Certain she would stop at nothing less than the most passionate response from him, he lay back upon the blanket, drawing her down into his arms where he held her in a tender embrace. Surely words were unnecessary between them when they had shared so much in the few months since they had met. With her he had known the joy of acceptance, which he had no longer thought possible, the bitter anguish of betrayal, the warmth of a friendship as deep as any he had ever known, and now this quiet pleasure he could not begin to adequately describe. He loved Celiese from the depth of his soul and, praying it was not too late, he moved to prove with his strong, sleek body what he had never been able to speak in words.
She welcomed him with a provocative purr, accepting his forceful affection with a grace all her own. She felt the exquisite joy swell within him until it flooded through her as well, bliss so delicious that her dreams were always sweet, filled with the memory of his rakish smile and magical caress. No matter what fate awaited her in her homeland, Mylan’s image would fill her heart until the last of her days, and she prayed her face would light his dreams for half as long.
*
The next morning Mylan summoned Celiese to his side as soon as he had guided their ship through the surf to the open sea. “Stay with me today. We are close, and I will keep the Falcon near to shore. You may recognize something that I would not.”
Taking hold of the rail so she could stand slightly in front of him, she gave the coastline a long, careful glance. “I was never out in a boat, Mylan, not until Raktor tossed me in the bottom of his to begin the long voyage to your country. I know the other view, from the land to the sea, not this one.”
Suddenly realizing Raktor could come for Celiese whenever he chose, Mylan’s expression grew stern. Perhaps the fiend would wait for the summer, or the next, but he could come for Celiese and she would have no way to defend herself if he were not there. “All I ask is that you try. We’ll surely see the river when we come upon it, but perhaps there will be something more.”
“I understand. I’ll do my best.” She turned to smile warmly, but his gaze remained locked upon the shore, searching for something she could only imagine. She watched the coastline with strict concentration, and it was early afternoon when she saw a cliff that seemed strangely familiar. There was a path visible through the rocks and a stretch of white sand where an old man sat fishing. Seeing the Surf Falcon, he threw down his pole and ran as though the devil himself were pursuing him. He scampered up the cliff with the agility of a mountain goat and was gone, the entire incident lasting no more than a few seconds. But Celiese was certain she had recognized the place, although she could not name it.
“Mylan!” She turned to touch his arm, excitement lighting her eyes with a bright sparkle. “I know that place, I’m certain I do! My mother liked to walk down to the sand when the day was warm, and I’m positive it was in that very spot.”
Not discounting her enthusiasm, Mylan thought they were within a day’s sail from the Seine. If they were that close to her home, then perhaps she did recognize the area as she said she did. It would do no harm to stop for a moment, but he wished they had not been seen, for surely the old man would give a cry of alarm, and whatever men there were to defend this small piece of land would come running. “I will not take the ship all the way in to the sand. Let us just go in part way, so you can have a closer look.”
“You don’t believe me?” she asked sharply. “Why did you ask me to watch for landmarks if you are going to disregard my reports?”
He gave the necessary orders to bring the ship about, shoving the tiller hard to starboard to turn toward the shore. “It is not your memory I am questioning, Celiese, but the mood of the crowd that old man may have summoned. You know yourself you would launch every arrow you owned before you would ask why we’ve come.”
“I am not afraid to go ashore alone. That way I can look around and allay whatever fears the residents might have. They would not attack a lone woman, not when I can greet them in a language they will understand.”
He shook his head slowly. “Never. Now take another look, does the place still look like the one you remember?”
Exasperated with his domineering manner, she turned away. The afternoon sun struck the cliff with a golden glow, making the scene all the more appealing, but she was more convinced than ever that her home lay just over the rise. “Yes. The pattern of the rocks is what I recall. Our land reached to the sea, and this is the very spot. I’m sure of it.”
By the time André arrived at the small village he was gasping for breath, his description of what he had seen nearly incoherent, but he had to do no more than wheeze the word “Viking” for his frantic message to be understood. Women went screaming to hide their children in the woods while the young men, armed with pitchforks and knives, ran toward the beach, hoping to stop the murdering northern bandits before they could reach their homes.
