Love's Captive Heart (Author's Cut Edition)

by Phoebe Conn

  "There you are at last! Come quickly, Celiese, for I cannot make my hair curl as it should, and I want to look my very best." The animated girl grabbed her longtime servant's wrist and led her into the room where she had dressed. "Where have you been? I had to bathe and dress myself, but you must comb my hair before you dress."

  Olgrethe sat down and handed Celiese her hairbrush and golden pins. "Hurry, I am late already! This wedding will be nothing like yours, there will be no feasting, but I do want to look pretty even if I am not to be entertained as lavishly as you were. This is the only wedding I am likely to have, and I'll make a celebration of it even if the Vandahls refuse to."

  Celiese fashioned the elaborate coiffure Olgrethe preferred without hearing any of the young woman's excited chatter. She was too hurt to contemplate anything more than the painful fact that her only friend was about to marry the man she had thought would be her own husband. It was all so unfair—none of the torment was her fault, and yet Mylan blamed her for deceiving him to aid Raktor, when she had done nothing of the kind. Her work finished, she stepped back, hoping to be excused even if she had nowhere to go in the expansive home.

  Olgrethe held her gown daintily above her feet as she left her chair, "The bathwater is fresh; I had it brought for you. Now hurry and get ready. They will come for me shortly, and I do not wish to be married without you being there to see it, as I have no other friend in this household."

  "Olgrethe, please..."

  The high-spirited girl grabbed for the brooches that held Celiese's yellow gown and removed them with a swift tug. "Hurry, or I shall take you with me nude!" She shoved and pushed, argued and cajoled until at last she had her friend seated in the steaming tub. "There, now doesn't that feel good? Why don't you wear my blue dress—I brought along all my jewelry and I'll get everything out for you so we won't keep them waiting."

  Celiese sank down into the warm softness of the large tub to wet her hair before lathering her thick curls with the perfumed soap Olgrethe thrust into her hands. There was no way to escape the enthusiastic girl's plans, but once the ceremony had begun, Olgrethe would have eyes only for Mylan and then she could slip away, hide somewhere away from the Vandahls and their accusing stares. She turned as the door swung open, shocked as Mylan strode into the room and came straight toward her, but she had no way to hide her lissome figure from his hostile glance.

  "Why are you blushing so deeply, girl, you've nothing I have not already seen—more than once—to say nothing of half of Kaupang, which had a full view of your charms. You have kept us all waiting too long, Olgrethe, you must come with me now." With no more than a brief backward glance, Mylan swept the startled young woman out of the room, leaving Celiese flushed with shame as she sat in the rapidly cooling water: His disgust with her could not have been more painful, and she had little reason even to leave the tub, let alone dress for an evening that promised to hold no joy.

  But as the water grew chilled her anger mounted, until she finally forced herself to rise, dried off carefully, and donned the silken gown Olgrethe had laid out for her. She fastened the gold brooches at her shoulders with shaking fingers and attempted to dry her hair sufficiently to join the gathering for a few minutes, at least. She twisted her gleaming tresses upon her head and secured them with the golden pins Olgrethe had not needed. Furious at her own weakness that had allowed her to care so deeply for a man who thought so little of her, she vowed to show Mylan she still had her pride. His insults might hurt her terribly, but she would not let him suspect she felt the slightest discomfort at his scorn. If he wished to reject her love then she would reject his hatred with the same cool disdain.

  Lifting her chin proudly she made her way to the hall where the marriage ceremony was already taking place. Many of those who had attended her wedding were there again, so while the atmosphere of the large room was not nearly as festive, it was no less crowded. Those who turned to note her arrival frowned angrily, but she stepped swiftly to move along the side of the room, hoping to find a place to stand where she would attract no notice. She would greet Olgrethe warmly at the close of the ceremony and then return to the room where she had dressed and hope her presence in the house would be swiftly forgotten. As she edged along the back of the crowd, an arm suddenly closed firmly around her waist, and she gasped in surprise as she struggled to get free.

