by Phoebe Conn
Celiese covered her ears, as much to shut out the harsh shouts of the men as the piercing screams of the enraged stallions. She had not thought anyone could possibly enjoy such a spectacle, but clearly she was the only bystander who did not. She had felt the same strained detachment from the Vandahls’ guests all day, and when Hagen put his arm around her waist she let him lead her away without argument. She drank the wine he offered, and then swiftly regretted that foolishness when she immediately felt its numbing effect upon her senses.
“I can see you are as unused to the amusements we have provided today as you are to that wine, for clearly you enjoy neither,” Hagen remarked with a rakish grin.
Celiese saw the teasing sparkle in his eyes and was not insulted; however, she saw no reason to remind him she had been a slave in Raktor’s home and had never been included in the celebrations he had hosted. As for the wine, she knew only wealthy families were able to serve it, for Vikings did not make the intoxicating beverage themselves, but brought it home after raiding France. The source of the wine was not a subject she would approach, as she assumed the Vandahls, being traders, had bargained for it rather than stolen it from a winery in her homeland.
Hagen had obviously enjoyed himself that afternoon, and she thought he would prefer to talk about the stallions they had been watching. “Are the horses not badly injured? I know I would never risk a pet of mine in so ridiculous a sport.”
“Neither would my brothers and I. Our mounts are in their stalls in our stable where they have been brushed and fed, their sleek coats marked by neither bite nor kick.”
Smiling with genuine delight, as well as a lazy warmth from the wine, she complimented him graciously, “I should have known the Vandahls would value their animals too highly to risk their lives needlessly simply to provide entertainment.”
“The stallions do not battle to the death, Celieseâit is as much sport to them as it is to us,” Hagen explained good-naturedly, for her ignorance greatly amused him.
“It can’t be.” She glanced toward the pen where a chestnut animal’s mane shone in the sun with golden highlights, while his jet-black opponent glowed with the sparkle of the midnight sky. The proud beasts circled each other warily, and then one gave chase, trying to bite his adversary while avoiding being kicked. The advantage passed back and forth frequently, for the two horses appeared to be a match of equal strength and bravery, and their antics brought delighted cheers from the enthusiastic crowd of spectators.
“Those stallions are magnificent beasts and are clearly true enemies. Their teeth and hooves are sharp; they are not simply playing, but each is trying his best to do the other harm. That fight is no mere sport to themâthey are most serious.”
Hagen laughed at her fears, and again took her arm. “And so am I.” He led her around the house to the flower-filled garden where they would enjoy more privacy while they talked. Once Celiese was comfortably seated upon a bench he put his hands behind his back and began to pace slowly in front of her.
“We have seen little of each other the last few days, Celiese, and I cannot speak of the things I must when others are present.”
“Do you anticipate problems with the voyage? I know the spring is the best time to sail, and it is nearly autumn.” She thought this the safest subject to discuss and hoped it was to what he was referring. “The weather will turn cool soon, is that your worry?”
Sighing sadly, Hagen assured her that while weather was a factor, it was not his only concern. “The days are still long and warm enough if we make haste, but I find myself becoming increasingly reluctant to depart when I know the journey will have to be made swiftly and I will be returning home alone.”
She waited for him to continue, hoping he would say something to let her know how futile he knew such thoughts to be. She had done all she could in both her manner and actions to discourage his affections, and she prayed he would not persist in showing them. Had she never known Mylan, she would have thought Hagen most handsome, rather than merely a slightly less perfect replica of the man she loved. He was intelligent, but he lacked his older brother’s ready wit and keen sense of humor.
His dark moods were now less frequent, and if his disposition was not truly pleasant, it had at least greatly improved. But she dared not encourage him in any way. As tactfully as she could, she attempted to explain her feelings. “The world into which I was born was such a gentle place, and I long to return home even if none I loved will be there to greet me. If you cannot or will not take me, then I shall have to wait for someone else who will.”
“I have not refused to take you,” Hagen responded angrily, “only said I do not want to let you go.” That declaration appeared to be a most painful admission, for his cheeks flooded with a vivid blush his deep tan did not hide, and he turned away for a moment to compose himself once again.
Touched by the obvious depth of his emotion, she tried once again to make him understand her true feelings, “I am flattered that you have grown fond of me.”
“Flattered?” Hagen threw up his hands in disgust; exasperated by her lack of response. “I want you to stay here. Are you saying you will not?”
She rose slowly to face him, her expression as serious as her tone as she replied softly, “I am saying that I cannot stay.”
Swearing loudly with the vilest oath he knew, Hagen left the garden without looking back. Pits had been dug to roast sides of beef over coals, and if not properly supervised the servants might uncover the meat before it was fully cooked and spoil its flavor. He doubted he would taste a bite, but he went to take charge of the final supper preparations himself rather than argue another minute with Celiese when she was so determined to go her own way.
In an instant his mind was made up. With one excuse or another, he would delay the voyage to France until it would have to wait until spring. He was determined to have the delectable beauty, for he had spent the entire day comparing all their attractive female guests to the enchanting Celiese and had found each of them wanting.
