by Phoebe Conn
Knowing what had caused the Frenchman’s fright-filled glance, Mylan took his tunic from the branch where it had hung to dry and pulled it over his head. It was slightly damp still, but that discomfort was easier to bear than the fear André could not hide. “Tell him I am the worst of warriors, and that’s why I’m so badly scarred. That tale may give him the courage he needs to walk with us back to the village.”
“Anyone would be surprised by your appearance, Mylan, don’t fault him for it. It isn’t necessary that we lie, either.” Walking up to greet him, Celiese smiled warmly as she began to explain that Mylan was a fearless hunter who had slain the most ferocious of bears with one mighty toss of his spear. The old man’s eyes widened in awe, his respect for the Viking growing immeasurably as he realized the tale must be true, for the man had the scars to prove it.
André was so taken by Celiese’s charming conversation that he almost forgot his original purpose in having come to look for her. “Lady d’Loganville, we would like to provide a more appropriate welcome than we were able to give you yesterday. If you and your husband would join us for supper, we would all be greatly honored.”
“We are delighted by your invitation, of course, but we do not want to be a burden, to deplete the provisions you’ve saved for the winter.” Celiese took the old gentleman’s arm, confiding in him since she thought he would appreciate her honesty rather than being offended by it.
“Everyone has offered to bring something. A burden shared is a light one.” André‘s eyes sparkled with mischief, seeing he had pleased her.
Turning to include Mylan in their conversation, Celiese explained André had come to extend an invitation. When the handsome Dane winked slyly, she knew he was as grateful as she was that the friendly man had not arrived any sooner.
“I will be happy to attend any celebration he has planned, but only if he will allow me to contribute something too,” Mylan remarked with a pleasant grin.
“What did you have in mind?” she inquired hesitantly, hoping he would not insult the peasants by his request.
“We’ve ale aplenty, and if they have no more wine perhaps they would welcome something to drink.” Mentally, Mylan began to add up what stores they had remaining in sufficient amounts to offer, since these people, while friendly, appeared to be living near starvation.
Once it was explained, André accepted Mylan’s generous offer of liquid refreshment, and he went back to his ship to fetch a couple of kegs of ale while Celiese stayed with André. There was a small grass-covered square at the end of the row of cottages, and a few long tables had already been set up and were soon laden with freshly baked loaves of bread, buckets of wild berries, vegetables steamed with herbs after having been freshly picked from gardens Celiese had still not seen, and from somewhere, a succulent ham. What the feast lacked in elegance it soon made up in enthusiasm.
When a sudden hush fell over the assembled crowd, Celiese turned and saw Mylan approaching with two of his men carrying the casks of ale he had promised to provide. A wave of tension swept through the peasants. Expecting some evil trick, they were ready to bolt and flee into the nearby, woods, but she ran to meet Mylan, smiling happily as she led him back to the party.
Seeing the love that radiated from her eyes, the villagers felt her confidence, and after no more than a moment’s awkwardness welcomed Mylan into their midst. The two crew members hung back, polite young men who had no wish to intrude where they were unwanted, but they were soon escorted to the tables and encouraged to take whatever they wished and handed cups filled to overflowing with ale.
Although the food was delicious, Celiese ate only a small portion, and then moved to the edge of the happy gathering, uncomfortable with being the center of all the attention. She could not help but overhear the excited whispers, and knowing these dear people truly expected her presence to improve their lot considerably, she grew increasingly apprehensive. Soon the memory of another such party on a day long past filled her mind. She had been with her parents, out enjoying the beauty of a summer afternoon, when they had chanced upon a celebration of some sort.
She could no longer even recall the occasion, but there had been wine and someone had played tunes upon a lute, plucking out the lilting melodies while her parents had laughed and sung with the same joy as the peasants. The memories flooded through her, bittersweet images of a striking couple, both tall and slender, their coloring fair and their voices soft, filled with words of love for each other and for her.
