Dream of Me/Believe in Me

pressed her lips tightly together and stared down at her hands twisting in her lap.
    “Is something wrong?” he asked quickly, wondering what could have upset her so.
    She stared at him with wide, dilated eyes. He was shocked to realize that she seemed genuinely afraid.
    “Nothing is wrong,” she said, and managed a wan smile. “I'm merely tired.”
    Not for a moment did he believe her. Something had distressed her deeply but he had no idea what it could possibly be. Swiftly, he glanced around the table. Daria and the priest had their heads together and were scowling; he saw nothing unusual in their behavior. Edvard had settled a pretty maid on his lap and was chatting with her happily. Hawk's lieutenants were drinking and laughing with their Norse guests—nothing out of place there. He glanced further down along the tables and saw Krysta'sodd servants, Thorgold and the Raven woman, both apparently content. What, then … ? He ran over in his mind what had happened in the past few minutes but could find nothing to account for Krysta's strange behavior. Granted, Dragon had teased her about her trick in coming to Hawkforte disguised, but she'd taken that perfectly well and had seemed to recover from her own boldness in declaring her sympathy for Frigg. But was that it? Had his so-obvious desire for her caused this distress? Yet had she seemed unafraid of passion when they kissed in the stable.
    He told himself that he had to remember she was but a young and untried girl, newly arrived in a far land and confronted by a stranger to whom she had been given with no thought to her own feelings, a stranger who would henceforth have complete control over her life. Granted, the same fate befell most women, but he supposed that did not make it any easier or pleasant.
    Reluctantly, he thought of his first wife. They had been wed so short a time and so many years had passed since then that he could not recall her features with any clarity. Yet could he remember her reluctance in the marriage bed and the habit she had of shirking from him whenever he came near. In all modesty, he knew he had not lacked for gentleness or skill, but that had not mattered. The thought of enduring such a marriage again filled him with dread. He was willing to do virtually anything to avoid it.
    Even to restrain the desire he had felt since the first moment he saw his Norse bride-to-be until he could be certain that she shared his passion.
    He sighed inwardly, knowing he set himself a task from which most men would shirk. But he was a warrior and a leader. He would damn well find as much patience as was needed. On such grim thought, he drained his ale and did not object when the servant filled his goblet again.

Chapter EIGHT

    Y OU REMAKING TOO MUCH OF IT, RAVEN scolded. “It was only a story, nothing more. Why take it so to heart?” Krysta looked away from her grim study of the sea. Dragon was gone on the morning tide but his words still echoed in her mind. She had slept poorly, if at all, and now her head throbbed so much that even the sound of her voice was painful. “You heard the tale. Do you honestly believe he told it just by chance?”
    “Why, yes, that's just what I think. It was a story, nothing more.”
    “Before he told it, he spoke of tricksters and looked right at me.”
    Raven sighed and fluttered her thin arms. She settled on the window seat beside Krysta. “One has naught to do with the other. He has no idea—”
    “He could have heard something. Indeed, how could he not? Once Father died, Sven was eager enough to tell all and sundry before he discovered I had value to the jarl of Sciringesheal. Only then did he still his tongue, but how am I to know the damage was not done?”
    Raven reached out a thin hand and laid it over Krysta's. Gently, she said, “You are here, are you not? Think you the jarl of Sciringesheal would send a tainted woman to bind up peace?”
    “I think he would send the Norns themselves, if he thought it would suit his purpose.”
    Raven cackled. “Fierce Harpies of the battlefield who decide who lives or dies probably would not serve well in this case.” She looked at Krysta fondly. “Better to send a lovely young maiden to gentle a warrior's heart.”
    “Well and good, but I tell you, Lord Dragon knows. Or at least he suspects. Why then would he not tell the Hawk?”
    “Tell him what? A tale whispered by your dullard of a half-brother? If Lord Sven declares the sky to be blue, a wise man