Love's Captive Heart

by Phoebe Conn

  Exasperated beyond all endurance, Mylan doubted he would be able to sleep while she was so miserable. His words seemed futile, and he could think of nothing else to do but try again to slip his arm under her neck so she would have to rest her head upon his shoulder. When this time she made no objection to the move, he drew her closer still, covering her damp cheeks with light kisses. He wiped away her tears with his fingertips, knowing somehow he had caused them. He held her cradled in his arms and in no more than a minute she was sound asleep, nestled in his embrace as if they had made love. Yet somehow he understood it was important to her that they had not.

  *

  When Mylan awoke, Celiese was already awake and dressed. Her gown was freshly washed, the pleats of the bodice falling in an elegant sweep, but she looked exactly like a Viking woman, and he wondered what her mother would think when she saw her. Certain such a question would not be appreciated; he hastened to get ready to leave, choosing his most handsomely tailored clothing, as well. They were sure to make a lasting impression upon Lady d’Loganville, but he was afraid to imagine just what kind.

  Celiese had not recovered from her bout of tears the previous night. She felt sad through and through, but when André produced not one horse but three, her spirits rose considerably. The mounts were not young, but sturdy of build, and the stallion was large enough to carry Mylan with ease. “Why, André,” she asked, “have you a stable hidden nearby? These horses seem well fed and they are most handsomely groomed, are they yours?”

  After stammering a moment, André confided his secret. “They are the last of your father’s, my lady, the few I managed to hide the night the others were stolen. That they have survived so long is due more to their own perverse nature, which leads them to frequently run off into the forest, than it is to my care.”

  When Celiese explained his words, Mylan knew exactly what the elderly man meant, for if the lovely young woman thrived on anything, surely it was perversity, but he was not so foolish as to speak what was on his mind. He was grateful to have a mount, even a half wild one, and after a few tense moments he had the beast under sufficient control to begin the journey to Yvetot.

  The Convent of Saint Valery at Yvetot was surrounded by thick underbrush. Set amidst a dense forest, it had escaped the notice of more than one raiding band of Vikings because of its remote location. The threat never forgotten, however, the treasures it contained were all well hidden beneath the floor of the deepest cellar. The surrounding stonewalls were high, the few windows narrow, a forbidding place even on a sun-drenched day.

  Celiese drew her mare to a halt so she might view it for a few moments before knocking at the small wooden door facing the seldom-traveled path. She had only a child’s concept of a loving God, and she could scarcely imagine that magnificent being wanting to bless such a dismal place. That the vibrant woman her mother had been would seek refuge there puzzled her immensely.

  She looked toward Mylan as she wondered aloud, “It does not look as though they expect many visitors. Had André not led us to the door I would never have found it.”

  “Surely the interior is far more pleasant,” Mylan offered in hopes of giving encouragement. He had no real hope, however, that beyond the small weathered door there existed a dwelling more attractive than the gloomy one it appeared to be. He did not like the austere looks of the institution no matter how lofty its purpose, but he dismounted without further comment and led the stallion he had ridden to the edge of the overgrown path where the animal could graze while they waited. “You might as well knock upon the door, I don’t think anyone will come out to invite you to go inside unless you do.”

  “Probably not.” She was still anxious to see her mother, but now the moment had arrived she was overcome with anxiety. She had expected to find a tranquil estate surrounded by lush gardens, not so forbidding a place as this. She shivered despite the pleasant warmth of the sun. When André took her mount’s reins, she gathered her courage and went to the small door. Finding a brass bell, she pulled the cord and hoped someone would be near enough to hear her summons, but it was a long while before a tiny window in the door swung open.

  Although she could not see anyone on the other side, Celiese spoke a friendly greeting. “Good day, I am Lady Celiese d’Loganville. I believe my mother, Marie, is a member of your order, and I should like to speak with her, if I may.”

