Love's Captive Heart

by Phoebe Conn

  Raktor chuckled as he nodded. “Yes, I must see her before we continue to plan this remarkable deception you suggest.” He laughed heartily then, pleased by his daughter’s cleverness, for he greatly admired deceit as a tactic in battle and was glad to see she possessed such sharp wits.

  Olgrethe rushed to her room and with no more than the briefest of explanations grabbed Celiese by the hand and dragged her hurriedly into her father’s presence. “You see, she is a beauty, just as I told you. Although she is more fair, we are nearly the same size, and our features are not dissimilar. In fine garments there would be none at Aldred’s home who could say she is not your daughter.”

  Celiese was horrified by her mistress’s words. She seldom left their quarters, did not pass through the large home without Olgrethe by her side, and had no desire to be shown off to her father and brothers.

  Raktor’s eldest son, a brute named Oluf, leaned over and whispered something that made the older man laugh out loud. “No, you may not have this pretty girl as a bed slave first. Only a virgin is a suitable bride for a Viking.”

  Encouraged by her father’s words, Olgrethe continued, “She speaks our language fluently. She has been with me for more than five years and knows all our ways. She could easily fool any of the Vandahls.”

  Celiese’s eyes widened in alarm as she realized they were arguing over her future. Olgrethe had always been selfish, but what had made her believe they could carry off such an impossible deceit? How could she possibly pretend to be the daughter of a man she despised?

  Growing bored, Raktor rose to his full height. A robust man, he presented a menacing sight, indeed. “Enough. Take her and leave us. We will discuss this amongst ourselves, and if I decide upon this treaty then I believe you can be persuaded to wed Mylan Vandahl without further argument. Do you understand me?”

  Olgrethe nodded, for she knew better than to persist in her defiance when her father’s blue eyes glowed with the same cold light as his burnished steel sword. If he chose, he could make her life painfully difficult, and it was not a threat she dared question tonight. Taking Celiese’s hand firmly in hers, she withdrew to her quarters.

  *

  “What are we to do, Celiese?”

  Feeling deeply betrayed, Celiese watched Olgrethe’s frustration grow to near hysteria before she spoke. “There is no time to lose. You must ask your father to send for his sister immediately. We need Helga here now.”

  “Yes! That’s what we’ll do. I’ll ask him to send for her at first light.” Olgrethe gazed into her servant’s pain-filled eyes. She had sacrificed her beloved companion to save herself, but she was far too proud to feel even a faint wave of guilt. “I’ve always been kind to you, haven’t I?”

  “You are the kindest of mistresses, Olgrethe, but I was free in my own land before your father slaughtered my family.”

  “Please, let’s not relive the past while our futures remain so grave. Oluf looked at you as though you were a tasty morsel he couldn’t wait to bite. He won’t dare touch you if you’re with me. You will sleep in my bed and remain by my side. Should I be sent to Aldred’s house, you will go with me.”

  “As you wish.” Celiese brushed out Olgrethe’s curling tresses as she did every night. Her hands shook badly, but she completed her task without complaint. She had felt safe and secure with Olgrethe, but tonight such foolish complacency had come to a jarring end. She longed for the blissful life she’d once known, with a dear father and mother she would mourn until her last breath.

  Chapter 2

  Raktor intended to settle the matter of his daughter’s marriage with minimal aggravation, and he readily agreed when Olgrethe begged him to send for his younger sister. He trusted Helga to be a practical woman who would provide sensible counsel. Each day the hours of sunlight were growing longer, and he was anxious to leave his farm to begin the eagerly anticipated summer raids. When Helga arrived he sent her to Olgrethe with clear instructions to influence the young woman to wed Mylan Vandahl, and soon, so he could turn his mind to the sea and the riches that lay beyond, but well within his grasp.

  After hearing Aldred’s proposal, Helga gave it her full attention. She was an ambitious woman, keen of mind and still quite beautiful, for the Torgvald women were fortunate in that they in no way resembled the men. While her brother was large-boned and coarse-featured, she was a voluptuous beauty. She had seen her own daughters married into fine families and considered her niece’s predicament thoughtfully.

