by Phoebe Conn
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.
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."