Dream of Me/Believe in Me

have her alive that I didn't think—”
    Eahlswith laid a hand on his arm gently. “You know as well as I that bruises take time to show. Getting her here quickly was the best thing you could have done.”
    His face was anguished as he looked at the pale, still figure lying in the bed. “She must be in pain.”
    “She was when she awoke this morning although she tried her best to conceal it. I gave her a soothing draft and she slipped back to sleep. Nothing will heal her as quickly as sleep will do.”
    And he'd been banging on the door, demanding to be admitted.
    Eahlswith saw the look in his eyes and correctly interpreted it. “Listen to me. I will tell you exactly what I would tell either of my own sons. You are not to blame for this in any way, and even more important, you saved her. She is here, she will recover, the two of you will be together again. Give thanks for that and let the rest go.”
    Hawk nodded, not trusting himself to speak. His eyes burned and his vision was blurred. He knelt beside the bed and took Krysta's hand very gently in his. Holding on to her, he bowed his head.
    Later, leaving the chamber, he still felt deeply shocked and subdued. But by the time he stepped out into the brilliant sun of a fading summer day, anger was surging within him. Even as he fought to control it he wished Udell might yet be alive if only so that he could kill him again. But the Mercian was gone beyond his reach and Athelred would deal ably with the others. Lacking any outlet for his rage, Hawk sought some way to distract himself. He walked aimlessly until he found himself outside the scriptorium. After hesitating briefly, he went inside. The priest Asser was there, looking over another copy of Alfred's law book that was nearing completion.
    Seeing Hawk, he took his leave of the scribe. Together, they walked back outside.
    “There is something I can do for you, my lord?” Asser asked.
    Hawk nodded. He had not known what he intended when he entered the scriptorium but it was clear to him now. “I wish to commission a book.”
    The priest looked surprised. “You have scribes of your own at Hawkforte?”
    “Able men but not so skilled as some here. I want this to be a special book.”
    “And the subject … ?”
    Hawk thought for a moment. “Birds, something to do with that. Real information about them, not just the tales people tell. With illustrations that make them seem to come alive.”
    “A laudable idea, my lord, but if you will forgive me, I had not realized your great interest in this area.”
    “I have none,” Hawk admitted. “But the Lady Krysta does. I intend this as a gift for her.”
    The priest looked at him for a moment, then smiled. If he thought it strange to give a book to a woman, he did not show it. “I see. Well, then, we must find the best hand for this. There is a young monk here who daily feeds the birds in the garden. I have noticed him observing them and making sketches. I think he might do.”
    “I leave it to you then.”
    “Be assured I will see to it. Is there anything else I might help with, my lord?”
    Hawk thought for a moment and grinned. “Not unless you happen to know where in Winchester I could find hair ribbons.”
    Asser admitted he did not but a dairymaid bringing fresh milk to the scriptorium did and she was delighted to tell Hawk. He went off realizing that the quickest way past his anger was to think of Krysta and what would belikely to please her. He spent the rest of the day doing just that and was a happy man for it.
    P ROPPED UP AGAINST THE PILLOWS, KRYSTA LOOKED out over the expanse of the bed to the cluttered room beyond. To no one in particular, she said, “Someone has to stop him.”
    Several of the ladies giggled. Seated nearby on a chair from which she had removed several bolts of cloth, Eahlswith smiled. “I think it's terribly sweet.”
    “Oh, it is,” Krysta agreed bemusedly. She looked at the swirls of color lying on the bed, indeed taking up a great deal of it. “But if this goes on much longer, any woman in all of England who wants a hair ribbon will have to get it from me. Not to mention the most beautiful perfumes, the rarest fruits, more silk and velvet than I could ever imagine using in a lifetime.” She continued to scan the room, shaking her head. “And all those jewels. What am I ever going to do with them?”
    “Wear them?” one of the ladies suggested. She spoke kindly but with the same dazed amazement as had characterized