“The plants will grow without such close supervision, Celiese, or is the knowledge of how to raise food for your own use also a skill you lack?”
“What?” She leapt to her feet, picking up the pail by the handle as she replied, “I was merely thinking my own thoughts, not wondering how these plants grow.”
“At least you were clever enough to bring water, that is all the vegetables require for the time being.” He frowned with disappointment, for the young woman was obviously not in the least bit pleased to see him return home. She looked annoyed, impatient at having been interrupted when she had been doing no more than stare at his garden! Thrusting the hen he had shot toward her, he exclaimed, “If you have no idea how to pluck a bird, I suggest you learn before suppertime.”
She backed away, not eager for such a duty, “Why couldn’t you simply teach me how the fowl is to be prepared rather than complaining that I’m unable to do it? You have no reason to continually treat me so meanly.”
“No reason!” He threw the limp bird at her feet, furious with her for being so stubborn. “That I speak to you at all should please you. That I have been so generous as to bring you here to live with me has clearly made no impression upon you.”
She drew back her foot, tempted to kick the dead bird clear over the roof of the house. “Is it gratitude you want or simply obedience?” she asked defiantly. He looked extremely fit, and he could silence her with one blow from his fist, but she was beyond caring.
For the first time Mylan stopped to consider the expert fluency with which Celiese spoke his language. There was no trace of an accent in her speech, and she never seemed to lack for the precise term she wanted to make a point. “Can you even speak the French tongue?”
“What?” Confused by the irrelevance of his question, she could only stare up at him too dumbfounded to give a more sensible reply.
“Can you speak the language of the French? Yes or no?”
“Oui,” she replied flippantly, tossing her fair curls for emphasis.
“What does that mean?” Mylan took a step closer, closing the distance between them to no more than a foot and that space was occupied by the dead hen.
“It means yes, I am a Frenchwoman, and I speak the language of my people as easily as I speak yours.”
That she could manipulate words so readily made him distrust her all the more. “I care not at all what you say or in what language you speak as long as you learn to prepare meals worth eating.” He turned away, disgusted she was no easier to manage if left by herself all day. He swore under his breath. He had wanted her to… to what? To learn her place; but he had taught her nothing that day.
Perplexed by the bitterness of their angry encounter, Celiese glanced down at the feathered heap at her feet and decided the sooner she began the disagreeable chore of plucking the bird clean the sooner she would be finished. Using the wooden pail again as a stool, she sat down and began to pull away the feathers, scattering them to the wind as she muttered a coarse string of oaths of her own.
Mylan warmed only enough water to clean himself thoroughly with a wet cloth before he peeled away the bandage that covered his side. The wound seemed to be healing well, but the scar would be as hideous as his others, he thought with a grim sense of humor.
Celiese stopped at the door, never having expected to find Mylan standing nude. She was uncertain whether to go back out or to simply complete the errand that had brought her inside. When he glanced over his left shoulder at her she continued to regard his lean physique with an admiring gaze as she explained, “I came to get a knife to dress the bird. Do you need me to rebandage your side while I am here?”
He found the pretty young woman’s level stare astonishing, for she seemed to be neither embarrassed nor repulsed by his unclothed body and he was as uncertain as she as to what action he should take. He reached for his suede trousers and pulled them on without seeming to hurry as he responded. “No, it will be better if I do not cover it now.”
Coming close, she reached out to touch his ribs just above the gash. “Are you certain? It has just begun to heal. If you were to move too quickly it might tear open.”
Brushing her hand away, he laughed at her concern. “Just what do you think I’ll be doing tonight that will prove so strenuous?”
Frightened by the taunting light in his golden eyes, she blushed deeply as she backed away. He was right, of course, if he came after her now he would cause himself far more pain than pleasure. It was that threat that appalled her, and she could think of no ready retort to wipe away the smirk of triumph lighting his handsome features with such devilish glee. Turning away, she picked up his knife from the table. Suddenly noticing that it was decorated with the same rhythmic pattern of inlaid gold filigree as the sword she had found earlier, she nearly let it slip from her grasp.
“Be careful with that! I’ll not have the blade dulled by your carelessness!” he called after her, but she was gone before he realized she could just as easily have turned in his direction and thrust the blade of that highly prized weapon clear through his heart. Appalled by his own carelessness, he vowed to be more cautious where she was concerned, for he knew he had frightened her, and she was not the type of woman to take such an insult lightly.
“A slave would not dare attack her master,” he murmured, but she did not regard herself as a slave. He swore bitterly, and Celiese would have been pleased to see the mocking shine had left his eyes to be replaced with a far more clouded glow of confusion.
Celiese roasted the hen upon a spit over the hearth, and although Mylan paid no compliments he did not complain about the meal she served him, and she considered that a victory in itself. There was still the matter of her sharing his table, however, and it was all she could do not to ask him why he wished to treat her so rudely when there was no one else about to know or care if she dined with him. Not wishing to beg for his company if he would not give it gladly, she cut off a tasty portion of the breast for herself and went outside to enjoy the coolness of the evening while he finished his meal. She then went for a walk before returning to the house, and to her relief found Mylan sleeping soundly. But it was a long while before she could rest, with the strain of their uncertain relationship troubling her so badly.
In the following days Celiese found her life no easier to live, for now she frequently looked up to see Mylan studying her actions with an interest she felt far from flattering. He would laugh at her blush, or remind her of some tiresome duty she had neglected to perform, but she recognized the gleam in his amber eyes for the pure
lust it was and knew it was only a matter of time before he felt well enough to give vent to his passions once again. He had been so dear to her before, so gentle and sweet, but now everything had changed between them and she could imagine no torture worse than having Mylan treat her as a whore when she still wanted so badly to be his bride.
Her mounting fears compounded to terrifying proportions the afternoon she went to the door to shake out a fur and saw Mylan approaching with two strangers. The men were almost as tall as he, yet neither had a pleasing appearance. They struck her instantly as being of the same crude nature as Raktor and his kin, and she closed the door, looking about for someplace to hide herself, but there was none and the men were too close for her to successfully escape them if she ran outside. She tossed the glossy pelt upon Mylan’s bed and backed away into the corner, praying the strangers would not be invited inside, but in the next instant all three men came through the door.
“I can offer you some ale, at least while we discuss the reason for your journey here, but I can give you no hope that your proposal appeals to me.” Mylan slammed the door behind his guests, using far more force than was necessary to emphasize his words. “I am not pleased to see you, nor would I welcome anyone now when I am busy with my crops and cannot spare the time for such an interruption as your presence here presents.”
Celiese held her breath, for she knew Mylan was no farmer. He spent his time hunting or with his horses, and she doubted he did more than glance at his fields from the day he planted them until the harvest began. She brushed a stray curl away from her eyes, wanting only to disappear into the shadows, but to her horror Mylan called out to her in a loud voice.
“Have you no manners, Celiese? I would like my guests to be served as promptly as they would be in my father’s home. Bring us some ale and be careful to spill none, for I have little to spare.”
The strangers turned then, their mouths agape as they watched the graceful blonde prepare to serve them. Never had they seen such a treasure, and after they exchanged knowing glances one exclaimed, “So this is your woman, Mylan. No wonder you do not wish to be disturbed. I would never leave my bed were she to share it!”