Dream of Me/Believe in Me

a groan of sheer relief as she tried swiftly to rub some circulation back into her muscles. As Udell turned away to throw a saddlebag over his mount, she said, “Give me a moment to see to my needs.”
    He turned and glared at her. “Why the hell should I?”
    Struggling to her feet, Krysta said, “Because you are not afraid of me. You don't wonder why the ravens attacked you. You aren't concerned that the story my half-brother told might be true. And surely you aren't puzzled why the most powerful warlord in England will march through hell to reach me. For after all, I am only a mere woman.”
    Even in the gray light, she saw his face pale. He looked around hastily to see if any of his men had heard. Reassured they had not, he hissed at her, “Do it then and be quick! But by God, if you try witchwork on me, I'll see you burn!”
    Krysta made haste before he could reconsider. She was not so foolish as to try to escape where she had no hope of getting away, but the temptation was strong all the same. Every ounce of her courage and determination was needed to mount the horse beside Udell's. The reins had been removed and a rope tied to the horse's bridle. Udell had hold of the other end. Krysta clung to the pommel as the horses set off at a gallop.
    They rode for hours without once slackening their pace. By afternoon, Krysta was close to despair. They would have to stop for the night at some time, that or run their horses into the ground. But once they halted, no doubt she would be bound again. The thought of what the long hours of darkness in the company of a hate-filled, vengeful man could mean made her blood run cold. Perhaps it would be better simply to take her chances andhope she could get away into the forest somehow. But to elude Udell and his men on foot would be impossible.
    She was searching frantically for some faint ray of hope when she glanced to one side and noticed through the thick-leafed branches the glint of fast-running water. From time to time during the long hours she had caught a glimpse of the river, enough to realize that the road they were on must roughly parallel it. But now it seemed unusually close and the road appeared to be turning in its direction.
    A few moments later, her suspicions were confirmed when she realized they would have to cross a low wooden bridge that joined the two parts of the road on opposite sides of the river. As they approached the bridge, she saw that the water beneath it was turbulent, breaking against submerged rocks and sending up froths of spray that showered rainbows of light to either side. Under other circumstances the beauty of such a display would have struck her, but now all she could think of was that day was fast fleeing and taking hope with it.
    In the lead, Udell slowed his horse to a walk. The hooves of the animals resounded sharply against the wooden planks. They were about to ride out onto the bridge when Udell stopped suddenly. A long pole attached to a trestle had been lowered across the entrance, blocking their way.
    “What the hell is this?” Udell demanded.
    Barely had he spoken than a little man bustled forward from somewhere beneath the bridge. He was quite short but powerfully built, with long black hair that merged into the beard that hung halfway down his barrel chest. There was an air of importance about him as he confronted Udell and the others.
    “Pay the toll, cross the bridge,” he announced in a low, rumbling voice.
    “Toll?” Udell looked at him incredulously. “Whatare you talking about? There's never been any toll on this bridge.”
    “There is today,” the little man said. Boldly, as though it concerned him not at all to be facing a band of armed warriors, he held out his hand. “Cross my palm with gold and cross the bridge. Elsewise, turn back or—” His eyes, hidden beneath great bushy brows, gleamed. “Or would you rather swim? River's running hard though. Only a truly good swimmer would have any chance of making it to the other side, much less downstream.”
    “What're you prattling about?” Udell demanded. His hand went to the hilt of his sword. “Get out of my way, old man, or by God I'll cleave you in two.”
    Far from being alarmed by this threat, the little man merely shrugged. “Are ye a good swimmer then, Lord of Mercia? Feel up to takin' yer chance in the water, do ye?”
    Udell looked at him in disbelief, then threw back his head and laughed. “By God, the fellow's addled. He knows who I am and