Captive Heart (14 page)

“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, Celiese ripped a piece of cloth into narrow strips. “You brought me here to be useful, didn’t you? What difference does it make what work I do? Since you find my housekeeping so disappointing, perhaps my hunting will please you more.”

Mylan looked askance but made no comment as she bent down to tend him. She was wearing the blue silk gown he’d told her to leave behind, her hair was loose, curling softly over her shoulders, and he was disgusted with himself for finding her fair beauty so appealing when he knew full well she had the lying heart of a serpent. “You will do as I say, Celiese. I am the master here and I mean to be obeyed.”

Celiese 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 to eat.”

Frowning, Mylan hesitated to agree with her suggestion. It was most sensible, but he did not want her to think 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’d 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?” Celiese did not want to disturb him, but she’d found only one bowl and his utensils were few. “Is there no more than one bowl?”

“I had several, have you misplaced them?” he responded accusingly.

Sorry she’d inquired, Celiese simply gave him a hostile glance, then noticed how pale he’d grown. She knew she hadn’t mislaid any of his belongings, but excused his foul mood after considering the pain she knew he had to be suffering. “Well, since we have only this one bowl it will be difficult for us to dine together, but perhaps—”

“I don’t share my meals with slaves!” Mylan shouted hoarsely, then fell back with a moan, sorry he’d been so nasty when it had caused him such agony to yell at her.

Ignoring his cry of pain, Celiese continued agreeably, “I see no reason for us to eat separately.” She attempted to affect a calm she didn’t feel, for if she called him husband and he called her slave their lives were never going to run smoothly. The point seemed to be a moot one that night, however, as Mylan appeared to be too ill to leave his bed to come to the table. “Since there is just this one bowl, I will sit beside you and help you eat. That way you will not have to tire yourself by rising from your bed.”

Mylan shot her another disapproving frown, then decided not to argue; he was hungry, and his bed was suddenly too comfortable to leave. “I am no infant—bring me the bowl and I’ll feed myself.”

“As you wish.” Celiese carried the steaming bowl to his side and waited for him to sit up.

Mylan struggled to shift his position but found it too painful and lay still. “It looks as though you’ll have to feed me after all. Just be careful you do not spill any of that hot broth on me.”

“I will be very careful, Mylan, I won’t spill a drop,” Celiese promised playfully, and after bringing a chair to his bedside she sat down and offered him a spoonful of the stew. It smelled delicious, and she tried to ignore her own hunger while she saw to his.

Mylan watched Celiese closely as she lifted another spoonful of the tasty stew to his lips. She had spent the day cleaning his home, but she’d obviously bathed and had washed her hair, for she appeared as well groomed and pretty as when they’d first met. The pointlessness of that tender meeting brought back his anger in full force and he nearly choked on his next bite. “Not so fast, give me a minute to chew, at least!”

“Forgive me,” Celiese offered coolly, frustrated that he was being so totally unreasonable in his attitude. They were eating together as she saw it, though, and that thought pleased her. Thinking perhaps if she tried he would converse with her more agreeably, she asked sweetly, “Your farm seems to be a most prosperous one, Mylan, but how did you come to own land located so distant from that of your father?”

“You must know how land is acquired, Celiese, do not pretend that you do not.”

Puzzled, Celiese persisted, “It can be bought, I suppose. Did you simply purchase this property because the land is fertile?”

Her question seemed so innocently asked that Mylan answered truthfully, “This farm was part of the land my mother gave to my father when they married, part of her dowry. Have you never heard of that custom?” It seemed unlikely that she had not, but the wife’s goods belonged to the husband after the marriage, and every family increased its wealth in that fashion.

Celiese found it impossible to raise her eyes to his. She stirred the bowl of stew as though searching for a tasty morsel and asked shyly, “Were you promised land when you married Olgrethe?”

“Of course! Raktor is rich, the man who married his daughter could expect land and other valuables, as well. Did you think she would be prized solely for her beauty?”

“I gave such matters no serious thought, Mylan, but wealthy young women have attractive dowries in my country, as well.” When she glanced up, her deep green eyes were bright with unshed tears. “I am sorry that you were disappointed in that respect, too, to not have the wife you thought you’d married, nor to have the wealth you’d been promised.”

Astonished by her sincerity, Mylan changed the subject abruptly. That she actually seemed to care about his feelings had to be another trick, he knew it, and he was too clever to let her fool him again. “You needn’t look so stricken, for Andrick now owns all that he should as Olgrethe’s husband, and my family was cheated of nothing that was rightfully theirs. Now I am finished eating. That was not nearly as good as it usually is, but you’ll learn how to cook with more skill in time.” Closing his eyes, Mylan considered their conversation, as well as the evening, finished.

Realizing she’d been dismissed without the courtesy of a thank you for her help, Celiese got up. She rinsed out the bowl and filled it with a portion of the savory stew and sat down at the table to eat. She thought the meal quite good, despite his complaint, and wondered if perhaps he weren’t just being spiteful. She’d often eaten alone, for Olgrethe had joined her father and brothers for the evening meal. But this was different. There were only the two of them occupying the small house, and she couldn’t believe he truly planned to treat her as a slave. She’d not take that insult from him—to be ordered about from dawn to dusk, made to eat alone and then made to share his bed whether she wished to or not, she thought angrily. When she glanced in his direction he’d not moved. Perhaps he was already asleep. She vowed he’d never have a worse slave. She was his wife and deserved to be treated with kindness, to be loved and cherished rather than ignored unless there was some menial task he’d not wish to handle himself.

