“Of course? Not all women do. It will be darkâ??do you ride well enough to escape injury should your horse stumble?”
She answered his question proudly. “My father taught me to ride shortly after I learned to walk. Olgrethe and I rode nearly every day in the spring and summer months, so it is not my skill or practice that will be a concern. I am far more worried over your well-being than my own. Can you ride with that gash in your side?”
He brushed aside her unwanted sympathy. “I can sit a horse. Cease your ramblings and let’s depart at once.”
Celiese lifted the heavy gown above her feet and followed him down the back stairs and out to the stables where a groom stood holding the reins of two sturdy mounts. She was given the smaller of the two, a dapple-gray mare, and with an agile leap she mounted the gentle horse. Holding the reins tightly in her grasp, she turned the mare to follow Mylan’s lead.
The moonlight was pale, the shadows deep, but Mylan knew the worn trail well, and they traversed it a long while without mishap. When at last he reached their destination he called over his shoulder, “Wait here while I light the fire, then you may come inside.”
She slipped to the ground and stood rubbing the ache in her spine, for the trip had been a long and tiring one. She remained standing at the open door while Mylan bent over the hearth in the center of the small house. After a few moments he had ignited a blaze that sent a warm glow clear into the far corners of the cluttered dwelling, and she gazed about in dismay as she entered. It was a farmhouse, no different from any other, but so ill kept she was astonished to find it served as his home, when he was always so well groomed and finely clothed.
“Is this where you have been living for the last two years?”
“Aye, this is my home.” Mylan threw off his cloak and turned to face her, his frown again becoming his constant expression. “It needs a good cleaning, that I will admit, so you need not think you will insult me by seeing to it at first light.”
She looked about the one long, narrow room, hoping her poor first impression had been caused by the flickering fire, but now that the wood burned with a steady glow the place looked no better. “You have brought me here to clean?” Disappointment shown in her luminous eyes, their color bright with unshed tears. She was not a bride being welcomed into a home filled with love, but still she had hoped for better than this from him.
“To clean and to cook, indeed to perform any task I might assign. For the present you must tend the horses, they are doubtless weary, and so am I. The stable is in the rear. Well, run, I’ll not have such fine animals neglected!”
With an angry glance Celiese left without arguing. She gathered up the reins and spoke softly as she led the two horses around to the small shed that served as the stable. “Mylan says you two deserve care, but what of me? Am I not to be shown even the slight amount of consideration he shows a horse?”
Sorry the beasts could not reply, she did her best to see they were cooled down properly and ready to spend a restful night. The shed was dark and she stumbled, bruising her shins cruelly as she missed her step at the doorway. That pain was the final assault on her spirit, and she burst into tears before realizing with a sudden flash of insight that she should be rejoicing that Mylan had not married Olgrethe as she had feared he would.
Sitting up, she brushed away her tears, for why would he have brought her with him if he had not missed her as greatly as she had missed him? As she stood she tripped again over the hem of the long gray gown. Gripping it tightly in her hands, she ran around to the front door, gasping for breath as she entered the large room, but all was quiet. Mylan lay sleeping, his deep breathing easy as if he had fallen sound asleep the moment he had sprawled across the heap of furs that served as his bed. She tiptoed to his side and slipped her hand under the soft suede of his tunic. His wound was apparently no longer seeping blood, for the linen bandage was still dry, and, satisfied he was merely exhausted, not unconscious from loss of blood, she ceased to worry about him and looked about for a place where she might rest comfortably herself.
Mylan lay at a diagonal, leaving no space for her upon his bed. She was certain that it had been deliberate rudeness on his part, but she was too tired to care. She leaned down to brush his tawny curls with her lips, her kiss a spontaneous gift of the affection she had no desire to hide regardless of the bitterness of his mood. “God bless you, dear husband, may your dreams be sweet.”
As was the custom in a farmhouse, the platform that formed a bench around the interior walls served as seating during the day and as beds during the night. That Mylan had such a splendid mound of furs upon which to sleep was a tribute to his skill as a hunter, but she hoped he would not miss a few so she might make the hard wooden bench at least somewhat more bearable as a bed. After adding more wood to the fire, she gathered a few pelts from his generous supply, and lay down and closed her eyes wearily, for she was as exhausted as he from the long day. Forcing all fear for the future from her mind, she smiled with a lazy satisfaction. She had never expected to be a farmer’s wife, but now that prospect seemed most rewarding, for as long as Mylan kept her with him she cared not at all where he chose to live.
