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“Is this no more than a game to you, with the advantage belonging to Hrolf’s side or to yours?” she asked softly, fearing her fate meant little to him other than the challenge avoiding it seemed to present.
“Ours!” he corrected her sharply. “I have done little this week but work to persuade Robert that despite occasional fits of uncontrollable temper you are usually the most reasonable of young women. Now you must behave that way for both our sakes!”
His bright golden eyes shone with a demanding gleam, but after a truly miserably week, she was well aware his request was not a frivolous one. “Do you understand so little? I would never do anything to harm you.” She seemed to continually anger him, and she had not meant to do so when Hrolf was her enemy, not him.
Taking advantage of her more sensible tone, Mylan hastened to enlist her support for his plan. “All right then, now listen carefully while I explain what we must do.” Taking a deep breath, he hoped he could be concise as well as persuasive. “The time I have not spent with Robert this last week I have been with Father Bernard, for the only way I can remain here in France is to swear my allegiance to King Charles and to accept your religion as my own.”
“What?” Celiese gasped sharply, astonished he would even consider making such enormous sacrifices.
“Just be still and listen as I asked,” he cautioned sternly. Hoping she would be silent for another moment or two at least, he continued, “I managed to satisfy the good priest that my conversion to Christianity is a sincere one. I was baptized yesterday and have taken the name Michael, since it is a Christian name and closest to my own. Now we are going to be married again, in a Catholic ceremony this time, so that there will be no question as to whether or not you are truly my wife.”
“You would do all this for me?” Celiese was near tears; she was so touched by his gesture. It was so completely unexpected and so dear she was deeply moved, and yet she did not dare hope his actions had been motivated by love alone.
With a rueful smile, he warned her again to be still. “You have not heard all of this yet, Celiese. Robert needs men he can trust to be loyal to him in order to make his claim to the portion of French soil he has been given a lasting one. That I have a French bride as he does is all the better, for it ties his new rule to the old in a way even the most ignorant peasant can understand.
He will give me land to call my own in return for my promise to remain here and serve him loyally. Naturally, I asked for the estate of the d’Loganvilles, your home.”
When he paused to judge her reaction, Celiese could barely speak. Color flooded her cheeks. “My land will be yours, is that what you’re saying? That no matter what I do, my home will always belong to a Dane? If not to Raktor, or to Hrolf, it will belong to you?”
Insulted she would group him with such ruthless men, Mylan got to his feet and moved away. “I convinced Robert that you would do nothing to undermine his rule in this province, that you would be as loyal to him as I am willing to be. After we are married he wishes to speak with you. What you say to him will be your choice, but I can do no more than warn you in the strongest terms possible that what you are truly choosing is to live as my wife or to cease to live at all.”
“Why are you bothering to marry me? You will have my land whether or not I am alive, so what is the difference?” The advantage was indeed his as he had said, but she could see no reason for him to marry her when he already had everything he wanted without the unnecessary aggravation of taking her as his wife.
Mylan was ready to shout the vilest of insults when he recalled where they were and had no choice but to lower his voice and speak calmly. “I am bothering to marry you, Celiese, if that is the way you wish to look at it, because it will save your life. When you are usually so bright, why does my reason escape your comprehension so completely?”
He raked his fingers through his curls in a vain attempt to control his temper rather than turning her over his knee and spanking her as he would a naughty child. That was all she was, he realized with a start, a beautiful, headstrong child. “You are no more than seventeen, Celiese; you need a responsible adult to care for you, and I am willing to do it. Just be grateful for it.”
“Somehow, I did not think it was gratitude you wanted in a wife.” She taunted him with a toss of her curls, but she did not expect his reaction to be so immediate nor so hostile.
He swept her up into his arms, and then sat down upon the couch to place her across his lap. Winding his fingers in her curls, he ravaged her mouth with a brutal kiss, demonstrating forcefully exactly what he did expect from his wife. “There, does that satisfy your curiosity? I want you for my bride because you arouse my passions as no other woman ever has, and I am certain my touch weaves the same magical spell upon your senses.”
