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She shook her head sadly. “No, this is my home, right here where we stand. This is where I belong, and I must stay.” She felt a responsibility to the peasants who farmed her land, a firm conviction that this was a duty she could not shirk.
Livid with her continual refusal to be his wife, which he was certain she knew damn well she was, he swept her up into his arms and carried her behind the shelter of the nearest wall. The stones of the floor were overgrown with thick grass, but he wished the spot were a more comfortable one. Laying her down gently, he dropped down beside her. Not bothering to remove the garments she wore,
he simply pushed them aside, slipping the layers of silk out of his way before he grabbed her wrists to stop any protest she might have considered before she attempted to make it. His mouth covered hers with a deep kiss, silencing any verbal argument as well. Consumed by the need he could neither fight nor deny, he saw only her vibrant beauty in his mind and, seeking to win her acceptance of a marriage already consummated by countless passionate encounters, he waited for some small sign that she would accept his affection as she always had.
Loving Mylan as deeply as she did, Celiese felt the same anguish piercing his heart. To think they would soon be parted was an agony too great to bear, and although she could scarcely move in his confining grasp her mood was clear. Her body was soft and pliant beneath his, hungry for the rapture he offered so insistently, and when he realized from her relaxed pose that she had made no move to fight him, he raised his head, a puzzled gleam lighting his golden eyes.
An amused smile played across her pretty mouth. Certain she would soon giggle at the ardor she continually inspired in him, he released her wrists to draw her into his arms with a playful growl. “I’ll teach you to laugh at me!” After kissing her lips soundly with a fervent passion, he nibbled her earlobe, then lowered his mouth to the creamy expanse of breast he had exposed to view in the first frantic moments of his embrace.
Her physical beauty bewitched him anew, and he never tired of caressing the gentle swells of her supple body. But he had a far more serious purpose than mere pleasure in mind. He wanted her spirit to blend with his in a bond she would no longer seek to sever. He slid his hand over her slender hip as his kisses moved slowly down the elegant contours of her shapely form. Her legs were perfection, long and slim, the ankles delicate and lightly tanned. After sampling the firm muscle of her calf, he found the smooth skin of her inner thigh delicious, and he moved with deliberate slowness toward his goal until he heard her breath quicken to soft gasps, all thought of laughter fleeing her agile mind as her desire grew to a fevered intensity that matched his own.
The warm inner recesses of her lissome young body lured him to explore their depths, and he began to savor her honey-sweet taste with a hunger he could no longer disguise with teasing nibbles. He held her fast so she would not escape him as he drank deeply of the rich, creamy essence her body had created especially to please him. It was far more intoxicating than mead, and he was drunk with desire, lured on by the same exquisite joy that shuddered through her, inspiring him to give more and more of himself in return.
Celiese felt as though she were floating above the warm, fragrant earth, carried aloft so gently she might never reach a plane where she would wish to stop and rest. Surrounded by the lush pleasure of Mylan’s irresistible affection, she could scarcely lift her fingertips to caress his curls, her shy touch holding him near until the ecstasy of his loving kiss flooded her veins with a contentment so superb she found making even that small gesture impossible.
Lost in the same exotic dream of love he had created for her, he at last enfolded her in a tender embrace, his mouth seeking reassurance from hers before he buried his face in her bright haze of silver curls and let the rapture he had given her wash over him, as well. Pleasure this rich should be shared for a lifetime, and without her by his side the best part of himself would already be dead.
When he started to draw away, she held him more tightly, the softness of her deep green gaze giving no hint of the turmoil that still raged within her heart. “Will you not hold me for just a while longer? I do not want the beauty of this moment to ever pass,” she whispered.
“I want to hold you forever,” he responded hoarsely, uncertain what he had proven by his latest demonstration of the unbridled passion she kindled within him. He could no more control the fires of his own emotions than he could control her, and yet he had seldom known a more exhilarating challenge than the effort to conquer her elusive spirit. He could not separate her willfulness from her intoxicating beauty, and he wondered if she had any idea what a fool he had become in his quest for her love. He lay still, cradling her head gently upon his broad chest until at last she was ready to leave him.
“There was a stream that ran through the trees at the bottom of the hill. I wonder if the water still tastes as sweet.” Without waiting for him to follow, she scampered off, her tiny feet flying over the autumn grass.
Startled by her sudden departure, Mylan sat up slowly, a rakish grin lifting the corner of his well-shaped mouth. He was thirsty too, for something far stronger than water. But remembering the foul taste of André‘s wine, he thought it better not to inquire as to what else the village might have to offer. Pulling his clothes back into place, he stood up and brushed the grass from his knees. He knew he must have taken leave of his senses to make love in such a tempestuous fashion when their privacy was hardly assured. He looked around to be certain no one had observed them, and then started off after Celiese, whistling happily to himself as he went.
