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

by Phoebe Conn

  "How were you able to find me?" Marie had not dreamed there would be anyone left alive to search.

  "Do you remember André? He was a groom in our stables and now lives in the village nearest the sea. He knew where you were living."

  A curious blank stare came into Marie's eyes as she tried to remember the man. "So few of us survived, Celiese, but I think I do recall André. He is an old man, isn't he?"

  "Yes, is he." Sorry she had prompted what had to be the most horrible of memories, Celiese continue her tale. "He is a very agreeable fellow and was kind enough to bring Mylan and me here today."

  "Who is Mylan?" Marie inquired softly. "Was that someone else who worked for us? There were so many, I've forgotten most of their names, but I pray for them still." She tried to remember, but through the mist of the years she could call no one by that unusual name.

  Celiese had not meant to confuse her mother, but there was no simple way to explain who Mylan was, and what he meant to her. Her mother knew Viking brutes had taken her, but she emphasized instead the most pleasant aspects of the years she had lived as a companion to Olgrethe. She told the truth about her marriage, though, and the numerous problems she and Mylan had encountered since then. It was a spellbinding tale, but when she finished her mother recoiled in horror, responding in a way she never would have anticipated.

  "This man is here, you have led him to our doorstep when you know what he is?" Marie cried accusingly, "How could you have led him here when to do so is to jeopardize the lives of all who reside in this sacred sanctuary!"

  "Please, Mama, he is a fine man, truly he is, and I wanted you to meet him, as he is the only husband I will ever have." Celiese was sorry her mother was so badly frightened when there was no cause for such great alarm.

  Rising to her feet, Marie paced the small chamber distractedly before wheeling to face her daughter with an impassioned plea. "You have forgotten all I taught you, all memory of your dear father, as well, if you can call one of those murdering Danes, one of those unspeakably vile butchers, your husband! Have you no shame that you have brought this terrible disgrace to the name of d'Loganville?"

  Deeply hurt by her mother's cruel insults, Celiese rose to face her. "I thought you would understand. I love Mylan, as dearly as you loved my father."

  Marie drew back her hand and slapped Celiese across the face with all her strength, nearly knocking the young woman to the floor. "Never, never, are you to speak your father's name to me again until you have repented every one of your many sins!"

  Stunned by the force of that unexpected and undeserved blow, Celiese nevertheless made another attempt to explain her true situation. "Mylan is my husband, Mama, and a dear one, but he will soon leave for his homeland while I will remain here. I hope to restore to our family what is rightfully ours, but I have no need to beg God for forgiveness when I've done no one any wrong."

  Gripping her daughter's shoulders in a firm grasp, Marie hissed sharply, "No, you must come here to me, to God. This is your rightful home, and you need never leave it! Pray with me now for forgiveness for the life you've led since we parted, and surely God will grant you his blessing if you promise to devote the rest of your life to serving him."

  Celiese shook her head. "That is a prayer I will never speak, for I am blameless for all that has happened to me, and I will never deny I love Mylan or say I am ashamed to be his."

  Seeing the small chain around her daughter's neck, Marie withdrew it carefully, fascinated by the delicate silver charm. "What manner of magic is this?"

  "It is the hammer of their god, Thor. I have not adopted Mylan's religion, but I wear it still." Taking the charm from her mother's grasp, Celiese dropped it down again inside her neckline where it would be safe from harm. She had no desire to have it yanked from around her throat, as she was afraid her mother was about to do.

  Horrified that her daughter had embraced such evil pagan ways, Marie shrank back. "I wish you had died with your father, for you were the dearest of daughters but now you are a traitor to his memory, no more than some despicable Dane's whore! Leave this sacred ground and do not return until you are ready to make peace with God by begging Him to forgive your sins, as you must know in your heart you should!"

  Backing slowly toward the door, Celiese thought the woman before her a stranger, her mother no more. "I thought you would understand everything I wished so badly to confide in you, but you have understood nothing. You are consumed with hatred, while you dwell in a house you call holy. Your heart is as cold as these ancient stone walls, and I am truly sorry I have come here today if you would have preferred I remained dead."

  Celiese ran from the room, sobbing as though her heart were broken, for indeed it was. If she was deemed unfit to be her own mother's daughter, she had lost her again and it was no less painful this time.

  Chapter 20

  Celiese dried her eyes hastily on her sleeve before she rushed through the convent door but she did not realize the bright red print of her mother's hand remained plainly visible upon her left cheek. She walked to where her mount, a pretty bay mare, stood grazing and picked up the reins. Swinging herself upon the animal's back, she turned toward the path and called to her companions, "There is no need to linger here, let us be gone."

  Mylan scrambled to his feet, leapt upon the stallion's back, and with only gentle urging the animal drew alongside Celiese's mare. "Well, have you nothing to report? I expected you to spend the whole day talking with your mother; what happened?" He saw the trace of tears gleaming upon her long lashes and thought perhaps she had been happy enough to cry until he noticed the telltale mark upon her cheek and realized instantly what sort of reception she must have received. His heart fell, for he knew how high her hopes had been and how truly devastated she must feel.

