Love's Captive Heart

by Phoebe Conn

  Turning to face him, Celiese was surprised to see his left eye looked no better that day. The deep purple bruise now had a decidedly greenish cast, making it look all the more painful. “I am sorry about your eye,” she offered shyly.

  “It is nothing compared to all the other bruises I have, but you did not answer my question. Do you intend to evade them all?” He took hold of the rail to brace himself. Every muscle in his body was painfully protesting the long hours of strenuous labor he had done since the voyage began. He had not thought himself so out of condition, nor would he admit such weakness to her.

  His deep tan and lean build gave the appearance of strength, and he had no intention of letting either her or his crew suspect the truth. He had already begun rotating the duty at the tiller, because the men seemed to be a capable lot, but he planned to continue to do his fair share of the work no matter what suffering it brought. The anguish Celiese continually caused him was an entirely different, but no less painful sort, and he waited impatiently for her to respond.

  “No,” she admitted with a slight smile, well-aware she had given him no real reply.

  Taking her hand firmly in his, Mylan led the impossibly perverse young woman to the stern where they could sit beneath the tent and be sheltered from both the sun and wind while they talked. “It is important that I know the precise location of your home, Celiese, for I don’t want to risk your life, nor the lives of my crew by trespassing upon land belonging to others. I am a trader, but there was no time to gather goods to trade at the end of this voyage, so any of your countrymen we chance to meet will think us raiders and put up a fierce résistance even though we make no threatening advance.”

  She sat down beside him, understanding his concern was well-justified, but not wanting to be the cause of it. “I told you all I know, Mylan. Our home was visible from both the sea and the river Seine. I was a child, however, not an adult skilled in drawing maps, so I can tell you no more than I have.”

  “You mentioned the city of Rouen, though; was it close by?” He pressed her to continue, for each piece of information she still remembered would be useful.

  She shook her head. “No, I went there so seldom I do not know the exact distance. It was perhaps half a day’s ride on horseback, maybe a little more.”

  Mylan took a deep breath, weighing the benefits of explaining his worry, and, decided she had a right to know what to expect when she reached home. He spoke deliberately, “Hrolf is in Rouen. If he was given a sizable amount of land, his holdings may include what was once the estate of the d’Loganvilles.”

  Appalled by that possibility, she hastened to argue, “That can’t be true, Mylan, it simply can’t. Perhaps as you and Hagen insist, the man was given some property by King Charles, but I refuse to believe it is so extensive as you say, or that he could possibly be occupying what rightfully belongs to me.”

  The fury filling her deep green glance was not one he would care to see directed at him, and he offered the only encouragement he could. “Cease to worry then, for nothing can be known for certain until we arrive, and you must not torture yourself with doubt.”

  “Doubt?” she scoffed. “The man has no right to my land, Mylan, and if he should be so stupid as to think he does, he will soon learn I mean to avenge all the wrongs done to the d’Loganvilles, and I will be happy to begin with him!”

  He sat back, stunned by the depth of her anger. She had already risked death once in a desperate bid to win her freedom, and he knew without asking she would do it again to restore to her family what was rightfully theirs. “You have answered my question after all, Celiese. It seems revenge is a far more powerful emotion in your heart than love. I cannot expect you to choose to stay with me when clearly that would mean you would have to give up your lust for blood—which seems to be your destiny.”

  Furious that he would taunt her so cruelly, she wound her arms around his neck and sought his mouth with a kiss so desperate in its intensity that he was shocked by her passion. Her hands moved over him with so tantalizing a touch that he gave no thought to resisting the force of her affection and enfolded her in a ready embrace, forcing her down upon the blanket he had provided for that exact purpose.

  The gentle loving they often shared was replaced by an urgency too great to delay with soft kisses or the sweetness of a tender caress. They were lovers consumed in the fires of desire, all restraint burned away in an instant as they sought the immediate satisfaction of the most glorious of shared pleasures. That the tent provided less than complete privacy did not disturb Mylan in the slightest, for Celiese had told him herself she had no reputation left to maintain, and he knew his own would scarcely suffer for what he was doing. But he would not have cared one bit if it had.

  Chapter 19

  The autumn weather continued to be fair, the skies blue and cloudless, and the Surf Falcon’s progress swift. While Mylan had taken care to insure there would be no repetition of the erotic scene they had played on deck that one afternoon, Celiese seemed completely unconcerned by it. He realized with chagrin that he was no closer to understanding the complexities of her nature than he had been the morning they had set sail for France. They had established an agreeable routine. She kept to herself during the day, but sat beside him while they ate supper, and when he walked her to a secluded spot for the night she came into his arms with a playful eagerness he found enchanting.

  That did not mean their problems had been solved, however; if anything they had been compounded as the journey drew to its end. He wanted to keep Celiese as his wife. That desire had grown within him until he could accept no other possibility, but she seemed so totally absorbed in her dreams of returning home that she had no interest in discussing what future they might share as man and wife.

