by Phoebe Conn
"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 responded 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, and 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.
Impressed by his serious tone, Celiese responded in kind, "I understand it is important to impress the man favorably. André's horses are well into their prime if not past it, but still..."
"But nothing!" he interjected harshly. "You must let me decide how best to deal with Hrolf, and we'll not argue the matter in front of him either." He had no intention of riding overland to Rouen when he knew Celiese would attract a large following of devoted peasants. That would impress Hrolf most definitely, but certainly not favorably, as he hoped to do.
"This is my fight, and while I am grateful for your help, I cannot allow you to pursue the cause of the d'Loganvilles alone."
Looking down at the determined tilt of her chin, Mylan thought only how dangerous a mission they had undertaken and the scant likelihood for success. He was tempted to tie her up and leave her on board the Falcon under heavy guard when they reached Rouen. Should she prove unreasonable when they arrived, he might just do it. "I am not alone, I have the most devoted of wives to assist me."
Frowning petulantly, Celiese turned away. "Do not tease me with that fantasy yet again."
Seeing a way to avoid an argument that might have unfortunate ramifications when they reached Rouen, he reached out to turn her back toward him. "What Hrolf understands is strength. A penniless French noblewoman will never impress him, whereas the wife of a wealthy Dane will have considerable bargaining power. If you are truly as devoted to the cause of restoring to the d'Loganvilles what is rightfully theirs, then you will follow my lead."
She stared into his fierce amber gaze and knew while his plan might succeed she was extremely uneasy with it. Were they truly husband and wife, equals who shared in all things, she would trust his word without question, but that was not the truth of their situation, and it pained her to pretend that it was. It was to her advantage to be reasonable however. "It will do no harm to observe the situation for a day or two, that I will admit. But if Hrolf is anything like Raktor, then I will never be able to trust him, let alone be civil."
"You need do neither. I will tell him you are an intensely shy and virtuous young woman who prefers privacy to the company of others. The less he sees of you, the better I will like it."
"Why, Mylan, are you jealous?" She laughed at the absurdity of the prospect and her eyes sparkled with a merry twinkle as she teased him. "Hrolf is the last man in France I would find attractive, don't you know that?"
Appalled by the mischievous gleam in her eye, he took hold of her shoulders and gave her a firm shake. There were undoubtedly many French noblemen still dwelling in the country whom she would find acceptable as mates, but he had no intention of giving her her freedom. "Jealousy is an emotion we can do without. See you give me no cause for it."
When he released her, Celiese backed away slowly, sorry he could believe her capable of deliberately provoking his anger with such frivolous behavior. "I don't even know how to flirt; Mylan. I never had an occasion to practice the feminine wiles young ladies are supposed to affect to impress men."
She looked so crushed by his warning that he regretted it immediately. "Oh, Celiese, you are so very lovely, you need do no more than smile at a man to capture his heart."
Preferring the view of the river to his taunting grin, she turned away. She had often smiled at him, but if he had a heart, it most definitely did not belong to her. Believing he had won her silence at last, Mylan left her to see to his other duties, wishing she were as easy to command as the Falcon.
* * *
High fortress walls surround the city of Rouen, and lookout towers commanded an unobstructed view of the surrounding countryside as well as a considerable distance of the river Seine. The approach of the Surf Falcon was noted when first the red and white sail could be seen, and a runner sent to inquire as to what sort of reception should be extended. Hrolf had no such knarr himself, nor did he expect one to arrive. Exceedingly curious, he told the captain of his guard to ascertain who owned the ship and what his purpose might be, but to do no more than allow the ship to dock. Its passengers were not to be welcomed to the city until he was positive no mischief was afoot. Being the fiercest of raiders himself, he trusted no one, and he suspected everyone of attempting to take from him the prize he had been awarded. He guarded Rouen and all his lands well, and he planned to keep every bit of his territory by whatever ruthless tactics were necessary to hold them.
The docks were filled with dreki, the Danish warships, their graceful lines masking their deadly purpose, and Celiese turned away, sickened by the sight of what the once pretty city had become. A center of commerce in her father's time, it was now an armed citadel, ringed by ships of the Danes who had decimated the countryside with raids that had, over the years, become repeatedly more barbaric, until nothing remained to be seized but the land itself. Growing pale, she gripped the rail, uncertain that she could meet Hrolf without becoming physically ill. Disgusted by such weakness, she looked up at Mylan, but his expression was both proud and determined, without a trace of the fear that nearly paralyzed her.
"Do you expect to be welcomed here without challenge?" she asked.
"No, not immediately I don't." He had also noted the guards upon the battlements and was certain their presence had been noted and reported to Hrolf. "Whenever
I have sailed into a new port, whether it was to trade goods or merely to explore, I found patience the best approach. If we were to leap off the Falcon with swords in our hands, our purpose would immediately be misunderstood. However, if we wait for Hrolf to send an emissary, the advantage will already be ours."
"I have always thought you clever, but if, like Raktor, Hrolf says one thing while plotting another, none of us will be safe."
Mylan chuckled at her keen observation. "Are we not planning the very same sort of deception, Celiese? I will introduce myself to the duke as merely a prosperous merchant searching for new markets, when, in fact, it is your land we are really after."
"That the king has made him a duke is ludicrous!" she exploded angrily, livid at the very thought of such a travesty.
"Did I ever mention he also gave him his daughter, Gisela, as a bride? Does that not anger you more?" Since they had met as the result of such an arranged marriage, he expected her to see his point readily.
Celiese's thick lashes swept her delicate brows as she recalled the princess. "Mylan, I met Gisela, more than once, I think. I was no more than six or seven years old, but it is possible she may recognize me."
Mylan swore angrily at such an unwanted complication. "I had not even considered that might be a problem. Let us hope the woman has so much on her mind she will not recall a pretty child she met ten years ago. Dressed as you are and by my side, she will think you a Danish princess, not a French one."
"I am not a princess, Mylan." She blushed at the word, but she was pleased by his compliment all the same, for there was a great difference between a princess and the lowly slave he had once sworn her to be.
"If you speak French to no one, not even to the servants, the truth of your nationality will not be guessed. You must give Hrolf no cause to be suspicious of us, or we will never succeed in wrenching your estate from his grasp."