Captive Heart (3 page)

Olgrethe rushed to Celiese’s side and hugged her warmly. “Thank you, thank you, for I have none of your sweet compassion and would make Mylan the worst of wives.”

Celiese accepted Olgrethe’s gratitude calmly, but in truth she was far more frightened of remaining in the home of the Torgvalds than of marrying the man Mylan Vandahl might be. Appearance was not the only consideration in a person; he could still be a fine man, no matter how severely he’d been injured. She was probably only fooling herself, she realized suddenly; regardless of the extent of his injuries he would be a Viking still, so what chance was there his heart would be a kind one? Pushing her mistress away gently, Celiese turned their conversation to the practical aspects of their plan. “We must prepare identical gowns, Olgrethe. If your father sees you clearly the morning of the journey to the Vandahls’ home, he will not think it odd that we cover our heads in his ship. The wind would disturb you greatly, and you would not want to appear in front of his crew in full view.” Celiese smiled slyly as she saw her mistress nod with approval. “We can trade places at the last possible moment. I will wear a veil for the ceremony, and it will be too late by the time your father realizes what we have done—I will be Mylan’s bride by then, and he will never tell his enemy he has been tricked so completely. He will have to keep the secret as well as we do, for his own reputation will be at stake.”

“Yes, that is the perfect plan.” Olgrethe was so delighted to avoid such a disastrous marriage that she would have agreed to anything. “I will go to Helga’s for a while, for a long visit, and if ever I do decide to marry people can be told my father had two daughters rather than only one, and none will dare dispute him!”

“That is true!” Celiese hugged Olgrethe this time, certain their plan would save both of them from fates they would not freely have chosen. They made their preparations carefully, considering each and every detail, every aspect of the deception, and they were far too clever to miss any necessary step. Olgrethe would be expected to be attended by her own maid for her wedding, but then she would simply send the servant back to her father’s home when the guests departed, and then it would be Celiese who had wed Mylan and Olgrethe who returned to the home of the Torgvalds. They hoped that all would go well for both of them. Then one afternoon Olgrethe was summoned and told she was to become the bride of Aldred’s eldest son, but that she would be sent to his home alone, without the company of her slave. She accepted her father’s order demurely and returned to her room to give Celiese the startling news.

“He says you must be left behind, Celiese. He gave me no reason for his decision—as if I would not know it!”

“Then we will simply change places before the voyage rather than after. Our original plan will still work for us,” Celiese insisted, certain it was far too late to change their minds about so important a matter now. “You will wear my cloak and I’ll wear yours when I bid you good-bye. Surely the confusion at the beginning of such a voyage will make the switch easy to effect.”

Badly frightened, Olgrethe clung to her friend. “It must, it simply must, Celiese, for if we are caught I dare not even imagine what my father will do to us!”

Knowing only too well exactly what Raktor would do to her, Celiese turned their conversation to Olgrethe’s wardrobe, distracting the pretty young woman as well as herself from the fear that gripped them both. They retired early, escaping their fright in dreams, but Celiese was awakened at midnight, lifted from the large bed so quietly that Olgrethe did not stir as her faithful maid was carried away. Oluf’s hold did not slacken; he held Celiese firmly, his right hand over her mouth to silence her screams as he shoved her inside Raktor’s room.

“You must not be so rough with the girl; we want no bruises marring her lovely skin when she becomes Mylan’s bride tomorrow,” Raktor said.

Celiese wiped her lips on the back of her hand, disgusted by the man’s touch. None of Raktor’s sons were kind, but Oluf was not only mean but crude as well. He reeked of beer and his tunic was covered with grease stains from the evening meal. That he’d brought her to his father rather than carrying her straight to his own room puzzled her greatly, as did Raktor’s remark. “Is it not your daughter who is to become Mylan’s bride? And did you say tomorrow? You did not tell her it was to be so soon.”

Celiese was wearing no more than a light chemise, and Raktor walked around her slowly, enjoying her scantily clad beauty. Her figure was superb, her breasts high and full, her waist tiny, her hips narrow, the proportions of her long, slender legs perfect. “My daughter does not realize I raped you too, does she?”