  He had no doubt he could force his parents to accept her, and as they would not reside in his father’s house he would not have to worry about her safety whenever they were apart. But while he could deal with his parents, it was Celiese he had failed to convince. Andrick’s words rang often in his mind, for he knew he had never courted the lovely young woman with the charm and courtesy to which she was entitled.

  She had simply become his bride, then his enemy, all in the space of one night. Fate had continually separated and then reunited them, but their lives were now so entwined he had lost all thought of her as a separate being independent from himself. Celiese was simply his; whether he called her wife or mistress did not matter when she was too great a part of his life to ever let her go. That she did not realize that fact for the truth it was caused him far more anxiety than the complexities of the voyage had ever presented.

  “We have come a great distance, Mylan. I have not counted the days, have you?” Celiese stretched their blanket upon the soft moss covering the forest floor. They had seen several small settlements along the shores in recent days, but they had skirted them all, searching out the most desolate stretch of coast each night to make their camp. At sunrise they would be gone, leaving no trace they had ever tarried there. If they were being followed, they left no trail of clues by which they could be found.

  Tugging his tunic off over his head, Mylan teased her sweetly. “I have counted only the nights.” In truth he knew exactly how far they had come and how many hours it had taken them. A skilled captain, he remembered each nuance of a journey, the force of the wind, the contours of the shore, landmarks that would guide him should he travel that way again. He missed nothing, and thought it unlikely she had either; for she seemed to be observing all with the same intensity she gave to everything she attempted to master.

  Turning to cast a seductive glance over her right shoulder, she responded skeptically. “You are too precise in your calculations for me to believe that. Are we not nearly there?”

  He placed his hands on his hips, bracing himself for an argument he hoped would not come. “Do you find my company so objectionable you cannot wait for our journey to end?”

  Saddened that he still did not appreciat
e the depth of her regard for him, she stepped close. “You are the best of all possible companions, as dear to me as anyone will ever be.”

  He racked his brain for a suitably complimentary response but could think of none, so he changed the subject with the first thought that entered his mind. “I wonder if Andrick has gotten over his fascination with Olgrethe.”

  Startled that he would think of his brother at such a time, she did not realize how much he had revealed about his own emotions with that question. “I certainly hope he never does,” she replied with a lilting laugh. “He loves her; with all her faults I believe he truly loves her, and I know she adores him.” That Mylan would soon be an uncle was not a secret she would reveal, however.

  “What faults does Olgrethe have that my brother seems to find so easy to overlook?” He sat down upon the blanket and patted the place beside him to invite her company.

  Not ready to join him, she slowly began to disrobe, hanging the layers of her clothing upon the nearby bushes until only her light shift remained. “I did not mean to be critical of her, but she has always been pampered and it is what she expects.”

  “Is a man not supposed to pamper his bride, whether she deserves it or not?” he asked, his confusion plain in his puzzled expression.

  Kneeling down to face him, Celiese reached out to touch the curls at his temple. The sun had bleached his golden hair with streaks of silver, while his beard was still a dark golden shade. He was so very tan and handsome, his light eyes shining with an inquisitive gleam, and for a moment she could not recall what it was they were discussing.

  “I believe love should be shared equally, Mylan, each spouse wanting only what is best for the other.”

  As she waited patiently for his response, he feared if he said he loved her now she would never believe him but think only that he had saved that weapon for the last in hopes of taking her back home with him. A painful knot filled his throat, and he would be unable to speak any words and retain what slight hold he still held upon his sanity where she was concerned.

  His emotional turmoil was so plain upon his even features that Celiese did not insult him with questions about his mood. As always, he seemed to find the mere mention of the word love revolting in the extreme, and she had not meant to cause him such sorrow. She placed her hands upon his broad shoulders and leaned forward to kiss the pulse that throbbed steadily in his tan throat, her love unspoken but lavish in its expression.

  Certain she would stop at nothing less than the most passionate response from him, he lay back upon the blanket, drawing her down into his arms where he held her in a tender embrace. Surely words were unnecessary between them when they had shared so much in the few months since they had met. With her he had known the joy of acceptance, which he had no longer thought possible, the bitter anguish of betrayal, the warmth of a friendship as deep as any he had ever known, and now this quiet pleasure he could not begin to adequately describe. He loved Celiese from the depth of his soul and, praying it was not too late, he moved to prove with his strong, sleek body what he had never been able to speak in words.

  She welcomed him with a provocative purr, accepting his forceful affection with a grace all her own. She felt the exquisite joy swell within him until it flooded through her as well, bliss so delicious that her dreams were always sweet, filled with the memory of his rakish smile and magical caress. No matter what fate awaited her in her homeland, Mylan’s image would fill her heart until the last of her days, and she prayed her face would light his dreams for half as long.

  *

  The next morning Mylan summoned Celiese to his side as soon as he had guided their ship through the surf to the open sea. “Stay with me today. We are close, and I will keep the Falcon near to shore. You may recognize something that I would not.”

  Taking hold of the rail so she could stand slightly in front of him, she gave the coastline a long, careful glance. “I was never out in a boat, Mylan, not until Raktor tossed me in the bottom of his to begin the long voyage to your country. I know the other view, from the land to the sea, not this one.”

