by Phoebe Conn
Not knowing what to say to his suggestion, she thought it best to smile warmly, as though she were pleased. “Why thank you, I will be busy here for the next few weeks, and another visit to her will have to wait.”
“Whatever you wish.” Believing he had pleased her, André smiled to himself as he walked home, but he was afraid Lady Marie would not approve of the life her daughter planned to lead now that she had returned home.
Once the sun had set, Celiese’s courage deserted her. With Mylan, sleeping under the stars had been an adventure; alone it was misery, an oppressive reminder of the vastness of the heavens and her own pitiful insignificance. She rolled over upon her stomach and propped her chin in her hands and closed her eyes to shut out the brightness of the nighttime sky. If only Mylan had given her an opportunity to speak with him that morning.
There must have been some way for them to reach a compromise, but they had had no chance to talk over their situation, and it had changed greatly since their arrival in France. They were again husband and wife, but not friends; lovers whose passion for each other was insatiable, but two proud people who could not seem to agree on how their lives should be lived.
“Together,” she whispered softly to herself. That Mylan had deserted her, left her sound asleep dreaming only of him, had been unspeakably cruel, but someday he would have to return. If only because Robert demanded to speak to both of them together, but eventually he would come back, and she wanted him to be astonished by how successfully she had managed to live without him. She would see their house was completed, the gardens replanted, the fields sewn with grain. She would do it all by herself if she had to, but do it she would, simply to make him realize the chance for happiness he had thrown away when he had left her with little more than the earth upon which she lay.
Sleep was a long time in coming, but she was too tired to dream that night, and Mylan’s taunting smile no longer haunted her as it had when she had been held prisoner. His presence had left her dreams as suddenly as he had left her life, but that did not lessen the aching need she still felt for him, nor ease her sorrow in the slightest.
When she awakened the next morning, a thick blanket of fog hovered over the land, shutting out the light of the rising sun and covering the ground with a damp mist. She shivered and wrapped her now damp blanket tightly around herself as she wished she had some way to light a fire. Knowing André would have one burning and thinking how cozy and warm his small cottage would be, she quickly got dressed, donned her long cloak, and made her way to his home.
Hearing the knock at his door, André rushed to admit his visitor. “I was just coming to get you! Come in and warm yourself by the fire.” The elderly man moved one of his benches in front of the hearth and gestured for her to be seated. “I had awakened to find the day a poor one for venturing out, but you could not be allowed to remain out in the elements.”
“I want to thank you again for your hospitality, André. This fire is delightful. I will gather wood today so I can have my own fire tomorrow.” She held out her hands to warm them in the fire’s glow.
Looking askance, André did not comment upon what he thought of her gathering her own firewood. He was certain there were several young boys who would be grateful for the opportunity to be of service and decided to send for one later to spare her that labor. “You must have some breakfast, for you ate little last night.” He busied himself preparing a thin porridge, apologizing that he had so little talent as a cook.
“Please do not trouble yourself for me. I have not felt well enough to eat for several mornings, and today is no exception.” Indeed, her stomach lurched as she spoke of her problem, and she feared she might again become ill.
“I will brew some herb tea for you, then, as you must take no chances with your health. If the weather permits travel later in the day, will you not consider making another visit to your mother? We can accomplish little if there is rain, and nothing at all should you fall ill.”
André was greatly worried, for Celiese’s fair complexion had grown pale, making her green eyes appear enormous, and her hair, which fell in damp ringlets about her shoulders, gave her the appearance of a neglected waif. A sorry image he had hoped to change for the better with a warm meal.
“I am not ready to visit her yet, truly I am not.” She could think of no way to please her mother other than to stay away.
“I am merely being practical.” He explained. “You could reside with her while a portion of your home is made ready for you to occupy.” Seeing another important point, he offered helpfully, “A place such as the Convent of Saint Valery would afford you the solitude in which to consider those problems you mentioned yesterday.”
“Yes, both your points are well taken.” However, the memory of the austere atmosphere of the convent sent a chill up her spine and she drew her cloak more tightly around her shoulders. “I do not want to leave the rebuilding of my home entirely up to others, though. I think I should be here to help in whatever manner I may.”
André chuckled at her determination. “You are a very proud young woman, my dear, and while that is an admirable quality, you must not allow it to cloud that fine mind of yours and prevent you from observing what must be seen.”
“That is the way you used to speak to me when I was a child, André. When I’d come to the stable to give our horses treats, you always had some word of advice for me.” She had found his instruction useful once, but she was reluctant to accept it now.
“That was not so many years ago, although it seems like a lifetime to me now.” André placed two bowls of steaming porridge upon the table and invited Celiese to join him. They ate quietly, both far hungrier than they cared to admit.
When they had finished, Celiese sipped the herb tea and asked skeptically, “What is it you think I do not see?”
André leaned forward as he whispered, “The secrets you have hidden in your own heart.”
Confused, Celiese nevertheless argued, “I’ve no secrets of any kind, not hidden from myself or anyone else.” That he seemed to think her so devious a creature as Mylan did hurt her badly, for she was quite fond of him.