Mylan watched Celiese’s pretty smile fade, her expression now impossible to read, and he stepped close to whisper, “Shall we leave them? I think the party will last all night, even without our company. If you are tired we need not stay, unless you wish to remain.”
She looked up at him, thinking as always how handsome a man he was. His expression was so sincere she wanted to share her thoughts. “My parents were first cousins, Mylan, I had forgotten that. My relatives were fair-skinned and blond, but they were all of one family, all d’Loganville.”
“Celiese?” He signaled to his men to start back for the ship before he took her hand to follow them into the shadows. “I know I did not believe you once, but it no longer matters to me why your parents were as blond as Danes. This is clearly your home.” That he had once thought such an enchanting creature could have been one of Raktor’s undoubtedly many bastards embarrassed him greatly.
He had said so many really stupid things to her, and he was sorry she remembered he had not believed her story of her lineage when she had first told him. She was clearly Lady Celiese d’Loganville, without the slightest doubt he knew it now, but unfortunately, so did she. He had been able to understand none of the peasants’ excited conversation that evening, but their hopes had been in their adoring glances, and he wanted Celiese to belong only to him, not to them, as they so clearly thought she did. The gentle rocking motion of the Surf Falcon would lull them to sleep, but he was not ready for the world of dreams, and, lifting Celiese into his arms with a playful toss, he carried her aboard the ship and into her tent for what he hoped would not be the last night they would ever share the magical splendor of love.
Chapter 21
Despite Mylan’s loving attentions, Celiese slept poorly. Her mind was far too preoccupied with what they might find in Rouen for her to relax as she usually did in his arms. She worried over what sort of man Hrolf would prove to be. Mylan had described him as being worse in all respects than Raktor, but surely such an appraisal was an impossibility. There could be no more despicable villain abroad in the world than the head of the Torgvald family. The mere thought of that hateful man turned her stomach, and, thoroughly miserable, she tossed and turned, unable to find any comfortable position in which to rest.
After Mylan had slept a few hours, he was sufficiently refreshed to feel the constant motions of the restless young woman by his side. Knowing she would not be so active simply to annoy him, he sat up to ask what the matter might be. “Are you ill? If you will tell me what the problem is, I’ll do my best to solve it so we both may get the sleep we deserve.”
“Forgive me, I am simply too anxious to rest, but I did not mean to disturb you. Were we sleeping on land as we usually do I would get up and go for a walk, but that is impossible tonight.”
As the deck of the Surf Falcon was littered with sleeping men stretched out upon their soft suede bags, Mylan could think of no way for Celiese even to pace successfully. Wide-awake now, he presented an alternative. “Here, sit up, and move in front of me.”
Not knowing what to expect, she sat up slowly. “Just what is it you have in mind?”
Exasperated by her curiosity, he issued a firm order this time. “Come here!” When she put her fingertips upon his lips to silence him before he woke the entire crew, he pushed her hand away and whispered gruffly, “You should have worried about whether or not I’d be discreet before you woke me.”
“I have already apologized for it, and it was unintentional,” she resp
onded demurely. The men of his crew knew they were lovers, but she did not want to flaunt it. The fact that he had insisted of late that she refer to him as her husband was not a matter they had ever really discussed. She was simply confused by his demand, but this was a poor time to mention her apprehensions. She crawled over his leg and sat down with her back toward him. “Is this what you want?”
“Precisely.” Placing his hands lightly upon her shoulders, he massaged the smooth skin of her back with slow, easy circles. “You know how to do this, at least you swore it would help my leg once. Do you remember that day?”
She relaxed against him. His hands were warm, his touch very pleasant, and she closed her eyes to enjoy the delightful sensation more fully. “You failed to appreciated my efforts then; are you saying now that you did?”
He leaned forward to kiss the elegant curve of her shoulder before he replied tersely, “I’ll admit it was relaxing, no more.” He knew were he to begin revealing the depth of his weakness for her he would never stop, so he chose to remain silent to let her wonder.