  “Your father is right to be attracted to this match, dear child, for Mylan was well known for his handsome appearance as well as his heroic deeds.” She turned slowly as she spoke. “He has not been seen in the last two years. In fact, until you spoke of him today, I thought he’d been slain by a bear.”

  Celiese followed Helga’s comments closely and seeing Olgrethe’s confusion, asked her own a question, “Is it not possible that he is?”

  “What?” Helga’s bright blue eyes widened in surprise. “How can that be?”

  “Olgrethe believes this proposal is a trick of some sort. A marriage to a dead man would be the ultimate betrayal, would it not?”

  Helga dismissed Celiese’s suggestion with a flutter of her hand. “Aldred’s reputation with those not of our family is most favorable. Despite our suspicions, this appears to be a true proposal of marriage, one you might be foolish to refuse, Olgrethe. The Vandahls are wealthy, extremely so, prosperous traders, adventurers who sail far and wide in search of the finest wares. Yet I am confused as to why no word has been heard of Mylan for so long.” Helga pursed her lips, her puzzlement clear.

  Her aunt had been her only hope, and Olgrethe was near tears as she described her fears. “He must be grotesquely scarred, hideous to behold no matter how fine he might have looked years ago. He must have been cut to shreds by the bear—perhaps he lost an arm or a leg. Oh, Aunt Helga, I cannot marry such an ugly man, I cannot!”

  Helga sighed regretfully. “Since he did not come to you with his proposal himself, I am inclined to agree. It seems likely he has suffered some impairment, but we cannot know if it is so considerable as you imagine. If you remain against the marriage, then I can be of no further service and will return home. I had hoped to remain to plan your wedding, but if there is to be none, I shan’t stay.”

  Celiese had a calm request, “Please do not leave yet, Helga. Olgrethe may change her mind in a day or two. Give her time to consider this more fully.”

  “Never!” Olgrethe screamed defiantly, yet as soon as she and Celiese were alone she had no such courage and paced her room nervously, wiping away her tears.

  When she could no longer bear to see her mistress in such distress, Celiese asked a question that had been weighing heavily upon her mind. “What prompted you to suggest that I go to Mylan in your place?”

  “We are so much alike I was certain he would never know he had been fooled. I suppose it was a wicked thing to do when you have always been so loyal to me, but I was desperate that night, Celiese, as I am still.”

  Nodding sympathetically, Celiese drew in a deep breath to propose a plan of her own. “If your father insists upon this match, I will go willingly in your place.”

  Olgrethe’s expression grew bright with excitement. “You would do that for me?”

  “It would be to my own advantage. I would be free, and the bride of a respected man, even if he is no longer handsome. In marrying Mylan, I’ll protect my own future, as well as yours in the bargain.”

  “But what if Mylan truly is ugly, horribly disfigured, what if—?”

  “Enough, Olgrethe, the poor creature may be hideous, but I will not despise him for his misfortune. I will ask only that he be kind, and if he believes me to be Raktor’s daughter, he will not dare be otherwise.”

  Olgrethe rushed to Celiese’s side and hugged her warmly. “Thank you, thank you, for I have none of your sweet compassion and would make Mylan the worst of wives.”

  Celiese accepted Olgrethe’s gratitude ca
lmly, but in truth she was far more frightened of becoming a bed slave passed among her menacing brothers than of marrying the man Mylan Vandahl might be. Appearance was not the only consideration in a person; he could still be a fine man, no matter how severely he had been injured. She could be fooling only herself, regardless of the extent of his injuries he would be a Viking still, so what chance was there his heart would be a kind one?

  Pushing her mistress away gently, Celiese turned their conversation to the practical aspects of their plan. “We must prepare identical gowns. If your father sees you clearly the morning of the journey to the Vandahls’ home, he will not think it odd that we wear cloaks and cover our heads in his ship. The wind would disturb you greatly, and you would not want to appear in front of his crew in full view.”

  Celiese smiled slyly as she saw her mistress nod with approval. “We can trade places at the last possible moment. I will wear a veil for the ceremony, and it will be too late by the time your father realizes what we have done—I will be Mylan’s bride by then, and he will never tell his enemy how he has been tricked. He will have to keep the secret as well as we do, for his own reputation will be at stake.”

