Captive Heart (12 page)

“I want no others to know of this, you must promise your silence. If the dressing needs changing, then you will be the one to do it.”

Celiese thought his demand unreasonable, for surely Olgrethe ought to be the one to tend him. She would be his wife and his care one of her rightful duties, but she had no desire to point out so painful a point to him if he did not see it. “I must go, Olgrethe sent for me and—”

Mylan moved closer still, forcing Celiese against his door, where he held her captive between his outstretched arms. “You have kept not one of your promises to me, but I’ll see you keep this one, Celiese. No one must learn I have been harmed, no one.”

The lovely blonde’s eyes filled with a curious glow as she stared up at the man who had been her husband so briefly. “I have broken none of the promises I made to you, I—” She saw him incline his head, his intention clear but a surprise all the same, and his mouth covered hers, ending her protest with a soft sigh of surrender. She made no move to resist his forceful embrace, but lifted her arms to encircle his neck as she returned his deep kiss, unable to stifle the need his loving touch created within her heart. This kiss was as marvelous as all his others, soft and slow. It swept her ordeal from her mind, the days they’d been apart disappearing from her memory, and she was again his bride. Then as suddenly as he had drawn her near Mylan released her, shoving her aside as he backed away.

“Did you really think I’d be fool enough to wait at that door for you? Did you truly think you could hand me over to Raktor so easily as that?” Mylan’s eyes grew dark with disgust. “Is there no end to your treachery?”

“I did not meet you because I couldn’t!” Celiese grabbed his arm, imploring him to listen. “Raktor locked me up with those he’d taken prisoner the moment I stepped through the door. Did none of your kinsmen tell you I was with them, or that later they had seen me taken aboard the ship for the voyage to Kaupang?”

Mylan brushed Celiese aside, turning his back upon her as he began to sort through the clothing laid out upon his bed for what he wished to wear. “Another of Raktor’s schemes, no doubt. My kin were too clever to believe anything you said after what you’d done to them. That he sold you is not surprising, for he knew you would betray him as swiftly as you had betrayed me!”

“Why is it you continually choose to ignore the truth in my words?” Celiese clenched her fists tightly at her sides, furious that he would not believe her. “I tried only to help you!”

“With any more help such as yours I’d soon be dead! Now go and find your mistress, and spin your lies together with her, as you have always done!”

Celiese dared not leave when he understood nothing about either her or the proud young woman who would soon be his bride. “Olgrethe is not like her father, Mylan. She is spoiled, for she has been pampered all her life by her family, but she is kind, her heart is filled with goodness. Please do not think ill of her simply because you despise me.”

Mylan snarled through clenched teeth, “She sent you to me, did she not? You said it was her idea. Was that a lie also?”

“No, that was the truth, but I tried to explain it was only because—”

“Get out! I have no further need of you, be gone!”

Celiese sped through the door as Mylan picked up a heavy brass box, clearly meaning to hurl it at her should she not obey him. She could not blame him for his anger, but neither would she remain and risk needless injury. She had taken no more than two running steps down the hall when Olgrethe opened a door and saw her.

“There you are at last! Come quickly, Celiese, for I cannot make my hair curl as it should, and I want to look my very best.” The animated girl grabbed her longtime servant’s wrist and led her into the room where she’d dressed. “Where have you been? I had to bathe and dress myself, but you must comb my hair before you dress.” Olgrethe sat down and handed Celiese her hairbrush and golden pins. “Hurry, I am late already! This wedding will be nothing like yours, there will be no feasting, but I do want to look pretty even if I am not to be entertained as lavishly as you were. This is the only wedding I am likely to have, and I’ll make a celebration of it even if the Vandahls will not.”

Celiese fashioned the elaborate coiffure Olgrethe preferred without hearing any of the young woman’s excited chatter. She was too hurt to contemplate anything more than the painful fact that her only friend was about to marry the man she had thought would be her own husband. It was all so unfair—none of the torment was her fault, and yet Mylan blamed her for deceiving him to aid Raktor, when she’d done nothing of the kind. Her work finished, she stepped back; hoping to be excused even if she had nowhere to go in the expansive home.