Not only was the stream flowing with the pure spring water she had recalled so fondly, but it collected in a wide pool that looked too inviting in the afternoon sun to resist. Removing her clothing and shaking it out briskly to remove the wrinkles Mylan had just so thoughtlessly pressed in the fine fabric, she draped her gown over a tree limb and waded into the sun-drenched pond. The chill water provided a heady rush of excitement, and with renewed vigor she washed quickly, removing all trace of Mylan’s distinctive masculine scent from her body. When he called to her she invited him to join her, as she thought the pool a far more pleasant place than either the small village or his ship were likely to be.
“Since I was never successful at luring you into my tub; I have no choice but to accept your invitation, but I fear the result will be far less erotic than what I always had in mind.” With a sly chuckle he sat to unlace his boots, and tossed the rest of his apparel aside. He watched Celiese’s face for a hint that she found the sight his body presented less than an appealing one, but her smile never wavered, and forgetting his scars he stepped into the cool water, then swam toward her. Celiese put her hands upon his shoulders, treading water to stay where he stood; “The two of us would not have even fit in your tub. That is not an erotic idea, but a ridiculous one!” Sparkling droplets of water dripped from his curls and clung to his thick lashes, giving him the appearance of a pagan god from the ocean’s depths. She was tempted to ask him which of his many gods ruled the sea, but the memory of her mother’s disapproval of his beliefs discouraged the thought so completely she did not voice it.
Instead, she leaned forward to kiss his smiling lips lightly. “Have you not had enough, does my affection never satisfy you completely?”
She looked so young with her damp curls clinging to her shoulders, so innocent and dear. He wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her close, suddenly afraid she would disappear even as he watched her smile shimmer in the sunlight’s reflection off the spring water. “Is it compliments you are after?”
Surprised, she pulled away. “No, I have no wish to be compared with other women you have known.”
Grabbing her wrist, he pulled her back into his arms. “Good, for there is no comparison between you and any other woman who has ever lived.” At that exact moment, he understood he would never be able to leave her. If she insisted upon remaining in her homeland to pursue a noble though foolish cause, he would have to stay, at least until he could lure her away. That weight off his mind, he released her and swam with a long, graceful stroke back toward the shore.
Confused by his flattery, she followed. “At least my loving puts you in a far more agreeable mood. I will consider that the only compliment I deserve.” Having no towel upon which to dry herself, she turned slowly so that Mylan could pat her flushed skin dry with his tunic. “Thank you, but now your tunic is wet. It will dry quickly if you place it in the sun.”
“I would sooner go without a shirt than have you appear in the village without your gown,” he teased playfully, his mood positively euphoric.
Rather than tease him in return, she dressed quickly, for it was possible children might still come there to play as she once had. She did not want to be discovered cavorting in the nude with Mylan by anyone of any age. They seemed to have settled nothing, yet she felt close to him once again and was content with that happiness for the moment.
While they sat in the late afternoon sun waiting for his linen tunic to dry, Mylan suggested a new approach. “Let us not anger the king by consulting him upon the matter of your property, since he has already given it away. We should go directly to Hrolf instead.”
“We?” Celiese asked with a wondrous gaze, “Why, Mylan, do you mean you will stay and help me?” She was astonished by the offer he had just made so casually.
Unwilling to admit how foolish he had become in his pursuit of her, he replied flippantly, “I will stay for a short while longer, since I am curious as to the outcome of your cause. If Hrolf is inviting Danes to establish homes here, perhaps our simplest approach would be to tell him you are my wife and we have grown fond of this particular piece of property. He may just give it to us for our own.”
“You cannot be serious,” she argued. “You cannot expect me to keep still about who I am and the fact this land is rightfully mine!”
“Which would you prefer, to own the land again or not?” Rising to his feet, he extended his hand. “Give the matter some thought, and we will leave for Rouen at first light.”
“Tomorrow we will go?” She accepted his help, straightening the soft pleats of her bodice as she questioned him. “I have not thought, well, I mean I have had no time to prepare what I want to say.”
Before he could tell her she should just be still and let him handle the matter, André appeared upon the path. He hesitated to come forward until he saw Celiese wave, but the sight of the Viking’s hideously scarred chest repelled him so greatly he could not keep the revulsion from showing in his expression.
Knowing what had caused the Frenchman’s fright-filled glance, Mylan took his tunic from the branch where it had hung to dry and pulled it over his head. It was slightly damp still, but that discomfort was easier to bear than the fear André could not hide. “Tell him I am the worst of warriors, and that’s why I’m so badly scarred. That tale may give him the courage he needs to walk with us back to the village.”
