breast as she watched her husband dress with considerable haste before he withdrew a sharp, double-edged sword from the wooden chest beside the hearth. “Mylan, what is it? I heard someone call—a scream—what could be wrong? What terrible thing could have happened?”
“Perhaps nothing.” Mylan turned to smile reassuringly as he reached the door. “It may be no more than a guest rousing from a drunken stupor, but I will make certain all is well.”
As he slipped through the door Celiese saw only the ease with which he carried his weapon, as if it were an extension of his arm, and she brought her hand to her lips to stifle her own cry of alarm. Dear God, why had she not understood what he was? Did his mother truly believe her sons traveled the world as honest traders and merchants rather than as the bloodthirsty pirates Vikings always were? She sprang from the ample bed and dressed quickly, cursing her own folly as the sounds from the great hall below continued to increase in volume. She was frightened by the suddenness of the activity that had awakened them so rudely, and despite Mylan’s command she opened the door, hoping to discover what had happened. The sounds of battle surrounded her with a sudden horror. The clang of steel as swords clashed with brutal blows echoed up the stairway with a deafening roar, followed by the screams of both male and female voices. Smoke from fires set below stung her eyes and she had to draw back into the safety of her husband’s room.
Celiese slammed the door shut and threw the bolt, then began to pace distractedly, up and down. Blood-drenched scenes of battle and death raged through her mind with the indelible memory of her own people and how quickly they had died under Raktor’s sword. Who could have attacked on this of all nights? Surely Aldred’s forces combined with Raktor’s could defeat any intruders, but the noise of the fighting continued until the rising sun spread crimson flames as vivid as blood across the morning sky.
When the door flew open with a mighty crash Celiese sprang back, ready to face her assailant, certain of what a beautiful young woman’s fate would surely be at the hands of any enemy warrior. “Raktor!” Her voice filled with hope. “Have you beaten off the intruders’ assault?”
The husky man threw back his head and howled with laughter. “It is my own attack, Celiese. Did you not understand why I brought you rather than Olgrethe?”
“It was a trap?” Horrified by that revelation, Celiese ran toward the door in an effort to slip past the despicable brute. “Where’s Mylan? Where is my husband?”
“Husband? You fooled him then?” Raktor’s face filled with glee. “We may do this again and again, Celiese, as my enemies are many. I may marry you off a hundred times, since it allows me such easy access to my foe’s home.”
“You coward! What have you done with Mylan?” Celiese slapped the villain’s face viciously, but he grabbed her hand and twisted her arm cruelly behind her back to force her down the steep flight of stairs in front of him.
“There is your husband, girl, bound with the other captives. Keep him alive if you can. I plan to demand a high ransom for his return, for him or his body, whichever I have!”
Celiese rushed to the young man’s side. His tunic was torn and bloody, but whether the blood was his own or that of his adversaries she could not tell. “Mylan!” She whispered a desperate vow: “I will save you, but you must help me, my dearest.”
Mylan opened his pain-filled eyes and hissed a venomous reply. “I’ll see you dead first, you traitorous bitch!”
Raktor gave a hearty chuckle as he approached. “Well, Celiese, your husband seems displeased with you for some reason.” As he drew back his foot to kick the helpless man, Celiese dove between them, taking the full force of his vicious blow in her ribs, and she heard the bones crack with a loud snap as she fainted across Mylan’s lap, the
“Perhaps nothing.” Mylan turned to smile reassuringly as he reached the door. “It may be no more than a guest rousing from a drunken stupor, but I will make certain all is well.”
As he slipped through the door Celiese saw only the ease with which he carried his weapon, as if it were an extension of his arm, and she brought her hand to her lips to stifle her own cry of alarm. Dear God, why had she not understood what he was? Did his mother truly believe her sons traveled the world as honest traders and merchants rather than as the bloodthirsty pirates Vikings always were? She sprang from the ample bed and dressed quickly, cursing her own folly as the sounds from the great hall below continued to increase in volume. She was frightened by the suddenness of the activity that had awakened them so rudely, and despite Mylan’s command she opened the door, hoping to discover what had happened. The sounds of battle surrounded her with a sudden horror. The clang of steel as swords clashed with brutal blows echoed up the stairway with a deafening roar, followed by the screams of both male and female voices. Smoke from fires set below stung her eyes and she had to draw back into the safety of her husband’s room.
Celiese slammed the door shut and threw the bolt, then began to pace distractedly, up and down. Blood-drenched scenes of battle and death raged through her mind with the indelible memory of her own people and how quickly they had died under Raktor’s sword. Who could have attacked on this of all nights? Surely Aldred’s forces combined with Raktor’s could defeat any intruders, but the noise of the fighting continued until the rising sun spread crimson flames as vivid as blood across the morning sky.
When the door flew open with a mighty crash Celiese sprang back, ready to face her assailant, certain of what a beautiful young woman’s fate would surely be at the hands of any enemy warrior. “Raktor!” Her voice filled with hope. “Have you beaten off the intruders’ assault?”
The husky man threw back his head and howled with laughter. “It is my own attack, Celiese. Did you not understand why I brought you rather than Olgrethe?”
“It was a trap?” Horrified by that revelation, Celiese ran toward the door in an effort to slip past the despicable brute. “Where’s Mylan? Where is my husband?”
“Husband? You fooled him then?” Raktor’s face filled with glee. “We may do this again and again, Celiese, as my enemies are many. I may marry you off a hundred times, since it allows me such easy access to my foe’s home.”
“You coward! What have you done with Mylan?” Celiese slapped the villain’s face viciously, but he grabbed her hand and twisted her arm cruelly behind her back to force her down the steep flight of stairs in front of him.
“There is your husband, girl, bound with the other captives. Keep him alive if you can. I plan to demand a high ransom for his return, for him or his body, whichever I have!”
Celiese rushed to the young man’s side. His tunic was torn and bloody, but whether the blood was his own or that of his adversaries she could not tell. “Mylan!” She whispered a desperate vow: “I will save you, but you must help me, my dearest.”
Mylan opened his pain-filled eyes and hissed a venomous reply. “I’ll see you dead first, you traitorous bitch!”
Raktor gave a hearty chuckle as he approached. “Well, Celiese, your husband seems displeased with you for some reason.” As he drew back his foot to kick the helpless man, Celiese dove between them, taking the full force of his vicious blow in her ribs, and she heard the bones crack with a loud snap as she fainted across Mylan’s lap, the
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