  Two bright eyes came closer to the opening and observed a young woman whose likeness to Marie was so extraordinary that she did not question the veracity of the caller’s identity. “Are you alone?” the nun whispered cautiously.

  Waving to warn the two men to stand out of sight, Celiese replied that she was, but the door swung open only widely enough to admit her.

  When the wooden door slammed shut the ominous ring of the old hinges made Mylan step forward, for Celiese had disappeared so suddenly inside the imposing structure that he had had no time to ask her how long she wished to remain, and now he feared she might never reappear. Seeing his pained expression, André stepped forward and to offer some philosophical words of encouragement, but he understood little other than the old gentleman’s sympathetic tone. Deciding the wait would most likely be a considerable one; he walked to a nearby tree and sat down, leaning back to rest while he passed the time. But he vowed that if Celiese had not come out by sundown, he would go in after her.

  Marie was working upon a small tapestry, the silken threads depicting scenes from the life of the Virgin, when she learned she had a visitor. The messenger had no wish to alarm her unnecessarily, and bid her only to come speak with a young woman who had asked for her by name. It had been so long since she had been addressed as Lady d’Loganville that she was intrigued, and, leaving her loom, quickly went to see who had come to call.

  Visitors there were infrequent. As she entered the small parlor she recognized her daughter instantly and rushed to embrace her tightly, crying, “Celiese, my dearest, I have prayed for your soul all these many years, but I never dared hope you were still alive!”

  “Nor did I dream you were either, Mama.” Celiese stepped back, overjoyed at their reunion. Her mother had aged, but only slightly. The dark gray robe of her order covered her from head to toe, but she was obviously still as trim as a young girl and nearly as pretty. Her clear skin was unlined, her bright green eyes filled with happiness, and Celiese gave her another warm hug before leading her over to the small bench across from the hearth. Although the day was a warm one, the sunlight did not reach the entire convent’s many small chambers, and a fire had been lit to insure their visitor’s comfort.

  “How were you able to find me?” Marie had not dreamed there would be anyone left alive to search.

  “Do you remember André? He was a groom in our stables and now lives in the village nearest the sea. He knew where you were living.”

  A curious blank stare came into Marie’s eyes as she tried to remember the man. “So few of us survived, Celiese, but I think I do recall André. He is an old man, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, is he.” Sorry she had prompted what had to be the most horrible of memories, Celiese continue her tale. “He is a very agreeable fellow and was kind enough to bring Mylan and me here today.”

  “Who is Mylan?” Marie inquired softly. “Was that someone else who worked for us? There were so many, I’ve forgotten most of their names, but I pray for them still.” She tried to remember, but through the mist of the years she could call no one by that unusual name.

  Celiese had not meant to confuse her mother, but there was no simple way to explain who Mylan was, and what he meant to her. Her mother knew Viking brutes had taken her, but she emphasized instead the most pleasant aspects of the years she had lived as a companion to Olgrethe. She told the truth about her marriage, though, and the numerous problems she and Mylan had encountered since then. It was a spellbinding tale, but when she finished her mother recoiled in horror, responding in a way she never would have anticipated.

  “This m
an is here, you have led him to our doorstep when you know what he is?” Marie cried accusingly, “How could you have led him here when to do so is to jeopardize the lives of all who reside in this sacred sanctuary!”

  “Please, Mama, he is a fine man, truly he is, and I wanted you to meet him, as he is the only husband I will ever have.” Celiese was sorry her mother was so badly frightened when there was no cause for such great alarm.

  Rising to her feet, Marie paced the small chamber distractedly before wheeling to face her daughter with an impassioned plea. “You have forgotten all I taught you, all memory of your dear father, as well, if you can call one of those murdering Danes, one of those unspeakably vile butchers, your husband! Have you no shame that you have brought this terrible disgrace to the name of d’Loganville?”

  Deeply hurt by her mother’s cruel insults, Celiese rose to face her. “I thought you would understand. I love Mylan, as dearly as you loved my father.”

