Captive Heart (48 page)

She had gone limp in his arms, her color fading to a deathly pale, and he did not doubt her word. Rising with her still in his arms he carried her out of the sacristy by way of the small passageway that led directly to the stairs. He knew the guard would still be at the main door of the chapel, believing Celiese was confiding in the priest, but stepping into the shadows he carried her up the stairs and into his room unnoticed.

After placing her gently upon the bed Mylan went back to shut the door, not wishing to be disturbed when he’d still not managed to win a promise of cooperation from Celiese. She was so strong-willed an individual he could not understand why she’d fallen ill at the worst of times, but he brought a small copper basin and placed it at her bedside should she need it.

“Would you send Marcela to help me remove my gown? It is so pretty, and I do not want it to be ruined,” Celiese called to him, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I’ve no time to search for a maid, I will provide all the help you’ll need.” Totally out of patience with her, Mylan sat down upon the edge of the bed and turned Celiese upon her side so he could reach the back of her gown. He began to slip it off, taking care not to disturb her rest unnecessarily. The brocade was stiff, an opulent fabric but not one intended for wear while sleeping, and he laid the gown over the back of a chair rather than leaving it upon the bed.

Celiese curled up then, wanting only to sleep until the pain in her head stopped hurting so badly. “I am sorry to cause you such trouble, Mylan.”

That she would apologize after being so obnoxious made no sense at all to him, but he’d not take exception to her words to begin another argument. “It is Michael now, try and remember so you will say the correct name when we are married. I will go and find Father Bernard to tell him your health is too delicate to permit you to participate in a wedding ceremony at this early hour. I am certain we can delay the marriage for an hour or two, but no longer, Celiese, as I want to be out of this house before nightfall.”

Mylan’s voice seemed to come from a long way off, and Celiese was not certain she had understood him, but she was positive she had not agreed to marry him even though he seemed to be behaving as if she had. Too tired to argue the point, she remained silent, but decided to let him think what he liked until she had gathered sufficient strength to speak in her own behalf.

Celiese slept deeply for more than an hour, pushing all worry aside while she restored a pleasant sense of equilibrium to her slender body. When she awoke the house was very quiet, unnaturally still, and she saw no reason to behave as if she were still a prisoner if that was no longer the case. She rolled off the high bed and hurried to the wardrobe, hoping her own clothing might still be stored there, and to her immense relief she found it was. She slipped on the soft silk dress she’d borrowed from Olgrethe, then knelt down to fasten the ties on her slippers before she wrapped her cloak around herself and put up the hood. With luck she’d be out of Rouen before anyone discovered she’d awakened from her nap, but as she took a step toward the door Mylan came through it. He was carrying a silver tray upon which he’d balanced a large bowl of steaming soup, but he stopped so suddenly when he saw her that the hot liquid splashed upon his hands. With a loud oath he nearly threw the tray upon the small table that sat next to the door.

“Go ahead, I want to hear your explanation for where you’re going, since what I’m tempted to believe cannot possibly be the truth!” he shouted hoarsely.

Stalling in hopes some plausible explanation would come to her, Celiese began slowly, “Well, I just awakened and I felt so much better that I—”

When she hesitated, Mylan came forward, his expression still menacing. “Go on, I am listening.”

Celiese saw only a tall and exceedingly strong man, a very angry one, not a friend in whom she wished to confide, but she had little choice in the matter. “You said I never consider my actions, well I have been thinking of little other than escape for several days. I never should have come here feeling the way that I do. Turn your back and let me go, I will cause neither you nor your friend the duke any further trouble. I will vanish as if I never existed, you have my word on that.”

Mylan shook his head in disbelief. “You have this well thought out, do you? Just whom do you think Robert would send after you should he discover you have suddenly turned up missing only minutes before our wedding? Since you think you have made such careful plans, just whom do you think he’d charge with the responsibility of bringing you back?”

Seeing his point, Celiese replied promptly, “You?”

