Love's Captive Heart

by Phoebe Conn

  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.

  The homes of the farmers were little more than crude huts. Deserted now, they lined the muddy path with a sorrowful, vacant silence. “Where is everyone, André?” Celiese looked around, wondering where the women and children might be at that hour of the day, since she had seen no one working in the adjacent fields.

  “Forgive me, but I did not know it would be you aboard the Viking ship, and all our loved ones are hidden.” With an embarrassed gesture, he showed them to the small house he called his own.

  “How clever of you, André. Have there been many attacks?” She stopped to warn Mylan to be careful, but he had had years of practice in entering homes through doors not made to accommodate men of his size and had already slipped through without mishap. There was a small table, two rickety benches, and a bed alongside the wall. The fire on the hearth was cold, but the smell of fish still pervaded the one-room structure, and Celiese thought André must catch most of his food and hoped he did not often have to go without, but the village did look like a very poor one. She took a place upon one of the benches, and Mylan sat down beside her ready to leap up should his weight prove to be too great, but the old wood held together with only a slight moan.

  André produced a flask of the promised wine and three wooden cups. Taking a place opposite his guests, he poured them a small sip of the beverage and apologized for having no more. “It was a great tragedy we lost the vines, but they are all gone, burned beyond recovery, and no one has been able to travel inland in search of cuttings we might cultivate to begin our vineyards anew.”

  When Celiese translated, Mylan thought the tragedy a slight one after he tasted the deep red wine, for it had a most unpleasant aroma and taste. Celiese smiled sweetly as though it were delicious and he attempted to do the same. As always, she seemed to have the finest of manners. He could well imagine Olgrethe refusing to enter such a humble abode let alone sample the wine, but Celiese appeared quite at home, the most gracious of guests no matter what her surroundings.

  “I have lost count of how many times our land was ravaged, our possessions stolen, our women raped, our sons murdered. Now King Charles has handed over to that rascal Hrolf what little we have left. It seems we cannot escape the greed of the Danes, except in death.” Glancing toward Mylan to be certain his words were not understood, André continued. “There are many who would fight the king’s decree, many who recall the proud name of d’Loganville and would rally to your side should you wish to lead them.”

  Taking a deep breath, Celiese asked pointedly, “How much belongs to Hrolf now, exactly how much does the man have the audacity to call his own?”

  “All of Neustria, dear lady. The lands on both sides of the Seine are his.”

  Worried by the frantic troubled glances passing between his companions Mylan interrupted. “What are you two discussing so earnestly that you have no time to describe it to me?”

  Celiese brushed away the tears flooding her eyes and spoke proudly: “It seems the king is the coward you thought him to be, for he has given Hrolf the entire province, not only my estate but dozens of others, as well. André thinks many would fight, however, were there someone to lead them.”

  Knowing only too well who that someone would have to be, Mylan shook his head as he issued a stern warning. “Raktor is a playful child compared to Hrolf, Celiese. Do not encourage this man in his belief Hrolf can be defeated by peasants wielding pitchforks.”

  Celiese had seen as much as Mylan. This village was not simply poor, but destitute, and despite her own rage she would not risk the lives of the few surviving inhabitants on a quest to regain what was hers. She would have to reclaim it by means other than a fight, but knew not what it could be. Finding the close confines of the small home suffocating, she thanked their host warmly for his wine and asked to be excused, explaining, “I would like to see what is left of the house. There is still light, and the way cannot be far.”

  “I will come with you.” André rose to his feet, pausing to shut the door as they left his home, more to keep out the chill should he not return before nightfall than to protect any valuable possessions.

  As they left the house a strangely silent crowd surrounded them, the women holding their small children aloft so they might see the pretty lady who had arrived from the sea. Celiese smiled and waved, but she had never expected to be greeted with such awe and was terribly embarrassed.

  Mylan, on the other hand, was simply worried. He knew how little it would take to set Celiese on a trail of revenge that would lead all too swiftly to her death, and he took her hand to draw her near as he whispered, “It is always far wiser to listen than to speak. Do not make any promises to these people you cannot keep.”

  “I want only to see what is left of my house. It was all in flames when I was carried away, and I am curious, that is all. Besides, what can I promise these people that would have any value?”

  “Sometimes a name is all that is required to start a war, and I do not want it to be d’Loganville, dear wife.” Clasping her hand all the more tightly, Mylan walked with care down the edge of the muddy road. The peasants were still following along, and that he had not thought to bring someone to guard his back pained him greatly, for he did not want to meet his death on French soil, either.

