Raktor was last person in whom she would ever confide, no matter what sort of husband he proved to be. “No, you are mistaken, I issued no threat. I have left my home and will make my life with you, and you need never fear you will suffer any pain for accepting me as your wife.”
She spoke those words although she could not honestly give such a promise. Her very presence in his home was a lie, and she had scant hope she could win his love if he ever discovered the truth. She feared she had failed to please him, and as tears filled her eyes she tried unsuccessfully to hide them. “If you do not want me, Mylan, please say so now, it would be far better for both of us if you did not hide your doubts behind excuses.”
Mylan’s gaze grew puzzled. The young woman who sat perched so calmly upon his left knee was the most perplexing creature he had ever met. He stroked her soft silver tresses lightly as he tried to consider which was the wisest course, but he found her stunning beauty a serious distraction to any coherent contemplation. She had the sweet, trusting heart of a child, and he had hurt her. She had been willing to accept him, in spite of the grotesque horror his badly torn body presented, and he had been most ungracious. He had no fear of Raktor, surely the man’s bellow was no more than the howl of the north wind, annoying but doing no real damage. He chuckled to himself then. What punishment could Raktor inflict to equal what he had already suffered? He lifted his hand to tilt the lovely girl’s chin and spoke softly as he leaned forward.
“Kiss me like this, Olgrethe, open your lips.”
She obeyed hesitantly, not knowing what to expect as he drew her near. The expanse of his chest was warm to her cool breast and she rested her hands lightly upon his broad shoulders. His kiss was light, as gentle as before, but as his tongue passed between her lips she grew frightened and drew away.
“Please, please don’t.” Her heart pounded so wildly in her ears she could scarcely think, and although she saw his lips move she could not make out his words. He appeared to have nothing in common with the Torgvalds, but as his arms tightened around her she was terrified, desperately afraid of the affection he appeared determined to give. When the door flew open Mylan relaxed his hold for a moment as he turned to look over his shoulder, and she seized the opportunity to leap to her feet and back away.
Aldred Vandahl laughed heartily at the intimate scene before him. “I do not have to ask what you have decided, Mylan. It has been far too long since I’ve seen a beautiful woman in your arms, but can you not wait until Olgrethe is your wife?” He crossed the small chamber swiftly, and taking the young woman’s trembling hand firmly in his turned toward the door. “Come, child, you must dress. Raktor will accept no excuse for postponing the ceremony beyond the agreed upon hour, as indeed, neither will I.”
Celiese glanced back at Mylan and was shocked by his furious stare, but whether his anger was directed at her or his father she could not tell. She clung tightly to Aldred’s hand as she was swept through the door and out into the hall where Thulyn stood ready to assist her.
Chapter 3
“Come, Olgrethe, your bath is waiting, and I fear it will grow cold.” The friendly woman led Celiese up a short flight of stairs into a small, well-lit chamber. “Here is your trunk. The silk and wool of your gowns and tunics are exquisite, but then, Raktor is very rich, is he not?”
Celiese nodded as she began to remove the jewelry the man had provided that morning. “Is Aldred not also? The fabric of your gown is as sheer as any of mine.”
Thulyn smiled, pleased by the young woman who would become her son’s bride. “You are bright, Olgrethe. I did not expect such a daughter from Raktor, yet you possess both grace and spirit. I pray you will give Mylan many sons.”
Celiese paled noticeably at that remark and turned toward the steaming tub prepared for her use. “Thank you. I am happy to have pleased you.”
Seeing the pretty young woman’s discomfort, Thulyn feared she had offended her, but she misunderstood the cause. “I know your mother is long dead, but you do understand the love between a man and a woman? If you lack all such knowledge, I will explain as best as I can.”
