Love's Captive Heart

by Phoebe Conn

  Astonished to find his bride so unhappy, Andrick went quickly to his parents, who listened attentively to his complaint and with only gentle encouragement on his part, agreed to invite their relatives and friends for a party as soon as the harvest had been gathered. When at the evening meal Aldred suggested having a harvest celebration the idea seemed to come from him, and Celiese could only stare at Olgrethe, certain the inspiration had come from her, but not knowing any way she could either stop or avoid it.

  Hagen had no objection to a party; he liked them as much as any young man, for there were always races that would provide ample opportunities for him to win praise for his horsemanship. He had often found pretty young women easily impressed by such skill, which made the evenings far more profitable in terms of romance. Turning to note Celiese’s reaction to the prospect of such an amusement, he saw her worried glance and realized she had not once looked in his direction all evening, while she had laughed frequently at Erik’s jokes. That had only made the young man’s humor that much more outrageous, until finally Thulyn had given him the choice of being quiet or leaving the table. Since neither option appealed to Erik, he had grown sullen, and the conversation about the upcoming party continued without any more of his interruptions.

  Obviously feeling sorry for his younger brother, Andrick suggested his favorite board game as soon as the meal ended, issuing a challenge to which Erik readily responded, leaving Olgrethe talking with Aldred and Thulyn about the harvest festivities while Hagen quickly excused himself and went to Celiese’s side.

  “I want to speak with you for a moment, come with me into the garden.” His request was more of a command than an invitation, but he saw no need for flattery or flirting where she was concerned.

  Having no wish to risk another romantic encounter with the young man, Celiese offered an excuse, “I’m sorry, but I didn’t sleep well last night. I’m afraid I’m more tired than usual and would be poor company for you. I’d rather just go on to my room.”

  Smiling slightly, Hagen reached out to take her arm in a firm grasp as he helped her from her chair. “The garden is not out of your way and the fresh air will help you sleep all the better.” Giving her no time to disagree, he propelled her through the open door out into the gathering dusk. As soon as they could no longer be overheard by those still inside, he took her hand and drew her around to face him.

  “I did not realize I’d been too forward with you last night, but I must have been, for you’ve avoided me all day.”

  Pulling her hand gently from his, she denied his assumption. “I have not been avoiding you, not at all. It is only that Olgrethe has been helping me make a new gown. You know how little I brought with me from Mylan’s house, so we have been very busy.” While she did not want Hagen for a lover, she dared not make an enemy of him either, and hoped he would accept her explanation as the truth.

  Hagen shifted his weight, his stance turning from relaxed to militant as he put his hands on his hips. “That is the only reason I’ve not seen you about, or that you spoke not one word to me while we dined?”

  Rather than lie, she changed the subject to the one she needed to discuss. “I have given a great deal of thought to the voyage you mentioned last night. Have you told Andrick your plans?”

  “No,” he admitted reluctantly.

  “If you two are partners, don’t you think you should?”

  Though she knew he would not want to leave Olgrethe, were Andrick to go along she would not have to be alone with Hagen, and that thought gave her hope the voyage home might still be possible.

  Impatient to resolve the issue, Hagen drew her into his arms, his embrace confining as he explained. “We will be busy with the harvest; by the time it is over I will have all my plans made, our provisions gathered, and my crew ready to sail. I will simply tell him I am leaving, and he will not object, for he seems to grow more enamored with his bride each new day.”

  “Don’t you think a man should love his wife?” she asked softly. She made no move to resist his touch. She wanted to push him away and run, but dared not be so rude when it would cause a dreadful scene between them.

  Hagen paused a moment too long, then agreed. “Yes, if a man must have a wife, then he should love her.”

  As he bent down to kiss her, Celiese turned her cheek, and slipped from his grasp before he could stop her. “I must go; it would not be pleasant for either of us if your parents thought your interest in me were other than a friendly one.” She hurried away, passing through the hall where the others were still talking or playing the game that involved moving brightly colored pieces of glass across an ornately carved wooden board.

