As, they entered the large home a tall, elegantly dressed woman came to greet them. She smiled with the same delight as her husband as she saw what an astonishing beauty Olgrethe had turned out to be. Her eyes were an unusual light brown, amber in hue, while her once-blonde hair now held more than a trace of silver. “How lovely you are. Welcome to our home.”
Celiese smiled politely as the introductions continued, but before she had time respond, Aldred took her arm and led her down a long corridor and left her in front of a wooden door.
“Do not bother to knock. Simply enter; my son is expecting you and will be ready.”
Feeling abandoned, Celiese drew on the courage that had brought her this far. While a ruse, marriage offered the prospect of hope and an escape from near endless numbing fear. Her choice was an easy one, and she pushed open the heavy door. At first she thought the chamber was empty.
“Mylan?” she called in a whisper, afraid she might offend her future husband. But what if he were truly as hideously disfigured as Olgrethe had feared? He had not come to his father’s dock to meet herâ??was he unable to ride? Did he spend all his time hiding in darkened chambers? If so, would she be able to conceal her revulsion for even one minute, let alone a lifetime? She would have to.
“I am here, Olgrethe.” When he turned toward the window only his silhouette was clearly visible, the bright outline of a tall man, powerfully built but lean, his broad shoulders tapering to a slim waist and narrow hips. He was leaning against the back of a sturdy chair, favoring his right leg slightly as he stood gazing out toward the sea.
“What they have done to us is unpardonable. Our fathers have sealed their bargain with our lives, but I am a grown man, not a child who must do his father’s bidding. You need not marry me today, nor ever. I will release you from whatever promise you have made.”
She approached him slowly, her lingering apprehension lessened by a curious fascination, for the rich timber of his deep voice was mellow and very pleasing, even though his words held a bitter sting. “Mylan.”
“No! Listen to meâ??if you will not refuse this match, then I will refuse you! I want no bride who has been forced to take me sight unseen. I want no part of our fathers’ wretched pact!”
Certain how horrid her fate would surely be should she have to return to Raktor’s home, she gathered her resolve and reached out to touch his sleeve lightly, but she felt him flinch before he drew away. “Mylan, please, will you not look at me while we speak?” She held her breath, terrified of what she would see as he turned slowly toward her, but as the light of the sun illuminated his face she gasped sharply, for she had never expected Mylan Vandahl’s appearance to provide such a startling shock.
His thick tangle of bright curls shone with copper highlights, yet his finely drawn brows and long eyelashes were dark. His eyes, which widened in surprise as he looked down at her, were the same sparkling light brown as his mother’s, topaz in hue, with a compelling shine she could not resist, and she exclaimed with genuine delight, “Why Mylan, you are so very handsome, why would any woman refuse to marry you?”
Mylan frowned as he reached out to touch her silken curls. “You are very young, little more than a child, but how can you think me handsome?”
She moved closer, turning so the light fell fully across his face. The scar crossing his left cheek was a slight flaw in her view, but she was no stranger to the pain filling his level gaze. She reached up to touch his cheek lightly, her fingertips tracing the thin scar with a delicate caress. “Your features are perfect, as finely carved as the most proficient sculptor could fashion, your coloring so unusual and attractive, why would this small scar disturb you so greatly?”
Mylan stepped back into the shadows as he drew his tunic over his head. He tossed it aside as he moved back into the light so she could see him clearly. The skin of his broad chest was horribly scarred, as if he had been flayed alive by some vicious giant who had lost interest in mid-task and pressed his victim’s flesh back into place with no effort to make the pieces fit properly.
Celiese swallowed the painful lump filling her throat. “You must be very brave to have survived such a painful ordeal, and surely courage and spirit are far more important qualities in a man than mere physical beauty.”
“This is not the worst of it.” Mylan brushed her sweet comments aside rudely as he gestured impatiently to the grotesque ridges that crisscrossed his torso. “My right leg looks no better, the short distance I can walk I cannot traverse without limping badly, and I still tire much too easily.”
She stepped into his arms and lifted her fingertips to his lips to silence his confessions. “Scars matter so little to me, and you will recover your strength in time. If you do not want me, please speak the truth now, but do not wait for me to refuse you, for I will not do so.”
He stepped back, confused by the ready acceptance of the lovely creature before him. Her hair shimmered in the sunlight with a sparkle that nearly blinded him, but her large green eyes were cool, her open appraisal of him as curious as a child’s. There was not the slightest trace of fear in her sweet expression, only a quiet anticipation, not the revulsion he had come to expect from a woman. Why was she so different, her perceptions so acute?
“How old are you, Olgrethe?”
Celiese smiled shyly. “I am seventeen. I hope you will not think it too advanced an age to be your bride.”
Mylan’s troubled expression broke into an easy grin as he laughed at her teasing. Her unexpected humor amused him greatly, and his spirits rose to match hers; “The only daughter of a sworn enemy, I thought you would be spoiled. I expected you to be eager for an excuse to avoid our marriage, for I was certain you would hate me, if not for who I am, then for what I have become.”
“And what is that, Mylan? You will have to explain what you mean, for I see only a man, and a most handsome and brave one.” She was amazed by how simple a matter it was to converse with him. She had hoped only to find a place in which to live as a free woman, a refuge from the lusts of Raktor and his brutish sons, a home she had been willing to share with any man. But the one who stood so proudly before her was not only attractive, but also pleasant and bright. That she was deliberately fooling such a fine man filled her with shame.
She looked up at him, her head tilted at a saucy angle in Olgrethe’s favorite pose. “Well, will you not respond? Have you decided to send me home or make me your wife?”
He frowned thoughtfully, then leaned back against the chair he had used for support and folded his well muscled arms over his bare chest. “I am still considering the matter. Turn around so I might have a better look at you.” He regarded her critically, looking her up and down slowly, assessing her fair beauty with a practiced eye as she turned, then taking her small hand in his he sat in the oversized chair and pulled her down across his lap.
“Mylan!” She struggled to rise, but his arms encircled her waist with the force of steel bonds. “Is this your answer?” Her lips were a few scant inches from his as she spoke, and, although she tried to lift her gaze to his, she found the curve of his enchanting grin irresistible. When he raised his hand to the nape of her neck to draw her near she made no effort to fight him but relaxed in his arms, a willing prisoner in his strong embrace as his mouth brushed hers with the lightest of touches before lingering in a far more demanding kiss. She had not expected such tenderness from a Viking and drew back, her cheeks flooding with color.
Mylan chuckled as her pretty blush deepened. “I think your beauty surpasses even Raktor’s boasts, for your face and figure are perfection. You seem to possess wisdom far beyond your years, but has no one taught you how a man likes to be kissed?”
She looked away. She hoped he was teasing her, but Raktor had never permitted any man to be alone with Olgrethe, nor had the young woman ever longed to be kissed, and, taking that knowledge as her cue, she replied softly, “Raktor is very strict, he would not allow such a thing.”
He wound his fingers in her silken curls to force her gaze up to his. “You call your sire by his name, is he so formidable a man you dare not call him father?”
Too late she realized her mistake, but she could not bring herself to call the hateful villain her father. “I call him by many names, but he is a most worthy adversary, and I do not take his commands lightly.”
“Is that meant as a warning?” Mylan’s golden eyes narrowed. “If you find me to be less than you had hoped as a husband, can I expect Raktor to punish me for my faults? Must I live only to please you or suffer the consequences at his hands?”