by Phoebe Conn
"I have agreed to try your way first," she reassured him with far more confidence than she felt.
"Do not doubt that it will work, for it will." Mylan gave the order to drop anchor in the center of the river and leaned back against the rail to wait for whatever welcome they might receive. Celiese wore his silver charm still, and the hope Thor might be willing to assist him in so dangerous a cause amused him greatly. "Hrolf has taken your religion, Celiese. Perhaps you should give that necklace back to me now."
"You cannot be serious!" she exclaimed.
"Oh, but I am. It was part of his bargain with your king that he accept the religion of the French people."
"How could the man embrace Christianity with the sins he must have upon his soul? Surely his conversion was no more than an expedient one."
"You are supposed to know nothing of Christ's teachings, so perhaps you would like to invite him to instruct you. Then you could judge for yourself whether or not his beliefs are sincere," he suggested slyly.
"That is not a subject I'd care to discuss with that rogue." It would be difficult not to blurt out the purpose of her visit when first she saw the man; she would never be able to calmly discuss religious doctrine as if she were no more than curious.
"If luck is with us, you will have no need to discuss any topic with him." Sighting a small boat headed their way, Mylan nodded confidently. "You see, curiosity is a powerful weapon, and someone has been sent to investigate the nature of our visit, just as I knew they would. You must rely upon me to make the first contact with Hrolf, for as captain of this vessel that is my duty."
Those were the last words Celiese heard Mylan speak for many an hour. He went ashore accompanied by two of his crew, but she did not argue with his decision to leave her behind for the moment. As far as she knew, no Viking sailed with his wife at his side, so her presence was a distinct oddity. His arrival would be regarded as remarkable enough without her to cause a distraction.
She found the wait interminable. She shared the crew's rations at suppertime, and then paced the deck until it had grown dark, but Mylan had still not returned.
Mylan found Hrolf to be exactly what he had expected, an arrogant brute who dominated every conversation no matter what the subject. Immense in size, he was never the less fit, his looks pleasant if not handsome, but his appetite for meat and drink was extraordinary, and by the time Mylan staggered aboard the Surf Falcon he was exhausted by the duke's hospitality and more than a little drunk.
Celiese had been unable to close her eyes, fearing Mylan had come to some terrible harm and that she and his crew would all be taken prisoners at dawn and promptly slain. When he lurched across the deck and stumbled into her dimly lit tent she knew immediately what his activities had been. "When I have been so dreadfully worried I might never see you alive again, how could you have been drinking yourself into a stupor!" she demanded angrily.
"I am not in a stupor," he replied with difficulty. "Hrolf is as generous a host as my father and insisted I did not suffer from thirst while I dined at his table."
"How thoughtful of him," she responded through clenched teeth, but when Mylan sprawled across their blanket she began to unlace his boots without being asked for assistance. "I have never seen you drunk, not ever. How the Danes can pass so many evenings swilling ale I will never know, and I have always been grateful you did not have such slothful habits, but perhaps you only lacked the opportunity." She yanked off his suede boots and tossed them aside but remained seated at his feet, unwilling to do more to make him comfortable.
After rolling over upon his back, Mylan raised his right arm to cover his eyes as he yawned sleepily. "He believed all I told him about wishing to establish a profitable trade agreement, and if he wants a drinking companion I will be one. Now hush your complaints and come here to me. I told him I would bring my bride with me tomorrow when we take his falcons out to hunt."
"You expect me to go hunting with that fiend?" she asked in hoarse disbelief.
"No, with me. Now come here as I asked you," he called in a far softer tone.
She had been frightfully worried, terrified he had been met with the very worst of receptions, but the fact that he had been enjoying himself so fully at Hrolf's table was more than she could tolerate or forgive. "No! I'll not sleep with a drunk."
Mylan opened his eyes long enough to fix Celiese with a sullen stare that would have turned a lesser woman to stone. Thoroughly disgusted she did not appreciate his efforts on her behalf, he answered sarcastically, "If what you see is a drunk, then sleep elsewhere."
