Come Back to Me (14 page)

KRYSTA WAS IN THE WALLED GARDEN NEXT to the great hall when she heard the shouts. She broke off planting a row of dill, grabbed up Falcon, who promptly chortled at the prospect of amusement, and hurried inside. Servants were swarming about, having been distracted from their work, which was odd in so well tended a manor as Hawkforte. She stopped a serving maid and asked her what was happening.

"Someone's come, my lady. I don't know who but seems unusual, don't you think?"

Unusual indeed, for Hawkforte was a busy port and seat of one of the most powerful lords in England, second only to the king himself, some said. All sorts of people came and went on the average day, royal heralds, clergy, traders from as far away as Byzantium. The population took pride in being accustomed to them. What then could stir them so?

Holding her baby son more closely, she passed through the hall and out into the bright day, quickly spying a man-at-arms. "Has anyone sent to his lordship?"

Hawk was on the training field, yet further honing the army that helped keep Alfred on the throne and the peace he had brought in place. Only the previous year, that same army had hunted down the traitor Lord Udell of Mercia, who had thought to unseat the king. Hawk himself had killed the miscreant, not in the least because he had dared to make off with Krysta. Never mind that they hadn't been married at the time, though she, unknowing, carried their child. Everything had worked out splendidly, for which not a day passed without her giving thanks.

The soldier nodded quickly, a hardened man well bloodied in battle who was nonetheless disconcerted to be addressed by the wife of the Hawk. Flushing slightly, he said, "Yes, my lady, that's been done."

Satisfied that all was in hand, Krysta spied her old nurse Raven fluttering nearby. "Here," she called, "take Falcon for me while I see who's come."

The thin, black-garbed woman obliged, cradling the babe gently and bestowing upon him a warm smile. "And how's the little chick this morning? I swear he's grown another inch or two in the night."

The baby burbled and waved his arms, and Krysta grinned. Her son was the picture of health and already hinting that he would attain his father's size. His tawny hair was nearer the shade of Hawk's, slightly darker than Krysta's, but of late his eyes had turned from the blue of birth to the forest green of his mother's. None of this surprised Krysta, for she carried within her the memory of the strange vision that had come to her months before her child's birth when her own life and his were in terrible danger. Then had the image of a young man she knew to be her son appeared before her, offering vital comfort and strength. She shivered at the thought of how very close they had come to dying at the hands of a madwoman, but the fear that could still spark within her faded quickly, as it was likely to do these days. She lived surrounded by the love of her husband, the esteem of his people, who were now also hers, and the joy of motherhood. Nothing dark could truly touch her.

Yet still she felt a nicker of apprehension as, crossing the field before the hall, she saw the rider who had just entered through the well-guarded gates. Dragon Hakonson was well known to her. He had visited Hawkforte on several occasions and was always warmly welcomed. Hawk's sister, the Lady Cymbra, was married to Dragon's brother, the Wolf. Thus were they all united by ties of family as well as friendship.

It was not Dragon who sparked Krysta's instant concern but rather the girl he held on the saddle in front of him. That she was a girl was clear only from the copper-hued hair that tumbled over her shoulders. She was clad in boy's garb but that was only a passing oddity. Of far more importance was her obviously bruised and bedraggled state.

"What happened?" Krysta asked as she hurried forward. The closer she got to the girl, the more her concern grew. There was a bruise across her brow and another, uglier one on her left cheek. Her clothes were filthy, looking as though she had rolled in the dirt, as well as torn and tattered. Scratches could be seen on her arms, hands, and legs. She was very pale and looked beyond exhaustion.

Dragon handed the girl down to a man-at-arms, dismounted, and immediately reclaimed her. He nodded cordially to Krysta but did not smile, unusual for him, and there was a grim light in his eyes she had never seen before.

"Is Hawk here?"

"On the training field. He's been sent for. Come, bring her inside."

When she thought it necessary, Krysta could be every inch the lady of the manor. Whoever the girl was, she needed care immediately. Dragon would not be foolish enough as to think otherwise but Krysta wasn't about to give him the opportunity to do so in his present odd mood.

He followed, however reluctantly. Krysta went directly to the guest quarters on the second floor. On the way, she gave orders to several servants to bring hot water, her medicine kit, bandages, and the like. Pushing open the heavy wooden door, she gestured Dragon inside. Only belatedly did she
realize
that she had come to the quarters meant for him, perhaps not appropriate for a young woman who was presumably—hopefully?—a stranger to him. But Dragon quickly erased any such thought.

He set the girl down on the bed, stepped back, and said, "This is the Lady Rycca of Wolscroft." Nothing in his tone or manner suggested he was the least pleased about that.

The girl herself said nothing at all, yet her averted gaze held such a wealth of misery that Krysta could not help but be moved. There was a mystery here to be sure, for Dragon Hakonson was not a man to spark misery in a female, but explanations would have to wait. It was of far more immediate importance to see to the young woman's injuries.

