Captive Heart (5 page)

“My husband has looked forward to this day so eagerly. We must stop this senseless fighting amongst ourselves and learn to live in peace in our own land.”

Celiese’s green eyes burned with fiery light as she responded angrily, “To better make war on our enemies, to kill and rape those across the sea with all the bloody courage for which the Vikings are so justly feared?”

Thulyn shrank back in astonishment. “Why, Olgrethe, you sound so bitter! But your father’s warlike ways are not ours. The Vandahls are responsible for no deaths on our shores or those across the seas. Did your father not explain that our men are traders only, men who barter the finest goods of one people for those of another?”

Celiese regained her composure swiftly and reached out to touch the older woman’s arm lightly. “It is only that I long for peace more than your husband ever has. It is no mere dream to me, but a memory of all I hold dear.” She knew she had been foolish to speak the truth, but she’d never stop screaming it in her heart. She relaxed when Thulyn smiled, placated by her more moderate tone. Helga had called the Vandahls adventurers, but why had she forgotten their interest was in trade, not murder?

Thulyn gestured graciously. “Everyone is waiting. Let us go.” She followed Celiese down the stairs, then escorted her through the long hallway that led to the main hall where all were gathered to celebrate the marriage that would soon take place. The large room was crowded, the merriment already underway when they entered, and they stood unnoticed at the doorway for several minutes. While Thulyn scanned the faces of those present looking for her husband and Mylan, Celiese searched for Raktor and his sons. They were scattered about the room, all drinking and talking in loud, raucous voices to Aldred’s far more reserved kin. As a hush spread over the room, Celiese was surprised to realize that she was the cause. She felt little like a bride, but she followed Thulyn hesitantly across the wide expanse to Mylan’s side. She expected someone to shout, to scream out her true name and end her ruse before it had been completed, before she became the bride of a man who believed her to be another, but all were silent as she passed by with a graceful step that brought a look of envy to every eye.

She tried to smile as Mylan took her hand, but it was obvious to her that no matter how drunk the other men in the room might have already become, he had consumed little or nothing as yet. His glance was reserved, yet curious, as it swept over her. He also had changed his attire, and his well-tailored suede tunic and trousers emphasized his lean, muscular build handsomely. She had not realized he was so tall, but now he was standing upright, rather than leaning against a chair for support, and he was easily a full head taller than she, although her height was unusual for a woman. His expression held none of the anger she’d seen that afternoon, but she could not help but wonder what he would say should he learn that his bride was a Christian slave rather than Raktor’s proud daughter.

As the ceremony began Celiese found she could understand little, for the Viking religion was not something in which she’d been tutored. She had difficulty following along, but hoped none would think her nervousness unusual, for surely no bride was calm on her wedding day. As the chanting continued, the low voices repeating ageless prayers, her fears grew, her deception gaining a horrible momentum in her mind until she was certain she would faint before another minute passed. But as she glanced up she saw Raktor leering at her, the lust plain in his evil expression, his desire no different from that which showed clearly on his sons’ faces, and she stepped closer to Mylan, clinging to his arm. When he looked down she tried to smile, for the stranger who would soon be her husband offered more in the way of security than did the master of the house where she’d lived in hiding for the last five years.

At the conclusion of the ceremony, Erik Vandahl, Mylan’s youngest brother, was one of the first to offer a toast to the bride and groom. He was nearly as tall as Mylan, not yet so well built, but a charming youth with a ready grin who kept those around him laughing with his easy humor. Aldred apologized for the absence of his other two sons, but there were kinsmen aplenty to join in the festivities, and the wedding feast continued for hours. Although the mead was plentiful, Mylan drank little of the fermented honey beverage, and Celiese dared taste no more than a sip. He watched her closely, his amusement at her discomfort undisguised as he remained by her side, accepting the teasing as well as the kind wishes for their prosperity, until a moment’s lull presented him with the opportunity to draw her away from the noisy gathering. He led her quickly up the side stairs to his room, a chamber far greater in size than the one in which she’d found him that afternoon.