  "Hush, I mean you no harm," Mylan whispered sternly as he pulled her close to his side. "Do you always dress as finely as your mistress, or is this yet another of your tricks?" Truly he thought her as splendidly garbed as Olgrethe, and in his opinion she was far prettier. That so lovely a young woman could have such an evil heart confused him, and his question sounded more like a rebuke than a query.

  Celiese was so astonished to find Mylan at the back of the room that she stood on her tiptoes to see what had happened to Olgrethe. Had the ceremony not yet begun, after all? Her eyes widened further, her long lashes sweeping her delicately arched brows, when she saw the young woman standing in the center of the room with Andrick by her side. Turning so she might speak discreetly, she whispered. "Olgrethe is not marrying you?"

  Mylan brought his fingertip to her lips to silence her. "No! I have no need for another bride. Now be still, you are disturbing everyone with your chatter."

  Celiese relaxed against him, forgetting his injured side in her amazement. Her body melted into the sleek line of his and she felt him draw away quickly, but not before she had felt his body's involuntary response to hers, and when she looked up at him his blush was as bright as hers. His hand had not relaxed upon her wrist, but she was too relieved to find he had not wed Olgrethe to complain over that slight pain.

  What had he said? He wanted no other bride? What had he meant by that remark—that he was finished with marriage, or was he only finished with her? She peeked up at him through her thick fringe of dark lashes. He looked far from happy, and she risked leaning close again to whisper, "Why is Andrick marrying Olgrethe?"

  "Because I wouldn't!" Mylan snarled angrily, then pulled her around in front of him, keeping his arms clasped tightly around her narrow waist so she could not escape his grasp. His embrace was confining, not tender, and the moment the ceremony concluded he dragged her along beside him to congratulate his brother. He mumbled a brief greeting, then left the large gathering with Celiese still firmly in tow as he climbed the stairs to his room. He pushed her inside, and turned to go. "Wait here, I will return in a moment with a more suitable garment for you to wear."

  Celiese looked down at Olgrethe's lovely blue gown with a puzzled glance. "But why? This dress is so pretty, don't you like it?"

  "No, it will not do for the journey to my home, nor for what you will do when get there." He stood in the doorway, impatient to attend to his errand.

  "You do not live here with your family?" She found each of his announcements perplexing.

  "No. Now remove that dress quickly so I am not kept waiting." He slammed the door as he went out, but Celiese sat down on his bed, unwilling to disrobe when she understood so little of his purpose. Where were they going, and what unnamed task must she change her clothes to perform?

  When Mylan returned he swore heatedly as he tossed her a coarsely woven gray wool gown. "Your modesty is misplaced with me, Celiese, now don this and let us go."

  She held up the drab dress and shook her head. "This is at least clean, but hideous. Mylan, why must I wear it?"

  He moved about the room rapidly collecting his belongings. "You must cease to concern yourself with beauty, Celiese. Practicality is the issue here; now dress or I shall leave without you."

  She ran her fingertips over the rough threads of the gray fabric and complained again as she slipped it over her head. "I cannot wear this next to my skin, Mylan, it is so poorly woven it would be unbearably uncomfortable."

  "Your comfort is unimportant. I'm ready, let's go." He frowned with disappointment as he looked at her, for the ill-fitting wool gown did little to hide her beauty. Forcing himself
to continue, he asked gruffly, "Can you ride?"

  "Yes, of course."

  "Of course? Not all women do. It will be dark—do you ride well enough to escape injury should your horse stumble?"

  She answered his question proudly. "My father taught me to ride shortly after I learned to walk. Olgrethe and I rode nearly every day in the spring and summer months, so it is not my skill or practice that will be a concern. I am far more worried over your well-being than my own. Can you ride with that gash in your side?"

  He brushed aside her unwanted sympathy. "I can sit a horse. Cease your ramblings and let's depart at once."

