by Phoebe Conn
After nearly a week filled with daily rides to enjoy the sights of the countryside, or hunting parties that netted generous amounts of game, followed by long nights of boisterous merrymaking, Celiese had had more than enough of Hrolf's hospitality, while Mylan had become the duke's closest confidant. He was obviously enjoying the easy life Hrolf provided in exchange for his company, but she was disgusted and was ready to leave.
Irritated that Mylan had apparently forgotten the real purpose of their visit, she drew him aside when he returned from yet another day in the duke's company. The men had gone hunting for wild boar, but considering the beast too vicious to risk inviting ladies along to watch, they had left them behind in the city. The garden of the duke's mansion was well tended, but the pleasant surroundings were in sharp contrast to Celiese's dark mood.
"We are no closer to our goal than the day we arrived, Mylan. You may enjoy the leisure Hrolf provides, but I do not. Winter will soon be here and I cannot bear the thought of spending it under the villain's roof."
Mylan sighed sadly; sorry she had misunderstood his motives. "We have had little time to talk, and none to make love as we used to, and I am as dissatisfied as you are, but we will gain nothing until we have Hrolf's full confidence. You have waited years for this opportunity to come home, and a week is not long to invest in your future." Drawing her near, he tried to end her criticism with a sweet kiss, but she shoved him away rudely.
"Stop it! A few kisses will not still my complaints! I want to go home now, to rebuild my house where I can finally live in peace. Can't you understand how desperately I want to go home? I despise this place and everyone in it!"
As Mylan glanced up he saw Hrolf observing their argument from a balcony overhead, but how much the man had heard he could only guess. He tried to smile as though the mysteries of love were beyond him, but the duke strode down the stairs and crossed the path to join them, his expression showing he was clearly not amused. "What is all this? Mylan is content as my guest, but it seems you most certainly are not. Why have we failed to make you happy as well?" He planted his feet firmly upon the path, daring Celiese to avoid his question by flight.
Tossing her curls as she turned to face him, Celiese spoke the truth she could no longer conceal. "Although I am here with Mylan, I am French by birth. My estate, the home of the d'Loganvilles for generations, is now under your control. I came here to ask you to return it to me, because I am the rightful owner and you are not!"
Stunned by the willful young woman's hostile demand, Hrolf folded his arms across his expansive chest and stared down at her coldly. "Just where might this estate be?"
"Between the Seine and the sea, south of Yvetot and east of Rouen. The house lies in ruins, and the uncultivated fields are of no use to you, but it is my home and I want to return it to the prosperity it knew before France was overrun with Danish vermin!"
The back of Hrolf's hand smacked Celiese's jaw with the speed and force of lightning, knocking her to the path, where she lay barely conscious until he had summoned two men to carry her away. Through the bright haze of pain blurring her vision she saw Mylan remained standing by the Duke's side. He had not come to her aid, nor spoken one word in her defense, and she could readily tell by his murderous glance that he had made his choice and never would.
Chapter 22
Celiese heard the men talking but lay perfectly still, sprawled in an uncomfortable heap where they had tossed her, hoping they would think her unconscious. The room was small, unlike the one she and Mylan had been sharing, and the echo of their deep voices reverberated around her with a hollow ring. They were whispering excitedly, but she understood all that they said.
"He had dozens of men searching the countryside for this woman, and all the while she was within his own walls!"
"Women! Who can understand them, but she'll gather no resistance around her now. She is as good as dead, but perhaps before..." The man jabbed his friend in the ribs as he winked knowingly.
"You'll not have this wench, Jaret, so cease your daydreaming. Have you not seen how her husband watches her every move?"
"Aye, that I have, but how is it possible a Dane has such a wife as this? Did he not understand who she was and the trouble she would cause before he brought her here?"
Shrugging, since the matter troubled him little, the heavier of the two men moved toward the door. "All wives bring trouble, this French one simply more than most."
Still reticent to leave, Jaret bent down to stroke Celiese's tangled curls with a fond touch. "She is a rare beauty, it is a shame we cannot stay with her a while longer."
"Your appetites are insatiable in all things. A few minutes would soon turn into hours. Leave the woman before we find ourselves in as much trouble as she is."
With a slow, shuffling step, Jaret left with his companion. After locking the heavy oak door, they returned to Hrolf to report that the elusive Lady d'Loganville would trouble him no more that day.
Attempting to rise, Celiese slipped back to the rough wooden floor, too dizzy to do more than attempt to focus her eyes. Hrolf had hit her such a forceful blow she was grateful her neck had not snapped, but finally having the opportunity to speak her mind as she had longed to do since the moment of their arrival had been worth the pain. He was no more than a rat, living upon the garbage heap of a once proud people, and she would never think otherwise. She despised him and all he stood for. Then, recalling his men's words, she wondered how he had been alerted to her presence in France and why he had sent men to ascertain her whereabouts. One woman hardly constituted a threat of such proportions as to merit a search. Of what had he been so afraid? Did he honestly imagine she could assemble enough half-starved peasants to storm his stronghold at Rouen? She would have laughed had she not been in such great pain, but as she blacked out, Mylan's hate-filled stare flooded her dreams with a terror far worse than any Hrolf could inflict.