  Suddenly realizing Raktor could come for Celiese whenever he chose, Mylan’s expression grew stern. Perhaps the fiend would wait for the summer, or the next, but he could come for Celiese and she would have no way to defend herself if he were not there. “All I ask is that you try. We’ll surely see the river when we come upon it, but perhaps there will be something more.”

  “I understand. I’ll do my best.” She turned to smile warmly, but his gaze remained locked upon the shore, searching for something she could only imagine. She watched the coastline with strict concentration, and it was early afternoon when she saw a cliff that seemed strangely familiar. There was a path visible through the rocks and a stretch of white sand where an old man sat fishing. Seeing the Surf Falcon, he threw down his pole and ran as though the devil himself were pursuing him. He scampered up the cliff with the agility of a mountain goat and was gone, the entire incident lasting no more than a few seconds. But Celiese was certain she had recognized the place, although she could not name it.

  “Mylan!” She turned to touch his arm, excitement lighting her eyes with a bright sparkle. “I know that place, I’m certain I do! My mother liked to walk down to the sand when the day was warm, and I’m positive it was in that very spot.”

  Not discounting her enthusiasm, Mylan thought they were within a day’s sail from the Seine. If they were that close to her home, then perhaps she did recognize the area as she said she did. It would do no harm to stop for a moment, but he wished they had not been seen, for surely the old man would give a cry of alarm, and whatever men there were to defend this small piece of land would come running. “I will not take the ship all the way in to the sand. Let us just go in part way, so you can have a closer look.”

  “You don’t believe me?” she asked sharply. “Why did you ask me to watch for landmarks if you are going to disregard my reports?”

  He gave the necessary orders to bring the ship about, shoving the tiller hard to starboard to turn toward the shore. “It is not your memory I am questioning, Celiese, but the mood of the crowd that old man may have summoned. You know yourself you would launch every arrow you owned before you would ask why we’ve come.”

  “I am not afraid to go ashore alone. That way I can look around and allay whatever fears the residents might have. They would not attack a lone woman, not when I can greet them in a language they will understand.”

  He shook his head slowly. “Never. Now take another look, does the place still look like the one you remember?”

  Exasperated with his domineering manner, she turned away. The afternoon sun struck the cliff with a golden glow, making the scene all the more appealing, but she was more convinced than ever that her home lay just over the rise. “Yes. The pattern of the rocks is what I recall. Our land reached to the sea, and this is the very spot. I’m sure of it.”

  By the time André arrived at the small village he was gasping for breath, his description of what he had seen nearly incoherent, but he had to do no more than wheeze the word “Viking” for his frantic message to be understood. Women went screaming to hide their children in the woods while the young men, armed with pitchforks and knives, ran toward the beach, hoping to stop the murdering northern bandits before they could reach their homes.

  André loped along behind them. No coward in his youth, he planned to be in on whatever action there might be. When the small group reached the cliff they stood at the edge looking down on the tranquil scene below while they tried to plan how to mount an attack. The Viking ship André had seen lay at anchor offshore, while a tall, fair-haired man and a slender blonde woman walked across the sand.

  Their clothes were wet from the short distance they had walked through the surf, but to the Frenchmen’s delight they saw the man was unarmed. He wore no helmet nor suit of mail, carried no sword or shield, but instead offered his arm to the woman to lead her across the beach. Puzzled, they waited
for André to reach them, and then stood aside to provide him with the best view, hoping he might have some explanation for the unusual landing party.

  Still breathing heavily from the pain of his exertion, André watched closely as the young couple moved toward the path at the bottom of the cliff. The man was well built but had an uneven gait, a slight limp that was no doubt the result of some brutal raid, but the beauty by his side seemed to float across the sand, her grace and bearing so regal that André was reminded at once of the noble family he had spent most of his life serving. He knew it could not be possible, but as the young woman drew near tears filled his eyes, and when she reached the summit of the hill he threw himself at her feet, kissing the damp and sandy hem of her gown as he whispered her name.

  His companions heard no more than the name d’Loganville, and they moved back to a more respectful distance in order to observe what might transpire between André and the young woman whose fair beauty seemed to glow with a light from within, as they had been told the angels did. Indeed, in her flowing gown she was the closest being to an angel any of the men had ever seen, and their awe was as great as the old fisherman’s.

  While Mylan gaped in astonishment, Celiese bent slightly to pull André to his feet and began speaking in a tongue he did not understand. “André, is that you? My dear friend, I had not expected to see any face I’d recognize, but such devotion is unnecessary.” The French words rolled off her tongue with a lilting accent, the result of her years in Denmark, but that her speech was somewhat unusual did not occur to her. She kissed the old man’s weathered cheek sweetly before turning to look up at Mylan.

  “He was a groom in my father’s stable, a dear friend I had not dared hope would still be alive.” Backing away, André continued to regard Mylan with a terror-filled gaze, and then said, “That you have returned when we need the d’Loganvilles most is a great blessing, but who is this barbarian at your side?”