by Phoebe Conn
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 filled 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?"
"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.
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, Celiese—it 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 them—they 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.