By Love Enslaved (51 page)

“All your gowns are new, none worn more than once or twice. Your father is most generous with you, but you should not expect a new gown to arrive each day with the certainty of the rising sun.” Celiese tied a knot in her thread, snipped it off, then folded the blue dress neatly as she rose. She was the taller of the two, and even more fair, for her hair was a blonde so pale it sparkled like the finest silver in the bright sunlight that filled the large chamber. After putting away her sewing basket she moved gracefully about the room, gathering the discarded apparel with the fluid rhythm that marked all her motions. Except for the slight difference in their statures and the shades of their blonde hair, the two young women were remarkably similar, exquisite beauties both, with the regal bearing of their class, the delicacy of unmistakable nobility gracing their sweet features. Yet one was mistress and the other slave, a distinction that seldom crossed the mind of one but gave the other no peace.

“Take whatever you want for yourself, Celiese, it matters not to me what you choose. My gowns are all prettier on you anyway.” Olgrethe flopped across her bed and made no effort to hide the sounds of her racking sobs as she wept on and on, her desperation too great to bear in silence.

Celiese ignored the weeping young woman until she had returned the room to its usual tidiness, then she sat down beside her and gently massaged her back with a slow, gentle touch. “It is not the quality of your wardrobe that has upset you so, for your gowns could not be more lovely. Has your father proposed another suitor to whom you object as violently as you have to all the others?”

Olgrethe nodded and dried her eyes on the back of her hand as she sat up. “He has no end of men to whom he’d like to see me wed, and the sooner the better, it seems. Whatever shall I do?”

Celiese’s pretty smile was sympathetic, “Has none been to your liking, Olgrethe? Has not one met with your approval? You know a Viking maiden is never forced into a marriage when she may divorce her husband whenever she chooses. Won’t your father expect your consent to any marriage he proposes?”

Olgrethe chewed her lower lip petulantly before she responded. “I’ll not consent to marry any man, no matter who he might be! What difference would it make, are not all men the same?”

Celiese’s green eyes deepened in hue as she considered that question thoughtfully. “No, Olgrethe, all men are not the same. Some are fine and good, gentle, loving husbands and caring fathers, while others are unspeakably cruel in all they do, a disgrace to all that is human.”

Olgrethe frowned, not readily comprehending her beautiful maid’s words. “We have grown up together these last five years, Celiese, how can it be you know so much of the world while I still know so little?”

“I have had far more opportunity to consider life and all its many situations than you have, but if you would but hold your temper and think before you speak, you would see the obvious also, Olgrethe.”

“What should I see that I do not?” the pretty young woman asked skeptically.

Choosing her words carefully, Celiese attempted to make her point. “Your father will be certain your marriage enhances his own position, but you would be wise to see that the choice is yours rather than his. Now let us consider for a moment whom you might select. Who among the men your father might wish you to marry would you accept for a husband?”

Olgrethe shuddered with revulsion, “None! They are all the same—loud, boastful tyrants or arrogant buffoons. I would have none as my mate!” She pounded her clenched fist angrily upon the bed to emphasize her disapproval.

“Perhaps they wish only to impress you with their bravery, Olgrethe, for a Viking takes great pride in being a valiant warrior, does he not?”

“Of course!” Olgrethe thought that a characteristic too obvious to merit discussion. “But I do not enjoy hearing an endless recitation of their raids, of how many men they have slaughtered in the glory of battle to gather their fortunes and bring home slaves to staff their farms!” Seeing her servant stiffen with sudden anguish Olgreihe reached out to embrace her closely. “Forgive me, Celiese, I never think of you as a slave, you are as dear to me as a sister would be, and no matter whom I marry I will take you with me when I go to his home.”

Celiese returned Olgrethe’s warm clasp and brushed aside the hurt the young woman had inflicted so thoughtlessly. “I do not ever forget I am a slave, nor how I came to be one—but let us not neglect our original purpose. You are of an age to marry, and we must choose your husband before your father does. If no one you have met is appealing then we will have to arrange for more young men to be invited here for you to meet.”

Olgrethe’s lilting laugh was spontaneous, “Do you really think we can find a man for me, Celiese, one who is brave and strong but does not continually boast of his prowess?”

“If such a man exists in this land then you shall have him, Olgrethe!” Celiese promised confidently, for truly she was as fond of her mistress as the young woman was of her.

“I will insist he provide a fine husband for you, too. We are the same age and if I must marry then you cannot be left alone.”

Appalled by that suggestion Celiese rose from the soft bed and moved away swiftly. “There is no need for such generosity, I have no desire to marry some other unfortunate captive and provide our master with children who will live and die in bondage. No, I am content to serve you as I always have.”

“Celiese?” Olgrethe went to her friend’s side, encircling her slender waist tenderly with her arms. “I will set you free to marry a Viking. Your children will be free, and so will you.”

“No!” Celiese responded with fierce pride. “I have no longing for a Viking’s, affections, no matter what the reward!”

“Do you hate us all, Celiese for taking you captive and bringing you to our land? Do you hate us still?” Olgrethe inquired anxiously.

Celiese turned toward the narrow window cut in the thick stone wall and scanned the rocky countryside with an intense gaze. “It is pointless to hate your family, for they are no worse than any of their countrymen who make war on my homeland each summer with ceaseless vengeance—and I have never hated you, for you are not to blame for their horrible deeds.” Wishing to push the terror of her memories aside, Celiese forced herself to smile. ‘Now, let us devote ourselves to finding a husband for you, Olgrethe, and allow me to meet my fate alone.” As I always have, she thought sadly.

