by Phoebe Conn
It was a long while before Mylan appeared, and she could only stare, too surprised to mask the admiration that shone so brightly in her eyes, for he had gone to as much trouble to prepare for their supper as he had for their wedding. Not only was he clean-shaven, he had also trimmed his hair and put on one of the handsomely tailored outfits she had seen in his chest. His tunic and trousers were of a rust-colored suede, the soft lines of the garments defining the powerful contours of his muscular body with an easy grace.
She tried to return his warm smile, but she was so ashamed of her own appearance that she looked away quickly. Her once beautiful gown was no more than rags, her hair a tangled mess, and she hid her hands rather than display her broken and dirty nails. She had never been so unkempt, but she had not realized how sorry she must look until the moment he had come through his front door looking so splendid.
If he noticed her discomfort he did not mention it. He walked over to look at the meat roasting upon the spit and nodded with satisfaction. “I do believe your cooking has finally begun to improve, this is well on its way to being done to perfection.”
“My cooking?” she asked coyly. “You killed the deer, hacked up the carcass, put the meat on the spit, built the fire. I’d say you did the major portion of the work yourself and deserve whatever credit is due for the quality of the meal.”
He opened his mouth ready to argue, since he had no intention of doing any cooking when she was there to do it for him, but he was hungry and the venison so savory he saw no reason not to take credit for it. “Yes, perhaps you are right. I am as accomplished a cook as I am…” After pausing to grin slyly he continued, “as I am at most things I attempt.”
She walked back into the house rather than comment on his many talents, especially the one he so obviously meant. At least the man had regained the confidence he had lacked when first they had met, she had done that much for him. But she doubted he had ever stopped to consider how greatly he had changed since they had met.
It took her almost as long to empty the tepid water from the tub as it had taken her to fill it, and she had no energy left to begin all over again to heat water for herself. Still, she wanted to be clean, so took the ill-fitting gray wool gown she abhorred with her down to the stream. She peeled off the shreds of the blue silk dress, and, caring little that Mylan was undoubtedly observing her actions closely, bathed and washed her hair in the ice cold water as she had each day since she had come to his farm. She thought her appearance greatly improved, but when she returned to Mylan’s side he shook his head sadly.
“It is unfortunate I had so little time to gather clothing for you before we left my father’s house. I have needle and thread; take what you must from my things, but make yourself something that fits tomorrow. That gown is atrocious.”
Celiese held the skirt so she would not trip as she moved closer. “Yes, I do believe I said this was hideous too, but…”
“Don’t tell me you cannot sew!” he exclaimed in disbelief.
“Yes, I do know how to sew very well, but it will not be easy to turn garments made for a man your size into ones that will fit me.”
“What is the matter with my size?” He extended his arms, assessing his proportions as though he had been insulted.
Seeing he had misunderstood her, she tried to explain, “I did not mean that as a criticism, Mylan. You are tall and well built, a magnificent man in every respect, but I am a slender woman, so my figure is very different.”
Although her compliment was a sincere one, he reacted angrily, “I know how I look, you’ll gain no favors from me by lying about it.”
Exasperated, she followed him as he walked around the fire. It seemed no matter what she said he took exception to it. “All I know is that I seem to be a sorry substitute for the woman you love, and although I have done my best to please you, I have obviously failed. Why don’t you go to Estrid now, she is young, no older than Olgrethe, and you shouldn’t think badly of her for refusing to marry you after you’d been so badly hurt.”
Suddenly their problems seemed to have a simple solutionâshe was never going to win his love and had been a stupid fool to try. “She’s the one you want here with you, isn’t she? Rather than a slave you despise?”
Mylan lifted his hand, as though meaning to slap her out of his way, but he regained control of his temper and thought better of such a hostile gesture. “Do not speak her name to me ever again, or I swear I will give you a beating you’ll never forget!” He had never been so furious with her. She was full of ridiculous ideas, it seemed, but to drag Estrid’s name into their conversation was more than he could abide.
With a defiant toss of her damp curls, Celiese continued, “Oh, go ahead and hit, me, I don’t care! You can have any woman you want, but we’d both be far happier if you sent me back to Olgrethe and married the woman you truly love.”
“After what I’ve suffered with you, I will never even consider taking another bride!” Seeing that he at last had the feisty blonde’s full attention, he yanked the spit off the fire to carry the perfectly roasted venison into the house. “Well, come on, this is the first good meal I’ve had in a week, and I insist you share it.”
Astonished that he would want her company when they were in the middle of such a heated argument, she nevertheless ran after him, tripping and nearly falling as she stepped on the hem of the cumbersome dress. But she caught herself and followed him into the house at a sedate pace, as if he had issued the most gracious of invitations.
When he made no attempt to begin a conversation as they ate, she brought up a subject she was certain would interest him. “I think we should kill the bear, Mylan. He deserves to die for what he did to you.”
Appalled by her suggestion, he took a long drink of ale before he replied. “That bear and I have already had one confrontation, with a most discouraging result. I most certainly will not consider going after him again without at least fifty men to assist me. You would be no help at all.”
