by Phoebe Conn
“It is not me they are watching with such awe, Celiese, but you, and I do not like it.” He drew her close as they started up the path leading to the ruins of her home. She could not be expected to bring prosperity to the impoverished village simply by her presence, but he could readily see from the peasants’ adoring glances that she had inspired a hope that had been absent from their hearts only the previous afternoon.
“Your family was so rich they could afford to feed all these people?” he asked incredulously.
“There were several villages similar in size to this one, although I do not recall any being in such a sad state when my father was alive. The peasants farmed our land and gave us a share of what they produced as payment for the use of our property. We did not prosper unless they did, it was not the other way around. My father was always generous, however, if a man were ill, or some tragedy befell his family, he would wait until the man could pay what he owed. No one was ever put out of his home on our estate as they would have been on many others.”
“The peasants did not take advantage of your father’s kindness?” he asked skeptically.
“How could they have done so?” she inquired innocently.
“By being lazy, doing only what was the minimum to insure their survival.” In his experience slaves were always lazy, and he could not believe peasants would have had any more ambition.
“The rent was a flat fee, not based upon how much a man produced. It was to his own advantage to cultivate all he could, for only a tiny portion went to us and the rest he kept for himself and his family.” Thinking she understood his confusion, she continued, “Free men are not like slaves, they have a reason to work, a purpose for their labors other than serving a tyrannical master.”
Laughing, Mylan asked, “Are you calling me a tyrant? I have owned slaves from time to time.” She had been the most difficult to manage, but he thought better of offering the opinion.
Celiese did not reply, for she could not. She had never been his slave, but that was an argument she would not begin again, either.
Seeing by her expression that he was on dangerous ground, he returned to the far safer subject of agriculture. “Well, was this system effective? The crops were cultivated, the people fed?”
“Some years were better than others, for the weather plays a great role in production, as you well know, but the fields were lush when I was a child, the peasants happy. You have seen the respect the name d’Loganville inspires in these people. It is not without cause, but well deserved.”
Mylan turned to be certain they were not being followed. Apparently, since André had not accompanied them today, the villagers had gone about their own business as well. Relieved to find they would have some privacy for a short while at least, he lengthened his stride to hurry Celiese along. “I cannot rebuild your entire house in the short time we have remaining, but if you want to stay here, I can at least see part of it is made livable again.”
She wandered about as he studied what was left of the once magnificent structure. It was so clear in her mind; to consider rebuilding anything less than the perfection it had been saddened her greatly. When he sat down by her side, she attempted to refuse his offer as tactfully as she could.
“The house was so pretty, Mylan, filled with sunlight and good cheer, surrounded by fragrant gardens. I know you want to help me, but I’d rather leave my home in ruins than build anything less than the splendid residence it was.”
“Celiese,” he began, then, realizing the day had gone no better for her than it had for him, he softened his tone. “I want you to come home with me.” He reached for her hand and laced her fingers tightly in his, bringing them to his lips. “I won’t leave you here amidst this rubble.”
“But you must!” she insisted. “This is where I belong. And I know how desperate my situation appears, but I can make everything right again in time, I know I can.”
Gesturing toward the few remaining walls of her home, he asked sarcastically, “How? You have not even so much as André to call your own. You are no more than one fragile young woman, how do you expect to accomplish any of your dreams?”
Holding her temper, she again sought his sympathy. “If you were to return home and find Raktor had leveled your house, killed your family, slaughtered your livestock, and sold off all your servants, would you not try to restore all you could to its proper place?”
“I am a man, Celiese, and a strong one. I would never rest until I had repaid Raktor for each wrong he’d done, but you are little more than a girl. While you do have some skill with weapons, you do not even own any.”
“I would say I have a great deal of skill. Have you forgotten I almost killed your bear?” Her patience at an end, she responded angrily, “I can use weapons, but I may not need to. If I can see the king, I can make him understand that what he has done in making a bargain with Hrolf is wrong.”
“The king?” Mylan was appalled. “You plan to visit the king and demand he restore your lands to you?”
“Why not? The spineless weasel needs someone to tell him how to rule the country with the pride it deserves.”
Mylan rested his head in his hands, “I should wring your neck now and save King Charles the trouble.”
“He would not dare to harm me,” she replied instantly, shocked by his threats. She was as angry as he, her cheeks flushed with color, her green eyes bright with unshed tears.
“Because you are Lady d’Loganville, your name as proud as his?” Mylan scoffed disparagingly.
“Yes!” She rose as a final gesture, ready to end their argument. “Sail with the morning tide. You have brought me home, that was all I asked, and I am grateful for the favor. I will follow the bank of the river Seine to Paris and seek an audience with the king. Were my father alive he would do no less.”
“Your father is dead!” Mylan sprang to his feet to confront her, “All are dead who tried to resist the invading Danes; Hrolf is only the last and the most fierce. Don’t you understand no king gives away part of his realm if he has any other choice? That one pretty young woman objects will matter not at all to him. He is buying peace for the rest of his lands by giving away yours, and nothing you say will sway him from the course he has already chosen!”