Frustrated that she did not see his point, André spoke more harshly, “Of course not, but are you certain the fact your husband chose to leave without bidding you goodbye was as unexpected a shock as it appeared?”
Blushing brightly with embarrassment, she looked away, unable to think of any way to express how she felt about that betrayal other than what he had observed the previous day upon the beach. “I would rather discuss the plans to rebuild my house, if you don’t mind. That is what matters most to me now.”
“You cannot mean that!” André responded angrily. “It is obvious to me it is Mylan who matters most to you, but if you will not admit that truth to yourself, how could you have communicated that important point to him?”
Stunned by the clarity of his observation, Celiese realized that the depth of her feeling was not something she had ever attempted to put into words. She had tried only to express those tender emotions with all the imagination and devotion she possessed. “You do not understand how things were between us, there is no way that you can.”
“It is not necessary that I understand anything, it is only you and Mylan who must seek an accord.”
“The man is gone, André, there is nothing I can do now to make him see what he refused to accept when we were together. It was hopeless from the beginning, for my love was never returned. He did not even want a wife when we first met, and most especially he did not want me.” She fought back the tears threatening to overwhelm her again, tears of anger as well as sorrow. With no desire to put on another pathetic display, she lifted her cup to her lips instead, and finished her tea, grateful to have that distraction.
André waited until he was certain Celiese again had her emotions under control, for he had not meant to upset her, only to assist her in finding her own truth. “If your husband were to return today, what woul
d you tell him?”
Puzzled by that question, she refused to speculate on so unlikely an eventuality. “He will not return for a very long time, if ever, André.”
“Indulge me then, for I am an old man, and should I not live until his return, what will you tell him?” He smiled in his most charming fashion, hoping she would play his game.
Celiese frowned, remembering only how she had wanted to show Mylan how well she could live without him. “I am afraid I would say all the wrong things. He would become angry with me as he always does, and he would probably just leave me again.”
“I am pleased to see you understand far more than I thought you did. You are correct when you say you have many questions without answers, but you will gain nothing by avoiding them. I think the fog has begun to lift. I will saddle the horses while you gather your belongings, for surely your own inner peace must be found before you can devote your attentions to supervising your estate. I will take you to the convent for the time being, while we begin work on your home, and perhaps when I come for you, you will have thought of a thousand ways in which to greet your husband without angering him. What do you say? Is that idea not a fine one?”
“Do not saddle the horses as yet, André. Let me think about this a while longer, please.” Celiese tried to smile, for she knew he was being kind. He was as fond of her as she was of him. She left his home to wander slowly back to the ruins of her own, choosing this time to walk down the overgrown paths that had once been part of her mother’s beautifully tended garden. Here and there a flower remained, growing wild now amongst the weeds, and she bent down to pick up a handful of soil as she had done on her first visit there with Mylan.
It had only been dirt, he had said, no more or less than the rich soil that covered his farmlands. “It is not a question of land, though, but of what a person loves as his home.” She knew that, even if he had not, but was her loyalty to the place where she had been born and surrounded with love no more than pride of the most foolish sort?
She was more confused than she had ever been, but if the answers to her problems lay within her own heart, as André insisted, then she would be a fool not to seek them. Gathering up the few things she owned, she made her way to his cottage, ready to join her mother in the Convent of Saint Valery for however many weeks or years it took her to find the secrets she had hidden even from herself.
Chapter 26
Mylan spent the day forcing himself to concentrate solely upon maintaining a firm grasp upon the tiller, giving his full attention to successfully making the voyage home, but his thoughts betrayed him time and again. “Home.” He spoke the word softly to himself as if it were a curse, for he wanted only to put France far behind him, rather than having any great desire to return to his native shores. Winter was coming, its chill already in the air, and he knew he would merely be marking time until spring when he could again set sail in the Raven.
He would go to his farm and hunt when he could, but the weeks he had spent alone there after Celiese had gone had offered little of the peaceful solitude he had craved. He had been far too restless, and none of the activities that had consumed his time as he had prepared for the harvest had held his interest.
He had no qualms about facing his father after taking a voyage the man had forbidden. He would tell him the truth of why he had left so hastily, but he still shuddered to think how close Celiese had come to falling victim to the Torgvalds’ lust for revenge. His anger rekindled at that memory, his handsome features set in a deep frown. No, he had no apologies to make to his father, but the man he had once respected so completely owed him an apology, one he was uncertain he would ever accept.
Despite Mylan’s preoccupation with his problems, the Falcon’s progress was swift, but when they went ashore to make camp for the night he found himself the object of many curious stares. He had no explanation he cared to give as to why he had left his lovely bride behind, and so he offered none. The men of the crew were strangely silent, none wishing to begin the lively exchange of jokes and laughter that usually filled their evenings. Knowing his solemn mood caused their discomfort, he finished his supper in a few hasty bites and excused himself, leaving their midst to search out a place to be alone with his thoughts.