  Thulyn glanced up as Celiese sped by. The young woman had been outdoors only briefly with Hagen but when her son joined their group he seemed preoccupied, and she grew worried that the attractive former slave might have set her sights for him now that Mylan no longer had any interest in her. She had not forgotten the innocence in Celiese’s gaze when first they had met, an innocence that was only part of Raktor’s evil plot, and her cheeks burned with humiliation still. She had tried to be like a true mother to Celiese, when that was the last thing such a conniving young woman needed. Perhaps the party they were planning would provide an opportunity to repay Celiese for the hurt she had dealt them. Smiling with thoughts too delicious to suppress, Thulyn agreed to each of Olgrethe’s suggestions, then made a few of her own.

  By spending as much time as possible in her own company, Celiese managed to survive until the day of the harvest celebration without upsetting the delicate balance she had created in her relationships within the Vandahl home. Hagen was the most difficult to avoid, but his own demanding schedule worked to her advantage. She had responded to Erik’s flattering attention with sisterly teasing, and since Olgrethe clearly thought she had had her own way in arranging for a party to which Mylan would surely come, they had avoided further argument on that issue. She strove as before to be pleasant and cheerful with Aldred and Thulyn but the easy rapport they had shared the day she had come to marry Mylan had never been restored.

  As soon as the guests had begun to arrive, Olgrethe swept into Celiese’s room, closed the door hurriedly, and whispered, “Mylan’s here. I’ve just spoken with him and he seems to be in as festive a mood as everyone else. Didn’t I tell you he would be here today?”

  Celiese turned away from her window, her manner far cooler than her true mood. “Yes, you did, and I hope he wins all the races and has a most amusing time, but there is no possible way I will enjoy the day.”

  Olgrethe circled her friend warily. “You finished your new gown and the pale green is perfect with your eyes. Your hair has never looked prettier, but there’s little we can do to disguise your freckles. Let us pray Mylan is so happy to see you again he’ll not notice that flaw.”

  Lifting her chin proudly, Celiese moved gracefully toward the door. “I would prefer to avoid his notice altogether, but I’m certain you’ll make it impossible.”

  “You will thank me before this day is over, but I will be gracious and not refuse your praise.” With a playful hug Olgrethe walked outside with Celiese where Andrick and Hagen were greeting their guests, but Mylan had gone to prepare for the first race and was nowhere in sight.

  “I did not realize your brothers would be here, Olgrethe,” Hagen said, nodding toward a boisterous group of men talking amongst themselves as they saddled their mounts for the races. “Apparently my father believes the truce we’ve enjoyed between our families since your marriage will be a lasting one.”

  Olgrethe glanced anxiously at Celiese, knowing she would not wish to see any of the Torgvalds on that day or any other. “Yes, it was your father who invited them, I did not even think of it. I hope they will cause no trouble.”

  Celiese thought it would be miraculous if they did not and was sorry she had come outdoors, for she did not know which would be worse, confronting Mylan or Olgrethe’s hateful brothers. Oluf was staring at her now, his beady blue eyes f
illed with contempt, while he drew his whip across his palm in a menacing gesture meant to be a threat only for her. She simply turned her back on him, pretending to be amused as Andriçk and Hagen exchanged boasts on who would win the most races that day.

  When Mylan appeared at the edge of the gathering crowd she did not recognize him at first glance for he had grown a beard. While it was neatly trimmed and a handsome complement to his classic features, she had expected him to look exactly as he had when they had parted. She glanced down at her shimmering gown, hoping he would be as pleased by her appearance as she was by his, for despite her attempts to appear indifferent, she had spent more than an hour arranging her gleaming curls to look her prettiest. She hoped she could impress him with her beauty and that then she might have the opportunity to make him see reason if his mood was truly as good as Olgrethe had sworn it to be.

  When Olgrethe gripped her arm tightly, her daydream came to an abrupt end, and she asked in surprise, “What’s wrong?”

