by Phoebe Conn
“Somehow, I did not think it was gratitude you wanted in a wife.” She taunted him with a toss of her curls, but she did not expect his reaction to be so immediate nor so hostile.
He swept her up into his arms, and then sat down upon the couch to place her across his lap. Winding his fingers in her curls, he ravaged her mouth with a brutal kiss, demonstrating forcefully exactly what he did expect from his wife. “There, does that satisfy your curiosity? I want you for my bride because you arouse my passions as no other woman ever has, and I am certain my touch weaves the same magical spell upon your senses.”
She found the effort to struggle against him exhausting and soon had to sit still, despite her determination to break free of his confining grasp. She had no way to fight him except with words, and she did so. “That is a remarkable story, Michael. You will leave your country to take up residence in another, swear your allegiance to a king you’ve never met, change your religion, indeed, exchange all that you have known as a Dane for the life of a Frenchman simply because you cannot control your lust for me? When you will not tell me the truth, I wonder what preposterous lie you told the duke to whom you’ve become so remarkably loyal.”
Mylan’s eyes filled with an evil light, the darkness of his thoughts shockingly plain. Were they not in a church he would have shown her just how difficult the desire she inspired was to control by taking it to its limit. Certain it would result in the worst of reactions from her, however, he restrained himself from being so foolhardy. “The priest will join us in a moment. I must have your answer now, do you want to be my wife, or not?”
He had not proposed to her the first time they were wed, she had simply been sent to him to be his bride, but she knew he was capable of thoughts of the sweetest sort and was heartbroken he had not sought to win her consent in a loving manner. She raised her hand to her temple, her pain now so intense she could no longer see clearly, and she could neither accept nor refuse no matter how his proposal might have been worded.
“Please take me out of here, Mylan, I’m going to be sick, and there’s no way I can avoid it.”
She had gone limp in his arms, her color fading to a deathly pale, and he did not doubt her. Rising with her still in his arms he carried her out of the sacristy by way of the small passageway that led directly to the stairs. The guard would still be at the main door of the chapel, believing Celiese was confiding in the priest. Stepping into the shadows he carried her up the stairs and into his room unnoticed.
After placing her gently upon the bed Mylan went back to shut the door, not wishing to be disturbed when he had still not managed to win even a reluctant promise of cooperation from her. She was so strong-willed an individual he could not understand why she had fallen ill at the worst of times. He brought a small copper basin and placed it at her bedside should she need it.
“Would you send Marcela to help me remove my gown? It is so pretty, and I do not want it to be ruined,” she called to him, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I’ve no time to search for a maid, I will provide all the help you’ll need.” Totally out of patience with her, he sat down upon the edge of the bed and turned Celiese upon her side so he could reach the back of her gown. He began to slip it off, taking care not to disturb her rest unnecessarily. The brocade was stiff, an opulent fabric but not one intended for wear while sleeping, and he laid the gown over the back of a chair rather than leave it upon the bed.
Celiese curled up then, wanting only to sleep until the pain in her head stopped hurting so badly. “I am sorry to cause you such trouble.”
That she would apologize after being so obnoxious made no sense at all, but he would not take exception to her words to extend their argument. “It is Michael now, try and remember so you will say the correct name when we are married. I will go and find Father Bernard to tell him your health is too delicate to permit you to participate in a wedding ceremony at this early hour. I am certain we can delay the marriage for an hour or two, but no longer, Celiese, as I want to be out of this house before nightfall.”
His voice seemed to come from a long way off, and she was not certain she had understood him. She was positive she had not agreed to marry him even though he behaved as though she had. Too tired to argue the point, she remained silent, letting him think whatever he liked until she had gathered sufficient strength to speak in her own behalf.
She slept deeply for more than an hour, pushing all worry aside while she restored a pleasant sense of equilibrium to her slender body. When she awoke the house was very quiet, unnaturally still, and she saw no reason to behave as if she were still a prisoner if that was no longer the case. She rolled off the high bed and hurried to the wardrobe, hoping her own clothing might still be stored there, and to her immense relief she found it was.
She slipped on the soft silk dress she had borrowed from Olgrethe, and knelt to fasten the ties on her slippers before she donned her cloak and put up the hood. With luck she would be out of Rouen before anyone discovered she had awakened from her nap, but as she took a step toward the door Mylan came through it. He was carrying a silver tray upon which he had balanced a large bowl of steaming soup, but he stopped so suddenly when he saw her that the hot liquid splashed upon his hands. With a loud oath he nearly threw the tray upon the small table next to the door.
“Go ahead, I want to hear your explanation for where you’re going, since what I’m tempted to believe cannot possibly be the truth!” he shouted hoarsely.
Stalling in hopes some plausible explanation would come to her, she began slowly, “Well, I just awakened and I felt so much better that I…”
When she hesitated, Mylan came forward, his expression still menacing. “Go on, I am listening.”
She saw only a tall and exceedingly strong man, a very angry one, not a friend in whom she wished to confide, but she had little choice in the matter. “You said I never consider my actions, well I have been thinking of little other than escape for several days. I never should have come here feeling the way I do. Turn your back and let me go, I will cause neither you nor your great friend the duke any further trouble. I will vanish as if I never existed, you have my word on it.”
