by Phoebe Conn
The days were still long and hot, autumn barely begun, but those cowards would think twice about sailing now, when winter might overtake them with unexpected swiftness. Plotting strategy as he held the ship to a steady course, Mylan went over each possibility, and how he might best counter an attack. His crew were not the experienced warriors Raktor could summon with a snap of his fingers, but mariners whose only talent lay in making long voyages with both skill and daring. If he so chose, Raktor could pursue him in a ship with fifty armed men, each a worse cutthroat than the next. It was not a pleasant prospect to consider, and with his only weapon being time, he prayed he would not lose the advantage.
So far north the autumn days are long, night fleeting, and Mylan did not look for shelter until visibility became so poor he was forced to do so. While he had sailed his own country's coast himself, he had memorized the rest of the route in the few minutes it had taken Hagen to explain it. He knew if he followed the coastline, France could be reached easily enough, and with a river so wide as the Seine for a landmark, they would have no trouble finding Celiese's home, or what was left of it. That it was near Rouen disturbed him as greatly as it had Hagen, though, for he knew Hrolf was living there, and the surrounding lands were now his.
After a long nap, Celiese spent the afternoon standing at the rail, watching the coast of Denmark pass by. The country was a remarkably flat one, with only a few rolling hills, rather than the beautiful countryside backed by mountains shrouded by a lavender haze she had loved at home. She watched Mylan as he spoke with his crew. He worked them all hard, but spent long hours himself at the tiller, which had to be the most strenuous job. She was tempted to ask if he was not being foolish to waste what strength he had when the other men could have kept the ship upon a true course. He had taunted her about giving him advice and she kept still, but worried about him all the same. They sailed long past the time she had expected him to put in to shore for the night, and she was yawning sleepily when he did look for shelter.
Mylan was tired and dirty, and the last thing he wanted was Celiese's company, but he dared not assign one of the young men of his crew the duty of seeing to her needs. He had noticed that the men's curious stares had constantly drifted in her direction, and he had no intention of allowing any of them to befriend her, or worse. That would be all he would need, he thought bitterly, to have the members of his crew falling all over themselves to impress her!
To make her situation clear, he would gather the men together after dinner and explain she was not on board to provide an amusement. She was a passenger and no more; that she was so pretty to look at was a distracting nuisance they would just have to ignore. He would be blunt with them. If they could not stop regarding her as a lovely female creature, he would make the fact she was his woman abundantly clear. He laughed to himself as he realized how simple a fact that would be to prove.
Hagen had given him charts as well as verbal directions and, while he did not know how reliable those drawings would prove to be, he hoped the harbors marked as safe would still be tranquil. Often what one man discovered on a voyage did not hold true for the next to follow the same route. The land did not change, but the mood of the inhabitants frequently did, and he hoped to find deserted inlets in which to sleep each night and fresh water to replenish their supply. That the weather was fair was a good omen, for it made navigation a simple matter, but if the temperatures turned cool, or if there was a fog that made the sky and sea one immense gray sphere, their progress would be slow, and the Torgvalds' chances of overtaking them all the better.
Celiese sat on the edge of the circle of men gathered around the fire. They had eaten well and enjoyed the ale Mylan had provided in generous amounts, but she could tell from their frequent glances that her presence among them was causing undue stress. She had expected Mylan to speak with her at least, if not to spend all his time with her that evening, but he had taken a place on the far side of the circle and had not looked in her direction once. The men all had bags made of hides as he did, which they used to store their clothing in and to sleep upon at night, but while they appeared to be getting more comfortable as they lounged around the fire she felt increasingly out of place and wished there were some discreet way for her to ask Mylan where she should sleep. Finally, too tired to care about risking his disapproval, she rose to her feet, and carrying the blanket she had found aboard the Surf Falcon went to look for a secluded spot to rest.