He had brought up the subject of his health, and Celiese felt safe in commenting, “At least we did not have to walk all the way to Yvetot today, that would have been difficult for André and me, as well, as you.” While his limp was a slight one, she doubted he would ever admit the walk caused him pain, but she was relieved they had all avoided such a tiring ordeal.
Mylan increased the pressure of his fingertips until he was certain Celiese would beg him to stop, but she did not even squirm to get away. Disgusted with himself for being so brutal, he dropped his hands to his sides. “Do you truly think I lack the stamina of an elderly man or have less than you?”
Shocked he would be so deeply offended, Celiese replied with far more care, “No, of course not, but I know walking a great distance is difficult for you, and your comfort is important to me, even though mine obviously matters little to you.” She did not move to escape him though, but sat quietly holding her breath, unable to predict what his reaction would be to that comment.
Again lifting his hands to her shoulders, he continued with the gentle massage he had meant to give. He let his fingertips skip down her spine, attempting to ease the tension he had just created while he apologized. “I was not always so ill-tempered.” He had no idea if she found his touch soothing, but he could not keep his mind upon his task when her nearness distracted him so. The sweet fragrance of her soft curls was too entrancing to concentrate on anything other than the desire teasing his senses with a maddening intensity. Giving up all pretense of maintaining the detachment with which he had begun, he wrapped his arms around her tightly and drew her near.
“You must keep your sympathy to yourself no matter what we are called upon to do. You must give Hrolf no reason to suspect I am not as good a man as any other Dane.”
Smiling to herself, she put her hands over his. “It will not be difficult, for you are far better than all the others.”
That she would tease him now appalled him, and he was tempted to shake her soundly. “Promise me!”
Still not understanding quite what it was he wanted, she rephrased her reply. “Should the subject of your health ever come up in a conversation between Hrolf and me, I will swear you are as strong as an ox. Is that what you want to hear?”
“Yes!” Knowing he must have sounded like an idiot, he pulled her across his lap and kissed her sweetly. “The man may recognize my name, but I doubt he will have heard I was injured so badly I narrowly cheated death. That is a secret you must keep, Celiese, for Vikings abhor weakness of any kind, and I need to win Hrolf’s respect, not his pity.”
“You are still far too sensitive if you think anyone could possibly pity you; I never have and no one else does, either.” Snuggled in his embrace, she felt very safe and secure, but was saddened her presence did not provide the same marvelous sense of acceptance to him.
She rested so comfortably in his arms, he wondered if perhaps his backrub had relaxed her enough to sleep, but he was not at all sleepy now and hoped she wasn’t either. Lifting her cascade of bright curls out of his way, he trailed light kisses slowly up her throat, but when his lips reached hers her reaction was so spontaneously loving that he pulled her down upon the soft woolen blanket that served as their bed.
Being wide awake with her was better than any dream, but, curious, there was one question he had to ask, “Do you really think of me as an ox, Celiese? Is there not some other animal that has such strength, but is also blessed with intelligence and grace?”
“Is it compliments you want?” She lifted her fingertips to his nape, slowly combing his soft curls. “I said you were as strong as an ox, not that you possessed that beast’s wits or disposition.”
“I misunderstood then,” he admitted reluctantly, fascinated by the bright shine of her eyes in the pale moonlight filling their small tent.
“You are more of a stallion, smooth and sleek, bright and so very proud. Does that comparison please you more?”
“This is what pleases me, Celiese, only this.” He tightened his embrace as he deepened his kiss. Smooth, sleek, bright, proud, all those same adjectives described her as well, but it was her affection he found too delectable to resist, and that was one thing he would never let Hrolf even suspect. The less that man saw and heard of her, the better it would be for all three of them. Pushing thoughts of Hrolf aside, he let his mind dwell only upon giving pleasure in new and ever more exciting ways. His touch light but knowing, his kisses generous, he was in a playful mood, and when Celiese at last fell asleep, she did not stir until well after dawn.