“I’ll need weapons, of course, and time to practice with them. I did not mean we should go after the beast tomorrow.”
“Fully armed you would still be useless.” He cut another slice of meat as he marveled at her courage, when only that day she had fainted as he had drawn his bow to shoot.
“There’s more than one way to kill a bear,” she posed. “Do they ever dig pits here and lure the animal to it? Once they fall in it is a simple matter to slay them.”
Sighing softly, he nodded. “Yes, that can be done, but how do you suggest we distract the bear while we dig? It would take the two of us more than a week to dig a pit of sufficient size to trap that monster.”
He had not scoffed at that suggestion, so she tried another. “Dogs would be helpful. Why have you no hunting dogs here?”
“I had three, beauties I’d raised from pups, but they all died the same day I nearly did.”
She swallowed, sorry now that she had asked, for clearly the loss of the hounds still pained him. He appeared to be in a willing mood to talk and she asked softly, “You and your dogs were alone when you encountered the bear?”
He looked up from his meal, surprised by her interest in so gruesome a topic. “No, Hagen was with me. We were tramping through the woods, talking about nothing of any importance, when suddenly the dogs went wild. My brother went one way and I the other, thinking we’d circle around to meet and attack whatever quarry the dogs had at bay. Unfortunately, the bear was too clever for such a simple plan, and you’ve seen the result. Had it not been for the fact that Hagen is so skilled with a spear, my death would have been a swift one.”
She had not seen anything to admire in Hagen in the short while they’d been together, and she was impressed. “Then you were lucky he was with you.”
Frowning, he could not agree, “I did not think so at the time, but he is a very stubborn individual and refused to let me die in peace.”
Vikings believed the best possible death was one met during battle, and she
wondered if a fight with a bear would have qualified him for entrance to Valhalla, where brave warriors were thought to spend eternity feasting and fighting where they could never again be defeated by death. That gory image disgusted her completely, and she did not ask him about it, as the subject of his death was too painful a one to consider even for the sake of a philosophical argument.
“I had little opportunity to get to know Hagen. When next we meet I will try to be more friendly, since you owe your life to him.”
“And you owe yours to me?” He finished his ale, and sat regarding her with a cynical stare.
“Don’t tease me, Mylan. If you were going to kill me for revenge you would have done so long ago,” she pointed out calmly, but the morbid turn their conversation had taken disturbed her.
“I do not kill beautiful women for revenge,” the golden-eyed young man scoffed. “I merely meant that as long as I live you will also, so it is to your advantage to see I survive whatever the fates have in store for me, whether it be ferocious animals in the forest, or enemies of the two-legged kind.”
Her cool green gaze sharpened to an icy stare. “Is that another threat to toss my body on a funeral pyre? It was to be Raktor’s the last time, is it now to be yours?”
He thought the luscious tint of rose anger gave her cheeks was most attractive and nodded slightly. “I plan to take you with me wherever I go, Celiese, even into the next world. Do not try and run away from me again, for I will not be so lenient with you the next time.”
She rose from her chair, backing away from him as she spoke in a defiant whisper, “If you permit other men to speak so rudely to me as that horrible brute did yesterday, then I will run away again and again. If it will save your pride to treat me as a slave when others are present then I can do little but try and bear it, but I’ll not be pawed by strangers. I swear to you, Mylan, no man is ever going to touch me unless I want his attentions.”
He was out of his seat in an instant, crossed the small distance separating them, and swept her into his arms, holding her captive in a firm embrace as he responded with a livid snarl, “You’ll not give me orders. I am the master here!”
She did not struggle or complain, but instead lifted her lips to his, stilling his angry outburst with the sweetest of kisses, her affection for him overflowing her heart in a rush too delicious to contain. He understood none of her fears, and she hoped only to make him feel the depth of her love. It was his for the asking, but only his.
Mylan was in no mood to ask for the loving he felt rightfully his, and he carried her swiftly to his bed, allowing her no more than a second to catch her breath before he lay down beside her and drew her into his arms. His kisses were wild, demanding the ready response her lithe body could give, but she placed her hands on his chest in a vain effort to push him away.
“What did you think would happen this afternoon when you bathed in the stream without the slightest display of modesty? Do you think I am devoid of all emotion except anger? What did you hope to catch, if not me?” Giving her no time to respond, he lowered his mouth to hers, but this time his kiss was teasing, his lips playfully caressing hers until she gradually relaxed and lay calmly in his arms.
“Why did you make such a show of inviting my affections if you do not want them?”
As she stared up into his golden eyes their bright sheen reflected the glowing embers upon the hearth with a taunting fire, and she could no longer keep her desires hidden. “I do want you, desperately, but I still want to be your wife. I want to be your beloved companion, not a slave who must forever bow to her master’s will.”
He raised his fingertips to her cheek, studying her delicate features with a rapt glance before he replied. “What difference does it make what I call you, when either way you will always be mine?” He’d had enough of her endless defiance and said no more as he leaned down to deepen his kiss. He needed her love too badly to argue over the circumstances that had brought them together. She might belong to him, but he was a captive of the passion he could neither deny nor control. He needed all she could give, her lively spirit, her enchanting glance, and best of all her tender affection, which she had given before in such abundance.