"I intend to." Grabbing her cloak, she moved to the edge of the tent and sat huddled in the shadows, so furious with the handsome young man who was her husband only when it suited him that she did not close her eyes until more than one cock had crowed to welcome the new day.
When the small boat Hrolf had sent arrived alongside the Surf Falcon the next morning, Mylan helped Celiese into the vessel and held her hand tightly for the short trip to the docks. Thinking the best approach simply to ignore the argument that had spoiled his plans to enjoy her company the previous night, he explained, "The duke, Robert, as he now calls himself—he told me it is the custom of his adopted religion to choose a new name at the time of baptism—lives in a magnificent residence that faces the town square. It is difficult to go from one room to the next with the great number of treasures he has stored there."
Whispering defiantly, Celiese contradicted him, "Booty!"
"Yes, of course, I know the goods are the spoils of his raids." He tightened his grip upon the delicate bones of her hand; sorry now he had been so foolish as to bring her along when her temper was so quick. "Should you by some strange twist of fate chance to see something that belonged to your family or to their friends, please pretend you see nothing more than straw being stored to feed the livestock in the winter."
"Don't you understand what you are asking of me?" she asked indignantly.
"Yes," he hissed crossly, "I am asking you to be as fine an actress today as you were the night we were wed!"
Devastated by that insult, Celiese clamped her mouth shut and turned away. She had been a fool to come to Rouen with Mylan when clearly he found Hrolf, or Robert, whatever he wished to call himself, a most interesting and doubtless admirable man. She already knew he would own nothing from her home, for Raktor had burned whatever he had not stolen, but all his possessions would have belonged at one time to families as dear as hers, and the tragic thought pained her. At the dock they found horses waiting, beautifully groomed and spirited mounts. All were surely stolen, and, thoroughly sickened by the day that lay ahead, she ceased to think of anything other than how to regain possession of her land.
The character of Rouen had changed so greatly since her last visit, Celiese would not have recognized the city had Mylan not sworn that was where they were. There were Danes everywhere, robust men whose fair hair and blue eyes shone brightly above their wide smiles. These men had stopped their raiding to take up permanent residence in France, and yet she knew there was land for them only because her countrymen had not been able to defend their homes and so had lost them, as well as their lives. Being fair-haired and green-eyed, she could pass among them unrecognized for what she was by birth. If it was an actress Mylan wanted, then that was what she would be, but only while it served her purpose.
Bored as the summer drew to an end, Hrolf was pleased to have the benefit of the company of a young man as intelligent and charming as Mylan Vandahl. While he had spent his own years pillaging France, Mylan had sailed to the edges of the known world and far beyond, yet he related the most astounding of adventures with a disarming modesty. He was exactly the type of man Hrolf wished to befriend, and he looked forward to a day of hunting with eager anticipation.
The duke and his party had already reached the open fields outside the city walls and were ready to begin the hunt when Mylan and Celiese arrived to join them. Mylan had favorably impressed all those he had met the previous
day, and they were greeted warmly. Celiese's fair beauty brought her instant acceptance as well.
"Your husband is far too modest a man, Celiese, for you are a wife who should be cherished, and he told us little of your virtues. We were not prepared to meet a woman of such extraordinary loveliness." Hrolf flashed his most charming smile, expecting to see a pretty blush rise in the young woman's cheeks, but she regarded him with a cool gaze he found most disconcerting. The power of his position made women eager to please him, but his flattery had failed to win so much as a smile from this beauty.
Ignoring his compliment, Celiese inquired instead about the hunt. "How have you found the time to train falcons for sport, sir? I should think you would have been far too busy." Busy with murder and thievery, she was tempted to say, but she was too discreet to insult him so openly.
Surprised that she should be interested in the sport, Hrolf explained proudly, "I have not raised these birds from the nest, but they are mine as is all you see in every direction: I have not known a woman to enjoy falconry, but perhaps you would care to join us rather than merely observe?" He extended his left arm, upon which sat a magnificent peregrine falcon whose sharp talons were firmly embedded in the padded gauntlet he wore. Thinking Celiese would be foolish enough to reach out and pet the bird, he waited patiently to see how badly she would be injured when it bit her.
