by Phoebe Conn
"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 vandalism 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 with 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?
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 wom
an 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.