While Mylan fell more deeply into the serenity of untroubled sleep, Celiese sat fuming with rage, watching the glowing coals upon the hearth until they were no more than a few bright embers. She wasn’t a bit tired, in spite of the long hours she’d spent cleaning the small house and the stable. Too anxious to rest, she cleaned up the remains of their meal, then added more wood to the fire. She was confused and hurt by Mylan’s continual criticism, but reminded herself he’d been through an ordeal every bit as harrowing as the one she’d survived. Perhaps if she held her tongue and was patient for a few more days he would recall the hours they’d shared as fondly as she did and again take her as his bride. If not, then she’d be forced to run away, for she had far too much pride to live as a slave in a house in which she was rightfully the mistress.

Chapter Eight

When she awoke before Mylan the next morning, Celiese hurried out to the stream to bathe as best she could while she tried to decide what to do. She’d boasted that she could hunt, but she’d been a child when her father had let her ride by his side. She’d been able to draw the small bow he’d made for her, but what of Mylan’s far more powerful weapon? If it took all her strength to draw back the string she’d be unable to aim the arrow with any accuracy and never be able to provide meat for their table. “His table!” She corrected herself bitterly. Glancing up at the sun to judge the lateness of the hour, she returned to the small dwelling to begin making porridge for their breakfast.

Mylan opened his eyes slowly and for a brief moment could not recall why he should again be on his farm, when he absolutely despised the place. At least Celiese was there to tend the house and relieve him of the tiresome chores that entailed. He lay quietly watching her move about without letting her see he was awake. That she had begun preparing his breakfast without being told was a point in her favor, and he tried to recall where he’d last seen the pewter bowls he sometimes used, for even if he’d not eat with her he knew she deserved the courtesy of having her own dishes. “Look in the chest where you found the linen yesterday, Celiese, I must have a dish or two stored away there,” he said suddenly, breaking the quiet.

“Oh, Mylan, you startled me badly!” Celiese spun around to face him, happy to see he was well enough to consider her comfort for a change.

The pretty blush that filled the delicate blonde’s cheeks surprised Mylan completely. He thought his request had been phrased casually and didn’t understand why she’d reacted with such delight, as if he’d paid her the most flattering of compliments. Why was she blushing so attractively when there was not the slightest cause for such a reaction? “Well, go on and look, I’ll not have you standing around wailing for me to finish eating when there is so much work to be done here!”

Celiese moved toward the ornately carved chest without any real haste, for she was embarrassed that her happiness in seeing him that morning had not been returned in kind. She bent down, lifted the lid, and after regarding the layers of apparel for a moment commented, “You have very fine clothing, Mylan, the smoothest suedes I have ever felt. But I do not see any bowls here.”

Mylan pushed himself off his bed, and when his side gave him no pain he knelt down beside her to look for himself. “They would be along the side, not among the folds.” Thrusting his hand along the wood, he withdrew first one bowl and then another. “There, now you need not wait for me when you prepare meals.”

They were so close their shoulders were touching, and when Celiese turned to take the two bowls from his hands they slipped from her grasp and clattered to the floor. “I’m sorry.” She grabbed them up quickly for his accusing stare made her acutely uncomfortable and she did not want to make him angry with her again. “I am not usually so clumsy.”

Mylan turned away, as startled as she had been by the spark of excitement that had passed between them. Her fingertips had barely brushed his wrist and he could not even catch his breath. Disgusted with himself for having so little control of his emotions where she was concerned, he got to his feet and left the house, determined to remain outside until he could again convey the cool detachment he wanted to affect in her presence. He’d brought her with him to punish her, to make her work keeping his house and cooking his meals, but that was to have been the extent of her duties. He’d not realized how quickly he would again succumb to her charms, but she was the most attractive of women, a beauty of such grace and spirit he’d been a fool to think he could treat her with the indifference he usually showed a slave. He knelt by the stream, splashing the cold water upon his face until its icy chill had cleared his mind and cooled his blood sufficiently for him to think calmly. The problem was a simple one, he realized. Since he would not have Celiese for his wife, she would have to accept her place as his slave and consider providing him with the pleasure he craved as only one more of her duties. A small matter, he decided with a sly grin, and he returned to his house to see if she had prepared an edible porridge.

Celiese waited as Mylan ate, her smile shy. “Well, what do you say? I thought it quite tasty myself.” He had finished one bowl of the steaming porridge and had then asked for another, so she was reasonably certain he liked it.

“I was too hungry to taste the first bowl, some honey might help, or fruit, if we had any.” Making a face, he shoved the half-eaten bowl aside. “I will forgive you since you have no experience as a cook, but if you cannot do better than this tomorrow morning I will just throw it out.” Without looking her way Mylan got up from the table, reached for his bow and quiver of arrows, and headed out the door.

Astonished by his abrupt exit Celiese ran after him, calling excitedly, “Wait, I can hunt even if I cannot cook! Please, let me come with you!”

Mylan hesitated only a moment. The porridge had actually been quite delicious, and he was sorry he’d not thought of some way to finish his second helping before he’d said it was no good. “It is a proficient cook I need, not a hunting companion. And how can you hunt with no weapons?”

“I could make my own if you would help me. Let me come with you today and I will gather sturdy branches to fashion a bow and arrows of my own,” Celiese offered eagerly. She’d cleaned his house so thoroughly the previous day she knew she would have little to do if he again left her alone until sunset.

“Your attire is unsuitable for walking through the forest.” Mylan reached out to touch the soft silk of her blue gown. “Since you’ll not wear the garment I gave you, you cannot afford to ruin this one.”