“No, I spared her that grief,” Celiese replied proudly.

“Why? Surely you have no love for me?” Raktor’s eyes continued to rake over the slender girl before him. He licked his lips slowly, making no attempt to disguise his lust.

“No, my regard is only for Olgrethe, and for no other in this house.”

“I have decided to send you in her place, after all. You will have to fool the man into believing you are a virgin, but it will not be too difficult, since you are so clever. There will be celebrating long into the night, and I will see that Mylan is so drunk he must be carried to his bed. That will help you trick him. Whatever you tell him when he is again sober he will believe. I have had gowns made for you, not unlike my daughter’s. You will sleep alone tonight and we will leave at dawn. The voyage is not lengthy and Aldred will entertain us all until we are ready to go home.”

Celiese backed away, not trusting the master of the house or his brutish son. “Shall I return to my own room, then?”

“Yes, the gown you are to wear tomorrow is there, and the rest are already on board my ship.”

Celiese left quickly before the man could change his mind about how she should spend her last night in his house, but she heard Oluf begin to argue and ran to bolt her door against him in case he had convinced his father to give her to him. She sagged against the door and waited. Oluf was the strongest, too difficult for her to fight off for long, but Raktor could not send her if she were black and blue from the beating Oluf would have to give her before she’d submit to his attentions. As the minutes passed without mishap she began to relax. Raktor was no fool, and apparently he’d known his plan would be ruined if Oluf had his way. Taking no chances, she pushed her bed across the door before lying down upon it, but still she was too frightened to sleep and lay wide awake until dawn, when she got up to dress.

The silk gown that lay across her chair was a pale green that reflected the jade of her eyes, and she brushed her hair into the elegant style Olgrethe wore and secured it with the gold hairpins she’d found with the gown. There were gold bracelets for her arms and heavy gold earrings, too. Raktor had left nothing out, and when he came for her she was ready. He quickly handed her a fine woolen cloak.

“Cover your head, Celiese, none must know it is not my daughter who is leaving this morning, until we are gone. See that none of my men see your face while we are on board my ship, either, as this is a secret that must be well guarded.”

Still not understanding the man’s reason for sending her in his daughter’s place, Celiese knew better than to question his motives and did as she was told, following close behind him to his sleek vessel, which lay beside his dock, ready to sail. The finely sculptured prow was in the shape of a dragon’s head, its large eyes seeing all in its path, and she shivered, remembering her last voyage aboard the evil ship as though it had taken place only the previous day rather than five years ago. The sea spray stung her eyes as she sat huddled in the stern, but she watched carefully. It took too many men to sail the dragon for her to dream of stealing it to make her way home. The work was hard even with the brisk wind, and the crew cheered when land came again into view. Raktor took her arm firmly in his hand to lead her ashore and whispered, “I did not think to ask, do you ride? They will expect you to manage your own horse for the journey to their home.” Raktor shaded his eyes with his hand as he saw a band of riders approaching. “Good, they have seen our arrival and will soon be here.”

“Yes, I rode frequently with your daughter: I will not disgrace you now.”

“See that you do not disgrace me tonight either, Celiese!”

“You must call me Olgrethe, do not give away this deception with your own words!” Celiese answered reproachfully. As the horsemen drew near, she wondered which would be Mylan, and what his thoughts would be that day. Did he long for a bride, or was he as opposed to this marriage as Olgrethe had been? Her eyes swept the faces of the approaching group. She found Aldred easily enough; he commanded the group and welcomed Raktor with a loud greeting, but none of the riders with him appeared to be his eldest son, for none came forward to meet her as she’d expected him to do. She looked down demurely as Aldred came forward, hoping to impress him with her modesty.

“I have long awaited this day, Raktor. My son remained at home, a condition upon which he insisted, but he should have come with me, I know.” The man reached out to tilt Celiese’s chin so he might see her more clearly, and he exclaimed with delight, “Ah, I had heard Olgrethe was a beauty, but not even my imagination provided such a splendid face as this. You are exquisite, and Mylan will be enchanted. Come to the horses, do not keep him waiting when he is so anxious to meet his bride.”

