Come Back to Me (15 page)

"Just what I said. Wolf, myself, and now you, we've all seen marriage as a means to further the alliance between Norse and Saxon. But Wolf and I have also found great personal happiness. I'd hate to think you couldn't do the same."

"Didn't you believe love as rare as hen's teeth? How now do you imagine it can come to me?"

Hawk shrugged. "When I saw Wolf and Cymbra together, and realized how much they loved each other, I thought it was just a fluke, something unique to them. I was glad for my sister, of course, but I never imagined the same could happen to me. At least, not until I met Krysta."

"I thought she bewildered and enraged you at first," Dragon said with a faint smile. He had visited Hawkforte during that time and well remembered the tension between the pair now so blissfully content.

"Well, yes, that's true but I got over it. At any rate, I meant what I said. You do not have to marry Lady Rycca of Wolscroft. When she ran off as she did, she violated the betrothal contract. No man will gainsay you should you choose to put her aside."

"After lying with her?"

"That was her choice… and her mistake. Another bride can be found. Mayhap not quite as comely, but more settled and predictable."

"A meek little woman to rub my feet?"

"What?"

Dragon smiled wanly. "That's what I used to tell Wolf I wanted in a wife. He warned me I'd be dead of boredom before the wedding flowers wilted."

Hawk tried, he truly did, but he could not suppress a grin. Yet he grew serious a moment later. "I have learned for myself what a marriage founded in love can mean. I would be less than a friend if I encouraged you to wed where there is only mistrust and acrimony."

"Even so," Dragon said slowly, "I pledged to make this marriage. Now it is a matter of honor."

"Honor is a cold bedfellow."

Dragon was on the verge of remarking that Rycca was anything but cold when he caught himself. He did not want to think of what had passed between them at the lodge, for it was still far too painful. His sense of having been abandoned by her hurt him as he would not have believed possible. So did the realization that she had rejected him before they'd even met. Rather than dwell on either, he concentrated on more recent events.

"Besides, what would happen to her if I wed elsewhere? I met her despicable father. He was just about to have her whipped."

"The marriage stands," he said, and drank his ale to the dregs.

"HERE," KRYSTA SAID GENTLY, "DRINK THIS." She held the cup of herbal tea to Rycca's lips and waited for her to swallow. The girl complied but slowly, as though she drifted some great distance from herself. Clearly she was dazed, possibly from exhaustion or from the blow to her head. She seemed also to be in shock.

"Lady Rycca," Krysta said gently, "whatever has happened, you are safe now. You will have every care and comfort." She lifted the hair falling across the girl's brow and frowned at the bruise there. "How did this happen?"

Rycca looked at her with wide, vacant eyes. Once again, Krysta had the impression that she was very far away. Several moments passed before the words seemed to penetrate what could only be described as her absence.

"I fell," she replied, so softly that even close as she was, Krysta had to lean closer to hear her.

"You fell? Where?"

"Off a cliff."

She had heard her correctly, Krysta was quite sure of that. Concealing her own shock, for she had no wish to alarm the girl, she asked, "How did that come to be?"

Rycca looked at the cup. Krysta took that as encouragement and immediately held it for her again. "This is a good restorative made from willow bark, parsley, and a few other things. The recipe is from my sister-in-law, the Lady Cymbra. No doubt you have heard of her. She is a renowned healer."

Having drunk a little more, Rycca nodded. She had heard of Lady Cymbra. Who had not? Even her father spoke of that lady with grudging care, perhaps because she was both wife and sister to two of the most feared warriors ever known. She was also said to be the most beautiful woman in all of Christendom. As though that were not enough, there were rumors about her, strange rumblings that she had some unusual gift that enabled her to heal almost any illness or injury.

Rycca knew about strange rumors. Until she had learned to conceal it, her unerring ability to sift truth from falsehood had set her apart from others at Wolscroft and led to rumblings from her father that she was bewitched. Once or twice, when he was even more deeply in his cups than usual, he had looked slant-eyed at her and muttered that she might need burning. So had such paternal regard led her to become expert at concealing herself, but there was a price to be paid for that. Someday, she feared, she would withdraw so far from the world as not to be able to return. Even now she had to struggle for awareness of the room, the woman, and all else that was real and tangible.