“You do not wish to remain with your relatives, Mylan?” Celiese hung back, knowing she would have no defense against his certain anger, for he was far too sober to be fooled by any ruse that came to her mind.

“No, I want only to be alone with you, to continue what my father interrupted so rudely this afternoon.” He pulled her through the heavy wooden door, then bolted it securely before he went to the hearth. He bent down to add wood to the coals that glowed softly upon the stones and soon had a blaze burning to his satisfaction. He turned back to face his lovely young bride.

Celiese backed away, frightened more by his charming grin than by his height and obvious strength. He moved with ease, his limp slight despite his complaints about his health. He appeared to be most fit, vigorous, and strong, and she tried frantically to think of some way to postpone the inevitable humiliation she was certain to suffer that night. Her anxiety was clear in her expression, and Mylan came closer, a slight frown creasing his brow.

“Olgrethe? Why are you trembling so? You were not so terrified of me this afternoon. Are you only cold? Come closer to the fire.” He reached out to take her hand and drew her nearer to the hearth. “This house is older than time, but once the stone walls draw in the heat of the fire they will remain warm all night. You will like my room, it is one of the warmest.”

Celiese stood in his easy embrace and hoped he’d believe the tremors that coursed down her spine were due only to the chill of the night air. She held her palms out toward the flames and took several deep breaths, knowing Mylan was being kind because he believed her to be his equal. She dared not consider how he might usually treat pretty slaves. She straightened her shoulders proudly as she rejected that thought. What Raktor called her was one thing, what she truly was quite another, and she felt not in the least bit inferior to the handsome man who stood so near. “I was not all that certain how you felt about me this afternoon, Mylan. I was afraid I had angered you.” She had run from him like the terrified young woman she was, and she had little hope he had understood her reticence to return his eager kisses.

Mylan’s warm breath caressed her cheek softly as he replied with a low chuckle. He combed her shining curls away from her face with his fingertips, then bent down to kiss lightly the silken skin of her throat. “How could I ever be angry with you, Olgrethe? You seem to see in me the man I once was, as if—”

Celiese turned in his arms, captivated anew by his gentle manner, and her smile was wistful and sweet as she interrupted him. “I do not understand your sorrow, Mylan, but I am pleased to know I was not the cause of your anger.” She thought again how handsome a man he was, and the charming sparkle that filled his amber eyes did not displease her. Raktor should have sent Olgrethe, she thought sadly, for the lively girl would have loved Mylan instantly, even if she had been unable to fathom his moods.

“You are far too lovely a young woman to inspire any emotion within me, save desire.” Mylan drew her curls through his fingertips to pull her close. “Your hair is so very fair, like sunlight upon the snow. May I brush it for you? I do not want to send for a maid to attend you, not tonight.”

Celiese forced back the guilt his tender tone evoked and nodded. “Yes, would you please? Do you have a hairbrush? I do not know where my belongings were taken after I bathed.”

“They are all here.” Mylan turned away briefly, then returned with her brush in his hand and quickly removed the gold pins from her carefully coiled tresses, spilling the luminous curls about her pale shoulders in a glittering cascade. “I have never done this before, forgive me if I prove clumsy.”

Celiese stood patiently while he brushed her hair slowly with long, even strokes, but finally she had to speak. “It is not like grooming a horse, Mylan, here let me show you.” She took the brush from him and pulled it through her hair from underneath. “Do you see, if you hold your hand at my scalp you may use more force.”

“Yes, I understand, but when have you ever brushed a horse, Olgrethe?” He scoffed at the ridiculousness of such a beauty’s working in her father’s stables.

“From time to time I have groomed my pets. They are gentle animals who welcome my touch.” Indeed, Celiese had answered with the truth, the mares had belonged to Olgrethe not her, but they had both groomed them upon occasion.

