Dream of Me/Believe in Me

remember it again but that was much later, just as she was drifting off to sleep in Hawk's arms. Morning came in a rush, Hawk announcing that he was taking Dragon hunting, Aelfgyth and her mother appearing early and bubbling with yet more thanks for the gown they all three continued working on, and toward midday the happy news that the tanner's wife had birthed healthy twin girls, which turned Krysta's thoughts again to the possibility that she was with child. The sun seemed to speed across the sky and it was night again before she thought of Daria, too late once more to do anything about it.
    So did most of a week pass. Krysta found herself occupied from dawn to dusk with her new duties as Lady of Hawkforte and from dusk to dawn with the pleasures accompanying that high estate. She existed in a haze of happinessthat was at once sensual and more. With a swiftness she could scarcely credit, Hawkforte had become her home. For the first time in her life, she was part of a community that accepted her simply and entirely as a normal woman. The story Sven had told was forgotten, dismissed as the rantings of a dullard. She was met with warm smiles everywhere she went, honored as the wife of the lord but also appreciated just for herself. Deep inside her in a place she had never really wanted to think about, she finally felt whole.
    Which was not to say that her past was entirely wiped away. Raven came often during the day, appearing suddenly in the solar, and even struck up a friendship with Aelfgyth and her mother, both of whom could not get over Raven's skill at plaiting baskets.
    “Try doing it without hands,” Raven snorted as she deftly twisted long strands of cane. “This way will forever seem easy.”
    If that struck the women as an odd remark, they were far too polite to say so.
    Thorgold too visited regularly and was introduced to Dragon, who seemed already to know him.
    “Have we met somewhere?” the Viking lord asked the first evening they sat at supper together. He looked at the small, darkly bearded man closely. “In Vestfold … I think. Somewhere near a bridge … ?”
    Thorgold coughed into his ale and shook his head. “Nay, lord, I doubt that. Very little time I spend around bridges, very little indeed.” He cast a quick look in Krysta's direction as she frowned.
    “No, I'm sure it was a bridge. You challenged me to pay your toll and I said I'd trade you a story instead of a coin. We ended up drinking the night away, swapping tales. You had some damn good ones. Trouble was, come morning I couldn't really remember them and you were gone.”
    “Ah, well, that's the way of it. Joyful nights, sorrowful mornings.” Thorgold shrugged abashedly and gestured to a serving boy. “I'll have a bit more of that ale, if you don't mind.”
    Hawk changed the subject just then but Dragon continued to look puzzled off and on throughout supper. Still, it didn't seem to hinder his enjoyment. Indeed, everyone was in high good spirits save for Daria and Father Elbert, who remained present yet aloof. They reminded Krysta of gray ghosts flitting about the manor, disconnected from the life of the place yet unable to leave it.
    And for that she felt responsible, for surely once Daria had completed what she thought was her duty, she would be free to do as she wished and take holy vows. That she seemed an unlikely candidate for the convent made no difference and surely it was not Krysta's place to judge her but rather God's.
    A week after Dragon's arrival, when all the dowry goods had finally been put away and Aelfgyth's gown was well in hand, Krysta went in search of Daria. It was late afternoon. Hawk and Dragon had gone hunting again and had not yet returned. Aelfgyth and Edvard were stealing a little time together. The day was warm for early fall. Bees still buzzed among the last flowers clinging to sheltered spots near the walls. It was that quiet time when much of the labor of the day was done but people had not yet begun their preparations for supper. Even the port was quiet.
    Daria was in the chapel. Krysta hesitated to disturb her as she knelt at prayer, her thin back rigidly straight, her face concealed by her bowed head. Such reverence was admirable, no doubt, yet it made Krysta uneasy somehow. She shook that off and resolved to wait patiently, but scarcely had she begun to do so than Daria raised her head and saw her. For a moment, the shadows of the chapelconcealed the older woman's expression. When she moved,