Captive Heart (36 page)

Mylan took a deep breath, weighing the benefits of explaining his worry, and, deciding she had a right to know what to expect when she reached home, spoke deliberately. “Hrolf is in Rouen. If he was given a sizable amount of land, his holdings may include what was once the estate of the d’Loganvilles.”

Appalled by that conjecture, Celiese hastened to argue. “That can’t be true, Mylan, it simply can’t. Perhaps as you and Hagen insist, the man was given some property by King Charles, but I refuse to believe it is so extensive as you say, or that he could possibly be occupying what rightfully belongs to me!”

The fury that filled her deep green glance was not one he’d care to see directed at him, and Mylan offered the only encouragement he could. “Cease to worry then, for nothing can be known for certain until we arrive, and you must not torture yourself with doubt.”

“Doubt?” Celiese scoffed. “The man has no right to my land, Mylan, and if he should be so stupid as to think he does, he will soon learn I mean to avenge all the wrongs done to the d’Loganvilles and I will be happy to begin with him!”

Mylan sat back, stunned by the depth of her anger. She had already risked death once in a desperate bid to win her freedom, and he knew without asking she’d do it again to restore to her family what was rightfully theirs. “I think you have answered my question after all, Celiese. It seems revenge is a far more powerful emotion in your heart than love. I cannot expect you to choose to stay with me when clearly that would mean you’d have to give up your lust for blood—which seems to be your destiny.”

Furious that he would taunt her so cruelly, Celiese wound her arms around his neck and sought his mouth with a kiss so desperate in its intensity that he was shocked by her passion. Her hands moved over him with so tantalizing a touch that he gave no thought to resisting the force of her affection and enfolded her in a ready embrace, forcing her down upon the blanket he’d provided for that exact purpose. The gentle loving they often shared was replaced by an urgency too great to delay with soft kisses or the sweetness of a tender caress. They were lovers consumed in the fires of desire, all restraint burned away in an instant as they sought the immediate satisfaction of the most glorious of shared pleasures. That the tent provided less than complete privacy did not disturb Mylan in the slightest, for Celiese had told him herself she had no reputation left to maintain, and he knew his own would scarcely suffer for what he was doing. But he would not have cared one bit if it had.

Chapter Nineteen

The autumn weather continued to be fair, the skies blue and cloudless, the Surf Falcon’s progress swift. While Mylan had taken care to insure there would be no repetition of the erotic scene they’d played on deck that one afternoon, Celiese seemed completely unconcerned by it. He realized with chagrin that he was no closer to understanding the complexities of her nature than he had been the morning they’d set sail for France. They had established an agreeable routine, that he had to admit. She kept to herself during the day, but sat beside him while they ate supper, and when he walked her to a secluded spot for the night she came into his arms with a playful eagerness he found enchanting. That did not mean their problems had been solved, however; if anything they had been compounded as the journey drew to its end. He wanted to keep Celiese as his wife. That desire had grown within him until he could accept no other possibility, but she seemed so totally absorbed in her dreams of returning home that she had no interest in discussing what future they might share as man and wife. He had no doubt he could force his parents to accept her, and as they wouldn’t reside in his father’s house he would not have to worry about her safety whenever they were apart. But while he could deal with his parents, it was Celiese he had failed to convince. Andrick’s words rang often in his mind, for he knew he had never courted the lovely young woman with the charm and courtesy to which she was entitled. She had simply become his bride, then his enemy, all in the space of one night. Fate had continually separated then reunited them, but their lives were now so entwined he had lost all thought of her as a separate being independent from himself. Celiese was simply his; whether he called her wife or mistress did not matter when she was too great a part of his life ever to let go. That she did not realize that fact for the truth it was caused him far more anxiety than the complexities of the voyage had ever presented.

“We have come a great distance, Mylan. I have not counted the days, have you?” Celiese stretched out their blanket upon the soft moss that covered the forest floor. They’d seen several small settlements along the shores in recent days, but they had skirted them all, searching out the most desolate stretch of coast each night to make their camp. At sunrise they would be gone, leaving no trace of evidence they had ever tarried there. If they were being followed, they left no trail of clues by which they could be found.