  Marie drew back her hand and slapped Celiese across the face with all her strength, nearly knocking the young woman to the floor. “Never, never, are you to speak your father’s name to me again until you have repented every one of your many sins!”

  Stunned by the force of that unexpected and undeserved blow, Celiese nevertheless made another attempt to explain her true situation. “Mylan is my husband, Mama, and a dear one, but he will soon leave for his homeland while I will remain here. I hope to restore to our family what is rightfully ours, but I have no need to beg God for forgiveness when I’ve done no one any wrong.”

  Gripping her daughter’s shoulders in a firm grasp, Marie hissed sharply, “No, you must come here to me, to God. This is your rightful home, and you need never leave it! Pray with me now for forgiveness for the life you’ve led since we parted, and surely God will grant you his blessing if you promise to devote the rest of your life to serving him.”

  Celiese shook her head. “That is a prayer I will never speak, for I am blameless for all that has happened to me, and I will never deny I love Mylan or say I am ashamed to be his.”

  Seeing the small chain around her daughter’s neck, Marie withdrew it carefully, fascinated by the delicate silver charm. “What manner of magic is this?”

  “It is the hammer of their god, Thor. I have not adopted Mylan’s religion, but I wear it still.” Taking the charm from her mother’s grasp, Celiese dropped it down again inside her neckline where it would be safe from harm. She had no desire to have it yanked from around her throat, as she was afraid her mother was about to do.

  Horrified that her daughter had embraced such evil pagan ways, Marie shrank back. “I wish you had died with your father, for you were the dearest of daughters but now you are a traitor to his memory, no more than some despicable Dane’s whore! Leave this sacred ground and do not return until you are ready to make peace with God by begging Him to forgive your sins, as you must know in your heart you should!”

  Backing slowly toward the door, Celiese thought the woman before her a stranger, her mother no more. “I thought you would understand everything I wished so badly to confide in you, but you have understood nothing. You are consumed with hatred, while you dwell in a house you call holy. Your heart is as cold as these ancient stone walls, and I am truly sorry I have come here today if you would have preferred I remained dead.”

  Celiese ran from the room, sobbing as though her heart were broken, for indeed it was. If she was deemed unfit to be her own mother’s daughter, she had lost her again and it was no less painful this time.

  Chapter 20

  Celiese dried her eyes hastily on her sleeve before she rushed through the convent door but she did not realize the bright red print of her mother’s hand remained plainly visible upon her left cheek. She walked to where her mount, a pretty bay mare, stood grazing and picked up the reins. Swinging herself upon the animal’s back, she turned toward the path and called to her companions, “There is no need to linger here, let us be gone.”

  Mylan scrambled to his feet, leapt upon the stallion’s back, and with only gentle urging the animal drew alongside Celiese’s mare. “Well, have you nothing to report? I expected you to spend the whole day talking with your mother; what happened?” He saw the trace of tears gleaming upon her long lashes and thought perhaps she had been happy enough to cry until he noticed the telltale mark upon her cheek and realized instantly what sort of reception she must have received. His heart fell, for he knew how high her hopes had been and how truly devastated she must feel.

  “My mother appears to be well.” Celiese lifted her chin proudly, searching for another comment she might make that would be the truth without inflicting the agony she had just suffered upon him as well.

  Confused by that less than revealing remark, Mylan encouraged her to say more. “She was not too shocked by your sudden appearance, I hope.”

  A deep breath failed to calm her ravaged emotions, and she responded softly, “Naturally she was as astonished to find I am alive as I was to learn she had survived Raktor’s assault upon our home.” She turned to see if André followed, using the time to wipe her eyes again while Mylan could not see the gesture.

  “You had little time for a serious conversation, but did your mother not have some words of advice for you?” He sincerely hoped the woman would have cautioned her daughter, if not forbidden her entirely, to pursue the cause of reclaiming her estate from Hrolf. He would welcome help from any quarter in making the headstrong young woman see reason and hoped her mother had foreseen the danger Celiese did not.

