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“I will summon two witnesses and then we will begin. I will be only a moment.”
The priest returned all too quickly, and when he began the ceremony in a soft, low voice Celiese found it easier to focus her attention upon the candles bright flame, or upon the sweet fragrance of incense or upon any distraction the chapel contained other than the taunting smile of the handsome man who knelt by her side.
Mylan seemed to regard her consent to their marriage as a victory of sorts, when she could not even recall agreeing to it. She wondered how much of his new religion he understood, for as one of the sacraments marriage was considered a lasting bond, one severed only by death. The thought sent a chill up her spine she could not suppress, for perhaps he realized only too well that her life was unlikely to be a long one and so had no qualms about going through a ceremony to form a permanent tie. She repeated her vows in a steady, soft tone, but her heart was heavy, filled with none of the joy the priest had alluded to as creating lasting memories.
Mylan simply wanted the ceremony to be finished, but the priest seemed to continue speaking for hours, each successive prayer growing longer until he despaired of ever leaving the chapel before sundown. As the wife of a man who had pledged his loyalty to Robert, Celiese would have a measure of safety she had lacked before, and he hoped it would be enough to protect her. He had found the duke to be a volatile man, fond of pleasure but swift to anger, a man who demanded his way in all things, and most definitely not a man who would tolerate the interference in his affairs by a young woman so high-spirited and defiant as Celiese had become.
With a touch of sadness he recalled the first time he had taken her for his wife, surrounded by family and friends. She had seemed the dearest of young women. Soft spoken and sweet, she had changed his outlook on life from despair to optimism with no more than the brightness of her smile. That day was months in the past now, but he remembered it clearly, and looking down at the pretty woman he was surprised as always by the innocence of her expression, as if she shared an angel’s purity of heart. But he had learned through far too many bitter lessons just what treachery the astonishing beauty of her delicate features concealed.
Chapter 24
Mylan thanked Father Bernard graciously for performing so beautiful a wedding ceremony, but he had sensed from the moment he had first broached the subject with the Fren
ch cleric that the man would not dare to refuse him. He had spoken no threats, but the balding priest had been apprehensive throughout all their conversations, his brown eyes darting nervously about as he had pleated the fabric of his woolen robe with long, bony fingers that were never still.
“May God bless you both,” Father Bernard responded with an anxious smile, relieved he had apparently pleased the tall blond man. He did not know what else to say as the striking couple moved down the aisle toward the chapel door. He wanted to wish them an abundance of earthly blessings, yet they both seemed preoccupied, and, unlike most newly married couples, not with each other. Shaking his head with puzzlement he watched them depart, a most unusual pair in every respect, but still he hoped he might see them again, for he sensed an intriguing depth to their characters.
Once they had left the sanctity of the duke’s chapel, Mylan drew Celiese aside. “We must find Robert now, and I’ll caution you to remember just one thing.”
That those were the first words her husband wished to speak to her did not surprise her, but she would have much preferred some sweet compliment and a tender kiss. Looking up at his intense expression, she saw the wedding ceremony had made little difference in his mood. They had gone through the formality of exchanging vows, but clearly his only emotion was still an anger he could barely contain.
“And what might that be?” she asked softly, certain she already knew.
“Whatever you wish to accomplish for yourself and your people, you must be alive to do so. Give Robert no cause to think the benefits of your death outweigh those of giving you your freedom. No matter how he might insult you, do not give him the satisfaction of making you lose your temper, for you’ll forfeit your life, as well,” he warned sternly.
Celiese nodded, her expression as serious as his. “He already knows what I think of him, Mylan, how can I make him forget that?”
“You need do no more than smile to make him forget the sound of his own name!” he whispered fiercely. “Now come, dear wife, let us do our best to win his blessing for our marriage, and then we’ll depart Rouen with all possible haste.”