Mylan shook his head in disbelief. “You have this well thought out, do you? Just whom do you think Robert would send after you should he discover you have suddenly turned up missing only minutes before our wedding? Since you mistakenly believe you have made such careful plans, just whom do you think he’d charge with the responsibility of bringing you back?”
Seeing his point, she had a ready answer. “You?”
“Of course. If I succeeded in bringing about your return, then you would suffer the most severe of punishments. If I failed to find you, however, then I would be the one to be punished. I don’t suppose that matters much to you, though, does it? Even though you swore only this morning that you did not want to see me come to any harm, as usual you have thought only of yourself.” He was beyond anger now. “I thought you were really ill; that was one of your finest performances, by the way, you had me completely fooled, yet again.”
When Celiese drew back her hand to slap him Mylan stepped forward quickly to block her blow. He grabbed her wrist, and then twisted her arm behind her back to propel her across the room. “You will first sit and eat every drop of that soup, as I’ll not have you fainting upon me again. Then you will remove that gown and put on the other. I expect my wife to dress like the Frenchwoman she is, is that clear?”
“I don’t deserve your insults. I don’t deserve any of your abuse!” Her denial was futile, of course, for he heard only lies no matter what truth she spoke, but she would not take his scorn in silence.
“Abuse!” he scoffed. “I am merely trying to provide some nourishment for my bride, who seemed to be so weak she might not survive our wedding ceremony. Now enough of your senseless chatterâsit down and eat.”
When he drew a chair to the table Celiese sat without having to be pushed. The aroma of the hot broth was most tantalizing, and
despite her anger with him she was glad he had provided something to eat, for now she was ravenously hungry. She picked up the spoon, and taking care to sample only the cooler broth at the edges of the bowl began to eat with such obvious appetite that Mylan could only stand back and stare.
“Were you given no food all week?” He placed his hands upon his slender hips; fascinated by her keen appreciation of a soup he had tasted and thought quite ordinary.
Stopping only briefly to glance up at him, she responded truthfully, “Marcela brought me one meal, then Jaret provided some apples and nuts once. He brought only bread and water when he came each night, but I wasn’t hungry by then.”
Shocked that she had been treated so badly, he now thought her hunger only natural, and forgetting his anger inquired in a solicitous tone, “Is that enough? I will find something more if you’d like.”
“No, this is fine, thank you, it is plenty.” She attempted to eat more slowly, but Mylan’s expression did not change. He stared at her with rapt interest until she had finished the last drop.
“Now if you’ll but remove your cloak and dress, I will help you with the other.” Easing her from her chair, Mylan attempted to untie the ribbon at her throat but found himself too clumsy and stepped back.
“I know you think I behave childishly, Mylan, but I am at least able to dress myself.” She smiled at him for the first time that day, but the tension between them had eased considerably, although she was uncertain as to why.
“Michael, you must remember to call me Michael now.” When she had unfastened the ties to her cloak he took it from her and replaced it in the wardrobe. “Now give me your dress.” He tried not to look at her, to focus his attention at something else in the room, but she was far too pretty a sight not to enjoy, and he could not turn away. She was wearing a chemise, at least, but its silken folds hid none of her beauty, and he knew they would never reach the chapel on time if she did not hurry.
“Michael is a very nice name, but what will it matter if I call you Mylan?” She tossed him the silk dress, then lifted the brocade gown from the chair and struggled to put it on by herself. A deep rose in hue, it made her pale skin glow with a becoming soft tinge of peach, but only Mylan could appreciate that subtle effect.
“This gown is not nearly so comfortable nor so practical as Olgrethe’s. Must I wear it?”
“Yes! Now hurry and brush your hair. We have kept Father Bernard waiting all morning, and his patience should not be abused so badly.” Mylan paced near the door, wanting only to take Celiese to bed when that was the last place he could afford to be that morning. She was the most seductive of creatures, her every pose impossibly alluring, and she was doing no more than brushing her hair!
He cursed his own weakness, which had led him into one of the most dangerous situations he had ever faced, and for what? For a young woman who would leave him at her first opportunity; leave him with no regard for how greatly he might suffer in her absence. When she laid the brush aside and turned to face him with a sad, sweet smile brightening the confusion in her gaze, he wanted only to take her in his arms and hold her so tightly she would never escape him. Instead he reached out and took her hand in a firm grasp.
“Finally! Now let us hope the priest has not been called away, so that we may get this over with quickly.”
“Surely this is the most ill-advised match ever made, Mylan, for neither of us is happy with it.” She implored him to wait just a moment, to seek other solutions to their dilemma, but he was in no mood to converse. Sweeping her along beside him, he hurried down the stairs to again enter the chapel from the small door in the sacristy.
Father Bernard was kneeling, deep in prayer. He was badly startled when Mylan and Celiese appeared so suddenly at his side. Leaping to his feet, he attempted to regain his composure, but he was a nervous individual, still fearful his existence in a house filled with Danes was a precarious one, and he stuttered as he greeted them. “This, this young woman is to be your bride, Michael?”