Chapter 7
In the pale light of dawn Mylan’s farmhouse was even more disorderly than Celiese had at first imagined. She lay upon her stomach on the wooden bench where she had slept, her chin propped on her hands as she scanned the room slowly, amazed by the accumulation of clutter that littered the quaint little house. As was the Viking custom, it was sturdily built of tree trunks split into staves and then placed vertically in the ground to form the walls. Although it had been dark when they had arrived, she knew this late in spring the thatched roof would be covered with a sprinkling of bright wildflowers, and with the cleaning Mylan
had suggested she was certain the home could be a charming place.
The fire that had burned on the hearth when she had fallen asleep was now no more than ashes, and she wondered if Mylan would soon rise to light another to help her prepare breakfast. Glancing over her shoulder where she expected to see him still sleeping, she found only the heap of furs occupying the corner. Suddenly certain she had been left in an abandoned farmhouse many miles from home, she leapt to her feet and ran out the door, sprinting around to the shed where she found the dapple gray mare she had ridden with Mylan’s roan stallion, both munching contentedly upon a fresh supply of feed.
He had apparently fed and watered their mounts before he had left, but where could he have gone? Anxious to find him she circled the low dwelling, shading her eyes from the rising sun as she searched the surrounding fields for the tall Viking. He was nowhere to be seen.
The landscape was a serene one, the fertile land flat, while nearby a stream ran with inviting swiftness beneath a thick stand of linden trees whose branches were topped with the new growth of spring. While not so immense an estate as the one owned by Raktor or Aldred, the farm appeared to be a prosperous one, and Celiese’s mood grew more optimistic as she continued to survey her new home.
Mylan had still not appeared, and she walked to the stream. Knowing she was quite alone, she slipped off the coarse woolen garment, then Olgrethe’s blue gown. The chill of the water brought a bright blush to her cheeks, and she made haste to complete her grooming before her fair skin took on the same pale blue as the sky. Donning only the silk gown, she carried the gray one back to the house to search for a pail so she might carry water to begin the cleaning.
It was late afternoon when Mylan returned, limping badly. He carried two rabbits slung over his shoulder as the only evidence of his day’s efforts. He hesitated at the door, clearly dismayed at the sight of the tidy household Celiese had managed to create in less than one day’s time. That she had obeyed a command he had issued in such an offhand manner the night before amazed him, as everybody knew that slaves were completely devoid of such initiative.
“I did not expect, I mean, you need not have…” He caught himself thenâ??an order given should be obeyed. Still, she had caught him off guard, and he was more confused than pleased by her unexpected willingness to clean his house.
Celiese approached him with an enchanting smile. “I have always preferred order to chaos. Your house did not present too great a challenge.”
Ignoring her friendly greeting, he strode through the door, and tossed the limp game upon the table. “I suppose this is the best you could do,” he commented gruffly. “In time you will learn how I want my house kept.”
Her pretty smile of welcome vanished instantly at his rebuke, for she was shocked he thought there was something she had neglected to do. “I put fresh straw on the floor, shook out the furs of your bed, cleaned all your cooking implements, dusted all the furnishingsâ??what more should I have done?”
Mylan turned away. His home was spotless, but he would pay her no compliments that day or any other. “The fire has gone out. I expect my supper to be ready when I come home. Do not be so careless ever again.”
Gesturing helplessly, she explained, “The fire was out when I awoke. How did you start a fire so quickly last night? I have no idea how to do it.” She had worked so hard to please him and as usual had failed, but that the fire had gone out was not her fault, and she refused to assume the blame for it. “I did bring in more wood,” she offered quickly, hoping to put him in a more agreeable mood.
Drawing a small leather pouch from his belt, Mylan removed a flint and bent down over the pile of kindling she had laid. Scraping the steel blade of his knife against the flint, he soon ignited the dry kindling. He stood and backed away as the fire spread to the larger lengths of wood.