"Yes," she said, finally managing to speak above a weak whisper, "I have heard of her and also of you, Lady Krysta."

That seemed to fluster the beautiful, golden-haired woman. She blushed a little and laughed a shade nervously. Even as she did so, a raven landed on the windowsill and peered in. "Good heavens, I can only imagine what tales have filled your ears."

That the Hawk was besotted with her, that she was lovely as the moon, even that she sailed with skill to outstrip a man's. How could any of that discomfort the lady?

Of course, there had been something about her having odd servants, but Rycca hadn't paid attention to that. Nor had she listened much when her father ranted on and on about Lord Udell, a fellow Mercian, who had boasted he would unseat the king only to take as hostage the last woman on earth he ever should have gone near, be tricked by her in some strange encounter people swore involved a troll, and finally fall before the vengeful sword of the enraged Hawk. If nothing else, the lady seemed to have an adventurous life.

"Nothing to your disrepute," Rycca said. Yet the lady was one of that hated and feared race that haunted Rycca's nightmares. Never had she imagined she could be at ease with a Viking, but then neither had she ever imagined that she would willingly lie with one, however unknowingly.

Weariness threatened to overcome her but the tea was reviving. She took another sip.

"About your fall off a cliff," Krysta said, quashing any hope Rycca had that she had forgotten her question. "How terrible that must have been. Were you coming here to Hawkforte when it happened?"

Rycca nodded slowly. Even had she had the strength to try, she saw no point in concealing anything. Lord Dragon would surely make known to all and sundry what had happened. Not for a moment did she believe that his pledge to her father that the marriage would stand could be taken seriously, although it had, strangely enough, held the ring of truth. She must have been mistaken about that. He could not possibly want her for his wife now, after all that had happened. She presumed he had merely brought her to Hawkforte to be punished, yet the gentle care she was receiving seemed at odds with that. Likely it would stop soon enough. There would be a knock at the door or someone would simply barge in, perhaps even the Hawk himself. She shivered at that thought and at the revulsion the Lady Krysta would no doubt feel when she realized to whom she had ministered.

"The night robe is yours," she said suddenly, her weary mind careening from one thought to the next. "I must ask your pardon for I borrowed it. That was wrong, I know, but I had never seen anything so lovely."

Krysta shook her head in bewilderment. "That matters not. When did you fall from the cliff?"

"A few days ago." A soft sob broke from her but she managed to swallow enough of it that it sounded only like a gulp. "A lifetime ago."

Now Krysta truly was worried. She knew what head injuries could do. Lady Rycca was behaving most peculiarly. Not for a moment did Krysta think Dragon might be responsible for the girl's condition. He was kindness itself to women. But something terrible had happened and she meant to get to the bottom of it.

"Have you been dizzy since that fall? Have you fainted? Do you find yourself being forgetful?"

Rycca laughed painfully. "Yes to all, so dizzy as to be out of my senses, fainting away from the world, forgetful of everything good sense and reason should have told me. But no, not as you mean. I suffered little ill effect, amazingly enough."

This left Krysta less than reassured. Very lightly, she touched the side of Rycca's face. That bruise looked fresher, yet she was not sure. "Did this happen at the same time?"

"No, today. My brother struck me."

Krysta grimaced. She had never heard anything good about Wolscroft or his elder sons. "I am sorry, but it will heal. Now you need a warm bath and a proper meal—that with a night's rest and I believe you will be much improved come morning."

"Where is your husband?"

"With Dragon, I suppose. Why do you ask?"

"Then he will be here soon. He will not be pleased that you are caring for me."

"Of course he will be. Why do you think otherwise?"

Rycca took a breath, sought courage, realized she had none, and did without. "I ran away because I did not want to marry the Lord Dragon. Yet fate caused our paths to cross. He pursued me, I fled, and in the doing I fell down the side of a cliff. He took me to your lodge and there we stayed together several days." She sighed deeply, closed her eyes for a moment, and opened them again to find Krysta regarding her gently. It was the kindness she saw in the forest-green eyes that enabled her to continue, that and the desperate wish that someone might somehow understand what she had done and why. "I did not know who he was, nor did he know me, but I… I wanted a memory, something bright and good to hold on to no matter what happened. It was my fault what passed between us yet I cannot even now regret it."