  Celiese bit her lip, forcing back a fresh flood of tears, her concern far different from his. “Yes, she is content and tried to influence me to enter the convent, too.”

  “What does that mean?” he pressed her to explain, the complexities of the Christian religion were beyond his scope of knowledge.

  “Young women, as well as widows, are accepted by the Order of Saint Valery.” Celiese hesitated a moment, attempting to make her mother’s hysterical demand sound more reasonable than it had been. “She invited me to join with her in the service of God.”

  Mylan reached out to catch her mare’s bridle, jerking the startled horse to an abrupt halt. “Women do not come and go as they please there, do they?”

  “Well, no.” Seeing he did not understand, she explained more fully. “Once a woman enters a religious order, she remains there until her death.” Surprised by the flash of anger brightening his amber eyes, she inquired as to its cause. “Why are you so concerned with our religious customs?”

  Furious that she did not even seem to realize what she was saying, he sneered menacingly, “Your mother simply said, ‘Good day, how are you, dear, and why don’t you leave your husband to take up residence here?’ Is that what she said to you?”

  “Please, we need not discuss this in the middle of the road.” André had been following closely, but had pulled his mount to a halt also so he might remain at a discreet distance, but she was embarrassed to have him see them arguing again even if he could not understand her words.

  “Our surroundings hardly matter! Did your mother demand you leave me without giving me the slightest opportunity to impress her favorably? I expected to speak with her, for a few minutes, at least.” He could not believe any woman could be so unreasonable, even a French one. He thought she would have been consumed with curiosity about her daughter’s husband.

  Celiese sighed sadly, sorry he had not accepted her presence as proof of what her response had been. Reaching out to touch his sleeve lightly, she again shielded him from her mother’s wrath. “Please forgive my mother’s rudeness, but her memories are such that she cannot accept my description of your fine character as the truth. I did not remain with her, but am here with you, is that not proof enough of what my response to her invitation must have been?”

  Smiling bravely, she continued, “Please let us return to the village. André was kind enough to lend us these mounts, but I am certain our journey has tired them.” When she attempted t
o turn her mare away, he released the reins and gave no further comment on any subject until the small settlement came into view.

  As they had the previous day, the peasants came forward, quietly observing Celiese and her tall companion as they dismounted in front of André‘s cottage. Not pleased by their unwanted attention, Mylan sought a way to avoid it. “Where are these animals stabled? I do not mind taking them there and seeing to their care.”

  Celiese conveyed his offer to André, but the man refused to consider accepting the Viking’s help. He would not reveal where the village hid their livestock for fear their animals would swiftly be stolen or slaughtered. He gave another excuse, however, but Celiese understood the true reason for his reluctance and thought his thinking as illogical as her mother’s. “I am sorry, Mylan, he says he enjoys working with animals as he has since his youth and requires no assistance. He hopes you will not be offended.”

  Mylan handed over the stallion’s reins without comment, but his gaze had grown dark. “I will pay him then, for the use of the horses.”

  Celiese did not bother to translate that offer since she knew it would be refused. “I think you might leave some gift when you sail, he’d not accept pay for helping us. He was a part of our family.”

  Disappointed he could not reward André immediately for his help, Mylan reached out to take Celiese by the hand. “Well, at least thank him for his help. I want to look at your house again, without being followed by the entire village this time. Is that possible?” he realized he sounded angry, and he was, but he did not want Celiese to think she was the cause of his foul mood.

  She smiled at the people who had begun to gather. “I can think of no polite way to refuse their company if they wish to give it, but I am certain you are the only good-natured Dane they have had an opportunity to observe and you can understand their curiosity.” Good-natured was perhaps not the way to state it; he was the only one without a blood-drenched sword in his hand was a more likely description, but she kept the horror of that image to herself.