Dream of Me/Believe in Me

something more of her than he had a few moments before, and that pleased him. Moreover, he thought he had a glimpse into why she was so concerned that their marriage be a success. Her own parents' union had not been, elsewise her mother would not have left or, he thought more likely, been sent away. Understandably enough, she wished to avoid the same fate. That conclusion left him well satisfied. The business of getting to know a woman was not so hard after all.
    In good humor, Hawk decided to overlook her curious notions about food until a later time. In the meanwhile, he made sure she had a decent meal of crab and oysters, which, truth be told, he also enjoyed. It also pleased him to hear her impressions of Hawkforte, which he drew from her steadily in between succulent bites and the sips of wine he urged on her. Edvard seemed to have done his usual thorough job, for Krysta had seen aspects of the domestic side of Hawkforte unknown even to its master. He knew cloth was woven … somehow … just as he knew food was preserved, clothes made and washed, children and animals tended, and a hundred sundry other tasks done that were so much a part of ordinary life as to be noticed only in their absence. But he had never inquired into the actual doing of them until now. Not that he had suddenly become interested in such matters. Rather, he was too absorbed in the delectable soft tones of Krysta's voice and the pleasure of watching her full, rose-hued lips move for it to matter much what she was saying.
    Indeed, so enjoyable did he find the experience that when she fell silent, the master of Hawkforte, the stern taskmaster of several thousand fighting men, the war leader who scarcely ever let a day pass without rigorous training, tossed down the remainder of his wine and said, “Come riding with me tomorrow.”
    I T WAS IN HIS MIND TO SHOW HER HAWKFORTE HIS OWN way. He hoped that under his guidance she would feel some small measure of the tug he experienced whenever he returned from a journey and caught the first sight of smoke rising from his fires. At any rate, it seemed the thing to do. The stable boys had received his instructions and carried them out to the letter. The pretty little mare they led out for his inspection was agile and obedient. She was pure ebony from end to end, the color so rich as toglow with a silver sheen. When he rubbed her nose, she blew softly and tried to nuzzle into his pockets for the apple he ended up giving her sooner than he had intended. With a laugh, Hawk reflected that such behavior was useful in both a horse and a woman. He was indulging that notion when Krysta arrived. She had almost, but not quite, managed to tame the mass of her curls beneath a veil that matched her dun-hued gown, chosen, he suspected, because it would continue to look well when splattered with mud. He smiled approvingly at her foresight but sobered when he saw the expression in her eyes. She was unmistakably wary if not outright afraid. When the mare pranced gracefully, no more than showing off, Krysta backed up hastily.
    “I think perhaps you should know that I haven't ridden all that much.”
    Hawk was surprised. Everyone rode; even a peasant could sling his leg over a donkey and get where he was going. Ladies no less than lords took great pride in their ability to sail over any obstacle and ride for miles without tiring.
    “How much is ‘all that much’?” he asked.
    She looked away, her cheeks coloring. “Almost not at all.” Hastily she added, “In Vestfold there really isn't all that much reason to ride. We use boats to get everywhere.”
    He supposed that made sense, although every Viking he had encountered rode extremely well. Still, he had to take into account her unusual upbringing.
    “Here we ride,” he said gently, “and so will you. It really isn't difficult.”
    As she continued to look doubtful, he drew the mare forward and gently placed Krysta's hand on her nose, then laughed at his betrothed's reaction.
    “She's so soft!”
    “She is that and she's very well behaved.” He gesturedto a stable boy to hold the mare's reins. Krysta's eyes widened when Hawk placed his hands on her waist and lifted her easily into the saddle. For the first time, Krysta found herself looking down into the face of her husband-to-be. The strangeness of that heightened her unease.
    “Oh, I don't think … I'm not really ready to …”
    “Of course you are. Now hold the reins like this.” She fumbled with