The small tower room had only one high, narrow window, which faced the north. The reflected sunlight cast long shadows across the floor only at noon, the rest of the day an eerie twilight veiled the room in semidarkness. A small cot sat against the southern wall, the straw filled mattress none too clean, but Celiese managed to crawl upon it when she awakened. Uncertain as to the day, let alone the hour, she lay quietly trying to imagine what fate Hrolf might be planning for her. Prisoners had been kept locked away in towers for years, so the fact the man had not slit her throat instantly proved nothing.
Perhaps he might seek to trade her for further concessions from King Charles; that was a possibility whose details might take many a month, if not years, to arrange. In the week she had spent in Hrolf's house, she had not once seen Gisela and had not dared ask where she might be, but it was not presumptuous to think the princess might intercede in her behalf. In truth they had much in common, and she hoped the young woman would be inclined to help her. A ransom was a popular Viking tactic, but who other than the king would be inclined, or able, to pay one for her?
Unable to foresee what the future would hold, she sat up slowly, being careful not to bring back the intense pain to her head by too sudden a move. From her place on the edge of the cot she could see the whole room. There was a small table, one low stool, and a pail in the far corner, but nothing else. Hardly fit quarters for a woman, even one being held prisoner, and she wondered how long she would have to endure the discomforts of such humble surroundings. Using her right thumbnail she made a light scratch beside the bed, marking the wall for day one as she wondered how she was expected to survive with neither food nor water. She had no idea how many days a person could exist with neither and had no desire to learn from experience. When Raktor had first taken her from her home she had gone hungry many a night, spent days with a thirst so great she could think of nothing but the cool, refreshing trickle of the stream upon the rocks near her home, but even in those dire times she had known food and drink would not be withheld indefinitely. Now, she was not at all certain Hrolf had not decided just to let he
r starve. He might do it, he was ruthless enough; but if she had to avenge the wrongs he had done her countrymen as a ghost, then her spirit would haunt him until the last of his days. Determined to outlast the villain regardless of what cruelty he chose to inflict, she lay down and went to sleep. She would welcome all the rest she could possibly get to gain strength for whatever lay ahead.
Marcela carried the tray through the door and placed it upon the table, but rather than leaving immediately as she had been told to do, she went to the cot and after a moment's hesitation reached out to touch Celiese's shoulder. "Madame, please awaken. I have brought your supper, and it will grow cold."
Celiese sat up slowly, and smiled as she recognized the petite maid as one who had frequently been assigned to her quarters. There was no harm in responding to her in French now, and she did so. "Merci, thank you. Do you know how long I have been here? I have lost all track of the time."
Marcela looked toward the door to make certain the guard was not observing them before speaking. "Since yesterday. I am to bring your supper each evening beginning today. I know nothing more, my lady."
"I am grateful for the food as well as for your company. What is your name?" Celiese smiled warmly, delighted to see a friendly face.
"Marcela, but all here now know who you really are, Lady d'Loganville, and there is talk of little else among us."
Celiese shook her head sadly. "I have no wish to be an object of gossip. Is there word of how long I am to be kept here?"
"I have said too much!" Marcela hurried to the door, but stopped to whisper farewell. "Until tomorrow, dear lady, until then do not despair, for we will see you do not suffer!"
The young woman was gone before Celiese could respond. Was there some plan afoot among the servants to see she came to no harm? What had Marcela meant by suffering? Merely the pain of hunger and thirst, or something far worse? Rather than being reassured, the maid's vow terrified her. She had no appetite whatsoever now, but she would be foolish not to eat something now her supper had arrived. Pulling the stool up to the table, she sat, and removed the cover from the meal. She had been given roast pork in succulent gravy, boiled peas, a slice of freshly baked bread with butter, a wedge of cheese, and a glossy red apple. There was a carafe of wine, a napkin, a cup and spoon, but no knife to cut the pork into bite-sized pieces. It was more food than she could possibly eat. She wrapped the apple and cheese in the linen napkin and set them aside for the morning, and ate what she wanted of the rest. She had never been fond of wine and knowing its effect she took only a sip and would ask Marcela when next she saw her to bring water instead.
A candle would be useful too, as the sun reached so little of the chamber. Perhaps if she were to be held in that wretched room for some time, they would bring all her belongings, and other personal items. Hrolf would never grant her request if she asked for everything at once, but perhaps Marcela could remove the things she needed one at a time from their room. From Mylan's room, she corrected herself angrily. He was the sole occupant of the elegant chamber now. Too restless to remain seated, she got up and paced the narrow space between the cot and the table. After sunset she could make out nothing of her grim surroundings, but she continued to pace with slow, even steps while she let her mind wander to far happier times.