  “Look who’s here, it’s that snake, Estrid!” Olgrethe nodded to their left as a petite young woman with flaming red hair rushed up to greet Mylan. He returned her charming smile with a wide grin, then leaned down to kiss her lips lightly before leading his stallion toward the starting line of the first race. The whole incident had taken no more than a few seconds, but the affection existing between the attractive pair was unmistakable even at a distance.

  Celiese grew pale, unable to draw a breath or create a coherent thought as the sharpest of pains pierced her heart. She was overwhelmed with sorrow, for Mylan had not even seen her; he had had eyes only for the lovely redhead, whose creamy white skin showed not the faintest trace of freckles. Although diminutive, her proportions were perfect, and Celiese was too devastated to be jealous.

  “She’s very pretty isn’t she?” she finally managed to murmur, too distraught to reveal the depth of her torment, but she had never met the young woman and had had no idea she would be so enchanting a creature.

  “Aye, she is a beauty,” Andrick readily agreed, but when Olgrethe poked him in the ribs he realized how tactless he had been. “I mean, there are some who think she is attractive,” he stammered, trying to make amends and failing.

  “Well, who invited her?” Olgrethe demanded sharply. “After what she did to Mylan, how dare she show her face here?”

  “I would not pursue that question, Olgrethe, for you will insult your own friend as well as yourself if you do.” Hagen reached for Celiese’s hand, and although she tried to pull away he drew her close to his side as he whispered, “Since Mylan already has someone to cheer for him, I expect you to yell encouragement to me.” With that command he leaned down to kiss her, his mouth bruising her lips before he let her go, leaving her too embarrassed by the stares of those surrounding them to do more than watch as he strode off to get his horse.

  Olgrethe gave Andrick an affectionate hug as he left, then put her arm around Celiese’s waist and held her tightly. “I’m going to find out why that bitch Estrid is here, but don’t you worry, she’ll not ruin our plans.”

  “Your plans,” Celiese hissed angrily, but it was too late for her to flee to the serenity of the house when all around them the men were mounting horses and issuing loudly voiced challenges. The course that had been laid out was a treacherous one, demanding stamina as well as speed from the horses, but many of the riders were young and therefore unnecessarily reckless. Raktor had loved races, and if a few riders were thrown, perhaps badly injured or maimed, he considered it no tragedy, as skill was as greatly admired as courage in Viking sport. Celiese had never been such a close observer at those races, however, and she found Olgrethe’s enthusiasm difficult to emulate.

  When Erik approached them with a ready grin, she welcomed the distraction he presented. “Aren’t you going to ride in the races as your brothers do, Erik?”

  The handsome young man laughed as he shook his head. “Just look around you—while the other men ride off to choke on dust, I have my choice of lovely young women to court. I am no fool.”

  Celiese smiled at his jest, for clearly he was having as much fun milling through the crowd of spectators and talking with his friends as those who had just dashed off on horseback.

  Olgrethe touched his arm, intent upon learning who had dared to ruin her well laid plans to get Mylan and Celiese back together. “Do you know how Estrid came to be here today, Erik? I know your family and hers were once close but I’d not expected to see her here, since she broke her engagement to Mylan for so foolish a reason.”

  “My mother invited her. I went to her home myself,” Eric responded casually, not understanding his sister-in-law’s concern.

  “You did not think such an invitation odd?” Olgrethe inquired suspiciously.

  Erik frowned, and shrugged, “Odd? Yes, I suppose so, but no more strange than having your brothers here, which was my father’s idea. What is the purpose of this party if it is not to give thanks for the harvest and for new friends as well as old?”

  Casting Erik a hostile glance, Olgrethe made no reply, but when he moved on to find more agreeable company she whispered to Celiese, “Do you think we should go over and introduce ourselves to Estrid, since Thulyn has not bothered to do so?”