"Had I a bird of my own I would be happy to participate, but alas, we own none." Celiese remained upon her horse, her hands holding the reins lightly as she admired the falcon he was showing off so proudly. Clearly he thought her a fool where falcons were concerned, but she knew exactly what would happen were she to make a move toward this one. "This is a hawk of passage then, one captured from the wild and tamed, not an eyas, one taken from the nest and raised for sport?"
Impressed that she knew the difference, Hrolf realized Celiese did indeed know something of his favorite sport. "We have several birds; do you object to your wife joining in the hunt, Mylan?" Hrolf's booming voice attracted the notice of all who were nearby. There were several other women, but they appeared to be content to be spectators.
"Celiese has many talents; if she wishes to hunt, I have no objection." Yet Mylan gave her a warning glance. He knew she had nerve aplenty, but falconry involved skill, as well, and he doubted she had any experience with the powerful birds of prey. Moving close, he whispered so only she could hear, "Have you ever done this before?"
"Of course, my father raised hawks as a diversion." She was surprised by his question until she realized his worried expression mirrored a true concern for her safety.
Seeing something pass between the attractive couple that he did not fully comprehend, Hrolf inquired curiously, "What is your father's name, Celiese, perhaps I know him."
"He is long dead, sir, and I'm certain you would not recognize his name. Now, shall we begin? Your other guests look most impatient."
Distracted by the warmth of her smile, Hrolf signaled to one of his men to bring the bird he had selected for Mylan. "The glove will be too large, I know, but you need only see if you can bear the weight of the hawk upon your wrist."
"Yes, I understand the secret is a steady hand." Celiese and Mylan dismounted quickly and handed their reins to a waiting groom. She pulled on the thickly padded gauntlet, extended her left arm, and the hawk came to her. Another peregrine falcon, she was also a beauty, her breast a soft beige tinged with pink, her back and wings brown with black markings. Celiese held the jesses, the two strips of leather tied to the bird's legs so she might be carried more easily, but unfastened the leash to be ready to send the bird aloft. Small silver bells had been attached to the bird's legs so she could be found were she to become lost. When Celiese turned into the morning breeze so the bird would be most comfortable while being carried, they rang with a pleasant sound, making music with every step.
Smiling happily, she waited for Mylan to step to her right side. "You see, I do know how to do this, but I know enough also to let the duke send his falcon up for the first kill."
Mylan nodded slightly, impressed that she had stopped to consider the man's feelings when to disregard them would have been disastrous. Hrolf's falcon took a pheasant out of the sky with all the grace and agility that made falconry so favored a sport. Then, at his signal, Celiese slipped the leather hood from her bird's head and sent her up soaring far above them. Well trained, she took another pheasant with astonishing speed and returned to land upon Celiese's outstretched arm. Knowing she had proved her ability, Celiese passed the beautiful bird back to the waiting falconer but stayed with Mylan and the other men for the rest of the hunt.
"The hour grows late, but this was the best of days. I insist you return with me to my home so you may both join me this evening." Hrolf smiled widely, charmed by the handsome young couple's grace and quiet manner.
"Thank you, sir, but I would prefer to return to my husband's ship where I might dress more appropriately for the evening." Celiese could not look at the duke without imagining his clothing splattered with the blood of his innocent victims, but she managed to sound genuinely pleased by his invitation.
"We have clothing in all sizes for our guests; you will lack for nothing. Now come with us." While Hrolf's voice was still pleasant, his command was not to be ignored.
"It will be our pleasure," Mylan responded through clenched teeth. What Celiese's purpose had been he could not imagine, but clearly she had captivated the arrogant man with an attitude he could only describe as nonchalant. She had turned all the duke's compliments aside coldly, apparently too absorbed in the excitement of the hunt to notice his growing admiration. He held his temper until they were shown to a suite of rooms in their host's mansion, where he questioned her angrily.
"Falcons, Celiese? Is there no end to the lengths you will go to accept a dare?"