After he had used such imaginative methods to insure she enjoyed a restful night, Mylan decided he would be foolish to awaken her the next morning. He strode into the village alone; using the time to practice what he hoped would be a near normal walk. The torn muscles of his right thigh no longer caused him excruciating pain with each step he took; he limped simply because favoring that leg had become habit. With concentration, he could manage two even steps, and he did so as he approached André‘s small cottage. Since the hour was so early, he did not disturb the man but left a bag of silver coins tied to his door latch and returned to the Surf Falcon to give the order to sail.
The merchant vessel was so lightly laden, Mylan was certain he could navigate the Seine to Rouen without mishap. He knew the river curved with a slow, rhythmic pattern, like the undulating motions of a serpent. Danes had used the river to reach Paris in warships, and the route was one frequently discussed and well known. He stood with his hands on the rail. There was only a short stretch of coast to clear before they entered the mouth of the river. The territory they would then traverse would be under Hrolf’s rule.
He anticipated no resistance to their passage, but remained alert to danger all the same. The French countryside had been ravaged so often by marauding bands of Vikings, he doubted there was still a man alive who could hurl a spear. It was foolhardy to think such a man might not exist somewhere, and he had no intention of allowing anyone aboard a vessel under his command to be easy prey.
When Celiese awoke from the most pleasant of dreams, she felt the slow rolling motion of the Falcon under sail. Greatly alarmed, she drew on her gown and hastened to find Mylan without so much as bothering to brush her hair. Her bright curls flew about her head, caught by the wind as she grabbed his arm. “Where are we bound?”
Surprised by her agitated mood, he caressed her cheek lightly. “To Rouen, as I promised. Where did you think?”
“But it would be far easier to ride on horseback to Rouen. The path is straight, but the river course is not.”
In a tolerant mood, he replied calmly, “I am confident I can find the city even without your assistance. Why don’t you complete your preparations for the day?” He stood back to survey her disheveled appearance with a sly grin as he enumerated a few of the tasks she had obviously overlooked. “There’s fresh water, should you care to bathe. Borrow my comb if you’ve misplaced your own, a
nd I’m certain your slippers can be found if you search for them a little more diligently.”
Embarrassed now that she had not thought to take more care with her appearance before she had rushed out upon the deck, she turned away and with a light running step returned to her tent to begin anew to greet the day with more decorum.
After he had given her question some thought, Mylan considered it strange she would not have understood their destination. When his curiosity got the better of him, he went to ask her to explain.
Celiese was brushing out her hair, curling the long tresses over her hand to make the waves fall neatly, but when Mylan joined her she handed him her brush without thinking and he continued the task.
“When I say I am on my way to Rouen, that is where I intend to go. Why did you doubt me?”
“I was merely surprised you wished to sail.” She hoped he would believe her explanation, but truly she had been terrified he had begun the return voyage to his homeland. “I did not expect you to leave before I had an opportunity to bid André and the others farewell. I wanted to see them all again and thank them for their hospitality.”
“We will return soon enough and you can talk with everyone until your heart is content.” He thought her shining curls far too lovely to merit further effort at grooming and laid her brush aside. “Now come with me so we can enjoy the beauty of the morning without further strife.”
Taking his hand, Celiese walked with him to the port rail, and with rapt attention gazed at the passing scene. “I did not mean to fill your day with strife, but André had horses, and the ride to Rouen is not much farther than Yvetot was from my home.”
From the ruins of your home, he was tempted to say, but restrained himself. “Since we had a choice, need I explain why I decided to arrive at Hrolf’s doorstep in this magnificent ship, rather than upon a less than impressive stallion?” The fact that he would also have a dozen men to assist him should the need arise was a consideration too obvious to merit comment.