While she considered how best to answer, Celiese pinned up her hair so as not to dampen her long curls. Thulyn seemed so sincere in her inquiry, so eager to offer advice, and she turned slowly, a demure expression gracing her lovely features. “My aunt Helga described the act when I first became a woman, but not how to accomplish it. I am most dreadfully ignorant in the ways to give a man the greatest of pleasures. Is there something you could teach me so I may please your son?”
Thulyn smiled graciously, happy to have won her future daughter-in-law’s confidence. “I am certain Mylan is pleased with you already. Your beauty would delight any man, and he will be a far better teacher than I could ever be. Now step into your bath before the water loses its warmth.”
Celiese smiled shyly and tossed her new green gown aside with the carelessness Olgrethe had always shown and sank into the waiting tub. The heated water enveloped her in a luscious warmth, and she had no desire to hurry. The longer she remained soaking contentedly, the more time Raktor would have to fill Mylan with mead so he would joyfully welcome her to his bed.
Despite her fear of other Viking men, she had liked the golden-eyed Mylan from the moment they had met. She could not only accept him, but surely in time come to love him. She would have to fool him though, not merely for a few days and nights, but for the rest of their lives.
“Why, Olgrethe, you’ve no need to weep.” Thulyn stepped closer, her voice filled with sympathetic concern.
“No, I am not crying.” Celiese splashed her face with the warm water until her tears were lost from the perceptive woman’s gaze.
Unconvinced by her denial, Thulyn persisted in her efforts to reassure her, “Please, Mylan is such a fine man, he will never mistreat you. Do not be afraid of him, nor of what your life will be here, for it will be as pleasant as the one you’ve known.”
Thulyn’s promise had been meant as encouragement rather than a threat, and Celiese knew the considerate woman had no idea how terrifying a prospect it truly was. “Yes, your son seems most kind.”
Thulyn sighed wistfully. “If only you had known him before the tragedy. His smile was as bright as the rising sun and his laughter never ceased. He can be that man again with your love, and that is why my husband pressed him so strongly to accept this marriage.” Hesitating, Thulyn realized she had revealed too much, “I mean….”
“I understand. Mylan told me himself he was not eager to wed, but I will do my very best to make him happy.” Celiese was overcome with longing, for Thulyn reminded her of her own dear mother. She wanted so desperately to be loved and protected once again, to be surrounded with the joy she had once known rather than the endless peril that had forced her to use all her cunning merely to survive.
She wished she were marrying a man she truly loved in a ceremony attended by her own family and friends, but the beloved world of her parents was gone, ground to dust beneath the Vikings’ bloody tread. The bride she should have been would never have come to Mylan Vandahl, and the danger in her present path closed in upon her with a dread so deep she could not hide a shudder.
Pretending she had grown chilled, she stood up, letting the warm water drip from her slender figure before stepping out of the tub to take the towel Thulyn offered. She dried off carefully before selecting the gown Raktor had given her for the wedding. The glistening ivory silk was shot through with golden thread, and the garment shimmered with the seductive glow of moonlight as she turned. With her hair freshly brushed and styled she had never been more stunning, her beauty soft and appealing, like that of the pretty child she once had been. She scarcely needed heavy gold jewelry, but she slipped it on again and was ready.
“My husband has looked forward to this day so eagerly. We must stop this senseless fighting amongst ourselves and learn to live in peace in our own land.”
Celiese spoke the truth of her thoughts before she could silence them. “To better make war on those dwelling across the sea?”
Thulyn shrank back in astonishment. “Why, Olgrethe, you sound so bitter! But your father’s warlike ways are not ours. The Vandahls are responsible for no deaths on our shores or those far away. Did your father not explain that our men are traders who barter the finest goods of one people for those of another?”
Frightened she had said too much, Celiese reached out to touch the older woman’s arm lightly. “It is only that I long for peace more than your husband ever has. It is no mere dream to me, but a memory of all I hold dear.” She relaxed when Thulyn smiled, placated by her more moderate tone. Helga had called the Vandahls adventurers, but she had forgotten their interest was in trade, rather than barbaric murder and plunder.