  "My mother appears to be well." Celiese lifted her chin proudly, searching for another comment she might make that would be the truth without inflicting the agony she had just suffered upon him as well.

  Confused by that less than revealing remark, Mylan encouraged her to say more. "She was not too shocked by your sudden appearance, I hope."

  A deep breath failed to calm her ravaged emotions, and she responded softly, "Naturally she was as astonished to find I am alive as I was to learn she had survived Raktor's assault upon our home." She turned to see if André followed, using the time to wipe her eyes again while Mylan could not see the gesture.

  "You had little time for a serious conversation, but did your mother not have some words of advice for you?" He sincerely hoped the woman would have cautioned her daughter, if not forbidden her entirely, to pursue the cause of reclaiming her estate from Hrolf. He would welcome help from any quarter in making the headstrong young woman see reason and hoped her mother had foreseen the danger Celiese did not.

  Celiese bit her lip, forcing back a fresh flood of tears, her concern far different from his. "Yes, she is content and tried to influence me to enter the convent, too."

  "What does that mean?" he pressed her to explain, the complexities of the Christian religion were beyond his scope of knowledge.

  "Young women, as well as widows, are accepted by the Order of Saint Valery." Celiese hesitated a moment, attempting to make her mother's hysterical demand sound more reasonable than it had been. "She invited me to join with her in the service of God."

  Mylan reached out to catch her mare's bridle, jerking the startled horse to an abrupt halt. "Women do not come and go as they please there, do they?"

  "Well, no." Seeing he did not understand, she explained more fully. "Once a woman enters a religious order, she remains there until her death." Surprised by the flash of anger brightening his amber eyes, she inquired as to its cause. "Why are you so concerned with our religious customs?"

  Furious that she did not even seem to realize what she was saying, he sneered menacingly, "Your mother simply said, 'Good day, how are you, dear, and why don't you leave your husband to take up residence here?' Is that what she said to you?"
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br />   "Please, we need not discuss this in the middle of the road." André had been following closely, but had pulled his mount to a halt also so he might remain at a discreet distance, but she was embarrassed to have him see them arguing again even if he could not understand her words.

  "Our surroundings hardly matter! Did your mother demand you leave me without giving me the slightest opportunity to impress her favorably? I expected to speak with her, for a few minutes, at least." He could not believe any woman could be so unreasonable, even a French one. He thought she would have been consumed with curiosity about her daughter's husband.

  Celiese sighed sadly, sorry he had not accepted her presence as proof of what her response had been. Reaching out to touch his sleeve lightly, she again shielded him from her mother's wrath. "Please forgive my mother's rudeness, but her memories are such that she cannot accept my description of your fine character as the truth. I did not remain with her, but am here with you, is that not proof enough of what my response to her invitation must have been?"

  Smiling bravely, she continued, "Please let us return to the village. André was kind enough to lend us these mounts, but I am certain our journey has tired them." When she attempted to turn her mare away, he released the reins and gave no further comment on any subject until the small settlement came into view.

  As they had the previous day, the peasants came forward, quietly observing Celiese and her tall companion as they dismounted in front of André's cottage. Not pleased by their unwanted attention, Mylan sought a way to avoid it. "Where are these animals stabled? I do not mind taking them there and seeing to their care."

  Celiese conveyed his offer to André, but the man refused to consider accepting the Viking's help. He would not reveal where the village hid their livestock for fear their animals would swiftly be stolen or slaughtered. He gave another excuse, however, but Celiese understood the true reason for his reluctance and thought his thinking as illogical as her mother's. "I am sorry, Mylan, he says he enjoys working with animals as he has since his youth and requires no assistance. He hopes you will not be offended."

  Mylan handed over the stallion's reins without comment, but his gaze had grown dark. "I will pay him then, for the use of the horses."

  Celiese did not bother to translate that offer since she knew it would be refused. "I think you might leave some gift when you sail, he'd not accept pay for helping us. He was a part of our family."

  Disappointed he could not reward André immediately for his help, Mylan reached out to take Celiese by the hand. "Well, at least thank him for his help. I want to look at your house again, without being followed by the entire village this time. Is that possible?" he realized he sounded angry, and he was, but he did not want Celiese to think she was the cause of his foul mood.

  She smiled at the people who had begun to gather. "I can think of no polite way to refuse their company if they wish to give it, but I am certain you are the only good-natured Dane they have had an opportunity to observe and you can understand their curiosity." Good-natured was perhaps not the way to state it; he was the only one without a blood-drenched sword in his hand was a more likely description, but she kept the horror of that image to herself.

  "It is not me they are watching with such awe, Celiese, but you, and I do not like it." He drew her close as they started up the path leading to the ruins of her home. She could not be expected to bring prosperity to the impoverished village simply by her presence, but he could readily see from the peasants' adoring glances that she had inspired a hope that had been absent from their hearts only the previous afternoon.

  "Your family was so rich they could afford to feed all these people?" he asked incredulously.