Mylan took her thick curls in his hand and brushed out the ends for a moment, then let his fingertips stray along the graceful line of her bare shoulder. “Horses are not the only creatures who would welcome your attentions, Olgrethe.”

His sensuous touch brought a shiver Celiese could not suppress, and she pulled away, then crossed hurriedly to the row of narrow windows on the far side of the room. “Is the sea visible from here?”

“What?” Mylan turned, startled by her sudden flight. “Oh yes, at night it is difficult to distinguish the sparkle of the water from that of the stars, but it is there.” He walked up behind her again, but left his hands at his sides and followed her gaze as she studied the darkness with an intensity he could not understand. “Are you fond of the sea?”

“Yes, I have lived all my life within sight of the water.” Yet Celiese found little comfort that night in the scent of the salt spray that filled the air. It was all she could do to stand calmly when she wanted so desperately to flee, but there was nowhere for her to run, and such foolishness would only make her plight all the worse. She stood trying to appear interested in the view, but she could not ignore the presence of the handsome man who stood so near. She could feel his warmth and his charm, which was almost a tangible force, and she wished she could return his attentions as honestly as he gave them.

“In the morning you will be able to see the coast clearly, but tonight you must trust my word that it is there.”

Celiese smiled demurely as she turned to look up at him. “I am certain you know the view from your own room, Mylan, but I fear we will be unable to sleep here tonight with the noise our guests are making. Should we not return to the party and join them?”

Mylan laughed as if she’d told the most amusing of jokes, “Olgrethe, surely you did not plan to waste our wedding night in sleep!” He began to tug at the intricately carved gold bracelets that encircled her upper arms, and she helped him to remove them. “Good, I see you do know what it is I wish to do. Now, give me your earrings as well.”

Again Celiese obediently complied with his request, but each time she tried to step clear of his embrace he moved closer, until the backs of her legs brushed the furs that covered his bed and she had to stop abruptly, for further retreat was impossible.

Mylan grinned broadly at her predicament. “You may have escaped me this afternoon, Olgrethe, but you won’t elude me tonight, nor any other night I want you. There is no need for you to fear me. I will be very gentle with you until you have learned all there is to know.”

Celiese seized upon his words in hopes of delaying his promised lessons as long as she could. “I was also disappointed we had so little time to talk this afternoon. I have so many questions, will you not permit me to ask them?” She sat down primly on the foot of his bed and folded her hands in her lap, her wide, innocent gaze rapt upon his face as she did so.

Mylan frowned impatiently, annoyed by her unexpected request. “Olgrethe, let us talk on the morrow.”

Celiese reached out to take his hand and drew him down beside her. “Please, we are strangers still, Mylan, neither of us prepared to begin a marriage. Will you not grant me this one small request?”

“If it is only one, I will indulge you, but then I will insist you repay me in kind.” Mylan’s glance was a mischievous one, but when he saw she did not understand the meaning of his teasing remark he put his arm around her shoulders and hugged her warmly. “I am sorry, Olgrethe, ask me whatever you wish, and I will try to satisfy your curiosity about me as best I can.”

Now that he had agreed so readily Celiese realized she had no query in mind, then, remembering Olgrethe’s complaints, she struggled to be coherent. “You are a grown man, Mylan, doubtless a veteran of many exciting voyages. Will you not tell me of some of your adventures?”

Mylan groaned in frustration, “Yes, I am a grown man, I am twenty-eight, and you expect me to relate so many years of my life in amusing tales on our wedding night? We will have our entire lives to discuss our pasts, but tonight I prefer to enjoy the present. I will say no more than that I will return to the sea as soon as I am able to command my vessel with my former strength and skill.” Mylan’s expression darkened as he admitted slowly, “Although I am afraid that day may never come.”

Puzzled, Celiese continued to probe. “Why has no one seen you these last two years? You look very strong and fit to me, and your appearance could not be more pleasing.” She had been observing him closely all evening, for it was a fascinating pastime, but now she hoped to keep him talking until dawn, if possible.