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Appalled by the boastful man’s assumption, Celiese set the tray down carefully upon the table without daring to look up at Mylan. She knew him to be a proud man and she did not want to hear his response, for he would be no more pleased by his guest’s teasing than she was. As she turned to go, the man who had spoken reached out to grab her wrist.
“What is your name, girl? The story is a confusing one, I’m told. Are you slave or wife? What do you call Mylan, master or husband?”
She struggled to pull free, but the man held her too tightly and finally she had to look toward Mylan for assistance, her gaze imploring him to speak in her behalf. The look in his light eyes terrified her though, for his glance was filled with hatred and she was certain it was directed solely at her. In desperation she gave the obnoxious visitor a hoarse command. “Unhand me, you swine!”
Astonished by the clear ring of authority in the young woman’s voice, the startled man released her with a quick slap to her fanny and gestured toward the pitcher of ale. “I like a woman with spirit, but there will be enough time for me to see to you, girl, after I have quenched my thirst. Well, Mylan, perhaps if my original proposition does not please you I can make another one that will.”
When the two strangers burst into deep peals of hearty laughter, Celiese did not tarry but reached for the pail and ran to the door. “I need more water to prepare our supper,” she said breathlessly, then left the house. But the second she turned the corner she dropped the pail and fled for the safety of the woods on the far side of the stream. She ran on and on, not caring if her only gown was ripped or if her arms and legs were cruelly scratched by thorns. She kept on running until she feared her lungs would burst, and she had to sink down behind a thick clump of bushes to catch her breath before she rose again to flee ever deeper into the forest to where she hoped the hateful men would never be able to find her.
When dusk fell and she could no longer make her way through the dense underbrush, she crawled beneath the only shelter she could find, a tree uprooted by a long forgotten storm and left half buried in the earth. She was cold and tired, and desperately afraid, for Mylan had sworn once that he would sell her at his first opportunity, and she was certain by now the money had already changed hands.
Chapter 9
Mylan leaned against the doorway of his house, waiting impatiently as the sun rose, his keen gaze sweeping over the fields in the distance with the same care to detail he had given the sea. The land was flat, uninteresting to view in the pale light of dawn, devoid of the constant motion that made the sea the most fascinating of sights. He cursed loudly, though no one would hear, and turned to pick up his bow and arrows, deciding if he had to search for Celiese he would at least make good use of his time.
He doubted she would ever come back by herself; she was too willful by far to return on her own and beg his forgiveness for leaving his home without permission. He had apparently been much too lenient with her; she was more spoiled than Olgrethe, surely, for that haughty girl had the excuse of her class, but Celiese was no more than a slave. The word caught in his throat, for he had failed completely in his attempt to make her accept such a lowly status. Nothing about the lovely young woman reminded him of other captives he had known.
She always looked directly at him, her gaze neither servile nor defiant, but curious, questioning, until he was usually the one to turn away, for he found the clarity of her expression troubling. It disturbed him greatly that she had such a guileless glance when he knew her to be capable of the most treacherous deceit. Everything about her annoyed him, for she moved about his small house with the grace of a princess, as if she were the finest of ladies surrounded by luxury rather than the housekeeper of one young farmer who despised the land.
Lady Celiese d’Loganville, he whispered to himself, her name rolling off his tongue like the melody of a favorite song, and he halted abruptly, realizing he was doing a poor job of tracking. Giving all his attention to his task, he returned to his home to begin anew. The pail lay where she had thrown it, and when he found the trail of footprints ended at the water’s edge he crossed the stream and searched carefully until he found the marks her tiny feet had made as she had sped over the mud. He laughed to himself as he spied her path easily. She had moved too swiftly, carelessly leaving a trail of broken twigs and trampled grass. A boy could track so obvious a trail as the one she had left, and he quickened his pace as his spirits rose in triumph.
The shrill call of the birds greeting the new day startled Celiese as she came fully awake, sitting up so suddenly she struck her head upon the tree that had provided her only shield against the chill of the night wind. She shivered and rubbed her arms, but as she attempted to rise, Mylan clamped his hand down upon her shoulder, forcing her back upon the earth.