  “Yes, that is the perfect plan.” Olgrethe was so delighted to avoid such a disastrous marriage she would have agreed to anything. “I will go to Helga’s, for a long visit if need be, and if ever I decide to marry, people can be told my father had two daughters rather than only one, and none will dare dispute him.”

  “That is true.” Celiese hugged Olgrethe this time. They made their preparations carefully, considering each and every detail, every aspect of the deception, and they were far too clever to miss any necessary step. Olgrethe would be expected to be attended by her own maid for her wedding, but then she would simply send the servant back to her father’s home when the guests departed, and it would be Celiese who had wed Mylan and Olgrethe who returned to her father’s home.

  They hoped all would go well for them both, until the afternoon Olgrethe was summoned and told she was to become the bride of Aldred’s eldest son, but that she would be sent to his home alone, without the company of her pretty slave. She accepted her father’s order demurely and returned to her room to give Celiese the startling news.

  “He says you must be left behind, Celiese. He gave me no reason for his decision—as if I would not know it!”

  Celiese also feared the worst. “Then we will simply change places before the voyage begins rather than after. Our original plan will still work for us,” she insisted. “You will wear my cloak, and I’ll wear yours when I bid you goodbye. Surely the confusion at the beginning of such a voyage will make the switch easy to effect.”

  Badly frightened, Olgrethe clung to her friend. “It must, it simply must, Celiese, for if we are caught before the wedding, I dare not even imagine what my father will do to us!”

  Sickened by the thought of what Raktor and his sons would do with her, Celiese turned their conversation to Olgrethe’s wardrobe, distracting the pretty young woman as well as herself from the fear gripping them both. They retired early, escaping their fright in dreams, but Celiese was awakened at midnight, lifted from the large bed so quietly that Olgrethe did not stir as her faithful maid was carried away. Oluf’s hold did not slacken; he held Celiese firmly, his right hand over her mouth to silence her screams as he shoved her inside Raktor’s chamber.

  “You must not be so rough with the girl; we want no bruises marring her lovely skin when she becomes Mylan’s bride tomorrow,” Raktor scolded.

  Disgusted by Olaf’s touch, Celiese wiped her lips on the back of her hand. None of Raktor’s sons were kind, but Oluf was not only mean but crude as well. He reeked of beer and his tunic was covered with grease stains from the evening meal. That he had brought her to his father rather than carry her straight to his own room puzzled her greatly, as did Raktor’s remark.

  “Is it not your daughter who is to become Mylan’s bride? And did you say tomorrow? You did not tell her it was to be so soon.”

  Celiese was wearing no more than a light chemise, and Raktor walked around her slowly, enjoying her scantily clad beauty. Her figure was superb, her breasts high and full, her waist small, her hips held a womanly curve, and her legs were long, and slender.

  “I have decided to send you in her place, after all. There will be celebrating long into the night, and I will see that Mylan is so drunk he must be carried to his bed. When he awakens in the morning, he won’t question his lovely bride’s name. I have had gowns made for you, not unlike my daughter’s. You will sleep alone for the rest of the night and we will leave at dawn. The voyage is not lengthy, and Aldred will entertain us all until we are ready to go home.”

  Celiese backed away, not trusting the master of the house or his brutish son. “Shall I return to my own chamber?”

  “Yes, your gown for tomorrow is there, and the rest are already on board my ship.”

  Celiese left quickly before the man could change his mind about how she should spend her last night in his house. She heard Oluf begin to argue and ran to bolt her door against him. She sagged against it and waited. Oluf was the strongest brother, too difficult for her to fight off for long, but Raktor could not send her if she were black and blue from the beating Oluf would have to inflict to force her to submit to him.

  Time passed slowly before she could relax. Raktor was no fool, and apparently he had known his plan would be ruined if Oluf had his way. Taking no chances, she pushed her bed across the door before lying upon it, but still she was too frightened to sleep and lay awake until dawn.