As soon as Mylan saw Celiese disappear into the shadows, he cleared his throat and spoke convincingly. "Our passenger is always to be treated with the same respect you have shown her today. You may answer her questions should she approach you directly, and being the inquisitive sort, she just may, but do not take it upon yourselves to keep her entertained. I will take care of that responsibility myself." With a sly grin he knew they would readily understand, he followed Celiese into the darkness, wondering why it had taken her so very long to seek some privacy in which to sleep when he could not have kept his eyes open much longer.
"Celiese?" he called softly, not wanting to frighten her unnecessarily.
She turned quickly, afraid she had offended him by leaving those at the fire. "I do not belong with your men, Mylan, they seem uncomfortable with me nearby. I hope you will not object to my sleeping here by myself."
"Oh, but I most definitely do." When he saw she did not understand he reached out to encircle her narrow waist and drew her into his arms. "I have no intention of allowing you to sleep alone, Celiese. I am positive I told you once you would not escape me any time I wanted you. I probably said that more than once, didn't I?"
Surprised by his sudden interest after he had ignored her all day, she was quick to disagree. "I will never forget the beauty of last night, Mylan, but please, let us end what was between us, for to continue it will only make our inevitable parting that much more painful."
Mylan stood silent for a long moment, confused by her request when her nearness overwhelmed him as always with an unquenchable desire. Filled with that intoxicating warmth, he lowered his mouth to hers, softly ending any hope she might have had of eluding him. She had always responded to tenderness, to a sweet caress or a gentle kiss, and he was pleased when she let the blanket slip from her fingers to wrap her arms around his neck. He deepened his kiss then, savoring the luscious curves of her body with no more than the slightest pressure from his fingertips, until he felt the need he had created shudder through her slender body with a wave of cresting passion.
He attempted to undress her swiftly, but was so clumsy in the darkness that she pushed his hands away and slipped her gown off over her head without bothering to unfasten the brooches at her shoulders that had caused his predicament. Her pale skin glowed in the moonlight with an iridescent sheen, and he sank to his knees, covering the soft curve of her stomach with light kisses that made her giggle until she begged him to stop. When he would not, she sank down upon the blanket beside him, as lost as he was in the delicious enjoyment they always shared.
Her touch was far more demanding than his as she helped him out of his clothing. He had bathed and put on a fresh tunic but he now tossed it into the bushes with little regard for the garment when he had such a delightful purpose in mind. He wanted Celiese too desperately to play with her emotions now, and he gathered her into a confining embrace, pinning her body beneath his own as her passionate kiss demanded all he could give, her invitation irresistible. It was then he paused, his voice hoarse even in his own ears, as he asked the question he had not dared to ask the previous night.
"When you want me as badly as I want you, why did you refuse to be my wife?"
She could barely hear his question, let alone make a coherent response. The sounds of the night surrounded them with a rhythmic purr as steady as that of a complacent cat. She wanted the splendor of her loving to make such a ridiculous question unnecessary, and she wound her fingers in his curls, pulling his mouth down to hers so he could not speak in any language save that of love.
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With a low moan of surrender, he gave up all pretense of caring what Celiese's answer might be. He knew only that no matter what she thought, she was the only wife he would ever want or have. His mind was filled with her smiling image, her grace as she had moved through the forest at his side, the sparkling light of the sun reflected upon her gently flowing silver hair. No adventure he had ever had compared with the excitement she had brought to his life, and he vowed to do all in his power to recapture the love she had once felt for him, and he had foolishly thrown away.
Exhausted by pleasure, Celiese lay dreaming in Mylan's arms, a blissful smile lighting her pretty features even in the darkness. The only true peace she had ever known she had found in his embrace, and she loved him more dearly with each passing day. His intelligence and ready wit had always delighted her, and the beauty of his affection captivated her anew. He had asked an unanswerable question, but through the veil of her dreams she could not even recall what it had been.