Turning her back on him, she took several steps away, fighting the overwhelming sense of frustration confronting her at every turn. Their marriage had not survived their wedding night despite her best efforts to make Mylan accept her love, and to return to Denmark as his wife now was impossible. And to enter the convent as her mother had insisted she do was unthinkable when there was no one else to rectify the terrible injustice her family had suffered.
Her plan might be naive, it might even be ridiculous in the king’s view, but she had to try in every way she could to reclaim what was rightfully hers. Bending down to pick up a handful of earth, she sifted the rich soil through her fingers. “Perhaps I do have more courage than sense, Mylan, but I have not survived this long for no purpose. There are more ways to fight than with a sword, and I’ll not rest until I’ve exhausted every possibility to return my home to the grandeur it had in my father’s lifetime.”
Walking around to face her, Mylan took her soiled hand in his. “This is no more than dirt! If that is all you want, I own plenty. Give up this cause, come home with me and be my wife. Do not refuse what can be the best of all possible lives for us both.”
She shook her head sadly. “No, this is my home, right here where we stand. This is where I belong, and I must stay.” She felt a responsibility to the peasants who farmed her land, a firm conviction that this was a duty she could not shirk.
Livid with her continual refusal to be his wife, which he was certain she knew damn well she was, he swept her up into his arms and carried her behind the shelter of the nearest wall. The stones of the floor were overgrown with thick grass, but he wished the spot were a more comfortable one. Laying her down gently, he dropped down beside her. Not bothering to remove the garments she wore,
he simply pushed them aside, slipping the layers of silk out of his way before he grabbed her wrists to stop any protest she might have considered before she attempted to make it. His mouth covered hers with a deep kiss, silencing any verbal argument as well. Consumed by the need he could neither fight nor deny, he saw only her vibrant beauty in his mind and, seeking to win her acceptance of a marriage already consummated by countless passionate encounters, he waited for some small sign that she would accept his affection as she always had.
Loving Mylan as deeply as she did, Celiese felt the same anguish piercing his heart. To think they would soon be parted was an agony too great to bear, and although she could scarcely move in his confining grasp her mood was clear. Her body was soft and pliant beneath his, hungry for the rapture he offered so insistently, and when he realized from her relaxed pose that she had made no move to fight him, he raised his head, a puzzled gleam lighting his golden eyes.
An amused smile played across her pretty mouth. Certain she would soon giggle at the ardor she continually inspired in him, he released her wrists to draw her into his arms with a playful growl. “I’ll teach you to laugh at me!” After kissing her lips soundly with a fervent passion, he nibbled her earlobe, then lowered his mouth to the creamy expanse of breast he had exposed to view in the first frantic moments of his embrace.
Her physical beauty bewitched him anew, and he never tired of caressing the gentle swells of her supple body. But he had a far more serious purpose than mere pleasure in mind. He wanted her spirit to blend with his in a bond she would no longer seek to sever. He slid his hand over her slender hip as his kisses moved slowly down the elegant contours of her shapely form. Her legs were perfection, long and slim, the ankles delicate and lightly tanned. After sampling the firm muscle of her calf, he found the smooth skin of her inner thigh delicious, and he moved with deliberate slowness toward his goal until he heard her breath quicken to soft gasps, all thought of laughter fleeing her agile mind as her desire grew to a fevered intensity that matched his own.
The warm inner recesses of her lissome young body lured him to explore their depths, and he began to savor her honey-sweet taste with a hunger he could no longer disguise with teasing nibbles. He held her fast so she would not escape him as he drank deeply of the rich, creamy essence her body had created especially to please him. It was far more intoxicating than mead, and he was drunk with desire, lured on by the same exquisite joy that shuddered through her, inspiring him to give more and more of himself in return.
Celiese felt as though she were floating above the warm, fragrant earth, carried aloft so gently she might never reach a plane where she would wish to stop and rest. Surrounded by the lush pleasure of Mylan’s irresistible affection, she could scarcely lift her fingertips to caress his curls, her shy touch holding him near until the ecstasy of his loving kiss flooded her veins with a contentment so superb she found making even that small gesture impossible.
Lost in the same exotic dream of love he had created for her, he at last enfolded her in a tender embrace, his mouth seeking reassurance from hers before he buried his face in her bright haze of silver curls and let the rapture he had given her wash over him, as well. Pleasure this rich should be shared for a lifetime, and without her by his side the best part of himself would already be dead.
When he started to draw away, she held him more tightly, the softness of her deep green gaze giving no hint of the turmoil that still raged within her heart. “Will you not hold me for just a while longer? I do not want the beauty of this moment to ever pass,” she whispered.
“I want to hold you forever,” he responded hoarsely, uncertain what he had proven by his latest demonstration of the unbridled passion she kindled within him. He could no more control the fires of his own emotions than he could control her, and yet he had seldom known a more exhilarating challenge than the effort to conquer her elusive spirit. He could not separate her willfulness from her intoxicating beauty, and he wondered if she had any idea what a fool he had become in his quest for her love. He lay still, cradling her head gently upon his broad chest until at last she was ready to leave him.
