“How do you expect me to light a fire if you carry the flint with you?” she asked indignantly.
He drew himself up in a slow, menacing stretch, towering above her as he regarded her with a contempt-filled gaze. “Just see that this fire is properly tended, so that it does not have to be relit. Now, show me what you can prepare out of the rabbits. I have not eaten all day and am hungry.”
“Cook those?” She glanced at the small furry carcasses lying upon the table. “I have never cooked any meal, Mylan. I have no idea how to prepare those little beasts so that they will be tasty.”
Shaking his head sadly, he continued to scold her. “Then it is time you learned. I have no need for a maid here; your housekeeping is barely adequate, and if you cannot prepare edible meals…” He broke off in midsentence, and when no truly horrible threat came to his mind he gestured broadly. “Then we shall starve!”
“We’ll not starve!” She laughed at his stricken expression, not caring if the sound of her merriment provoked him further. “How have you managed to survive these last two years? Show me how you have prepared rabbits yourself, and I will watch carefully so I might do it the next time. Won’t you please show me?” she coaxed with an infectiously pleasant smile and bright glimmer in her sparkling green eyes.
With a few swift strokes with his knife, he skinned and dressed the rabbits. Cutting the carcasses into quarters, he offered scant advice. “Fill the iron kettle with water from the stream. There are onions and other vegetables in the garden, add them when the meat is tender. Since you did not have the water boiling it will be a long while until supper.”
“I didn’t know where you’d gone, or when you might return, so how was I supposed to know you’d gone hunting and would expect the stew made before you’d arrived home with the meat?” His demands made no sense at all to her, but rather than argue she grabbed up the pail and ran to the stream to fetch the water.
Angered by the sharpness of her wit, Mylan jabbed his dagger into the tabletop with a vicious thrust before going out to check his horses. When he found both had been expertly groomed, their stalls cleaned, and their feed and water replenished, he swore under his breath. “Where does that woman find such energy?”
He leaned back against the rough wall of the shed and held his side, for it ached badly and he knew the dressing needed changing. Closing his eyes he breathed deeply to force away the pain with the power of his thoughts, but his confrontation with Celiese had provided such a distraction he could concentrate on nothing but her delightful image. He now doubted the wisdom of bringing her with him to the farm.
When Celiese had the preparations for their evening meal well underway according to Mylan’s directions, she began to wonder if he would bother to return to eat. She looked about the one-room abode; searching for the flaws he had noticed so readily, but she could detect none. Everything was in its place, all spotlessly clean and shining from her labors. Too nervous to rest, she waited at the door for a while, and then went outside to look for her reluctant companion.
He was still leaning against the shed where he had stopped to rest, his face set in a mask of undisguised disgust, and she waited for a moment for him to notice her. When he did not, she spoke softly. “The horses are not in need of more care, are they? It is difficult to perform any task in that small stable after the sun sets, but I have the time now if…”
“What?” Mylan stood up too abruptly, and winced as the wound in his side caused him a new burst of pain. Unable to catch his breath, he could say no more and feared Celiese would think him a fool for not having heard her question.
Frightened he might be ill, she lowered her voice to a sympathetic whisper, “You have done far too much today, Mylan. Do not exert yourself needlessly. Please come inside and I will see to your comfort as best I can.” Another of her many failings, she realized, for she knew nothing of brewing remedies from herbs, but perhaps he might be able to prescribe something she could prepare for him.
He offered no resistance to her suggestion, and when her arm encircled his waist he walked slowly back inside where he sank into a chair at the table before pulling his tunic off over his head. “I am none too clean, but I’ll not risk opening the wound again by bathing.”
“That is wise, but I can help you to wash,” she offered agreeably without realizing what exquisite torture it would be to touch him. His skin was deeply tanned, golden-brown and warm beneath her fingertips. She had to force herself to concentrate upon the blood-soaked bandage at his waist rather than on his lean, muscular body, which reminded her far too vividly of the night she had spent in his arms.
Concerned, she scolded him softly, “You must have been bleeding all day, you never should have gone hunting.”
Feeling no need for her advice, he sighed wearily. “It is a slight injury, and we must have food to survive.”
She worked quickly to pull away the matted layers of cloth covering the deep wound as she replied, “I can hunt for us, my father taught me how, and I’ve not forgotten his lessons.”
“Why would Raktor teach you such things, when he has sons aplenty?” he asked skeptically.
“He didn’t, but he is not my father, in case you have forgotten,” she pointed out quickly. “Tomorrow you must simply rest, and I will kill a wild hen or two for our supper.”
Snorting derisively, he exclaimed, “I’d rather eat porridge.”
“Would it offend your pride so greatly to eat food I’d provided?” She stepped back, insulted that her offer of assistance had been so rudely refused.
“I will not be able to eat anything if I bleed to death while you stand there talking! Find some linen to bind my side and be quick about it.”
Complying rapidly, she ripped a piece of cloth into narrow strips. “You brought me here to be useful, didn’t you? What difference d
oes it make what work I do? Since you find my housekeeping so disappointing, perhaps my hunting will please you more.”
He looked askance but made no comment as she bent down to tend him. She was wearing the blue silk gown he had told her to leave behind. Her hair curled softly over her shoulders, and he was disgusted with himself for finding her fair beauty so appealing when he knew full well she had a serpent’s lying heart.
“You will do as I say, Celiese. I am the master here, and I mean to be obeyed.”
She finished her task swiftly and turned away to hide the heartache that shone so brightly in her eyes. “Why don’t you lie down for a while and I will call you when the stew is ready.”
Frowning, he hesitated to agree with her suggestion. It was most sensible, but he did not want her to believe he would do anything simply to please her. But knowing he was too tired to do much else, he walked the short distance to his bed without complaining and stretched out carefully so as not to aggravate the gash in his side. The aroma from the bubbling kettle was surprisingly enticing, and he realized it had been far too long since he had eaten He was dizzy and weak, more seriously injured than he wanted to let the graceful blonde see, but when she was ready to serve their supper he could not summon the energy to rise.
“Mylan?” She did not wish to disturb him, but she had found only one bowl and his utensils were few. “Is there no more than one bowl?”