Dream of Me/Believe in Me

from the bed. Outside, she could hear the wind howling and with it the tearing fingers of fiercely driven rain smashing against the …
    … Shutters. The shutters were closed. She had no memory of doing so yet she must have been so tired that she saw to them without thought. Greatly relieved, she returned to the bed and was about to get back into it when a soft, rumbling sound froze her. It was very dark in the room for no braziers had been lit. She found one of the tall iron basins set on a tripod almost by touch and struck flint to tinder to raise a faint glow of flame. Even so, it was difficult to see. She peered through the dimness, her eyes widening in disbelief as she beheld the outline of another's form smack in the middle of the huge bed. Her hand pressed to her mouth to keep from crying out, Krysta just then remembered that she was unclothed. After bathing, she had not bothered with a night robe. Trembling in her haste, she snatched up a fur cover pushed to the foot of the bed and wrapped it around herself. Creeping a little closer, she tried to see who the intruder was. Raven, perhaps, upset by the storm … or even Aelfgyth, similarly affrighted? But no, the form was far too large to be either of them. Indeed, there was only one person she could think of who possessed such height and, now that she looked more closely, such span ofshoulders and chest visible above the covers pushed down to his narrow waist.
    Hawk.
In her bed. Without a word to her, much less a by-your-leave. Did he assume then that since they were betrothed, he had such right? If that, why had he not exercised it before now? Or did he simply think that it was no matter to her as she was not a proper lady? Any one of whom would probably be shrieking her dainty little head off by now.
    Krysta did not make a sound. She edged a little nearer, peering down at him. He really was a magnificent man, perfectly formed and so very different from herself. Those differences were fascinating … tantalizing, really. It was all she could do to remember that he shouldn't be there.
    The wind intensified, hammering against the shutters. Krysta shivered. In the ebbs between blasts of wind, she could hear the roar of breakers pounding against the beach. Never had she known such a storm. Not even the wild, wind-driven blizzards that descended on Vestfold in the winter were a match for this. She lingered a moment longer beside the bed, trying to decide what to do. She was still very tired. It was, after all, her bed.
    Cautiously, she eased back the covers, then stopped when she realized she was still wrapped in the fur throw. That would be much too hot to sleep in. She should find a shift. On the other hand, if she didn't and if Hawk awoke … She blushed at the thought but maidenly modesty proved poor competition for the passions he aroused in her. She told herself she was merely being practical, when was she not? They were betrothed and supposedly getting to know each other. Didn't that knowing involve this, too, this so-tempting intimacy of bed and body? This haven of safety that seemed to beckon to her? Ever sensible, yet trembling slightly, Krysta dropped the fur and got back into bed.
    H AWK WOKE WHEN THE WIND DIED, THE SUDDEN SIlence jarring him from sleep so deep as to seem dreamless. He sat up, instantly alert, and listened closely. No wind. The rain continued but the fury of the storm seemed spent. Remembering the storm he had experienced five years before near Winchester, he was not fooled and he hoped his people would not be either for he had spread word of what this meant. Soon the wind would shriek again, pounding against their walls. Only when it fell silent for a second time would the danger truly be over.
    He was about to lie down again when memory thundered back. Sitting up abruptly, he stared at the woman asleep beside him. Disbelief gave way to astonishment. What imp of mischief had possessed him to climb into bed with Krysta? Had exhaustion truly so clouded his mind as to banish any shred of reason? Or had he merely yielded to temptation and done as he secretly wished? As though in answer to that question, his body stirred. He cursed under his breath, and began to rise from the bed, only to stop when Krysta cried out softly.
    The stillness was gone, the wind was pounding once again, and the sound of it must have frightened her. He hesitated, truly torn, but the low whimper she made decided him. Glancing up in the general direction of