“Of course. If I succeeded in bringing about your return, then you would suffer the most severe of punishments. If I failed to find you, however, then I would be the one to be punished. I don’t suppose that matters much to you, though, does it? Even though you swore only this morning that you did not want to see me come to any harm, as usual you have thought only of yourself.” Mylan was beyond anger now. “I thought you were really ill; that was one of your finest performances, by the way, you had me completely fooled, again.”

When Celiese drew back her hand to slap him Mylan stepped forward quickly to block her blow. He grabbed her wrist, then twisted her arm behind her back to propel her across the room. “You will first sit down and eat every drop of that soup, as I’ll not have you fainting upon me gain. Then you will remove that gown and put on the other. I expect my wife to dress like the Frenchwoman she is, is that clear?”

“I don’t deserve that insult, Mylan, I don’t deserve any of your abuse!” Celiese knew her denial was futile, for he heard only lies no matter what truth she spoke, but she would not take his scorn in silence.

“Abuse!” Mylan scoffed at that term. “I am merely trying to provide some nourishment for my bride, who seemed to be so weak she might not survive our wedding ceremony. Now enough of your senseless chatter—sit down and eat!”

When he drew a chair to the table Celiese sat down without having to be pushed. The aroma of the hot broth was most tantalizing, and despite her anger with him she was glad he had provided something to eat, for now she was ravenously hungry. She picked up the spoon, and taking care to sample only the cooler broth at the edges of the bowl began to eat with such obvious appetite that Mylan could only stand back and stare.

“Were you given no food all week?” Mylan placed his hands upon his slender hips, fascinated by her keen appreciation of a soup he’d tasted and thought quite ordinary.

Stopping only briefly to glance up at him, Celiese responded truthfully, “Marcela brought me one meal, then Jaret provided some apples and nuts once. I think he usually brought only bread and water when he came each night, but I wasn’t hungry by then.”

Shocked that she had been treated so badly, Mylan now thought her hunger only natural, and forgetting his anger inquired in a solicitous tone; “Is that enough? I will find something else if you’d like it.”

“No, this is fine, thank you, it is plenty.” Celiese tried to eat more slowly, but Mylan’s expression did not change. He continued to stare at her with rapt interest until she had finished the last drop.

“Now if you’ll but remove your cloak and dress, I will help you with the other.” Helping her from her chair, Mylan attempted to untie the ribbon at her throat but found himself too clumsy and stepped back.

“I know you think I behave childishly, but I am at least able to dress myself, Mylan.” Celiese found herself smiling at him for the first time that day, but the tension between them had eased considerably, although she was uncertain just why.

“Michael, you must remember to call me Michael now.” When she had unfastened the ties to her cloak he took it from her and replaced it in the wardrobe. “Now give me your dress.” He tried not to look at her, to focus his attention at something else in the room, but she was far too pretty a sight not to enjoy, and he could not turn away. She was wearing a chemise, at least, but its silken folds hid none of her beauty, and he knew they would never reach the chapel on time if she did not hurry.

“Michael is a very nice name, but what will it matter if I call you Mylan?” Celiese tossed him the silk dress, then lifted the brocade gown from the chair and struggled to put it on by herself. It was a deep rose in hue, making her pale skin glow with a soft tinge of peach that was most becoming, but only Mylan could appreciate that subtle effect. “This gown is not nearly so comfortable nor so practical as Olgrethe’s. Must I wear it?”

“Yes! Now hurry and brush your hair. We have kept Father Bernard waiting all morning, and his patience should not be abused so badly.” Mylan began to pace near the door, wanting only to take Celiese to bed and knowing that was the last place he could afford to be that morning. She was the most seductive of creatures, her every pose impossibly alluring, and she was doing no more than brushing her hair! Mylan cursed his own weakness, which had led him into one of the most dangerous situations he’d ever faced, and for what? For a young woman who would leave him at her first opportunity; leave him with no regard for how greatly he might suffer in her absence. When she laid the brush aside and turned to face him with a sad, sweet smile brightening the confusion in her gaze, he wanted only to take her in his arms and hold her so tightly she would never escape him. Instead he reached out and took her hand in a firm grasp. “Finally! Now let us hope the priest has not been called away, so that we may get this over with quickly.”