Tugging his tunic off over his head, Mylan teased her sweetly. “I have counted only the nights.” In truth he knew exactly how far they’d come and how many hours it had taken them. A skilled captain, he remembered each nuance of a journey, the force of the wind, the contours of the shore, landmarks that would guide him should he travel that way again. He missed nothing, and thought it unlikely she had either, for she seemed to be observing all with the same intensity she gave to everything she attempted to master.

Turning to cast a seductive glance over her right shoulder, Celiese responded skeptically. “You are too precise in your calculations for me to believe that, Mylan. Are we not nearly there?”

Mylan placed his hands on his hips, bracing himself for an argument he hoped wouldn’t come. “Do you find my company so objectionable you cannot wait for our journey to end?”

Saddened that he still did not appreciate the depth of her regard for him, Celiese stepped close. “You are the best of all possible companions, Mylan, as dear to me as anyone will ever be.”

Mylan racked his brain for a suitably complimentary response but could think of none, so he changed the subject with the first thought that entered his mind. “I wonder if Andrick has gotten over his fascination with Olgrethe.”

Startled that he would think of his brother at such a time, Celiese did not realize how much Mylan had revealed about his own emotions with that question. “I certainly hope he never does!” she replied with a lilting laugh. “He loves her; with all her faults I believe he truly loves her, and I know she adores him.” That Mylan would soon be an uncle was not a secret she thought she should reveal, however, so she kept silent about that bit of news.

“What faults does Olgrethe have that my brother seems to find so easy to overlook?” Mylan sat down upon the blanket and patted the place beside him to invite her company.

Not ready to join him, Celiese slowly began to disrobe, hanging the layers of her clothing upon the nearby bushes until only her light shift remained. “I did not mean to be critical of her, but she has always been pampered and that is what she expects.”

“Is a man not supposed to pamper his bride, whether she deserves it or not?” Mylan asked, his confusion plain in his puzzled expression.

Kneeling down to face him, Celiese reached out to touch the curls at his temple. The sun had bleached his golden hair with streaks of silver, while his beard was still a dark golden shade. He was so very tan and handsome, his light eyes shining with an inquisitive gleam, and for a moment she could not recall what it was they were discussing. “I think love should be shared equally, Mylan, each spouse wanting only what is best for the other.”

As she waited patiently for his response, Mylan knew if he said he loved her now she would never believe him but think only that he had saved that weapon for the last in hopes of taking her back home with him. A painful knot filled his throat and he knew he would be unable to speak any words and retain what slight hold he still had upon his sanity where she was concerned.

Mylan’s emotional turmoil was so plain upon his even features that Celiese did not insult him with questions about his mood. As always, he seemed to find the mere mention of the word love revolting in the extreme, and she had not meant to cause him such sorrow. She placed her hands upon his broad shoulders and leaned forward to kiss the pulse that throbbed steadily in his tan throat, her love unspoken but lavish in its expression.

Knowing she would stop at nothing less than the most passionate response from him, Mylan lay back upon the blanket, drawing Celiese down into his arms where he held her in a tender embrace. Surely words were unnecessary between them when they had shared so much in the few months since they’d met. With her he had known the joy of acceptance, which he had no longer thought possible, the bitter anguish of betrayal, the warmth of a friendship as deep as any he had ever known, and now this quiet pleasure he could not begin to describe adequately. From the depth of his soul he knew he loved Celiese and, praying it was not too late, he moved to prove with his strong, sleek body what he had never been able to speak in words.

Celiese welcomed him with a provocative purr, accepting his forceful affection with a grace all her own. She felt the exquisite joy swell within him until it flooded through her as well, a bliss so delicious that her dreams were always sweet, filled with the memory of his rakish smile and magical caress. No matter what fate awaited her in her homeland, she knew Mylan’s image would fill her heart until the last of her days and prayed her face would light his dreams for half as long.