Appalled by the prospect of receiving any sort of good wishes from Robert, Celiese opened her mouth to remind him just what she thought of the scoundrel and how little she valued his blessing, but then, knowing he would not appreciate a repetition of her opinion, she kept still. “Why was he so insistent that I speak with him before dawn?”
“Merely to frighten you out of your wits, and I’d say the ploy was a success,” Mylan commented tersely and led the way through the large manor, finally locating the duke at the rear of the garden. He was practicing his skill with the broad sword, using several of his men as sparring partners. When he saw Mylan approaching he tossed him a weapon and invited him to join in their sport, giving Celiese no more than a stilted nod.
A request from the duke was never refused; Mylan gripped the hilt of the finely balanced steel sword with a confident grasp. Turning to direct Celiese to a nearby bench, he gave her a warning glance to insure her silence, and she sat down to observe as if they were about to provide a spectacle solely for her amusement. After unbuckling his belt and pulling his bliaud off over his head, Mylan laid them upon the bench next to his bride. He did not discard his chainse, however, for the lightweight linen shirt covered the scars he had no wish to display.
Turning to Robert he responded readily, “I am not dressed for games, but I will accept your challenge.”
Robert’s ample mouth curved into the slow smile of a spoiled and lazy tomcat who had just cornered a tasty mouse. He nodded slightly, ready to begin, then raised his sword and leaped forward, his eagerness for the warm, sweet smell of blood shockingly clear.
When the duke came after him immediately, as though they were embattled in a duel to the death, Mylan had no illusions as to who was the more skilled with a sword, but he had no intention of quitting without putting forth his best effort. The older man was heavier, but agile still, a veteran of many years of armed combat. But Mylan outthought his every move and escaped his brutal blows with a grace that made his evasive actions seem effortless, when indeed they required every ounce of his newly regained strength to accomplish.
He had little choice. He could not wound Robert and escape his wrath, neither could he throw down his weapon and risk being branded a coward. He had simply to continue to defend himself as best he could and hope the man had already been practicing for a sufficient length of time to become quickly exhausted and call off the match himself. At least the sword he had been given was a fine one; for he could block Robert’s blows without fear the steel blade would snap under the intensity of the man’s assault.
Celiese sat upon the edge of the wooden bench, her heart beating wildly as Robert swung his sword again and again in a powerful downward arc. When they had first entered the garden he had seemed in a playful mood, but when he had realized that Mylan was going to be so wily an opponent his face had contorted in a vicious snarl, all thought of sport gone as the battle became a real one in his mind.
She was ready to scream, for she could see what Mylan could notâ??that Robert had expected an easy victory over his young friend, and each second the match continued he was growing more irate at the unexpected difficulty he had encountered. Surely the rest of his men let him win easily, so he was unused to having to apply his skill in so vigorous a manner and did not enjoy in the slightest having to do so now.
The staged battle took on so vicious a tone both men were soon drenched with sweat. Celiese could hardly bear to watch, and yet she could not turn away while Mylan’s life remained in jeopardy. A keen observer, she noticed the moment he began to favor his right leg and if Robert sensed his opponent had any weakness he would play on it unmercifully.
Hoping she might stop the fight before such a disaster occurred, she called out in a cheerful tone, “I beg you, sir, to remember this is our wedding day, and I’d like Mylan to save most of his energy for me.”
At that teasing comment Robert let out a roar of laughter, apparently grateful for an excuse to end a match he must sorely regret beginning. He stepped back and lowered his sword to his side. “I had forgotten the significance of the day, Michael, but I will leave you with whatever stamina you have remaining.”
Bowing slightly, Mylan handed the weapon he had borrowed to one of the bystanders and joined in the laughter as if he were greatly amused by his bride’s request. “Thank you, sir, as I do not want to disappoint the lady.”
“Have you ever?” Robert asked in his usual booming tone, his blue eyes alight with mischief.
“You will have to ask Celiese, for I’ll not speak for her.” Mylan feared he had disappointed her in more ways than the duke would ever consider, but he kept those failures to himself.