To Rycca's surprise, the Lady Krysta did not look shocked or dismayed. Instead, she merely nodded and even smiled, as though considering her own memories. "Ah, yes, the wish to seize something perfect in this imperfect world even when it must be done against all reason and good sense."

Struggling to cope with so unexpected a reaction, Rycca was startled by the sudden knock at the door. At once, she stiffened. Now she would be dragged away, denounced, made to pay for what she had done…

But at the lady's summons, the door opened to admit a stream of servants carrying buckets of water, garments, food, and drink. Within minutes they had filled the bath and departed.

"We will sort all this out later," Krysta said. "For now, you will feel a great deal better when you are clean."

Dazed and bemused, Rycca found herself led to the tub. The torn and stained boy's garments, smelling less than pleasant thanks to their time in the river, were removed and she was helped into silken water scented with… what was that? Roses. The water was scented with roses. Never in her life had she known such unbridled and utterly feminine luxury.

"Heaven," she murmured.

"It is, isn't it?" Krysta agreed. She looked at the boy's clothes and tossed them into a corner. "Let me help you with your hair."

Careful of her bruised face, Krysta gently washed and rinsed the coppery tresses while Rycca simply sat still in the tub and tried to absorb what was happening to her. The Lady of Hawkforte seemed in no way dismayed by what she had told her. Ragamuffins fleeing state marriages might turn up on her doorstep every day for all the concern she showed. That could not possibly be right.

The water was cooling when Krysta helped Rycca from the tub, wrapped a length of sheeting around her, and sat her down next to the table. With care, she brushed out her hair and dried it. When that was done, Krysta held up a night robe.

"Put this on and you'll be done."

Rycca complied, too weary and bewildered to do anything else. In the huge bed, warmly covered and propped up by down-filled pillows, she watched as Krysta's servants arrived to tidy up. This they did with admirable speed, not one of them even so much as glancing at her. When they had gone, Krysta brought a tray of food and drink to the bed.

"You really must eat something," she said. "The soup is very good. It's another of Lady Cymbra's recipes. She very kindly sent me a veritable book of them, for, truth be told, I have no particular talent with such things."

Obediently, Rycca accepted a spoonful of the soup only to discover that it was as good as Krysta said and that she was truly hungry. She cupped the bowl in her hands and ate as rapidly as decorum allowed. When she was finished, she lay back against the pillows. Outside, the twilight was fading. Krysta rose, struck flint to tinder, and lit the twin iron braziers that stood on either side of the bed. "You should go to sleep soon," she said quietly.

"You have been very kind. I don't know how to thank you." Tears like a rain of sorrow glistened within her eyes but did not fall. That much control she still had left.

Krysta shrugged. "People were kind to me when I was in need. Someday you will do the same for another person. That will be thanks enough."

She turned to go, but Rycca reached out and clasped her hand. "Please, stay a moment."

"Yes, of course." Krysta sat down on the side of the bed. She presumed the young woman was simply afraid to be left alone after everything she had been through, but in this Rycca surprised her. Her thoughts were not of solitude but of marriage.

"You married for the alliance?"

Krysta smiled. "I came here to Hawkforte because of that, but the truth is, I married for love."

Rycca's eyes widened. "How could that have happened? No one weds for love."

"It's rare, to be sure, but it happened nonetheless. How is a rather long story and I don't think you're up to it right now. Is it love you seek or do you have some other reason for not wanting to marry?"

"I don't believe in love," Rycca said flatly. "Or I didn't. If you say it exists, I will believe you. I just think it must be extremely uncommon. As for the alliance, you are Norse and I do not wish to offend you."

"But you don't believe Vikings mean to make peace?" Krysta spoke without acrimony. She was well aware of this view of her countrymen. While she knew it to be unfair generally, she understood that those who had been the target of Viking raids for generations found it hard to believe that the wild men of the north were willing to give up their warring ways.