* * *
At dawn Mylan dressed hastily, fearing one of his men might come looking for them, but when he walked back to the place where they had built the fire and cooked their supper he found them all still asleep. Criticizing them sharply for such sloth, he woke them. He then returned to the secluded spot he had shared with Celiese and bent down to kiss her cheek sweetly.
"Wake up, my pet. If the sun finds us here lazily enjoying our leisure, someone far less tolerant may discover us as well."
Holding the blanket modestly to her breast, she greeted him warmly. "It is another fine day for sailing, isn't it, Mylan? I will dress quickly so as not to delay our departure."
"First I want an answer to that question you would not answer last night. There is no reason for this voyage to continue if you will but agree to be my wife now."
Swallowing hard to force back a wave of dread, she shook her head. "What of Estrid, I thought perhaps you were again engaged to her? Was there time for you to tell her good-bye?"
Mylan was tempted to describe Estrid in such precise terms that Celiese would never again question his dislike for the haughty redhead. He had only used the woman as she had used him, and he felt not the least bit of guilt now that they were even. "Estrid is not the issue here. You are. I want to hear your reasons for refusing me, if you have any."
She had never felt so uncomfortable. He was demanding the truth of something she thought too obvious to bear comment. "You do not love me, Mylan. You did not want me when I was your bride; so do not tell me you want me now simply to save yourself the trouble of this voyage. I am sorry I asked you to take me home when Hagen was more than willing to do so."
His face filling with rage, he got to his feet and backed away. "We will have to continue this discussion tonight. Dress and join us for breakfast as soon as you are able." With that terse command he was gone, disappearing from view as he made his way back to the beach, but she sat staring after him, completely bewildered by his anger when she had done no more than repeat his own words to him.
* * *
As Mylan pushed the Surf Falcon to a speed his brothers would have envied, he wished the hours of the day would pass with the swiftness of the wind. Still keeping a watchful eye, he hoped the entire journey would go as well as the first day had. He had not forgotten, as he had feared he had, how to make a wooden craft follow his command, but the Falcon responded to almost as light a touch upon the tiller as his own Raven did, and he was pleased with her, after all. The sail was stretched taut, filled with wind, pushing them toward their destination, and he felt the same ageless thrill his ancestors had known when they had first taken to the sea in search of adventure.
This was an adventure, indeed. Seeing Celiese again standing at the opposite rail, he wondered what caused her pensive expression. She had every reason to sing the entire way, but he could readily discern her mood did not lend itself to expression in song. More confident of his ship on this second day, he called another man to take the tiller and crossed the deck to her side.
"When we are making this voyage simply to please you, why do you appear so downcast?" he shouted in order to be heard above the noise of the brisk wind.
Turning to face him, Celiese was surprised to see his left eye looked no better that day. The deep purple bruise now had a decidedly greenish cast, making it look all the more painful. "I am sorry about your eye," she offered shyly.
"It is nothing compared to all the other bruises I have, but you did not answer my question. Do you intend to evade them all?" He took hold of the rail to brace himself. Every muscle in his body was painfully protesting the long hours of strenuous labor he had done since the voyage began. He had not thought himself so out of condition, nor would he admit such weakness to her.
His deep tan and lean build gave the appearance of strength, and he had no intention of letting either her or his crew suspect the truth. He had already begun rotating the duty at the tiller, because the men seemed to be a capable lot, but he planned to continue to do his fair share of the work no matter what suffering it brought. The anguish Celiese continually caused him was an entirely different, but no less painful sort, and he waited impatiently for her to respond.
"No," she admitted with a slight smile, well-aware she had given him no real reply.
Taking her hand firmly in his, Mylan led the impossibly perverse young woman to the stern where they could sit beneath the tent and be sheltered from both the sun and wind while they talked. "It is important that I know the precise location of your home, Celiese, for I don't want to risk your life, nor the lives of my crew by trespassing upon land belonging to others. I am a trader, but there was no time to gather goods to trade at the end of this voyage, so any of your countrymen we chance to meet will think us raiders and put up a fierce résistance even though we make no threatening advance."