  The walk was farther than Celiese had remembered, but at last they reached the top of the gently sloping hill where her family home had stood. Little remained of the once elegant structure. The stone walls had not been completely destroyed by the fire that had swept through it, but many of the carefully gathered stones had been carried off by the peasants who had used them to rebuild their own homes. Celiese did not think such vand
alism a crime, for the stones would probably have laid upon the ground for decades had they not been put to a more useful purpose. She was glad to see the house had been serving someone, at least, since she had had no use for it.

  Mylan surveyed the ruins of the house, roughly gauging the proportions from the walls that remained standing. “It is clear you cannot live here until some reconstruction has been done, but what Hrolf will have to say to that prospect I don’t care to speculate.”

  “You think I should ask the man for permission to rebuild my own home?” Celiese asked indignantly. “I plan to speak to him, all right, but I’ll not beg for what is rightfully mine, including the right to construct a home upon my own land.”

  Smiling at the assembled crowd, who still regarded them with rapt interest, Mylan whispered a stern warning. “Do not involve these wretched souls in your battles, Celiese. If you care so little for your own life, then think of these people and how diligently they have obviously struggled simply to survive.”

  “As if my survival were a small matter?” she responded defiantly, taking only a moment to enumerate a few of the wrongs she had suffered. “My parents were slaughtered, my home destroyed, my lands stolen, I was kidnapped, and you think I should calmly walk away?”

  “Yes!” Mylan responded, trying to keep his voice low so it would not be obvious they were arguing, but he could tell André was greatly amused by their animated conversation. “Let us go back to the Falcon, and decide what we want to do from there.”

  “Couldn’t we sleep here tonight, Mylan? What is left of my house provides more in the way of shelter than we’ve ever had on this journey. Couldn’t we please stay here?”

  Mylan was certain the screams of ghosts would keep him awake all night, but if so small a concession would please her he would agree. “If that is what you want. The ground is dry, the nights still warm.”

  “Thank you.” Celiese hugged him tightly, her display of affection for the Viking startling the crowd, but she had no reason to hide the love she felt for a man she had introduced as her husband. She could not imagine what she would tell everyone when he returned to his homeland without her, however. Turning to André she explained in a few simple sentences, “We will rest here for the night, for my memories of my parents are so dear here, far outweighing the nightmare of their murders.”

  Raising his hands to the heavens, André exclaimed excitedly, “But you do not know! I buried your father’s body myself, but your mother is alive, living in the convent at Yvetot! Forgive me for not telling you immediately, but I am an old man and sometimes forget.”

  Mylan saw Celiese grow pale and stepped forward to catch her before she fainted in a heap upon the ground. “What has happened, tell me!”

  She looked up into his eyes. The golden flecks seemed to be spinning among the brown, and she wondered how he managed to do that, but his rapt gaze was so intense she came to her senses swiftly and struggled to stand without his help, “I am sorry, but André has just given me a great shock. My mother is alive, it seems, and living in a convent nearby.”

  Not recognizing the word, Mylan asked her to explain. “What is a convent?”

  “You have heard of monasteries, have you not? They were a favorite target for Viking raids, for the monks had the most marvelous of treasures.”

  Exasperated by that bit of unwanted news, he urged her to continue. “Yes, I know what a monastery is, a place where men live to study your god.”

  “A convent is a similar place, only it is women who live there, they devote themselves to prayer and the religious life, as monks do.” Seeing he understood, she continued excitedly, “My mother is alive, she’s alive! I want to visit her tomorrow, as it is too late to go today. Will you come with me?”

  Mylan looked around at the curious faces of the peasants and nodded; “Yes, but we will need more than we have with us now. Let us go back to the ship for the night, I am afraid if we stay here these good people will only offer to share food they cannot spare.”

  Pleased that he would be so considerate, Celiese laced her fingers in his before turning to André to explain. “We are going back to our ship, but at first light, I will come for you if you will show us the way to Yvetot.”

  “With pleasure. I will find a horse for you to ride, but I fear your husband, like Hrolf, is too tall to ride one of our ponies.”

  “A small problem, André, if there is no horse for him then I will walk too, for I want to hold his hand in mine.” Smiling happily, Celiese nearly skipped alongside Mylan as they retraced the path from the ruins of her home, her joy at finding her mother alive too great to be contained.