A king’s duty has never been so sweet…

Maiden of the Winds

© 2012 Janeen O’Kerry

In order to please her oppressive parents and gain some freedom, Keavy agrees to marry a man she does not love, though it is to be in name only. She makes the journey to the neighboring kingdom and goes through with the ceremony—only to find that in this place it is considered the duty of the king to spend the wedding night with the bride. If she refuses, she will be sent home with her marriage declared invalid.

Although shocked by this unknown custom, Keavy finds herself drawn to King Aengus, a powerful and handsome man with the eyes of an eagle. Now she has to make the choice of either returning home—husbandless—to her very troublesome family, or submitting to the First Night attentions of the king.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Maiden of the Winds:

The first winds of spring blew cold and fresh over the forests of eastern Eire, lifting a soaring golden eagle high on outstretched wings. The bird could see all of his kingdom and more from up there, and he took the time to inspect his every wheat field, beehive, and farmer’s house, every apple tree and glittering stream, and every grassy, flowering meadow. It was an annual task after the long, cold nights of winter.

Reveling in his power, the eagle soared through the sky examining his kingly domain.

A motion far below caught his sharp eye. There, running and dancing along a sunlit brook and weaving in and out of a row of silvery birch trees, was a group of young women. Each wore a soft linen gown of yellow or green or blue, and each carried a small basket. Their feet were bare in the soft new grass, and their hair streamed long and loose down slender backs.

The eagle circled once above them and then flew down to perch high in one of the birches. The young women did not notice him as he watched and listened.

Their laughter reached him first. They were five in number, all young, all tall, all slender, all beautiful—yet one of them stood out among even such a gathering as this.

“Keavy! Keavy!” called the others, laughing as they tried to keep up with the long-legged girl who led them in their playful dance. “Wait for us! How will we ever find any primrose or watercress when you go so fast?”

The one called Keavy stopped at last and turned to face them, her long fair hair shining with silvery light like a river in bright sunshine. She set down her basket in the grass and waited for them with her hands on her hips, frowning in mock impatience.

“How can I stay still on a day like this?” she asked, then burst out giggling. She caught up her basket and dashed away again, her simple green gown swinging around her legs and billowing out behind her in the wind.

The rest of the girls squealed with laughter and raced in pursuit. All of them ran until they reached an open, sunny spot by the edge of the stream, where they dropped down to sit breathless in the grass, surrounded by the calling and singing of the wrens and the larks.

“The servants will be waiting for their watercress,” said one girl.

“And the healers did ask for more primrose,” warned another.

“We said we would bring these things for them if only we might be allowed outside the fortress gates for a little while, so we’d better fetch them back if we ever want to go beyond the walls of Dun Mor again!”

“They will have them, they will have them,” Keavy said with a laugh. “Though I’d have said I’d bring them all the gold in Eire if it meant being outside on a day such as this, after staying inside all winter!” She threw back her head so that her hair formed a shining pool in the grass behind her, and closed her eyes as the warmth of the spring sun caressed her face.

The eagle spread his wings and flew to another birch tree, just above the place where the young women rested. None of them noticed he was there.

“Are you ready to go on yet?” Keavy asked, reaching for her empty basket.

But her companions only moaned in protest and stayed where they were. “It is not fair, Keavy—you are older than the rest of us and can go farther than we can!”

Keavy only laughed again. “I have only just reached seventeen years. The rest of you are all sixteen, are you not? I am not so much older.”

“But you are taller and stronger, no matter what your age, and you have tired me out!” complained another of the girls. All of them laughed.

Still smiling, Keavy caught up her basket and got to her feet. “Stay here, then, and rest. I cannot sit still! I’ll get the watercress, and perhaps by the time I do that you will be ready to go on and look for primrose.”

“Go, go!” they agreed. “But not too far.”

“Not too far,” Keavy promised.

As she started along the stream, her hair flowing down nearly to her ankles as she walked, the eagle left his perch and followed, wheeling high above, the trees in the bright blue sky. Even with his sharp eyes, it was sometimes difficult to see her as she walked. Through the sunlit trees far below, her skin was nearly as white as the bark of the birches, her gown nearly the same shade of green as the leaves and grass. Yet he could easily find her pale golden hair with its silvery highlights, and when at last she stopped to search out some watercress at the edge of the stream, the eagle flew down to a branch just above her.

The sound of his great wings made her look up.

Keavy nearly dropped her basket. “Oh,” she whispered, and took a step forward.

The eagle folded his wings and remained very still.

“Well, beautiful eagle,” Keavy said, also standing still. “I am happy to share this day with you. I find that I am often followed by wild birds, who seem to like my company for some reason—but they are usually wrens or larks or sparrows. Never have I been in the company of a golden eagle.”

She took another careful step forward, and another, until she stood just in front of the low branch. The kingly bird was almost near enough to reach up and touch.

The eagle watched her closely as she approached, tilting his head and fixing her with his deep amber stare. She was even more beautiful up close than she had been from the sky: tall and slender, graceful and fair, with light green eyes and her long hair streaming in the fresh spring winds. And she was still young enough to fly from him like the maiden she was if he were to show himself to her in his true form. But a creature of nature, even one as powerful as a golden eagle, would not frighten the maid at all.

“I hope we have not intruded on your territory,” Keavy was saying. “My friends and I simply could not stay in any longer on a day such as this, the first day to bring a little of the warmth and sunlight of spring with it.” She smiled. “You seem to have felt the same way.”

The bird drew himself up and ruffled his feathers, never taking his fierce gaze from her. Keavy took one last step forward. “I want to remember this,” she said, lifting one hand a little, as though she longed to reach out for him but dared not. “Already this was a special day, and now it is even more so…”