“Surely this is the most ill-advised match ever made, Mylan, for neither of us is happy with it.” Celiese implored him to wait just a moment, to seek other solutions to their dilemma, but he was in no mood to converse. Sweeping her along beside him, he hurried down the stairs to again enter the chapel from the small door in the sacristy.

Father Bernard was kneeling, deep in prayer. He was badly startled when Mylan and Celiese appeared so suddenly at his side. Leaping to his feet, he tried to regain his composure, but he was a nervous individual, still fearful his existence in a house filled with Danes was a precarious one, and he stuttered as he greeted them. “This, this young woman is to be your bride, Michael?” He knew his Danish was poor, but all his converts were learning French so slowly he hardly dared hope any would ever be able to converse with him in that tongue. When Celiese replied in flawless French he was not only astonished but delighted. “My dear, I hope you are again feeling your best, for marriage is one of life’s most important events, and today will always live in your memory as a most blessed one.”

Celiese glanced up at Mylan, wondering just what he’d told Father Bernard, for she had no wish to shock him. Since the priest spoke his language, she had no way to inquire without his knowing what her question was. It seemed apparent the priest did not realize this was not to be their first wedding, and while she considered that an important point it was clear that Mylan had not. Not wishing to create another bitter scene with him that morning, however, she kept still. “I am so pleased to meet you, Father Bernard.”

“Well, come then, let us enter the church so the ceremony can begin at once. Michael told me of his desire to marry a Christian woman, but it did not occur to me that you would be French. From what city do you come?” The priest turned to smile as he led the way into the chapel.

“I am Lady Celiese d’Loganville, Father. If Rouen is your home then you will have heard the name,” Celiese responded proudly.

“Oh, indeed I have.” Startled, the man wondered why a young woman from so fine a family had chosen to marry a Dane, even one as handsome as Michael, then thought he would be smart to avoid such a question. He was doing his best to bring the word of God to men who in his opinion could only be described as the most barbaric of pagans and, finding little pleasure or success in his task, he thought himself fortunate to have so intelligent a convert as Michael and hoped he would attract more. “I will summon two witnesses and then we will begin. I will be only a moment.”

The priest returned all too quickly, and when he began the ceremony in a soft, low voice Celiese found it easier to focus her attention upon the candles bright flame, or upon the sweet fragrance of incense or upon any distraction the chapel contained other than the taunting smile of the handsome man who knelt by her side. He seemed to regard her consent to their marriage as a victory of some sort, when she could not even recall agreeing to it. She wondered how much of his new religion Mylan understood, for as one of the sacraments marriage was considered a lasting bond, one that could be severed only by death. That thought sent a chill up her spine that she could not suppress, for perhaps he realized only too well that her life was unlikely to be a long one and so had no qualms about going through a ceremony that was supposed to form a permanent tie. She repeated her vows in a steady, soft tone, but her heart was heavy, filled with none of the joy the priest had alluded to as creating last in memories.

Mylan simply wanted the ceremony to be finished, but the priest seemed to continue speaking for hours, each successive prayer growing longer until he despaired of ever leaving the chapel before sundown. As the wife of a man who’d pledged his loyalty to Robert, Celiese would have a measure of safety she’d lacked before, and he hoped it would be enough to protect her for the time being. He’d found the duke to be a volatile man, fond of pleasure but swift to anger, a man who demanded his way in all things, and most definitely not a man who would tolerate the interference in his affairs by a young woman so high-spirited and defiant as Celiese had become. With a touch of sadness Mylan recalled the first time he’d taken her for his wife, surrounded by family and friends. She had seemed the dearest of young women. Soft spoken and sweet, she had changed his outlook on life from despair to optimism with no more than the brightness of her smile. That day was months in the past now, but he remembered it clearly, and looking down at the pretty woman he was surprised as always by the innocence of her expression, as if she shared the purity of heart of the angels. But he had learned through far too many bitter lessons just what treachery the astonishing beauty of her delicate features concealed.