*
For a long while after Hagen left her Celiese wandered the garden alone. It depressed her greatly to realize she had hurt him, but clearly she had, although it had most certainly not been her fault. Why had he been the one to want her to remain in his home when it was Mylan she longed to hear speak those same sweet words? She was so terribly confused, but she had been right to tell Hagen the truth.
She had not thought him capable of love; indeed he had not even mentioned the word in their many conversations, but still, regardless of his motives, she had not responded as he had hoped she would, and he had been deeply hurt and angered. She could think of no way to make amends without compromising her own ideals. She walked toward the house, intent upon returning to the party, for she did not want Hagen to think he had upset her so badly she could not bear the company of his many friends.
After stopping by her room to brush her hair and wash the dust kicked up by the day’s sports from her face and hands, she rejoined the gathering of guests where she found to her relief that the stallions who had been battling so fiercely were being led away. Neither appeared to be any the worse for the fight, but she was happy to see the party turning toward more lighthearted pursuits. Musicians had begun to play lilting melodies to lure the guests inside, and Thulyn invited everyone to begin dinner while the food was at its best. There would be plenty of ale, so she had little difficulty enticing the hungry crowd to enter the hall where the tables were fully laden with the most delicious of repasts.
The harvest had been as splendid as predicted. The oats and barley were stored for the winter, while the apples, nuts, and honey were being sampled liberally that day. As always there was fish, but there were game birds too, in addition to the beef, which, thanks to Hagen’s watchful eye, was done to perfection. Over the summer the goats had produced a generous supply of milk, which had been made into delectable cheeses, so there was something to please each and every guest as they took their places to dine.
Celiese joined Olgrethe and Andrick but had little appetite, although the sumptuous food was well prepared and attractively served. She found it difficult to eat when people were staring at her still, as they had been all day. They were so curious they made not the slightest effort to be discreet, but simply gawked openly as if she were one of Aldred’s and Thulyn’s many entertainments. And as if that rudeness were not enough to make her uneasy, she could hear Mylan’s deep voice as he stood nearby. He was laughing with keen enjoyment, while Estrid’s sparkling giggle floated across the crowded room. Had he intentionally wished to hurt her, he could have found no better method than courting another woman in front of her, but Celiese had too much pride to allow her pain show.
Pretending an interest in Erik, who sat opposite her, Celiese found that he and two friends were attempting to compose a poem to commemorate the day, but could not agree upon the first line and therefore found their task impossible, much to their amusement. Their high spirits only made her isolation all the more acute, for she was but a year older than the smiling trio of handsome young men, but a barrier far more insurmountable than age separated them. When Olgrethe and Andrick became involved in a friendly conversation with one of their guests, Celiese found the cheerful part she had attempted to play all day impossible to continue, and, hoping to avoid further anguish, she slipped away unnoticed.
The twilight softened the coastal scene, which made the outdoors enormously inviting, compared to the raucous gathering in the crowded hall. After wandering aimlessly for a while, Celiese followed the trail she had once taken with Hagen up to the top of the hill, but rather than stopping at the bench to rest she continued along the path hoping to discover where it came to an end. When she reached an impressive stone, a monument covered with runes, she ran her fingertips over the deeply incised carvings and wondered what event the stone had been raised to commemorate. She could not read the Viking symbols with any fluency, and these were old, worn away by the sea breeze and salt air, which made her task doubly difficult. So intent was she upon making out the faint inscription, she did not hear the footsteps upon the path until the large man stepped upon a dry twig, snapping it with a crisp retort that warned her of his presence.
Oluf Torgvald gave an evil chuckle as Celiese spun around to face him. He leered at her as he said, “It has been far too long since we were alone together. I have been waiting all day for just such an opportunity, and I do not plan to waste it.”
With her back to the massive boulder the agile young woman found her choices for escape few, so she attempted a show of bravado. “We are not aloneâall I need do is call for help and dozens of people will come running. I warn you, do not make such a summons for assistance necessary, for you will suffer far more than embarrassment if you do.”
“Your tongue is as sharp as your wits, girl, but you’ll call no one.” Oluf took a step closer, reeling slightly on unsteady legs, for the day had been a hot one and he had had more than his share of ale to quench his thirst. While his clothing was well tailored from fine fabrics, it did not disguise his ample girth, and the aroma of stale sweat made him even less appealing. He had been well built in his teens, but now, nearing thirty, his features, as well as his physique, had grown coarse. The ends of his moustache shone with the grease from the beef he had consumed.
He taunted her cruelly again, “Mylan has cast you aside. What other Vandahl would want a woman he’s discarded?”
Not about to reply to that insult, Celiese glanced over her shoulder. A sharp ravine veered off to her left, and the brush at her right was too thick to traverse. She could not leap over the stone behind her, and Oluf stood squarely in the narrow path. As her panic continued to mount, she again attempted to reason with the rude brute.
“The Vandahls are generous people who invited you here today as a courtesy to Olgrethe. If you have no respect for me, then have some for your sister.”
Oluf was drunk, and he was not a clear thinker even when sober. He failed to respond to her logic. He saw only a young woman of astonishing beauty and moved closer still, hoping to catch her off guard. “You will dishonor only yourself if you reveal what we’ve done here. There will be no scandal to touch Olgrethe.”