The next morning Mylan summoned Celiese to his side as soon as he had guided their ship through the surf to the open sea. “Stay with me today. We are close, and I will keep the Falcon near to shore. You may recognize something that I would not.”

Taking hold of the rail so she could stand slightly in front of him, Celiese gave the coastline a long, careful glance. “I was never out in a boat, Mylan, not until Raktor tossed me in the bottom of his to begin the long voyage to your country. I know the other view, from the land to the sea, not this one.”

Suddenly realizing Raktor could come for Celiese whenever he chose, Mylan’s expression grew stern. Perhaps that fiend would wait for the summer, or the next, but he could come for Celiese and she’d have no way to defend herself if he were not there. “All I ask is that you try. We’ll surely see the river when we come upon it, but perhaps there will be something more.”

“I understand. I will try to help.” Celiese turned to smile warmly, but Mylan’s gaze was locked upon the shore, searching for something she could only imagine. She watched the coastline with strict concentration, and it was early afternoon when she saw a cliff that seemed strangely familiar. There was a path visible through the rocks and a stretch of white sand where an old man sat fishing. Seeing the Surf Falcon, he threw down his pole and ran as though the devil himself were pursuing him. He scampered up the cliff with the agility of a mountain goat and was gone, the entire incident lasting no more than a few seconds. But Celiese was certain she had recognized the place, although she could not name it.

“Mylan!” She turned to touch his arm, excitement lighting her eyes with a bright sparkle. “I know that place, Mylan, I’m certain I do! My mother liked to walk down to the sand when the day was warm, and I’m positive it was in that very spot.”

Not discounting her enthusiasm, Mylan knew they were within a day’s sail from the Seine. If they were that close to her home, then perhaps she did recognize the area as she said she did. It would do no harm to stop for a moment, but he wished they had not been seen, for surely the old man would give a cry of alarm, and whatever men there were to defend this small piece of land would come running. “I will not take the ship all the way in to the sand. Let us just go in part way, so you can have a closer look.”

“You don’t believe me?” Celiese asked sharply. “Why did you ask me to watch for landmarks if you are going to disregard my reports?”

Mylan gave the necessary orders to bring the ship about, shoving the tiller hard to starboard to turn toward the shore. “It is not your memory I am questioning, Celiese, but the mood of the crowd that old man may have summoned. You know yourself you would launch every arrow you owned before you’d ask questions as to why we’ve come.”

“I am not afraid to go ashore alone, Mylan. That way I can look around and allay whatever fears the residents might have. They would not attack a lone woman, not when I can greet them in a language they will understand.”

Mylan shook his head slowly. “Never. Now take another look, does the place still look like the one you remember?”

Exasperated with his domineering manner, Celiese turned away. The afternoon sun struck the cliff with a golden glow, making the scene all the more appealing, but she was more convinced than ever that her home lay just over the rise. “Yes. The pattern of the rocks is what I recall. Our land reached to the sea, and this is the very spot. I’m sure of it.”

By the time André arrived at the small village he was gasping for breath, his description of what he’d seen nearly incoherent, but he had to do no more than wheeze the word “Viking” for his frantic message to be understood. Women went screaming to hide their children in the woods while the young men, armed with no more than pitchforks and knives, ran toward the beach, hoping to stop the murdering northern bandits before they could reach their homes. André loped along behind them. No coward in his youth, he planned to be in on whatever action there might be. When the small group reached the cliff they stood at the edge looking down on the tranquil scene below while they tried to plan how to mount an attack. The Viking ship André had seen lay at anchor offshore, while a tall, fair-haired man and a slender blonde woman walked across the sand. Their clothes were wet from the short distance they’d walked through the surf, but to the Frenchmen’s delight they saw the man was unarmed. He wore no helmet nor suit of mail, carried no sword or shield, but instead offered his arm to the woman to lead her across the beach. Puzzled, they waited for André to reach them, then stood aside to provide him with the best view, hoping he might have some explanation for the unusual landing party.