  The silk gown that lay across her chair was a pale green that reflected the jade of her eyes. She brushed her hair into the elegant style Olgrethe wore and secured it with the gold hairpins she had found with the gown. There were gold bracelets for her arms and heavy gold earrings, too. Raktor had left nothing to chance, and when he came for her she was ready. He handed her a fine light gray woolen cloak.

  “Cover your head, Celiese, none in the household can know you are not my daughter, and Olgrethe will accompany Helga home. Take care that none of my men see your face while we are on board my ship, as this is a secret that must be well guarded.”

  She did not question his motives and did as she was told, following close behind him. His sleek vessel was moored at his dock, and had been prepared to sail. The prow was sculpted in the shape of a dragon’s head, its large eyes seeing all in its path, and she shivered, remembering her last voyage aboard the evil ship as though it had taken place only yesterday rather than five years hence.

  The salty sea spray stung her eyes as she sat huddled in the stern. It took too many men to sail the dragon for her to dream of stealing it to make her way home. The work was hard even with the brisk wind, and the crew cheered when land came again into view.

  Raktor took her arm firmly in his hand to lead her ashore and whispered, “I did not think to ask if you ride as well as my daughter. The Vandahls will expect you to manage your own horse for the journey to their home.” Raktor shaded his eyes with his hand as he saw a band of riders approaching. “Good, they have seen our arrival and will be here soon.”

  “I rode frequently with your daughter: I will not disgrace you now.”

  “See that you never disgrace me, Celiese!”

  “You must call me Olgrethe, do not give away this deception with your own words,” she cautioned. As the horsemen drew near, she wondered which would be Mylan, and what his thoughts would be that day. Did he long for a bride, or was he as opposed to this marriage as Olgrethe had been? Her eyes swept the faces of those approaching. She found Aldred easily enough; he commanded the group and welcomed Raktor with a loud greeting, but none of the fine looking riders with him appeared to be his eldest son, for none came forward to meet her as she had expected Mylan to do. She looked down demurely as Aldred came forward, hoping modesty would impress him.

  “I have long awaited this day, Raktor. My son remained at home, a condition upon which he insisted,
but he should have come with me, I know.” The man reached out to tilt Celiese’s chin so he might see her more clearly, and he exclaimed with delight, “Ah, I had heard Olgrethe was a beauty, but not even my imagination provided such a splendid face as this. You are exquisite, and Mylan will be enchanted. Come to the horses, do not keep him waiting when he is so anxious to meet his bride.”

  Celiese smiled sweetly, “Not too anxious, I hope. Is there to be no celebration, no feast to mark this wonderful occasion?”

  “But of course, you will not find my hospitality lacking. Now let us make haste.”

  As Raktor helped Celiese to mount her horse he whispered, “Good, fool your groom as easily as you have his father, and I will reward you well, dear daughter.”

  Celiese turned her horse and took up a place near her future father-in-law. His hair and beard were a light auburn shade, only faintly streaked with gray. He was muscular, not thick through the waist like Raktor, and she thought it likely Mylan might once have been as attractive a man as his father. They rode at a brisk pace and soon sighted their destination. Set upon a rise, the stone buildings of Aldred’s farm spread over a considerable distance, dwellings and barns, storehouses, granaries. The main structure was an imposing one, and Celiese hoped she had not exchanged one prison for another.

  “You ride well, did your father teach you?” Aldred held her horse’s bridle as Celiese slipped gracefully to the ground.

  “Yes, my father was—is a fine horseman, and he taught me many things.” She blushed with embarrassment, but the man had not noticed her slip, and she reminded herself to be more cautious in her replies, for Olgrethe’s father was very much alive.

  “Mylan is most fortunate then. Come quickly, he insists upon meeting you the moment you arrive. But first I want you to meet Thulyn, his mother.”

  As, they entered the large home a tall, elegantly dressed woman came to greet them. She smiled with the same delight as her husband as she saw what an astonishing beauty Olgrethe had turned out to be. Her eyes were an unusual light brown, amber in hue, while her once-blonde hair now held more than a trace of silver. “How lovely you are. Welcome to our home.”