Dream of Me/Believe in Me

never anything such as Hawk described. “You think that will come here?”
    “I think there is a possibility and that is enough. However, there is nothing for you to worry about. Hawkforte's walls can withstand any blast.” He glanced toward the men, who were on their feet again, ready to resume work. To Krysta, he said gently, “Go now and rest. You have done enough.”
    “Rest? But everyone else will be working through the night.” Everyone, she thought, save Daria and the priest, Father Elbert, for she had seen nothing of either of them.
    “I certainly don't expect you to do that,” Hawk said. “You have already done more than most ladies would.”
    Just how was she to take that, Krysta wondered. Had she shown herself to be less than a lady by the work she had done? Or did he simply presume she was of such delicate sensibility as to be incapable of doing more? Reluctantly, she remembered Daria's claim that he had wanted to marry a “lady of true nobility.”
    “I am glad to help,” she ventured tentatively.
    “There is no reason. All is proceeding very well. Go get some rest.” He gave her a little pat on the back to speed her on her way.
    Hesitantly, Krysta went. She did not wish to gainsay him, much less present herself as less than a proper lady. Still, she glanced back several times over her shoulder, thinking he might relent. He was too busy to notice her, heaving huge bundles up onto the wagons with rhythmic ease that made her vividly aware of his strength and will.
    Trudging down the road back to Hawkforte, she felt her gown sticking to her back. She glanced down at her hands, seeing them stained with dirt. Her face felt suspiciously as though it might be in the same condition.
    Wincing at the thought of the picture she must have presented to him, Krysta plodded on. She was tired and the thought of sitting down in a cool, stone room was almost irresistible. Yet she loathed the notion. Everyone save Daria and her pet priest was hard at work. As she passed by one group on their way to yet another field, she glimpsed Raven perched on a bundle of sacks with Thorgold crouched beside her. They were chatting amicably with several of the townsfolk who seemed puzzled by them but still glad to have their help.
    The littlest children were asleep already in the cool shadows at the edge of the fields where their parents were working, but those even a few years older were still scampering about, doing their best to gather up fallen sheaves. They could continue to contribute to the effort but Krysta was supposed to absent herself, being too refined a lady to possibly continue.
    What hogwash! She was nothing of the sort and if Hawk wished otherwise, he was in for a keen disappointment. With a glance over her shoulder, she confirmed that she was out of his view. Resolve filled her. He might be angry later but that was a risk she was willing to take. She couldn't bear the thought of acting like such a weakling that she would take her ease while others labored through the night.
    Coming upon a group of women bundling sheaves, Krysta saw her chance. She slipped in among them and began doing as they did without a word to anyone. For quite some time, no one noticed her. She was just one more pair of welcome hands—hands that were quickly sore and aching. The small of her back throbbed and her shoulders felt as though they were being wrenched from their sockets, but she persisted. Gather … tie … gather… tie… over and over until she lost all track of the passing hours. She could only be grateful that there were men to lift the bundles into wagons. The piles of oats waiting to be bundledseemed never to lessen, for others were going before them, scything through the field. As one filled wagon pulled away, another appeared.
    Night came and still they worked. The torches did help but it was the moon that lit their way, turning the world to brilliant silver and casting long shadows across the fields. Were it not for the bleaching out of all color, it might have been day. From time to time, a woman would break off to check on the children. All of them were now fast asleep and still the adults labored. The night was warm but the wind was increasing. Even knowing what it might portend, Krysta was glad of the faint relief it offered.
    It was well after midnight, by the position of the moon, when a woman came up beside her, began gathering more sheaves, and suddenly stopped.
    “My lady?”
Aelfgyth stared at her in