Olgrethe held her skirt daintily above her feet as she left her chair, “The bathwater is fresh; I had it brought for you. Now hurry and get ready. They will come for me shortly, and I do not wish to be married without you being there to see it, as I have no other friend in this household.”

“Olgrethe, please—”

The high-spirited girl grabbed for the brooches that held Celiese’s yellow gown and removed them with a swift tug. “Hurry, Celiese, or I shall take you with me nude!” She shoved and pushed, argued and cajoled until at last she had her friend seated in the steaming tub. “There, now doesn’t that feel good? Why don’t you wear my blue dress—I brought along all my jewelry and I’ll get everything out for you so we won’t keep them waiting.”

Celiese sank down into the warm softness of the large tub to wet her hair before lathering her thick curls with the perfumed soap Olgrethe had thrust into her hands. There was no way to escape the enthusiastic girl’s plans, but once the ceremony had begun she knew Olgrethe would have eyes only for Mylan and then she could slip away, hide somewhere away from the Vandahls and their accusing stares. She turned as the door swung open, shocked as Mylan strode into the room and came straight toward her, but she had no way to hide her lissome figure from his hostile glance.

“Why are you blushing so deeply, girl, you’ve nothing I have not already seen—more than once—to say nothing of half of Kaupang, which had a full view of your charms! You have kept us all waiting too long, Olgrethe, you must come with me now.” With no more than a brief backward glance, Mylan swept the startled young woman out of the room, leaving Celiese flushed with shame as she sat in the rapidly cooling water: His disgust with her could not have been more painful, and she had little reason even to leave the tub, let alone dress for an evening that promised to hold no joy for her. But as the water grew chilled her anger mounted, until she finally forced herself to rise, dried off carefully, then donned the silken gown Olgrethe had laid out for her. She fastened the gold brooches at her shoulders with shaking fingers and tried to dry her hair sufficiently to join the gathering for a few minutes, at least. She twisted her gleaming tresses upon her head and secured them with the golden pins Olgrethe had not needed. Furious at her own weakness that had allowed her to care so deeply for a man who thought so little of her, she vowed to show Mylan she still had her pride. His insults might hurt her terribly, but she’d not let him suspect she felt the slightest discomfort at his scorn. If he wished to reject her love then she would reject his hatred with the same cool disdain.

Lifting her chin proudly Celiese made her way to the hall where the marriage ceremony was already taking place. Many of those who had attended her wedding were there again, so while the atmosphere of the large room was not nearly as festive, it was no less crowded. Those who turned to note her arrival frowned angrily, but she stepped swiftly to move along the side of the room, hoping to find a place to stand where she would attract no notice. She would greet Olgrethe warmly at the close of the ceremony and then return to the room where she’d dressed and hope her presence in the house would be forgotten. As she edged along the back of the crowd, an arm suddenly closed firmly around her waist, and she gasped in surprise as she struggled to get free.

“Hush, I mean you no harm!” Mylan whispered sternly as he pulled Celiese close to his side. “Do you always dress as finely as your mistress, or is this yet another of your masquerades?” Truly he thought her as splendidly garbed as Olgrethe, and in his opinion she was far more lovely. That so pretty a woman could have such an evil heart confused him and his question sounded more like a rebuke than a query.

Celiese was so astonished to find Mylan at the back of the room that she stood on her tiptoes to see what had happened to Olgrethe. Had the ceremony not yet begun, after all? Her eyes widened further, her long lashes sweeping her delicately arched brows, when she saw the young woman standing in the center of the room with Andrick by her side. Turning so she might speak discreetly, she whispered. “Olgrethe is not marrying you?”

Mylan brought his fingertip to her lips to silence her. “No! I have no need for another bride! Now be still, you are disturbing everyone with your chatter!”