“How could you have become so lost while going to the stream, Celiese? Is it not a straight path from my house to the water’s edge?” he asked sarcastically, his handsome features set in a taunting leer.
She looked up slowly, fearing the worst. She saw the hopelessness of her fate clearly in his eyes. His fingers gripped her shoulder securely, but when she placed her hand lightly over his he drew away. She had found the warmth of his touch irresistibly appealing, and even on that bitter morning when she sat cold and hungry she longed for the comfort of his embrace and marveled at her own weakness. At least he had come for her alone, and she would not have to face all three of them at once.
“I am not lost,” she replied calmly, turning his menacing question aside sweetly.
“Oh, but you must be, for surely you know the penalty for a slave who flees from her master, for one who runs away so foolishly as you did yesterday.” As he stepped back his curious gaze swept over her slowly. She looked as though she had spent a most miserable night, and yet her confidence seemed undiminished by her ordeal.
She lifted her hand to shade her eyes from the morning sun. He carried only his bow and quiver, so what did he plan? “I have never been punished by a Viking for any crime, Mylan. I cannot even imagine what cruelty you might wish to inflict.”
Her comment sickened him thoroughly, for there was not the slightest trace of fear in her gaze, only a sadness so deep he could scarcely bear to see it. When he tried to answer his voice broke, and he covered that display of weakness by clearing his throat with a deep cough before speaking again. “It is not cruel to teach a slave her place. It is the right of the victor in any battle to make slaves of the defeated and bend their wills to his.”
“You and I have fought no battles of any kind. The same villains who are your enemies also attacked my family. Why do you not regard me as an ally rather than a slave?”
“Get up!” He commanded hoarsely, exasperated beyond endurance since her point was well taken, and he had no way to refute it. “I have no desire to make allies of young women. Since you are so dreadfully ignorant, I will teach you that any slave who runs away can expect to be whipped, beaten severely when she is captured and returned to her master.”
Celiese rose slowly and smoothed out the wrinkled skirt of her tattered dress. She was sorry to see the pretty garment had been ruined, especially since she had no other. “You cannot afford to whip me, for it would greatly reduce my price if you left me scarred, and I know you planned to ask all you could possibly receive for me. Is the matter not already settled?”
He shrugged, perplexed by her query. “Who would buy such a continually troublesome woman as you?”
Now she was the more confused of the two. She studied his expression closely, but she could discern nothing to help her understand his meaning. “What of your friends who came yesterday, did you not sell me to them?”
Amazed by the ridiculousness of her assumption, he scoffed impatiently, “They are no friends of mine. They wished to hire me to captain a ship for their raids, but I’d sooner rot here on my excuse for a farm than lead a band of pirates out to pillage. I gave them no more than one sip of ale and sent them on their way.”
Lyin
g with what he hoped was convincing bravado, he continued, “They took scant notice of you, Celiese. Are you so vain as to think they’d have paid me for you?” They had, in fact, approached the subject, offering a more than generous amount, but seeing his total lack of interest, had not pursued it, despite their great desire to own such a captivating beauty. He had forgotten he had once threatened to sell her; the prospect was unthinkable to him now, and he was sorry she had remembered his boast and feared he had carried it out. Knowing it had been her own fright rather than something he had done that had caused her to flee his home lessened his anger considerably.
She looked away to hide her sorrow, but his criticism had hurt her far more deeply than he had realized. “What I do know is that Vikings think nothing of asking their host for a pretty slave, and no man is so inhospitable as to refuse such a request.”
Mylan fought back the wave of red haze that marred his vision, but he was so infuriated by her comment he could scarcely see. “Was that what you saw in Raktor’s home?”
“Yes,” she replied softly. “But I remained hidden whenever strangers were about.”
“So you thought I would give you to any man who knocked at my door?” He stared down at her, horrified she would think him no better than Raktor in the manner of his conduct toward her. He had made no secret of his desire for her, perhaps had been too obvious about it in the last few days, but he had never meant for her to think he would allow others to share her favors when she was his alone.
