Thulyn gestured graciously. “Everyone is waiting. Let us go.” She followed Celiese down the stairs, and escorted her to the main hall where all were gathered to celebrate the coming marriage. The large chamber was crowded, the merriment already underway when they entered, and they stood unnoticed at the doorway for a long while. Thulyn scanned the faces of those present looking for her husband and Mylan.
Celiese searched for Raktor and his sons. They were scattered about the room, all drinking and talking in loud, raucous voices to Aldred’s far more reserved kin. As a hush spread over the room, she was surprised to discover she was the cause. She felt little like a bride, but she followed Thulyn hesitantly across the wide expanse to Mylan’s side. She expected someone to shout, to scream out her true name and end her ruse before she became the bride of a man who believed her to be another. Yet all were silent as she passed by with a graceful step that brought a look of envy to every eye.
She smiled as Mylan took her hand, but it was plain that no matter how drunk the other men in the room might have already become, he had consumed little or nothing as yet. His glance was reserved, yet curious. He also had changed his attire, and his well-tailored suede tunic and trousers emphasized his lean, muscular build handsomely. She had not realized he was so tall, but now he was standing upright, rather than leaning against a chair for support, and he was easily a full head taller than she, although her height was unusual for a woman. His expression held none of the anger she had glimpsed that afternoon, but she could not help but wonder what he would say should he learn that his bride was a Christian slave rather than Raktor’s proud daughter.
As the ceremony began Celiese found she could understand little, for she had not been tutored in the Viking religion. She had difficulty following along, but hoped none would think her nervousness unusual, for surely no bride was calm on her wedding day. As the chanting continued, the low voices repeating ageless prayers, her fears grew, her deception gaining a horrible momentum in her mind until she was certain she would faint before the ceremony ended.
As she glanced up, she saw Raktor leering at her, his lust no different from the ugliness twisting his sons’ features. She stepped closer to Mylan, clinging to his arm. When he looked down, she offered a hesitant smile, for the stranger who would soon be her husband offered more in the way of security than did the master of the house where she had lived as a slave.
At the conclusion of the ceremony, Erik Vandahl, Mylan’s youngest brother, offered a toast to the bride and groom. He was nearly as tall as Mylan, not yet so well built, but a charming youth with a ready grin who kept those around him laughing with his easy humor. Aldred apologized for the absence of his other two sons, but there were kinsmen aplenty to join in the festivities, and the wedding feast continued for hours.
Although the mead was plentiful, Mylan drank little of the fermented honey beverage, and Celiese dared taste no more than a sip. He watched her closely, his amusement at her discomfort undisguised as he remained by her side, accepting the teasing as well as the kind wishes for their prosperity, until a moment’s lull presented him with the opportunity to draw her away from the noisy gathering. He led her quickly up the side stairs to his room, a chamber far greater in size than the one in which she had found him that afternoon.
“You do not wish to remain longer with your relatives, Mylan?”
“I want only to be alone with you, to continue what my father interrupted so rudely this afternoon.” He pulled her through the heavy wooden door, and bolted it securely before he went to the hearth. He bent down to add wood to the coals glowing softly upon the stones and soon had a blaze burning. He turned back to face his lovely young bride.
Apprehensive still, Celiese backed away. He moved with ease, his limp slight despite his complaints about his health. He appeared to be fit, vigorous, and strong. His ready grin had charmed many young women, but deceit rather than love carried her into his world, and he did not deserve to be treated so badly.
“Olgrethe? Why are you trembling? You were not so terrified of me this afternoon. Are you merely cold? Come closer to the fire.” He reached out to take her hand and drew her nearer to the hearth. “This house is older than time, but once the stone walls draw in the heat of the fire they will remain warm all night. You will like my room, it is one of the warmest.”
She stood in his easy embrace and held her palms out toward the flames and took several deep breaths. Mylan showed her such tender kindness because he believed her to be his equal. She dared not consider how he might treat pretty slaves. What Raktor had called her was the true lie, however, and she felt not in the least bit inferior to the handsome man who stood so near.