Finding a small clearing nearby, he stretched out on his back and propped his head upon his hands as he looked up at the shimmering stars. He knew their patterns well, and how to use them to plot an accurate course, but it was not a question of navigation that plagued his mind that night. He had made his decision to leave Celiese in the heat of anger, but he had given her the choice. It was better to end their marriage after no more than one day than to continue to bear the agony she had made him endure in the months since they had first met. He hated her in that instant, despised her for twisting his emotions until they were no more than tangled shreds. Yet even as he lay surrounded by the peace of the night, finally rid of her maddening presence, he missed her so terribly he could scarcely stand the pain piercing his heart with an unbearable loneliness.
No matter how fierce their perpetual arguments might have been, she had made a paradise of his nights, and it was the memory of that sweet pleasure that tormented him unmercifully now. He knew he would never find her equal, nor did he even wish to begin a search. He was exhausted both mentally and physically, his courageous spirit as well as his powerful body drained of energy, and he began to repeat the prayers Father Bernard had taught him in hopes of lulling himself to sleep but each word reminded him of Celiese and how desperately he had tried to win her love and how miserably he had failed.
*
The next morning they had done little more than make their way through the surf and head out into the open sea when the fog overtook them. The thick mist obscured the horizon as well as the coastline, sealing them in a blanket of gray, shutting them off from all contact with the physical world as surely as if they had been wrapped in a giant cocoon. Mylan slackened their pace until they were barely moving, taking them close enough to the shore to hear the waves breaking upon the rocks. It was a difficult task, requiring the utmost precision, for should they venture too close the Surf Falcon would be dashed to bits upon the jagged rocks, and if he held their course at too great a distance they would miss the curve of the coastline and find themselves far out at sea.
Hafvilla would be the word for their situation then: lost at sea. He was not overly concerned with that dire possibility, as he had always had good luck using a solarstein. The sunstone was a dull gray until the invisible rays of the sun were focused upon it, then it glowed a bright blue, making navigation as simple a matter under an overcast sky as it was on a cloudless day.
They were all tired; worn out from the strain of maintaining their course, but finding a good spot for the night was nearly impossible without the benefit of sight to assess the shoreline. They had made such little progress Mylan hesitated to stop, hoping for a clear night in which they could make up for lost time, but the fog became increasingly dense, until they were all drenched to the skin. He had depended upon his skill at listening to the force of the sea as it met the land to judge where a safe harbor might lie. He took the Falcon in close, and two men swam ashore, searching for signs of a settlement they did not wish to disturb, but finding none they shouted for the others to drop anchor and come ashore.
Mylan stayed near the fire that night, not wanting to stray from its warmth after having spent such a cold and fruitless day. The men belonged to his brothers’ crew rather than his own, but he knew them well enough now to sense their mood, and the chill of their apprehension was a tangible force, despite the comforting warmth of the fire.
“If this is the worst day you have ever spent on board the Surf Falcon, you are fortunate men indeed,” he told them. Then, with the most vivid description he could summon to mind, he proceeded to relate a spellbinding tale of a fearful storm he had encountered off the coast of Iceland in his own ship, the Raven. The tempest had raged for more than two torturous days, the wave
s cresting at heights above their mast, and only by furious bailing had they managed to remain afloat.
The fascinated men listened with mouths agape. Knowing by his very presence among them that Mylan had survived the horrid ordeal, they wanted to hear every agonizing detail of how he had succeeded in escaping so harsh a fate as had nearly overtaken him. By the time he finished his story, a day or two of fog seemed so minor a hazard that they yawned lazily and went to sleep without the slightest fear their captain would not see them safely home, regardless of how uncooperative the weather.
Mylan closed his eyes too, an amused smile curving his lips as he recalled the storm, which had been anything but entertaining when he had been caught in its midst. It was a memorable adventure, however, when seen in retrospect. With a stab of guilt he recalled that Celiese had once asked him to recount some of his adventures and he had refused her request as a ridiculous one to grant on his wedding night. She had never inquired about his past again, and he was saddened to think how many opportunities he had missed to relate stories of his life and travels to her.
Andrick had chided him for not courting Celiese, but surely no man need court his own wife! As he lay there in the darkness he could see her face so clearly in his mind, her delicate features filled with concern on their wedding night as she had cautioned him they were strangers who had to be patient with each other, that misunderstandings were inevitable between them. Rolling over on his side to get more comfortable and to shut out her tantalizing image, he finally understood her advice had been sound.
Unfortunately their second wedding night had ended no better than their first. “Misunderstandings,” he murmured. That was an understatement of gigantic proportions. Frowning unhappily, he fell into a troubled sleep, his whole body aching not only with fatigue, but with wanting her.
When they found the fog had not lifted the next morning, the men awakened reluctantly. Mylan had gotten up first, added wood to the fire, building the gleaming coals to a cheery blaze, but he was no happier than they with the challenge the weather continued to present. While the fog was no worse, its very presence had such an ominous quality it took considerable courage to face another day of sailing when their sense of sight would be useless. Far from being discouraged, however, Mylan was merely resigned to their continuing difficulties, and with a few well-placed slaps had his crew up and ready to begin the day as if it were going to be a most splendid one.