  "There were several villages similar in size to this one, although I do not recall any being in such a sad state when my father was alive. The peasants farmed our land and gave us a share of what they produced as payment for the use of our property. We did not prosper unless they did, it was not the other way around. My father was always generous, however, if a man were ill, or some tragedy befell his family, he would wait until the man could pay what he owed. No one was ever put out of his home on our estate as they would have been on many others."

  "The peasants did not take advantage of your father's kindness?" he asked skeptically.

  "How could they have done so?" she inquired innocently.

  "By being lazy, doing only what was the minimum to insure their survival." In his experience slaves were always lazy, and he could not believe peasants would have had any more ambition.

  "The rent was a flat fee, not based upon how much a man produced. It was to his own advantage to cultivate all he could, for only a tiny portion went to us and the rest he kept for himself and his family." Thinking she understood his confusion, she continued, "Free men are not like slaves, they have a reason to work, a purpose for their labors other than serving a tyrannical master."

  Laughing, Mylan asked, "Are you calling me a tyrant? I have owned slaves from time to time." She had been the most difficult to manage, but he thought better of offering the opinion.

  Celiese did not reply, for she could not. She had never been his slave, but that was an argument she would not begin again, either.

  Seeing by her expression that he was on dangerous ground, he returned to the far safer subject of agriculture. "Well, was this system effective? The crops were cultivated, the people fed?"

  "Some years were better than others, for the weather plays a great role in production, as you well know, but the fields were lush when I was a child, the peasants happy. You have seen the respect the name d'Loganville inspires in these people. It is not without cause, but well deserved."

  Mylan turned to be certain they were not being followed. Apparently, since André had not accompanied them today, the villagers had gone about their own business as well. Relieved to find they would have some privacy for a short while at least, he lengthened his stride to hurry Celiese along. "I cannot rebuild your entire house in the short time we have remaining, but if you want to stay here, I can at least see part of it is made livable again."

  She wandered about as he studied what was left of the once magnificent structure. It was so clear in her mind; to consider rebuilding anything less than the perfection it had been saddened her greatly. When he sat down by her side, she attempted to refuse his offer as tactfully as she could.

  "The house was so pretty, Mylan, filled with sunlight and good cheer, surrounded by fragrant gardens. I know you want to help me, but I'd rather leave my home in ruins than build anything less than the splendid residence it was."

  "Celiese," he began, then, realizing the day had gone no better for her than it had for him, he softened his tone. "I want you to come home with me." He reached for her hand and laced her fingers tightly in his, bringing them to his lips. "I won't leave you here amidst this rubble."

  "But you must!" she insisted. "This is where I belong. And I know how desperate my situation appears, but I can make everything right again in time, I know I can."

  Gesturing toward the few remaining walls of her home, he asked sarcastically, "How? You have not even so much as André to call your own. You are no more than one fragile young woman, how do you expect to accomplish any of your dreams?"

  Holding her temper, she again sought his sympathy. "If you were to return home and find Raktor had leveled your house, killed your family, slaughtered your livestock, and sold off all your servants, would you not try to restore all you could to its proper place?"

  "I am a man, Celiese, and a strong one. I would never rest until I had repaid Raktor for each wrong he'd done, but you are little more than a girl. While you do have some skill with weapons, you do not even own any."

  "I would say I have a great deal of skill. Have you forgotten I almost killed your bear?" Her patience at an end, she responded angrily, "I can use weapons, but I may not need to. If I can see the king, I can make him understand that what he has done in making a bargain with Hrolf is wrong."r />
  "The king?" Mylan was appalled. "You plan to visit the king and demand he restore your lands to you?"

  "Why not? The spineless weasel needs someone to tell him how to rule the country with the pride it deserves."

  Mylan rested his head in his hands, "I should wring your neck now and save King Charles the trouble."

  "He would not dare to harm me," she replied instantly, shocked by his threats. She was as angry as he, her cheeks flushed with color, her green eyes bright with unshed tears.

  "Because you are Lady d'Loganville, your name as proud as his?" Mylan scoffed disparagingly.

  "Yes!" She rose as a final gesture, ready to end their argument. "Sail with the morning tide. You have brought me home, that was all I asked, and I am grateful for the favor. I will follow the bank of the river Seine to Paris and seek an audience with the king. Were my father alive he would do no less."

  "Your father is dead!" Mylan sprang to his feet to confront her, "All are dead who tried to resist the invading Danes; Hrolf is only the last and the most fierce. Don't you understand no king gives away part of his realm if he has any other choice? That one pretty young woman objects will matter not at all to him. He is buying peace for the rest of his lands by giving away yours, and nothing you say will sway him from the course he has already chosen!"

  Turning her back on him, she took several steps away, fighting the overwhelming sense of frustration confronting her at every turn. Their marriage had not survived their wedding night despite her best efforts to make Mylan accept her love, and to return to Denmark as his wife now was impossible. And to enter the convent as her mother had insisted she do was unthinkable when there was no one else to rectify the terrible injustice her family had suffered.