Wife, mistress, slave, the words rang in his mind with a senseless clatter, she was simply his, and no word could describe the joy the sweetness of her surrender gave him. He gathered up the hem of her oversized dress to slip it gently over her head so he might caress all of her splendid figure without the barrier of the rough fabric to hinder his pleasure as well as hers. Her skin was glowing with the same deep blush that filled her cheeks, and he let his lips trace her gentle curves with slow kisses that teased the pale pink tips of her full breasts to rosy peaks. He had no gift for poetry, for the beauty of words to make her understand how deeply he had come to care for her, but his affection was in his every gesture, and he vowed to himself it would have to be enough.
Celiese laced her fingers in Mylan’s soft curls to draw him near to her heart, for she had not dared hope he would again treat her so sweetly, and she enjoyed the tenderness of his touch greatly. He was again making love to her as he had on the night they were wed, with an irresistible passion that filled her whole being with a deep longing to have more of his enticing affection, and she slipped her hands under his soft suede shirt to help him remove it more swiftly. His scars made his body unique, but no less dear, and she leaned across him, letting her curls tickle the taut muscles of his stomach as she used light kisses to trace the pattern of deep slashes that marred the smooth skin of his chest. She loved all of him so dearly, the scars as well as the perfection of his lean physique, and her kisses warmed his bronze skin, gently conveying the adoration she dared not speak.
His breath quickened to hoarse gasps as he tried to do no more than enjoy her delightful affection, but she had driven him past the grasp of reason and he felt only the overwhelming need to finish what he had begun when he had first placed her upon the deep mound of furs that served as his bed. He tried to catch her, to encircle her narrow waist to hold her still, finally pulling her down upon him to press her slender hips to his as he rolled over, slowly pushing her down among the tangle of lush furs where he could use all his strength to pin her beneath him in a loving embrace.
He held her tightly, winding his fingers in her long curls to capture her smiling lips beneath his own. She moved against him, her rhythm far more gentle than his, luring him with a seductive grace ever deeper into the warm, sweet secrets of her vibrant body, until his pleasure was nearly pain and he could wait no longer to bring their passion for each other to the height of ecstasy. He buried his face against the soft curve of her throat, savoring the feel of her lovely body beneath his own until he could feel the rapture that thundered through his own body also shudder through hers.
He had not counted the times they had made love, but knew they had been far too few, when it was the most wondrous of pastimes to share. She was like no other beautiful woman he had ever known, not teasing and flirtatious, nor haughty and aloof, but so giving he was drunk with the wine of her kisses, and he lay filled with contentment as he pressed her close to enjoy the feel of her silken skin against his own far more rugged flesh.
Celiese separated Mylan’s golden curls with a lazy caress before she moved her hand softly down his throat and over his shoulder. His loving had left her filled with a joy so profound, she knew paradise could offer no greater pleasure than lying with him always did. She had stayed his anger with her first kiss, turning his wrath into playful affection, but he had not given her the promise she longed so desperately to hear.
How could he fail to feel her love and respond in kind? If he still felt nothing for her after she had given all any woman could, would he never grow to love her? Would she know only the strength of his passion and never the beauty of his love? She ought to leave his bed, leave him alone to contemplate the necessity for their marriage since he had the power to choose what their life together would be, but she had no desire even
to stir, let alone leave the warmth of his arms so he might see how greatly he would miss her.
Their many problems forgotten in the dreamy haze of shared pleasure, Mylan propped his head on his elbow and lay watching Celiese as she slept curled against his side. She fascinated him, not only with her beauty, but also with her courage, which never seemed to fail her, and he marveled again at the strange twists of fate that had brought her to his bed. Had he not been mauled so savagely he would have been wed to Estrid two years ago, would by now doubtless be the father of at least one son, and yet he never thought of the woman nor missed the child they had not had. It seemed impossible to him now that he could have come so close to marrying another and might never have known Celiese. The mystery of her past tormented him still. He dared not trust her, and yet he could no longer pretend an indifference to her distracting beauty, when each time he made love to her only made him want her more.
“Celiese.” He called to her softly and was pleased by the width of her smile as she opened her sparkling green eyes. He saw only the delight in her gaze and cared little what new deceit might fill her heart when she would again welcome his affection so willingly. A sly grin crossed his lips as he leaned down to kiss her, pulling her back into his arms to again enjoy the gift of her intoxicating loving, and with his last conscious thought he wondered which of them was now the slave.
Chapter 10
Mylan stood beside his bed, watching Celiese with an admiring glance as she continued to sleep soundly long past the hour she had usually been up to prepare his breakfast. Her flaxen curls were fanned out over the lustrous furs, her creamy skin flushed with a delicate pink and she was so pretty a sight he could not bring himself to disturb the peace of her dreams. Finally he forced himself away. Wandering outside, he realized that watering the garden was too tedious a chore for so delicate a woman and quickly carried several buckets of water from the stream so she would not have to waste what energy she would have that day in such strenuous labor.