  *

  Being adventuresome by nature but cautious from experience, Mylan insisted all remain on board the Surf Falcon that night. He had seen no boats and doubted enough of the Frenchmen could swim to mount an attack through the waves, but he posted a guard to keep watch, nonetheless. As for Celiese, she was still so thrilled by the discovery of her mother’s survival she could scarcely sit still. He knew better than to ask her to make the effort to sleep when she was in so talkative a mood. Instead he sat up with her, listening attentively to all her fond memories.

  “Don’t you see, Mylan, she was the best of mothers, but I was only twelve when I was kidnapped. I’d no opportunity to ask her the most important questions of all. I had no knowledge of life’s secrets, and suddenly I was thrust out into the world to fend for myself and I had nothing to sustain me. I had absolutely no hope I would survive one day to the next, no hope any of those I loved were living still, no hope I would set foot in my beloved homeland ever again.”

  “Yet you are the most charming and confident of young women, Celiese, so if you had no more than the determination that makes up such a large portion of your nature it must have been enough,” he replied with a rakish grin.

  She studied his teasing glance for a long while. It was an expression she knew well but had never enjoyed. “Do you think I am being foolish, to remember my home and childhood so fondly?”

  “No, every child should be as happy as you obviously were.” He had tried his best not to yawn, but he could not hide his next one, although he raised his hand quickly to cover his mouth. His stamina had increased measurably during the voyage, but still had its limit.

  “I’m sorry, I’ll be quiet so you can rest.” She put out the small oil lamp and, moved to his side to snuggle close, but she was too restless to sleep and lay wide-awake trying to imagine her mother’s excitement when they met the next day. Despite her promise to be still, she continued to talk. “My mother is a very beautiful woman. I know they will not allow you to enter the convent grounds, but perhaps she can come to the gate to meet you.”

  Surprised, by her enthusiasm for that event, he pulled her close, tousling her soft curls playfully. “You saw André‘s expression and the townspeople’s when they saw me. I was amazed they summoned their women so swiftly. Do you want to subject your mother to the same fright?”

  Celiese sat up, not pleased by his question, for who he was, was ever so much more important to her than what he was. “I am not ashamed of you. Not in the least. I would be proud to introduce you to my mother—why shouldn’t I be?”

  “I am flattered, of course, but do you plan to tell her the truth? That I am your husband?”

  She hardly knew how to respond. In the darkness she could not see his expression, but she was positive he was simply teasing her again and she did not appreciate his humor in the least. “When I really was your bride, the last thing you wanted was for me to call you husband. You were ashamed of me then.” Had they been on shore she would have grabbed the blanket and run off to find a place to sleep by herself. Now, her only choice was to stay under the makeshift tent with him, since she had no desire to cuddle up with his crew or to leap over the side into the sea.

  Mylan had not meant to begin an argument, but since she had he meant to finish it. “I was never ashamed of you. That’s ridiculous. I was furious wit
h you for pretending to be Olgrethe, but I was never ashamed.”

  Too angry to cry or scream, she clamped her mouth shut and moved to the edge of the blanket, her posture as rigid and unyielding as her mood. Why had she never realized why Mylan would never love her? By pretending to be Olgrethe, she had given him a dream of love, but Raktor had stolen its beauty before dawn. She had been as badly hurt as Mylan, but he would never believe her pain had matched his own.

  Swearing to himself, Mylan tried to pull the defiant Celiese into his arms, but failed. She had been ecstatically happy, happier than he had ever seen her, and somehow he had ruined everything without meaning to. “I am as happy as you are to learn your mother is alive, and I will be proud to meet her no matter how you wish to introduce me.” Since he would be unable to understand what she said to her mother, he could scarcely specify what words she used.

  Her nervous energy finally exhausted, she answered calmly, “I fear I could apologize a thousand times, Mylan, and you would never forgive me for how greatly Raktor tricked us both.”

  His temper flaring anew, he responded heatedly, “I would prefer you did not mention that villain’s name in the same breath as mine. He is barbaric vermin, and I am not.”

  “Were it not for that evil man we would never have met, for I would not have set foot in your country nor you in mine. My life seems to be becoming increasingly complicated, like some ancient riddle that can never be solved.”

  Mylan took a deep breath. He would have much preferred to scream every vile curse he knew, but, it would relieve only his own tensions without soothing hers, and he restrained himself with a mighty effort to be civil. “I am a great fool, I know. I should have killed every last one of the Torgvalds when I had the chance; then maybe you would finally be content.”

  Celiese did not move. She lay upon her side and tears rolled slowly down her cheeks, dampening the soft woolen blanket where she lay. It was not the Torgvalds who mattered, but only him. Why was he talking about vengeance and death when she had just asked for his love?