She found the effort to struggle against him exhausting and soon had to sit still, despite her determination to break free of his confining grasp. She had no way to fight him except with words, and she did so. “That is a remarkable story, Michael. You will leave your country to take up residence in another, swear your allegiance to a king you’ve never met, change your religion, indeed, exchange all that you have known as a Dane for the life of a Frenchman simply because you cannot control your lust for me? When you will not tell me the truth, I wonder what preposterous lie you told the duke to whom you’ve become so remarkably loyal.”
Mylan’s eyes filled with an evil light, the darkness of his thoughts shockingly plain. Were they not in a church he would have shown her just how difficult the desire she inspired was to control by taking it to its limit. Certain it would result in the worst of reactions from her, however, he restrained himself from being so foolhardy. “The priest will join us in a moment. I must have your answer now, do you want to be my wife, or not?”
He had not proposed to her the first time they were wed, she had simply been sent to him to be his bride, but she knew he was capable of thoughts of the sweetest sort and was heartbroken he had not sought to win her consent in a loving manner. She raised her hand to her temple, her pain now so intense she could no longer see clearly, and she could neither accept nor refuse no matter how his proposal might have been worded.
“Please take me out of here, Mylan, I’m going to be sick, and there’s no way I can avoid it.”
She had gone limp in his arms, her color fading to a deathly pale, and he did not doubt her. Rising with her still in his arms he carried her out of the sacristy by way of the small passageway that led directly to the stairs. The guard would still be at the main door of the chapel, believing Celiese was confiding in the priest. Stepping into the shadows he carried her up the stairs and into his room unnoticed.
After placing her gently upon the bed Mylan went back to shut the door, not wishing to be disturbed when he had still not managed to win even a reluctant promise of cooperation from her. She was so strong-willed an individual he could not understand why she had fallen ill at the worst of times. He brought a small copper basin and placed it at her bedside should she need it.
“Would you send Marcela to help me remove my gown? It is so pretty, and I do not want it to be ruined,” she called to him, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I’ve no time to search for a maid, I will provide all the help you’ll need.” Totally out of patience with her, he sat down upon the edge of the bed and turned Celiese upon her side so he could reach the back of her gown. He began to slip it off, taking care not to disturb her rest unnecessarily. The brocade was stiff, an opulent fabric but not one intended for wear while sleeping, and he laid the gown over the back of a chair rather than leave it upon the bed.
Celiese curled up then, wanting only to sleep until the pain in her head stopped hurting so badly. “I am sorry to cause you such trouble.”
That she would apologize after being so obnoxious made no sense at all, but he would not take exception to her words to extend their argument. “It is Michael now, try and remember so you will say the correct name when we are married. I will go and find Father Bernard to tell him your health is too delicate to permit you to participate in a wedding ceremony at this early hour. I am certain we can delay the marriage for an hour or two, but no longer, Celiese, as I want to be out of this house before nightfall.”
His voice seemed to come from a long way off, and she was not certain she had understood him. She was positive she had not agreed to marry him even though he behaved as though she had. Too tired to argue the point, she remained silent, letting him think whatever he liked until she had gathered sufficient strength to speak in her own behalf.
She slept deeply for more than an hour, pushing all worry aside while she restored a pleasant sense of equilibrium to her slender body. When she awoke the house was very quiet, unnaturally still, and she saw no reason to behave as if she were still a prisoner if that was no longer the case. She rolled off the high bed and hurried to the wardrobe, hoping her own clothing might still be stored there, and to her immense relief she found it was.
She slipped on the soft silk dress she had borrowed from Olgrethe, and knelt to fasten the ties on her slippers before she donned her cloak and put up the hood. With luck she would be out of Rouen before anyone discovered she had awakened from her nap, but as she took a step toward the door Mylan came through it. He was carrying a silver tray upon which he had balanced a large bowl of steaming soup, but he stopped so suddenly when he saw her that the hot liquid splashed upon his hands. With a loud oath he nearly threw the tray upon the small table next to the door.
“Go ahead, I want to hear your explanation for where you’re going, since what I’m tempted to believe cannot possibly be the truth!” he shouted hoarsely.