  Celiese lifted the heavy gown above her feet and followed him down the back stairs and out to the stables where a groom stood holding the reins of two sturdy mounts. She was given the smaller of the two, a dapple-gray mare, and with an agile leap she mounted the gentle horse. Holding the reins tightly in her grasp, she turned the mare to follow Mylan's lead.

  The moonlight was pale, the shadows deep, but Mylan knew the worn trail well, and they traversed it a long while without mishap. When at last he reached their destination he called over his shoulder, "Wait here while I light the fire, then you may come inside."

  She slipped to the ground and stood rubbing the ache in her spine, for the trip had been a long and tiring one. She remained standing at the open door while Mylan bent over the hearth in the center of the small house. After a few moments he had ignited a blaze that sent a warm glow clear into the far corners of the cluttered dwelling, and she gazed about in dismay as she entered. It was a farmhouse, no different from any other, but so ill kept she was astonished to find it served as his home, when he was always so well groomed and finely clothed.

  "Is this where you have been living for the last two years?"

  "Aye, this is my home." Mylan threw off his cloak and turned to face her, his frown again becoming his constant expression. "It needs a good cleaning, that I will admit, so you need not think you will insult me by seeing to it at first light."

  She looked about the one long, narrow room, hoping her poor first impression had been caused by the flickering fire, but now that the wood burned with a steady glow the place looked no better. "You have brought me here to clean?" Disappointment shown in her luminous eyes, their color bright with unshed tears. She was not a bride being welcomed into a home filled with love, but still she had hoped for better than this from him.

  "To clean and to cook, indeed to perform any task I might assign. For the present you must tend the horses, they are doubtless weary, and so am I. The stable is in the rear. Well, run, I'll not have such fine animals neglected!"

  With an angry glance Celiese left without arguing. She gathered up the reins and spoke softly as she led the two horses around to the small shed that served as the stable. "Mylan says you two deserve care, but what of me? Am I not to be shown even the slight amount of consideration he shows a horse?"

  Sorry the beasts could not reply, she did her best to see they were cooled down properly and ready to spend a restful night. The shed was dark and she stumbled, bruising her shins cruelly as she missed her step at the doorway. That pain was the final assault on her spirit, and she burst into tears before realizing with a sudden flash of insight that she should be rejoicing that Mylan had not married Olgrethe as she had feared he would.

  Sitting up, she brushed away her tears, for why would he have brought her with him if he had not missed her as greatly as she had missed him? As she stood she tripped again over the hem of the long gray gown. Gripping it tightly in her hands, she ran around to the front door, gasping for breath as she entered the large room, but all was quiet. Mylan lay sleeping, his deep breathing easy as if he had fallen sound asleep the moment he had sprawled across the heap of furs that served as his bed. She tiptoed to his side and slipped her hand under the soft suede of his tunic. His wound was apparently no longer seeping blood, for the linen bandage was still dry, and, satisfied he was merely exhausted, not unconscious from loss of blood, she ceased to worry about him and looked about for a place where she might rest comfortably herself.

  Mylan lay at a diagonal, leaving no space for her upon his bed. She was certain that it had been deliberate rudeness on his part, but she was too tired to care. She leaned down to brush his tawny curls with her lips, her kiss a spontaneous gift of the affection she had no desire to hide regardless of the bitterness of his mood. "God bless you, dear husband, may your dreams be sweet."

  As was the custom in a farmhouse, the platform that formed a bench around the interior walls served as seating during the day and as beds during the night. That Mylan had such a splendid mound of furs upon which to sleep was a tribute to his skill as a hunter, but she hoped he would not miss a few so she might make the hard wooden bench at least somewhat more bearable as a bed. After adding more wood to the fire, she gathered a few pelts from his generous supply, and lay down and closed her eyes wearily, for she was as exhausted as he from the long day. Forcing all fear for the future from her mind, she smiled with a lazy satisfaction. She had never expected to be a farmer's wife, but now that prospect seemed most rewarding, for as long as Mylan kept her with him she cared not at all where he chose to live.