She walked slowly around the well-appointed room, admiring the elegant furnishings and wondering from where they had come. "Was that a dare? I'd say Hrolf wanted to take advantage of what he imagined would be my inexperience, and I simply turned his trick aside. Had I no skill with hawks, I would not have accepted his invitation to hunt, but merely watched you, as the other ladies did."
Astonished by her reasoning, Mylan asked incredulously, "Why would he wish to see you hurt?"
"Perhaps he is the one who is jealous; he seems very taken with you."
Mylan sank down into the closest chair, completely dismayed by her observation. "He is no different from any other man, Celiese. He likes male companions with whom to exchange stories, but he has no need to be jealous of our wives."
"I was mistaken then." She had confused Mylan, so he did not criticize her further. After they had bathed she found none of the many lavishly trimmed gowns in the wardrobe attractive. They were all doubtlessly stolen, along with everything else under the duke's roof, and she was loath to wear one.
Mylan, on the other hand, could not decide which garment was supposed to be put on first and called to her to assist him. "All these were laid out—I am to wear them in layers?"
Laughing at his confusion, she helped him to dress. "The chainse is worn first; see it is lightweight, the sleeves are close-fitted and extend to the wrist. The bliaud is a heavier fabric, worn like a tunic over it, the sleeves are three quarter length and full so you will not get the two garments confused. Braies are just like your trousers, chausses are made to fit your legs and you wrap the garters around your legs to make them fit more snugly. That is not so different from the way you wrap the laces on your boots."
Following her directions, Mylan managed to dress in a reasonable facsimile of a French gentleman, but he was unused to wearing such bright colors and felt uncomfortable. "I am far happier in my own clothing, but since the other men here have chosen to dress as the Frenchmen do I will not argue with their taste." When her expression grew solemn he looked down at his borrowed garb. "Is something wrong?"
"No, you look very handsome, but you are still obviously a Dane in some Frenchman
's clothes."
"You misunderstand Hrolf, he plans to be a Frenchman now, truly he does. That he lends his guests French attire is understandable. Now, what have you chosen to wear over your lace-trimmed chemise?"
"You must select something, for I cannot." Turning away, she left the matter up to him, and he quickly handed her a gown of deep emerald green, the neckline and sleeves banded with wide silk embroidery.
"This will match your eyes, but let us hurry, we have kept the others waiting too long as it is." He kissed her nape sweetly as he helped her smooth the gown over her glossy curls. "There, let us go."
She hesitated to give him her hand when she was so worried as to how the evening would end. "Please do not drink so much tonight, Mylan, we will never succeed in our purpose if we do not keep our wits about us."
His gaze darkening, he shook his head. "I can take care of myself, despite your worries. Cease your nagging and let us join in the fun." He swept her along beside him to the hall, where the merriment had already begun. Hrolf made room for them at his side, but although he made numerous toasts Celiese drank no more than a drop of the wine that flowed so generously. Gisela had not been present for the hunt, nor did she appear that night, and Celiese wondered if her husband's amusements did not appeal to her, either. When the hour grew late and the conversation turned to boisterous singing she could bear no more, she slipped away from Mylan's side unnoticed she made her way through the imposing home.
Thinking if Hrolf had become a Christian the chapel of the house would be in use, she wandered along the front hall until she came upon the candlelit room. The fragrance of incense was sweet, but she felt a strange detachment, the same inexplicable feeling of uneasiness she had experienced since they had arrived upon French soil. Once the prayers had come to her lips without effort, but now she could remember only random verses, none complete. After sitting quietly by herself for a while, she was overcome with sadness for the lost world of her childhood, and she made her way slowly to the room she and Mylan had been given. She undressed in the darkness and climbed into the comfortable bed without bothering to wait for Mylan to appear. When he did finally return to their room he decided not to awaken her, if only to avoid another bitter argument. His head ached badly, but he was not half as drunk as Hrolf had been, and laughing at the absurdity of that comparison he tossed his borrowed clothing aside and fell into bed beside his lovely bride.