She sat down beside him, understanding his concern was well-justified, but not wanting to be the cause of it. "I told you all I know, Mylan. Our home was visible from both the sea and the river Seine. I was a child, however, not an adult skilled in drawing maps, so I can tell you no more than I have."
"You mentioned the city of Rouen, though; was it close by?" He pressed her to continue, for each piece of information she still remembered would be useful.
She shook her head. "No, I went there so seldom I do not know the exact distance. It was perhaps half a day's ride on horseback, maybe a little more."
Mylan took a deep breath, weighing the benefits of explaining his worry, and, decided she had a right to know what to expect when she reached home. He spoke deliberately, "Hrolf is in Rouen. If he was given a sizable amount of land, his holdings may include what was once the estate of the d'Loganvilles."
Appalled by that possibility, she hastened to argue, "That can't be true, Mylan, it simply can't. Perhaps as you and Hagen insist, the man was given some property by King Charles, but I refuse to believe it is so extensive as you say, or that he could possibly be occupying what rightfully belongs to me."
The fury filling her deep green glance was not one he would care to see directed at him, and he offered the only encouragement he could. "Cease to worry then, for nothing can be known for certain until we arrive, and you must not torture yourself with doubt."
"Doubt?" she scoffed. "The man has no right to my land, Mylan, and if he should be so stupid as to think he does, he will soon learn I mean to avenge all the wrongs done to the d'Loganvilles, and I will be happy to begin with him!"
He sat back, stunned by the depth of her anger. She had already risked death once in a desperate bid to win her freedom, and he knew without asking she would do it again to restore to her family what was rightfully theirs. "You have answered my question after all, Celiese. It seems revenge is a far more powerful emotion in your heart than love. I cannot expect you to choose to stay with me when clearly that would mean you would have to give up your lust for blood—which seems to be your destiny."
Furious that he would taunt her so cruelly, she wound her arms ar
ound his neck and sought his mouth with a kiss so desperate in its intensity that he was shocked by her passion. Her hands moved over him with so tantalizing a touch that he gave no thought to resisting the force of her affection and enfolded her in a ready embrace, forcing her down upon the blanket he had provided for that exact purpose.
The gentle loving they often shared was replaced by an urgency too great to delay with soft kisses or the sweetness of a tender caress. They were lovers consumed in the fires of desire, all restraint burned away in an instant as they sought the immediate satisfaction of the most glorious of shared pleasures. That the tent provided less than complete privacy did not disturb Mylan in the slightest, for Celiese had told him herself she had no reputation left to maintain, and he knew his own would scarcely suffer for what he was doing. But he would not have cared one bit if it had.
Chapter 19
The autumn weather continued to be fair, the skies blue and cloudless, and the Surf Falcon's progress swift. While Mylan had taken care to insure there would be no repetition of the erotic scene they had played on deck that one afternoon, Celiese seemed completely unconcerned by it. He realized with chagrin that he was no closer to understanding the complexities of her nature than he had been the morning they had set sail for France. They had established an agreeable routine. She kept to herself during the day, but sat beside him while they ate supper, and when he walked her to a secluded spot for the night she came into his arms with a playful eagerness he found enchanting.
That did not mean their problems had been solved, however; if anything they had been compounded as the journey drew to its end. He wanted to keep Celiese as his wife. That desire had grown within him until he could accept no other possibility, but she seemed so totally absorbed in her dreams of returning home that she had no interest in discussing what future they might share as man and wife.
He had no doubt he could force his parents to accept her, and as they would not reside in his father's house he would not have to worry about her safety whenever they were apart. But while he could deal with his parents, it was Celiese he had failed to convince. Andrick's words rang often in his mind, for he knew he had never courted the lovely young woman with the charm and courtesy to which she was entitled.