  Chapter 7

  In the pale light of dawn Mylan's farmhouse was even more disorderly than Celiese had at first imagined. She lay upon her stomach on the wooden bench where she had slept, her chin propped on her hands as she scanned the room slowly, amazed by the accumulation of clutter that littered the quaint little house. As was the Viking custom, it was sturdily built of tree trunks split into staves and then placed vertically in the ground to form the walls. Although it had been dark when they had arrived, she knew this late in spring the thatched roof would be covered with a sprinkling of bright wildflowers, and with the cleaning Mylan had suggested she was certain the home could be a charming place.

  The fire that had burned on the hearth when she had fallen asleep was now no more than ashes, and she wondered if Mylan would soon rise to light another to help her prepare breakfast. Glancing over her shoulder where she expected to see him still sleeping, she found only the heap of furs occupying the corner. Suddenly certain she had been left in an abandoned farmhouse many miles from home, she leapt to her feet and ran out the door, sprinting around to the shed where she found the dapple gray mare she had ridden with Mylan's roan stallion, both munching contentedly upon a fresh supply of feed.

  He had apparently fed and watered their mounts before he had left, but where could he have gone? Anxious to find him she circled the low dwelling, shading her eyes from the rising sun as she searched the surrounding fields for the tall Viking. He was nowhere to be seen.

  The landscape was a serene one, the fertile land flat, while nearby a stream ran with inviting swiftness beneath a thick stand of linden trees whose branches were topped with the new growth of spring. While not so immense an estate as the one owned by Raktor or Aldred, the farm appeared to be a prosperous one, and Celiese's mood grew more optimistic as she continued to survey her new home.

  Mylan had still not appeared, and she walked to the stream. Knowing she was quite alone, she slipped off the coarse woolen garment, then Olgrethe's blue gown. The chill of the water brought a bright blush to her cheeks, and she made haste to complete her grooming before her fair skin took on the same pale blue as the sky. Donning only the silk gown, she carried the gray one back to the house to search for a pail so she might carry water to begin the cleaning.

  It was late afternoon when Mylan returned, limping badly. He carried two rabbits slung over his shoulder as the only evidence of his day's efforts. He hesitated at the door, clearly dismayed at the sight of the tidy household Celiese had managed to create in less than one day's time. That she had obeyed a command he had issued in such an offhand manner the night before amazed him, as everybody knew that slaves were completely devoid of such initiative.

  "I did not expect, I mean, you need not have..." He caught himself then—an order given should be obey
ed. Still, she had caught him off guard, and he was more confused than pleased by her unexpected willingness to clean his house.

  Celiese approached him with an enchanting smile. "I have always preferred order to chaos. Your house did not present too great a challenge."

  Ignoring her friendly greeting, he strode through the door, and tossed the limp game upon the table. "I suppose this is the best you could do," he commented gruffly. "In time you will learn how I want my house kept."

  Her pretty smile of welcome vanished instantly at his rebuke, for she was shocked he thought there was something she had neglected to do. "I put fresh straw on the floor, shook out the furs of your bed, cleaned all your cooking implements, dusted all the furnishings—what more should I have done?"

  Mylan turned away. His home was spotless, but he would pay her no compliments that day or any other. "The fire has gone out. I expect my supper to be ready when I come home. Do not be so careless ever again."

  Gesturing helplessly, she explained, "The fire was out when I awoke. How did you start a fire so quickly last night? I have no idea how to do it." She had worked so hard to please him and as usual had failed, but that the fire had gone out was not her fault, and she refused to assume the blame for it. "I did bring in more wood," she offered quickly, hoping to put him in a more agreeable mood.

  Drawing a small leather pouch from his belt, Mylan removed a flint and bent down over the pile of kindling she had laid. Scraping the steel blade of his knife against the flint, he soon ignited the dry kindling. He stood and backed away as the fire spread to the larger lengths of wood.

  "How do you expect me to light a fire if you carry the flint with you?" she asked indignantly.