“We will do nothing more than speak, Oluf, and I have said all that I wish to. Please stand aside, for I wanted no more than a few moments of fresh air, and I’ve enjoyed them.” She stood with a confident pose, as if unconcerned by the threat the bully presented to her safety.
Oluf shook his head slowly. “We are staying right here, and if you do not return to the house for hours none will notice or care.”
Celiese dug her fingernails into her palms, forcing herself not to shriek uncontrollably. Andrick had told her not to leave his side and she had been a fool to disregard his warning. It could have been Oluf who had shoved her that morning. If any man were capable of murder, surely it was he. She saw him shift his weight and knew he would spring at her in the next second if she did not take some quick action to stop him. The prospect of death was preferable to being raped by such an unspeakable fiend.
He was the worst of the Torgvald brothers, and her decision to attack was made swiftly. In the next instant the knife that had been tucked under his belt was in her hand, gleaming wickedly as she lunged forward. Seeking only to flee, not to kill, she slashed through the fabric of his shirt sleeve, and when the startled man bellowed with pain she dropped the knife and darted past him, running down the path toward the safety of the brightly illuminated home.
*
Mylan glanced over Estrid’s head, scanning the party crowd for the only face he thought worth viewing, but Celiese had disappeared again. He cursed to himself, wondering where she might have gone and with whom. During the day he had seen her far too frequently at Hagen’s side, but his brother sat at their mother’s table, surrounded by attractive young women who appeared to hang on his every word. He could not recall Hagen’s ever enjoying feminine company so greatly, and wondered what had gotten into him of late.
Estrid saw the intense gaze in Mylan’s amber eyes and reached out to touch his sleeve with a possessive caress. “You are not even listening to me; shall I begin all over again at the beginning?”
“Of course I am listening,” Mylan replied curtly. He had not thought any woman could bore him as completely as Estrid did, but he had not meant to be rude. “Please continue, your plans for the autumn are fascinating.” He forced himself to look at her for a moment. He had once thought her sweet as well as pretty, but she was no more than a selfish child, and he longed for the company of a real woman.
When he saw Oluf leave the crowded hall he waited a moment, thinking the man might swiftly return, but when he did not he excused himself quickly. “Forgive me, Estrid, I fear there is a situation that needs my immediate attention.” Leaving the astonished redhead staring after him, he sprinted through the open door and out into the night, but there was no sign of either Oluf or Celiese, and his throat tightened into a painful knot as he forced back the scream that filled his whole body with a lust for blood. If that brute had so much as touched her he would see him dead, but as he stood in the yard, trying to decide in which direction to search, he heard the unmistakable sound of a woman’s light step flying across the dirt toward him.
Celiese ran straight into Mylan’s arms. Gasping for breath she looked back over her shoulder, certain Oluf was no more than two paces behind, but when she saw they were alone she stepped back quickly. “I am sorry, I did not see you standing there.”
“Sorry? You are running as though you fear for your life, and you apologize as if we’d simply bumped elbows in a crowd?” He kept a firm grip upon her slender arm and waited for a more sensible comment than she’d made.
Swallowing nervously, Celiese tried to pull free rather than involve him in her plight. “I am no longer your responsibility. Please let me go, I said I was sorry!”
Mylan looked toward the path from which she had just appeared as he released her.
“I saw Oluf follow you out of the house, and if he bothered you in any way he will suffer for it now. If you didn’t kill the bastard, then I will.”
“No, wait!” Celiese grabbed his arm and held on tightly. “Oluf will never change, and you needn’t fight him!” That he would notice her presence in a room filled with people having such wonderful fun surprised her. Considering the way they had parted, that he wanted to avenge her honor was truly amazing.
He brushed her aside as he drew his knife from his belt. He knew Oluf to be a despicable sort who deserved exactly what he intended to give him. He ran up the path but stopped as he heard the overweight man breathing heavily as he approached. Oluf was muttering obscenities as he stumbled along. He clutched his arm to stem the flow of blood soaking his sleeve.
Mylan stood on the path, his feet braced, his whole body tensed for action, but had he not been looking for a fight Oluf’s crudely worded insults would have swiftly inspired one. “Are you lost? We expect our guests to enjoy our hospitality indoors, not to wander the fields unattended.”
Oluf sneered. “Get out of my way, it’s the woman I’m after. That slut might once have been your wife, but she’ll be my whore before the night’s over!”
Celiese knew better than to fling herself between the two men, for Oluf would surely use her as a shield and most probably slit her throat while Mylan watched in horror. She dared not run to summon help either, for she did not want to leave Mylan alone to face a man who not only fought with every dirty trick imaginable but who also outweighed him by at least forty pounds.
They were equals in height, their reach the same, but should Mylan slip on the rocky path she knew Oluf would fall upon him, using his considerable bulk as well as his knife to every advantage. Stepping back, she searched the ground for something to use as a weapon to help Mylan should he need it. Picking up a jagged stone, she gripped it tightly in her hands and waited for the first opportunity to use it.