Servants began bustling into the room. Dragon took the opportunity to nod curtly and remove himself.

He got as far as the great hall before walking straight into Hawk. The two men were of similar size, both tall, powerfully built warriors at the peak of their powers. An unfortunate caught between them would have been crushed. They clasped hands.

"Dragon! We didn't expect you for several days yet. Tire of hunting so soon?" Hawk grinned as he spoke, his manner more relaxed and at ease since his marriage. Yet there was still a hint of caution in his eyes for already he had received reports of the girl who arrived with his Viking friend—his soon-to-be-married friend.

"I never got to hunt unless you count a few rabbits.
Look, something's happened and I'd just as soon you hear it from me as from anyone else."

"Like that, is it? Would this be the sort of tale that goes down better with a horn of ale?"

"More like a vat," Dragon said grimly and followed his host to the large oak table at the far end of the hall.. A servant appeared, as they always seemed to do since the Lady Krysta had taken over management of the household from her crazed sister-in-law. In scarcely as much time as it took to give the order, they were seated with the ale before them, as well as a platter of fresh-baked breads, cold meats, and cheeses, for Krysta believed drink should not be taken without food. His task completed, the servant withdrew discreetly, leaving them alone.

"Well now, what's the problem?" Hawk asked after a long swallow to banish the dust of the training field.

Dragon hesitated but, to his credit, not for long. "I brought a girl with me. Krysta is seeing to her now. She's Lady Rycca of Wolscroft."

Hawk's brows rose slightly. "Your betrothed."

"My
errant
betrothed. I met her a few days ago, apparently after she donned boy's garb and fled from her home rather than come here and be married to me."

Hawk cleared his throat, decided this was a good time for more ale, and emptied the horn. He finished up with a deep breath before attempting a response. "I see… Well, I don't actually. She was dressed as a boy, you met several days ago, but you didn't bring her here until now?"

"I didn't know who she was. She wouldn't tell me her name so I—" His mouth thinned sardonically. "I decided not to tell her mine. Clever, don't you think?"

"Why do I have the distinct impression it was anything but?"

"
Not
knowing who I was—" Dragon broke off. His
gaze
sought a distant corner of the hall. Quietly, he said, "Not knowing who I was, she lay with me."

Hawk whistled softly yet he was not particularly surprised. "Look… Dragon… you've always had great success with the ladies without even trying, isn't that so? A young girl, confused in her thinking, was bound to be seduced by you. Now granted, she shouldn't have been, but even so, you shouldn't have either—"

"It wasn't like that. I didn't seduce her." A flush darkened his cheeks. "The truth is she seduced me."

"She did?" Hawk couldn't hide his shock or the cause behind it. "But when I went to Wolscroft and saw her, I assumed she was… innocent."

"She was." Having said that, Dragon finished off his ale, accepted another round, and generally made it clear he had nothing further to say on that particular aspect of the subject.

After a moment or two, Hawk asked, "She was running away?"

"That's right. She'd left Wolscroft garbed as a boy and was making her way alone, I suspect to Hawksforte. I can only think that she meant to take ship for somewhere."

"Alone?" Hawk shook his head in amazement. "She took a hell of a risk."

"I thought her courageous but I was wrong. She is afraid, I suppose because I am unknown to her and she thinks all Vikings are alike. Even so, fear must be overcome especially when it threatens the peace between our peoples." Dragon said all this sadly for it was hard for him. Giving up the vision of his warrior woman was proving surpassingly difficult.

"She thought only of herself," he concluded regretfully.

Hawk did not pretend to misunderstand, nor did he try to minimize the problem. The long struggle of recent decades had a single purpose, a better future for those to come. But to reach it, all of them from the king on down had to do what was needed for the greater good regardless of personal wishes, needs, yearnings, and even fears. Hawk himself had married against what he thought were his better instincts, only to find himself stunningly happy. Such were the strange twists of fate sometimes.

"I thought she would suit you," Hawk said slowly. "She is very beautiful, and beyond that, the ordinary folk of Wolscroft speak well of her."

A sudden memory flashed through Dragon's mind and he grimaced. "You were always fond of getting people to talk to you."

Both men were silent, remembering when Hawk had gone to the lair of the Wolf at Sciringesheal in Vestfold, there to learn if his sister taken in battle was captive slave or willing wife. To that end he had sent his men among the common folk of the town, from whom came a litany of tales that led Hawk to a stunningly wrong conclusion.

"It seems I may not be good enough at listening," he said regretfully.

"Don't blame yourself. At least you tried. I appreciate that."

Hawk was silent for a long moment. He leaned back in his chair and contemplated the horn of ale in his hand but did not drink from it again. Finally, he said, "You know, you don't have to marry her."

Dragon jerked his head as though he had been struck. "What?"