Dream of Me/Believe in Me

cautiously. It had been in his mind these days that perhaps he was wrong and Krysta did know he had come to her bed. She would have every right to be angry at him yet he still hoped she had not complained of it to her servants.
    “I don't see what,” Thorgold said. “Seems to me ye haven't been half-bad for a mor—that is, for a Saxon.”
    Hawk's mood eased a little. He even managed a wry smile. “I thank you for the vote of confidence but I would still know how to lighten her spirit.”
    “I told ye about the hair ribbons, didn't I?”
    “You did but I don't really think—”
    “Trouble is you think too much,” Thorgold interrupted. “Get yerself a nice fistful of hair ribbons and go talk to the girl. Better yet, get her off someplace where she can't be rushing about doing this or that.”
    Hawk knew good advice when he heard it even from so unlikely a source as a fellow who bore an uncanny resemblance to a troll. He went down into the town, paid a visit to a happy merchant, and left with what he had sought. But there was no time to seek out Krysta, for the harvest celebration was about to begin.
    The sun was drifting westward but the sky was still well lit as all the residents of Hawkforte and the surrounding area gathered in the large field closest to the stronghold. There, tables had been cobbled together from trestles and planks of wood, covered with cloths, and loaded down with the bounty of all their efforts. Largefires begun much earlier in the day were being tended by young boys under the stern eye of the manor cook, who saw to it that the sides of beef and the whole pigs were kept well turned and basted. Aromas to make the stomach sing greeted the celebrants. Barrels of mead and ale were tapped, and eagerly attended. Children ran about underfoot, drawing indulgent smiles from all.
    Coming out onto the field, Krysta paused and looked around anxiously. So far as she could see, everything was as it should be but as she had never participated in so large a celebration, she was yet unsure. Aelfgyth had stayed to help her dress in a gown of mauve and violet that looked woven from the last whispers of the setting sun, then had gone off at Krysta's bidding to see to her own preparations. She was in the crowd somewhere, no doubt with Edvard. Those two seemed destined to make a happy match. Krysta was glad for them even as she wondered what chance there was for her to do the same.
    The answer to that lay with the tall, powerful man who stood near the center of the field, chatting amicably with all and sundry and looking as though he had not a care in the world. Resentment tugged at her as she beheld his ease but it faded quickly before the rush of emotions at once tender and fierce. He was dressed with simplicity in a plain black tunic embroidered with gold. Around his taut waist was a belt of gold links that held the bejeweled scabbard of his sword. The thick curls of his chestnut hair framed his face bronzed by wind and sea and in which his light blue eyes shone brilliantly. He towered head and shoulders above most of the other people, and as she watched she saw him stoop to meet the eyes of an elderly woman who seemed bent on teasing him about something. They both laughed and the woman went away smiling.
    He was straightening up when he saw Krysta. At once, his smile faded. Her stomach plummeted to see itgo. For a moment she considered trying to lose herself in the crowd, but pride made her hesitate and then it was too late. Hawk walked to her with deliberate speed. As though he had sensed her intention, he put a hand to her elbow before he spoke.
    “My lady,” he said gravely, “my thanks for all you have done. I can't remember a more splendid harvest feast.”
    To her dismay, Krysta found herself blushing and unable to meet his eyes. “It is Edvard you should thank, my lord, and all the others. I did little but help.”
    “That is not what Edvard and the others say.” His manner was lightening now that he was reasonably assured she would not elude him. He tucked her arm into the crook of his and led her deeper into the crowd before she could object. Quickly, they were surrounded by townsfolk and peasants alike, who smiled to see them together and in apparent harmony.
    He led Krysta to the high table and seated her before taking his place beside her. Their arrival was the signal for the feasting to begin. Amid the parade of dishes, the flow of ale and mead, and the clamor of the guests, Krysta