  “Go ahead if you’d like, but I’ve no wish to meet her.” Celiese lifted her hand to shade her eyes as a cloud of dust loomed in the distance. The race began and ended in the same spot, near where they stood, and she tried to move back away from the path, but all around her people shoved and pushed to gain a better vantage point for the end of the race. Suddenly she was pitched forward. Nearly losing her balance, she would have fallen in the dust of the roadway had Olgrethe not swiftly caught her arm and pulled her back to safety. When the horses streaked by their hooves thundered in her ears with the echo of doom, and she escaped death by mere inches.

  “Celiese!” Olgrethe hung on, dragging her trembling companion away from the race course, but not before she had looked around quickly to see Estrid standing nearby. “What happened? You were by my side and then you nearly sprawled into the path of the horses!”

  “Someone shoved me, put their hands in the middle of my back and pushed with all their might. Had you not caught me, I would have been trampled to death.” Celiese was still shaking by the time they reached the house, sick not with fear but with the knowledge someone hated her enough to wish her dead. “Did you see who was directly behind us?”

  “No, I was watching the riders, then you, but I did see Estrid out of the corner of my eye. Perhaps she was the one who pushed you.”

  Celiese fought to catch her breath and sipped the cup of water Olgrethe brought her. Attempting to think logically, she recalled the faces of the guests who had surrounded them. She had met most of them at her wedding and was certain they all remembered her. “I doubt it was Estrid when so many others have a better reason to hate me. I was a fool ever to leave my room today.”

  Sinking down by her side, Olgrethe explained that her original plan had been far more simple. “I had expected the Vandahls to invite their close relatives, aunts, uncles, cousins, not those and every friend they’ve ever made. With all the entertainment they have planned it is plain they didn’t want anyone to have a moment to even speak with me, let alone become my friend.”

  Celiese set the small cup aside and gave Olgrethe a sweet hug. “We are both disappointed then, and I am so sorry for I know today meant as much to you as it did to me.” They were still sitting together, each lost in her own thoughts, when Andrick found them. When Olgrethe explained what had happened he was as concerned as his bride to think someone had intentionally tried to harm Celiese.

  “You must stay with us today. I mean that, for the entire day I want you with us, Celiese. None will dare to insult or harm you when you have my protection.”

  He looked so genuinely concerned she readily agreed to his request. “Thank you, I will do as you ask. In all the excitement, we missed seeing who won the race. Who was it?”<
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  “It was close, but I beat Mylan by a good foot,” he announced proudly. “He claims now that his stallion had not had the proper rest after his journey here, but I beat him all the same.”

  “You won and I did not even see it?” Olgrethe complained with real pain. “Oh, Andrick, I am so sorry I missed your victory.”

  “It was no more than a horse race, Olgrethe.” But despite his teasing he was pleased to have her praise. He had found her to be the best of wives, and drawing her into his arms gave her a lingering kiss to remind her how dearly she was loved.

  Celiese turned away, embarrassed by Andrick’s show of affection. She was trembling still, horrified to think that had she fallen it would have been he and Mylan who would have killed her. Their spirited stallions would have flown over her with the swiftness of eagles and she would have been crushed to bits beneath their hooves. As she looked up she saw a man standing in the doorway. The sun was at his back, his face in shadows, but she recognized Mylan.

  If he had overheard their conversation he did not care to comment upon it, or perhaps he simply did not care, for he turned away and was gone without speaking. Celiese stared after him, hoping with all her heart he would come back, if only to say a brief hello, but he was gone and, although the opportunities were many that day, he did not once approach her, nor acknowledge her presence in any way.

  Chapter 15

  Horse races were not the only thrilling but dangerous sport enjoyed by Viking men. When the fleetest mount had won several races decisively, they turned their attention to a more brutal pastime: pitting the strength of one magnificent stallion against another’s. The beasts were high-spirited and naturally antagonistic, so needed little in the way of encouragement to fight as fiercely for the crowd’s amusement as they would have fought in the wild over possession of a herd of mares.