André loped along behind them. No coward in his youth, he planned to be in on whatever action there might be. When the small group reached the cliff they stood at the edge looking down on the tranquil scene below while they tried to plan how to mount an attack. The Viking ship André had seen lay at anchor offshore, while a tall, fair-haired man and a slender blonde woman walked across the sand.
Their clothes were wet from the short distance they had walked through the surf, but to the Frenchmen’s delight they saw the man was unarmed. He wore no helmet nor suit of mail, carried no sword or shield, but instead offered his arm to the woman to lead her across the beach. Puzzled, they waited
for André to reach them, and then stood aside to provide him with the best view, hoping he might have some explanation for the unusual landing party.
Still breathing heavily from the pain of his exertion, André watched closely as the young couple moved toward the path at the bottom of the cliff. The man was well built but had an uneven gait, a slight limp that was no doubt the result of some brutal raid, but the beauty by his side seemed to float across the sand, her grace and bearing so regal that André was reminded at once of the noble family he had spent most of his life serving. He knew it could not be possible, but as the young woman drew near tears filled his eyes, and when she reached the summit of the hill he threw himself at her feet, kissing the damp and sandy hem of her gown as he whispered her name.
His companions heard no more than the name d’Loganville, and they moved back to a more respectful distance in order to observe what might transpire between André and the young woman whose fair beauty seemed to glow with a light from within, as they had been told the angels did. Indeed, in her flowing gown she was the closest being to an angel any of the men had ever seen, and their awe was as great as the old fisherman’s.
While Mylan gaped in astonishment, Celiese bent slightly to pull André to his feet and began speaking in a tongue he did not understand. “André, is that you? My dear friend, I had not expected to see any face I’d recognize, but such devotion is unnecessary.” The French words rolled off her tongue with a lilting accent, the result of her years in Denmark, but that her speech was somewhat unusual did not occur to her. She kissed the old man’s weathered cheek sweetly before turning to look up at Mylan.
“He was a groom in my father’s stable, a dear friend I had not dared hope would still be alive.” Backing away, André continued to regard Mylan with a terror-filled gaze, and then said, “That you have returned when we need the d’Loganvilles most is a great blessing, but who is this barbarian at your side?”
Knowing Mylan could not follow their conversation; Celiese spoke to him first, carefully choosing her words so he would not be insulted. “He is happy to see me, as there seems to be some trouble, but he is puzzled as to who you might be.”
Mylan gave the most charming smile he could manage, hoping to put the assembled group at ease since Celiese seemed to have found a countryman who knew her. “Say I am your husband, for they seem to admire you greatly, and to describe our relationship as anything less than a lawful one would destroy that esteem.”
Celiese gave the Viking a withering glance, but knew he was right. She was now home, where she had little other than her good name, and she had no desire to sully it. Lacing her fingers in his, she introduced him to her old friend. “May I present my husband, Mylan Vandahl. He rescued me from the villains who destroyed my home, and wanting only to please me has brought me home to France. You are in no danger from him, for he is a good man, unlike the other Danes you have known.”
Mylan thought Celiese’s native tongue very pretty to the ear, but did not trust her to say what he had asked until he saw by the men’s curious appraisal that she must indeed have introduced him as her husband. That they had planned to attack him with pitchforks brought a smile to his lips, but he had to admire their courage. Small in stature, with dark hair and brown eyes, they were exactly the type of men he had expected to see in France, but that still did not explain why Celiese was so different in appearance.
Turning to lead the way, André spoke excitedly. “You must come with us, for there is much to discuss. I have a little wine, not much, perhaps you would honor me by coming to my home.”
“Will that be all right, Mylan? André has invited us to his home, and I would like to go,” she translated quickly.
After waving to the men on board the Falcon, Mylan took Celiese’s hand. “Yes, but please tell him again that I am your husband, for I do not want to walk unarmed into a trap.”
Shocked that he would accuse André and his friends of such treachery, she whispered softly, “My countrymen are nothing like yours. These are peaceful men who will do you no harm, so you have no need to worry.” Then, just in case his suspicion should prove true, she reached up to kiss him lightly. Turning to André, she praised her “husband’s” virtues for the entire walk into the village.