“There was a stream that ran through the trees at the bottom of the hill. I wonder if the water still tastes as sweet.” Without waiting for him to follow, she scampered off, her tiny feet flying over the autumn grass.
Startled by her sudden departure, Mylan sat up slowly, a rakish grin lifting the corner of his well-shaped mouth. He was thirsty too, for something far stronger than water. But remembering the foul taste of André‘s wine, he thought it better not to inquire as to what else the village might have to offer. Pulling his clothes back into place, he stood up and brushed the grass from his knees. He knew he must have taken leave of his senses to make love in such a tempestuous fashion when their privacy was hardly assured. He looked around to be certain no one had observed them, and then started off after Celiese, whistling happily to himself as he went.
Not only was the stream flowing with the pure spring water she had recalled so fondly, but it collected in a wide pool that looked too inviting in the afternoon sun to resist. Removing her clothing and shaking it out briskly to remove the wrinkles Mylan had just so thoughtlessly pressed in the fine fabric, she draped her gown over a tree limb and waded into the sun-drenched pond. The chill water provided a heady rush of excitement, and with renewed vigor she washed quickly, removing all trace of Mylan’s distinctive masculine scent from her body. When he called to her she invited him to join her, as she thought the pool a far more pleasant place than either the small village or his ship were likely to be.
“Since I was never successful at luring you into my tub; I have no choice but to accept your invitation, but I fear the result will be far less erotic than what I always had in mind.” With a sly chuckle he sat to unlace his boots, and tossed the rest of his apparel aside. He watched Celiese’s face for a hint that she found the sight his body presented less than an appealing one, but her smile never wavered, and forgetting his scars he stepped into the cool water, then swam toward her. Celiese put her hands upon his shoulders, treading water to stay where he stood; “The two of us would not have even fit in your tub. That is not an erotic idea, but a ridiculous one!” Sparkling droplets of water dripped from his curls and clung to his thick lashes, giving him the appearance of a pagan god from the ocean’s depths. She was tempted to ask him which of his many gods ruled the sea, but the memory of her mother’s disapproval of his beliefs discouraged the thought so completely she did not voice it.
Instead, she leaned forward to kiss his smiling lips lightly. “Have you not had enough, does my affection never satisfy you completely?”
She looked so young with her damp curls clinging to her shoulders, so innocent and dear. He wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her close, suddenly afraid she would disappear even as he watched her smile shimmer in the sunlight’s reflection off the spring water. “Is it compliments you are after?”
Surprised, she pulled away. “No, I have no wish to be compared with other women you have known.”
Grabbing her wrist, he pulled her back into his arms. “Good, for there is no comparison between you and any other woman who has ever lived.” At that exact moment, he understood he would never be able to leave her. If she insisted upon remaining in her homeland to pursue a noble though foolish cause, he would have to stay, at least until he could lure her away. That weight off his mind, he released her and swam with a long, graceful stroke back toward the shore.
Confused by his flattery, she followed. “At least my loving puts you in a far more agreeable mood. I will consider that the only compliment I deserve.” Having no towel upon which to dry herself, she turned slowly so that Mylan could pat her flushed skin dry with his tunic. “Thank you, but now your tunic is wet. It will dry quickly if you place it in the sun.”
“I would sooner go without a shirt than have you appear in the village without your gown,” he teased playfully, his mood positively euphoric.
Rather than tease him in return, she dressed quickly, for it was possible children might still come there to play as she once had. She did not want to be discovered cavorting in the nude with Mylan by anyone of any age. They seemed to have settled nothing, yet she felt close to him once again and was content with that happiness for the moment.
While they sat in the late afternoon sun waiting for his linen tunic to dry, Mylan suggested a new approach. “Let us not anger the king by consulting him upon the matter of your property, since he has already given it away. We should go directly to Hrolf instead.”
“We?” Celiese asked with a wondrous gaze, “Why, Mylan, do you mean you will stay and help me?” She was astonished by the offer he had just made so casually.
Unwilling to admit how foolish he had become in his pursuit of her, he replied flippantly, “I will stay for a short while longer, since I am curious as to the outcome of your cause. If Hrolf is inviting Danes to establish homes here, perhaps our simplest approach would be to tell him you are my wife and we have grown fond of this particular piece of property. He may just give it to us for our own.”
“You cannot be serious,” she argued. “You cannot expect me to keep still about who I am and the fact this land is rightfully mine!”
“Which would you prefer, to own the land again or not?” Rising to his feet, he extended his hand. “Give the matter some thought, and we will leave for Rouen at first light.”
“Tomorrow we will go?” She accepted his help, straightening the soft pleats of her bodice as she questioned him. “I have not thought, well, I mean I have had no time to prepare what I want to say.”
Before he could tell her she should just be still and let him handle the matter, André appeared upon the path. He hesitated to come forward until he saw Celiese wave, but the sight of the Viking’s hideously scarred chest repelled him so greatly he could not keep the revulsion from showing in his expression.
