Dream of Me/Believe in Me

they dragged themselves back outside and emptied buckets of cold water over their heads. That helped but not all that much. Telling his men to seek their rest, Hawk dropped aclean tunic over his head and went to speak with the guards still on duty. He instructed them to withdraw to the safety of the watchtowers before the wind grew stronger. That the watch would be maintained even in the throes of a savage storm struck no one as odd. There were always curious eyes about to take note of such things, and wagging tongues to report them later.
    Edvard had managed to get all the oats stored without resort to stacking them in the great hall but he could have done so without it being in anyone's way. At an hour when several hundred would have been gathering there for the evening meal, the hall was deserted. Everyone was simply too exhausted to eat. As was Hawk himself. His body cried out for rest but before he could consider it, there was one more thing he had to do. Aching in every bone, he climbed the stairs to Krysta's tower.
    She was asleep. He saw that the moment he stepped into the room. Although it was far from sunset, the light had faded to an eerie yellow-gray. Rain had begun to slash through the windows, which, he noted, she had left uncovered. With a shake of his head, he pulled the heavy wooden shutters secure. Immediately, the wail of the rising wind lessened. The storm was building rapidly but the worst was not yet upon them. He judged that it would be soon, though, and hoped Krysta would not be frightened.
    Cautiously, so as not to disturb her, he approached the bed. She lay on her side, the covers pulled up over her shoulders and her glorious hair spread out all around her. Her riot of curls brought a smile to his face. Hardly aware that he did so, he reached down and plucked a golden strand, letting it drift silken smooth through his fingers.
    She smelled of lavender soap, he realized, mingling with the salt tang of the air from the sea, reminding him of summer days spent racing off shore, close enough to catch the scents of wildflowers. How many times had he actuallydone that? Once, just recently, but before then? How many moments had he taken just for himself?
    He couldn't remember and he had no idea why he was wondering. Indeed, he was so tired that some time passed before he realized that he was just standing there staring at her without a thought in his head. He ought to go. He should get some rest in case anything went wrong and he was needed …
    Rest … right now, right there … with her.
    He was so close he could touch the bed. That wonderful, huge, welcoming bed. So very tired … After battles, he had never needed more than a quick nap to feel revived. It would be the same now, he would only stay a little while. In so large a bed, he wouldn't even touch her. That being the case, he might as well be comfortable. Without further thought, he kicked off his sandals, pulled his tunic over his head, and slid beneath the covers. The sheer pleasure of lying down after so long wrung a groan from him. He must have been this exhausted some other time in his life but before he could remember when, he was snoring.
    The wind rattled Krysta's dreams. She murmured in her sleep and turned over, flinging out a slender arm. It hit what she thought was a rock, and she grumbled to herself but did not come near to waking. Some time later she heard a monstrous shriek. She ran through a field of wild-flowers that were being slammed to the ground by some unseen force. Up ahead, a mighty oak loomed. As she watched in frozen horror, a huge beast ripped a limb from it and sent it hurtling at her. Stunned, almost paralyzed, she could do nothing but moan.
    She was snatched away just in time, gathered into warmth and strength. Safe, she murmured a little sigh of relief and knew nothing else.
    The storm struck in all its fury yet did Hawkfortehold fast. A few tiles flew off some of the roofs and went careening down the lanes but the stone walls Hawk had insisted on for every cottage, shop, and workman's hut in order to prevent fire proved their worth against this cataclysm of nature as well. Snug within them, men and women listened to the fury of the wind and gave thanks for the foresight of their lord. Close by them, the children slept undisturbed.
    Not so Krysta, who woke suddenly to darkness and the piercing knowledge that she had forgotten something vital. She sat up, struggling to throw off the fog of sleep, and stumbled