this man now. “Is it true you went there to take back your sister from the Wolf?”
    He cast her a swift look but did not appear offended. “Is that what people say?”
    “They do, and the skald sang of it the first night I was here.”
    “The truth is I went to Sciringesheal to kill the Wolf. I believed he had kidnapped my sister and I feared her dead, or worse yet suffering terribly. I wanted nothing so much as his blood on my sword.”
    “Why then does he live?” Krysta asked softly.
    “Aside from the fact that in any duel between us, victory might favor either one or perhaps neither? We could have ended by killing each other, but Cymbra insisted she was happily wed and begged me to believe her. Instead, I thought she was lying to protect me and took her away by stealth.” He sighed. “To her credit, she forgave me, as did Wolf after he arrived here to reclaim her. The idea for the alliance between Norse and Saxon was Wolf's to begin with but he quickly enlisted Alfred's support. You know the rest.”
    She did, or at least she could easily surmise it. The king had thrown his wholehearted support behind an alliance and the marriages meant to support it. Whatever Hawk's feelings for that
lady of true nobility
, he would never gainsay his king.
    “I am glad it worked out well for your sister and Lord Wolf,” she said and meant it truly, even as unspoken in her heart was the hope they might somehow prove to be as fortunate.
    “They are in love.” He spoke the last word as though it was a strange, odd thing come clumsily to his tongue. A word from an unknown language that had been explained to him yet remained mysterious.
    Sadness weighed heavily on Krysta's shoulders. She kept them straight but with an