Celiese smiled sweetly, “Not too anxious, I hope. Is there to be no celebration, no feast to mark this wonderful occasion?”

“But of course, you will not find my hospitality lacking, Olgrethe. Now let us make haste.”

As Raktor helped Celiese to mount her horse he whispered, “Good, keep your groom celebrating until he is too blind to see the obvious, and I will reward you well, dear daughter.”

Celiese turned her horse and took up a place near her future father-in-law. His hair and beard were a light auburn shade, only faintly streaked with gray. He was muscular, yet not thick through the waist as Raktor was, and she thought it likely Mylan might once have been as attractive a man as his father. They rode at a brisk pace and soon sighted their destination. Set upon a rise, the stone buildings of Aldred’s farm spread over a considerable distance, dwellings and barns, storehouses, granaries. The main structure was an imposing one, and Celiese hoped she had not exchanged one prison for another.

“You ride well, did your father teach you?” Aldred held her horse’s bridle as Celiese slipped gracefully to the ground.

“Yes, my father was—is a fine horseman, he taught me many things, Aldred.” Celiese blushed with embarrassment, but the man had not noticed her slip, and she reminded herself to be more cautious in her replies, for she was now Olgrethe, and Olgrethe’s father was very much alive.

“Mylan is most fortunate then. Come quickly, he insists upon meeting you the moment you arrive. But first I want you to meet Thulyn, his mother.”

As, they entered the large home a tall, elegantly dressed woman came to greet them. She smiled with the same delight as her husband as she saw what an astonishing beauty Olgrethe had turned out to be. Her eyes were an unusual light brown, amber in hue, while her once-blonde hair now held more than a trace of silver. “I am Thulyn, Mylan’s mother. Welcome to our home.”

Celiese smiled politely as the introductions continued, but before she had time to draw a breath Aldred took her arm and led her down a long corridor and left her in front of a heavy door. “Do not bother to knock. Simply enter; my son is expecting your arrival and will be ready.”

When he turned and left her, Celiese had no choice but to go in alone. At first she thought the room empty, for it was unlit and quite dark. “Mylan?” she called in a whisper, afraid she might offend the man who would soon be her husband. But what if he were truly as hideously disfigured as Olgrethe had feared? He had not come to his father’s dock to meet her—was he unable to ride? Did he spend all his time in darkened rooms so his appearance could be hidden? Would she be able to hide her revulsion from him for even one minute, let alone for the rest of her life?

“I am here, Olgrethe.” When he turned toward the window only his silhouette was clearly visible, the bright outline of a tall man, powerfully built but lean, his broad shoulders tapering to a slim waist and narrow hips. He was leaning against the back of a sturdy chair, favoring his right leg slightly as he stood gazing out toward the sea. ‘What they have done to us is unpardonable. Our fathers have sealed a bargain of theirs with our lives, but I am a grown man, not a child who must do his father’s bidding, and you need not marry me today, nor ever. I will release you from whatever promise you have made.”

Celiese approached Mylan slowly, her fear of him replaced by a curious fascination, for the rich timber of his deep voice was mellow and very pleasing, even though his words were bitter. “Mylan, I—”

“No! Listen to me—if you will not refuse this match, then I will refuse you! I want no bride who has been forced to take me sight unseen. I want no part of our father’s wretched pact!”

Certain what her fate would be should she have to return to Raktor’s house, Celiese gathered all her courage and reached out to touch Mylan’s sleeve lightly, but she felt him flinch before he drew away. “Mylan, please, will you not look at me while we speak?” She held her breath, terrified of what she would see as he turned slowly toward her, but as the light of the sun illuminated his face she gasped sharply, for never had she expected Mylan Vandahl’s appearance to provide such a shock. His thick tangle of bright curls shone with copper highlights, yet his finely drawn brows and long eyelashes were dark. His eyes, which widened in surprise as he looked down at her, were the same sparkling light brown as his mother’s, topaz in hue, with a compelling shine she could not resist, and she exclaimed with genuine delight, “Why Mylan, you are so very handsome, why would any woman refuse to marry you?”