When she was a child the walls of her room had been decorated with bright tapestries, and a thick carpet whose intricate design depicted a hunter chasing a stag through the forest had covered the floor. She had walked around the edges of that fanciful scene knowing the stag would always escape the hunter's arrow. The man had been a handsome fellow, his mount a spirited while stallion, but the forest belonged to the deer, and he had used speed as well as cunning to elude his pursuers.
Sinking down upon the lumpy cot, she attempted to devise some clever plan to survive the duke's wrath, but she could not even think of Hrolf as a duke, for the title implied all the virtues of nobility, and from what she had observed those were attributes he lacked. A deer was at home in the forest, and she was at home in France. She had been an idiot to confront Hrolf as she had when an oblique approach would have been far more effective. Depressed by her own foolishness, she lay down upon the cot to sleep so her mind would be clear at dawn.
The hours of the next day passed slowly with nothing but the wretchedness of her situation to occupy her mind, but Celiese knew that was precisely why she was being confined: to break her spirit and subdue all her resistance to Hrolf's will. Determined that he would die an old man before she gave him the satisfaction of shedding one tear over her predicament, she paced her cell with a long, easy stride, waiting for Marcela to again appear so that she might question her more fully.
Unfortunately, when the door swung open that evening it was not the pretty Frenchwoman who brought in the supper tray but a burly Dane. Celiese backed away, putting as much space between herself and the tall, grinning man as possible.
Eyeing the remains of her supper from the previous night, the brute laughed heartily, "I did not think the duke's commands were taken so lightly, but you are to have bread and water now that I am bringing your meals, nothing more." Placing the tray upon the table, he picked up the other one and turned toward the door.
"What else do you know about the details of my confinement? Am I expected to merely die of boredom in here?" Celiese asked defiantly.
"If it is amusement you want, I will have to return later," the man teased as his glance hungrily swept the curves of her shapely figure.
"Do not bother!" she replied instantly, having no wish to encourage his attentions. Laughing again, he slammed the door shut and locked it, but she had not felt nearly as brave as she had sounded. She had recognized his voice as that of one of the men who had brought her there, obviously the more amorous of the two, and that thought sickened her thoroughly.
She had been a fool not to hide the spoon Marcela had brought with her supper. She could have sharpened the edges against the stone walls of her cell and made a passable weapon, but no utensils were required to eat the bread she had been given tonight. The small loaf was fresh, the crust crisp, the inside soft and tasty; perhaps the friendly guard did not know the bread given to prisoners was supposed to be stale, but she would not offer instructions for her treatment if he had been given none. Not wanting his or any other guard's company, she struggled to move the cot across the door. It would not serve as much of a barricade, but at least the room could not be entered while she slept. The door would slam into the wooden frame of the cot and jostle her awake, and then she would have the advantage of being alert should she have an unexpected and unwanted visitor. She had saved half the cheese from breakfast and ate that with some of the little loaf. The water was fresh and cool, readily quenching her thirst.
After dining upon what little she had been served, she made another line upon the wall to mark her second whole day in the small chamber. When the room was completely dark she lay down and went to sleep, hoping to break the monotony of the dreary hours with the sweet peace of dreams, but they were as wild as the night before, for asleep she could not suppress memories of Mylan's taunting sneer. His presence pervaded her thoughts with the most sensuous of memories, filling her heart with an anguish too great to bear without the relief of tears.
In the morning, Celiese replaced the cot against the southern wall. Moving the table, she stood upon it but still could not reach the narrow window. Since neither the table nor the stool were sturdy, she could not stack them together. She tossed some breadcrumbs upon the sill, hoping a bird would come to eat them. She would welcome any company except that of a Dane, for other than pacing restlessly or lying down to nap she could think of nothing to fill her time. Active by nature, she found the enforced leisure in itself torture, but she counted being left alone a blessing.
Jaret was back at dusk. Hoping to win a smile if not much more from the defiant beauty in his care, he had stuffed his pockets with apples and nuts, which he placed upon her tray beside the bread and water. "The d
uke is generous with his men; I do not mind sharing my rations with you."
Although she was surprised by his kindness, Celiese had no intention of sharing anything with him. "If there is something you expect in return, then take it all back to the kitchen." She stood on the opposite side of the table, ready to hurl the stool at his head should he move toward her.
Giving an unconcerned shrug, Jaret picked up the largest of the apples and took a bite. The fruit was crisp and juicy and he wiped his chin as he savored its marvelous taste. "It is a pity you have no manners, but perhaps by tomorrow you'll be more agreeable, or next week, or next year. I am a patient man."
"Get out of here," Celiese whispered a command in so threatening a manner the burly man had left the room and locked the door securely before he realized she had no means to enforce her words.
After making another line upon the wall, Celiese sat down and ate some of the nuts and an apple with bites so tiny she made the meager meal last a long while. In the morning she would eat the bread as slowly, and that would provide the only excitement to which she could look forward. She stretched out upon the cot, but sleep, no matter how troubled, would not come, and she lay wide awake, finally letting her thoughts focus on Mylan. He was undoubtedly getting quite drunk with Hrolf at that very minute, having completely forgotten her and the dire predicament in which she found herself.