His knowledge of the Danish language was barely adequate, but all his converts were learning French so slowly he hardly dared hope any would ever be able to converse with him in that tongue. When Celiese replied in flawless French he was not only astonished but also delighted. “My dear, I hope you are again feeling your best, for marriage is one of life’s most important events, and today will always live in your memory as a most blessed one.”
Celiese glanced up at Mylan, wondering just what he had told Father Bernard, for she had no wish to shock him, but apparently the priest did not realize this was not to be their first wedding. While she considered it an important point, it was clear Mylan had not. Not wishing to create another bitter scene that morning, however, she kept still. “I am so pleased to meet you, Father Bernard.”
“Well, come then, let us enter the church so the ceremony can begin at once. Michael told me of his desire to marry a Christian woman, but it did not occur to me that you would be French. From what city do you come?” The priest turned to smile as he led the way into the chapel.
“I am Lady Celiese d’Loganville, Father. If Rouen is your home then you will have heard the name,” she responded proudly.
“Oh, indeed I have.” Startled, he wondered why a young woman from so fine a family had chosen to marry a Dane, even one as handsome as Michael, then thought he would be smart to avoid such a question. He was doing his best to bring the word of God to men who in his opinion could only be described as the most barbaric of pagans. Finding little pleasure or success in his task, he thought himself fortunate to have so intelligent a convert as Michael and hoped he would attract more.
“I will summon two witnesses and then we will begin. I will be only a moment.”
The priest returned all too quickly, and when he began the ceremony in a soft, low voice Celiese found it easier to focus her attention upon the candles bright flame, or upon the sweet fragrance of incense or upon any distraction the chapel contained other than the taunting smile of the handsome man who knelt by her side.
Mylan seemed to regard her consent to their marriage as a victory of sorts, when she could not even recall agreeing to it. She wondered how much of his new religion he understood, for as one of the sacraments marriage was considered a lasting bond, one severed only by death. The thought sent a chill up her spine she could not suppress, for perhaps he realized only too well that her life was unlikely to be a long one and so had no qualms about going through a ceremony to form a permanent tie. She repeated her vows in a steady, soft tone, but her heart was heavy, filled with none of the joy the priest had alluded to as creating lasting memories.
Mylan simply wanted the ceremony to be finished, but the priest seemed to continue speaking for hours, each successive prayer growing longer until he despaired of ever leaving the chapel before sundown. As the wife of a man who had pledged his loyalty to Robert, Celiese would have a measure of safety she had lacked before, and he hoped it would be enough to protect her. He had found the duke to be a volatile man, fond of pleasure but swift to anger, a man who demanded his way in all things, and most definitely not a man who would tolerate the interference in his affairs by a young woman so high-spirited and defiant as Celiese had become.
With a touch of sadness he recalled the first time he had taken her for his wife, surrounded by family and friends. She had seemed the dearest of young women. Soft spoken and sweet, she had changed his outlook on life from despair to optimism with no more than the brightness of her smile. That day was months in the past now, but he remembered it clearly, and looking down at the pretty woman he was surprised as always by the innocence of her expression, as if she shared an angel’s purity of heart. But he had learned through far too many bitter lessons just what treachery the astonishing beauty of her delicate features concealed.
Chapter 24
Mylan thanked Father Bernard graciously for performing so beautiful a wedding ceremony, but he had sensed from the moment he had first broached the subject with the Fren
ch cleric that the man would not dare to refuse him. He had spoken no threats, but the balding priest had been apprehensive throughout all their conversations, his brown eyes darting nervously about as he had pleated the fabric of his woolen robe with long, bony fingers that were never still.
“May God bless you both,” Father Bernard responded with an anxious smile, relieved he had apparently pleased the tall blond man. He did not know what else to say as the striking couple moved down the aisle toward the chapel door. He wanted to wish them an abundance of earthly blessings, yet they both seemed preoccupied, and, unlike most newly married couples, not with each other. Shaking his head with puzzlement he watched them depart, a most unusual pair in every respect, but still he hoped he might see them again, for he sensed an intriguing depth to their characters.
Once they had left the sanctity of the duke’s chapel, Mylan drew Celiese aside. “We must find Robert now, and I’ll caution you to remember just one thing.”
That those were the first words her husband wished to speak to her did not surprise her, but she would have much preferred some sweet compliment and a tender kiss. Looking up at his intense expression, she saw the wedding ceremony had made little difference in his mood. They had gone through the formality of exchanging vows, but clearly his only emotion was still an anger he could barely contain.
“And what might that be?” she asked softly, certain she already knew.
“Whatever you wish to accomplish for yourself and your people, you must be alive to do so. Give Robert no cause to think the benefits of your death outweigh those of giving you your freedom. No matter how he might insult you, do not give him the satisfaction of making you lose your temper, for you’ll forfeit your life, as well,” he warned sternly.
Celiese nodded, her expression as serious as his. “He already knows what I think of him, Mylan, how can I make him forget that?”
“You need do no more than smile to make him forget the sound of his own name!” he whispered fiercely. “Now come, dear wife, let us do our best to win his blessing for our marriage, and then we’ll depart Rouen with all possible haste.”