Celiese relaxed against him, forgetting his injured side in her amazement. Her body melted into the sleek line of his and she felt him draw away quickly, but not before she’d felt his body’s involuntary response to hers, and when she looked up at him his blush was as bright as hers. His hand had not relaxed upon her wrist, but she was too relieved to find he’d not wed Olgrethe to complain over that slight pain. Her agile mind worked swiftly. What had he said? He wanted no other bride? What had he meant by that remark—that he was finished with marriage, or was he only finished with her? She peeked up at him through her thick fringe of dark lashes. He looked far from happy, and she risked leaning close again to whisper, “Why is Andrick marrying Olgrethe?”

“Because I wouldn’t!” Mylan snarled angrily, then pulled her around in front of him, keeping his arms clasped tightly around her slender waist so she could not escape his grasp. His embrace was confining, not tender, and the moment the ceremony concluded he dragged her along beside him to congratulate his brother. He mumbled a brief greeting, then left the large gathering with Celiese still firmly in tow as he climbed the stairs to his room. He pushed her inside, then turned to go. “Wait here, I will return in a moment with a more suitable garment for you to wear.”

Celiese looked down at Olgrethe’s lovely blue gown with a puzzled glance. “But why? This dress is so pretty, don’t you like it?”

“No, it will not do for the journey to my home, nor for what you will do when we arrive.” Mylan stood in the doorway, impatient to attend to his errand.

“You do not live here with your family, Mylan?” Celiese found each of his announcements perplexing.

“No. Now remove that dress quickly so I am not kept waiting!” He slammed the door as he went out, but Celiese sat down on his bed, unwilling to disrobe when she understood so little of his purpose. Where were they going, and what unnamed task must she change her clothes to perform?

When Mylan returned he swore heatedly as he tossed her a coarsely woven gray wool gown. “Your modesty is misplaced with me, Celiese, now don this and let us go.”

Celiese held up the drab dress and shook her head. “This is at least clean, but hideous. Mylan, why must I wear it?”

Mylan moved about the room collecting his belongings rapidly. “You must cease to concern yourself with beauty, Celiese. Practicality is the issue here; now dress or I shall leave without you.”

Celiese ran her fingertips over the rough threads of the gray fabric and complained again as she slipped it over her head. “I cannot wear this next to my skin, Mylan, it is so poorly woven it would be unbearably uncomfortable.”

“Your comfort is unimportant. Since I am ready, let us go.” Mylan frowned with disappointment as he looked at her, for the ill-fitting wool gown did little to hide her beauty. Forcing himself to continue, he asked gruffly, “Can you ride?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Of course? Not all women do. It will be dark—do you ride well enough to escape injury should your horse stumble?”

Celiese answered his question proudly. “My father taught me to ride shortly after I learned to walk. Olgrethe and I rode nearly every day in the spring and summer months, so it is not my skill or practice that will be a concern. I am far more worried over your well-being than my own. Can you ride with that gash in your side?”

Mylan brushed her unwanted sympathy aside. “I can sit a horse! Cease your ramblings and let us depart at once.”

Celiese lifted the heavy gown above her feet and followed him down the back stairs and out to the stables where a groom stood holding the reins of two sturdy mounts. She was given the smaller of the two, a dapple gray mare, and with an agile leap she mounted the gentle horse. Holding the reins tightly in her grasp, she turned the mare to follow Mylan’s lead.

The moonlight was pale, the shadows deep, but Mylan knew the worn trail well, and they traversed it for several hours without mishap. When at last he reached their destination he called over his shoulder, “Wait here while I light the fire, then you may come inside, too.”

Celiese slipped down to the ground and stood rubbing the ache in her spine, for the trip had been a long and tiring one. She remained standing at the open door while Mylan bent over the hearth in the center of the small house. After a few moments he’d ignited a blaze that sent a warm glow clear into the far corners of the cluttered dwelling, and she gazed about in dismay as she entered. It was a farmhouse, no different from any other, but so ill kept that she was astonished to find it served as Mylan’s home, when he was always so well groomed and finely clothed. “Is this where you have been living for the last two years?”