“I was not all that certain how you felt about me this afternoon, Mylan. I feared I had angered you.”
His warm breath caressed her cheek softly as he replied with a low chuckle. He combed her shining curls away from her face with his fingertips, and bent down to lightly kiss the silken skin of her throat. “How could I ever be angry with you, Olgrethe? You seem to see in me the man I once was.”
She turned in his arms, captivated anew by his gentle manner, and her smile was wistful and sweet as she replied, “I do not understand your sorrow, Mylan, but I am pleased not to be the cause of your anger.” She thought again how handsome he was with the charming sparkle lightning his golden eyes. Had Raktor sent Olgrethe, the lively girl would have loved him instantly, even if she had been unable to fathom his moods.
“You are far too lovely a young woman to inspire any emotion within me save desire.” He drew her curls through his fingertips to pull her close. “Your hair is so very fair, like sunlight upon the snow. May I brush it for you? I do not want to send for a maid to attend you, not tonight.”
She forced back the guilt his tender tone evoked and nodded. “Yes, would you please? Do you have a hairbrush? I do not know where my belongings were taken after I bathed.”
“They are all here.” He turned away briefly, and then returned with her brush and quickly removed the gold pins from her carefully coiled tresses, spilling the luminous curls about her shoulders in a glittering cascade. “I have never done this before, forgive me if I prove clumsy.”
She stood patiently while he brushed her hair slowly with long, even strokes, but finally she had to speak. “It is not like grooming a horse, Mylan, here let me show you.” She took the brush from him and pulled it through her hair from underneath. “Do you see, if you hold your hand at my scalp you may use more force.”
“Yes, I understand, but when have you ever brushed a horse?” He scoffed at the ridiculousness of such a beauty working in her father’s stables.
“From time to time I have groomed my pets. They are gentle animals who welcomed my touch.” Indeed, she had answered with the truth, the mares may have belonged to Olgrethe, but they had both groomed them upon occasion.
He took her thick curls in his hand to brush out the ends, and then let his fingertips stray along the graceful line of her shoulder. “Horses are not the only creatures who would welcome your attentions.”
His sensuous touch brought a shiver she could not suppress. She pulled away, and then crossed hurriedly to the row of narrow windows on the far side of the room. “Is the sea visible from here?”
“What?” He turned, startled by her sudden flight. “Oh yes, at night it is difficult to distinguish the sparkle of the water from that of the stars, but it is there.” He walked up behind her, but left his hands at his sides and followed her gaze as she studied the darkness with an intensity he could not understand. “Are you fond of the sea?”
“Yes, I have lived all my life within sight of the water.” Yet she found little comfort that night in the scent of the salty spray on the air. It was all she could do to stand calmly when she wanted so desperately to flee, but there was nowhere to run, and such foolishness would only make her plight all the worse. She stood trying to appear interested in the view, but she could not ignore the presence of the virile young man who stood so near. She could feel his warmth and his charm as almost a tangible force, and she wished she could return his attentions as honestly as he gave them.
“In the morning you will be able to see the coast clearly, but tonight you must trust my word it is there.”
She smiled demurely as she turned to look up at him. “I am certain you know the view from your own room, Mylan, but I fear we will be unable to sleep here tonight with the noise our guests are making. Should we not return to the party and join them?”
He laughed as though she had told the most amusing of jokes. “Olgrethe, surely you did not plan to waste our wedding night in sleep.” He began to tug at the intricately carved gold bracelets encircling her upper arms, and she helped him to remove them. “Good, I see you do know what it is I wish to do. Now, give me your earrings as well.”
Again Celiese obediently complied with his request, but each time she tried to step clear o
f his embrace he moved closer, until the backs of her legs brushed the furs covering his bed. She stopped abruptly, blocked from a further retreat.