“I had several, have you misplaced them?” he responded accusingly.
Sorry she had inquired, she gave him a hostile glance, and then noticed how pale he had grown. She had not mislaid any of his belongings, but excused his foul mood after considering the pain he had to be suffering. “Well, since we have only this one bowl it will be difficult for us to dine together.”
“I don’t share my meals with slaves!” Mylan shouted hoarsely. He fell back with a moan, sorry he had been so nasty when yelling had caused him such agony.
Ignoring his cry of pain, she continued agreeably, “I see no reason for us to eat separately.” She attempted to affect a calm she did not 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 tonight, however, as he 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.”
He shot her another disapproving frown, but decided not to argue; he was hungry, and his bed was suddenly too comfortable to leave. “I am no infantâ??bring me the bowl, and I’ll feed myself.”
“As you wish.” She 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, and won’t spill a drop,” she promised playfully. 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.
He watched her closely as she lifted another spoonful of the tasty stew to his lips. She had spent the day cleaning his home, but she had obviously bathed and had washed her hair, for she appeared as well groomed and pretty as when they had 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,” she offered coolly, frustrated by his unreasonable attitude. They were eating together as she saw it, though, and the 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, 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, she persisted, “It can be bought, I suppose. Did you simply purchase this property because the land is fertile?”
Her question seemed so innocently asked he 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.
She 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, 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 you were disappointed in that respect, too, to not have the wife you thought you had married, nor to have the wealth you had 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, and he refused to believe her. “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’m finished eating. The stew was not nearly as good as it usually is, but in time, your cooking should improve.” Closing his eyes, he considered their conversation, as well as the evening, finished.
Realizing she had been dismissed without the courtesy of a thank you for her help, she 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 were not just being spiteful. She had 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 could not believe he truly planned to treat her as a slave.
She would not take that insult from himâ??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 had not moved. Perhaps he was already asleep. She vowed he would 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 did 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 was not a bit tired, in spite of the long hours she had spent cleaning the small house and the stable. Too anxious to rest, she cleaned up the remains of their meal, and added more wood to the fire.
She was confused and hurt by Mylan’s continual criticism, but he had been through an ordeal every bit as harrowing as the one she had survived. Perhaps if she held her tongue and was patient for a few more days he would recall the hours they had shared as fondly as she did and again take her as his bride. If not, then she would be forced to run away, for she had far too much pride to live as a slave in a house in where she was rightfully the mistress.
Chapter 8
When she awoke before Mylan the next morning, Celiese hurried out to the stream to bathe as best she could. She had boasted that she could hunt, but she had been a child when her father had let her ride by his side. She had been able to draw the small bow he had made for her, but what of Mylan’s far more powerful weapon? If it took all her strength to draw back the string she would 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 it 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 had last seen the pewter bowls he sometimes used, for even if he would 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!” She spun around to face him, happy to see he was well enough to consider her comfort for a change.