Captive Heart (37 page)

Still breathing heavily from the pain of his exertion, André watched closely as the young couple moved toward the path at the bottom of the cliff. The man was well built but had an uneven gait, a slight limp that was no doubt the result of some brutal raid, but the beauty by his side seemed to float across the sand, her grace and bearing so regal that André was reminded at once of the noble family he’d spent most of his life serving. He knew it was not possible, but as the young woman drew near tears filled his eyes, and when she reached the summit of the hill he threw himself at her feet, kissing the damp and sandy hem of her gown as he whispered her name. His companions heard no more than the name d’Loganville, and they moved back to a more respectful distance in order to observe what might transpire between André and the young woman whose fair beauty seemed to glow with a light from within, as they had been told the angels did. Indeed, in her flowing gown she was the closest being to an angel any of the men had ever seen, and their awe was as great as the old fisherman’s.

While Mylan gaped in astonishment, Celiese bent slightly to pull André to his feet and began speaking in a tongue he did not understand. “André, is that you? My dear friend, I had not expected to see any face I’d recognize, but such devotion is unnecessary.” The French words rolled off her tongue with a lilting accent, the result of her years in Denmark, but that her speech was somewhat unusual did not occur to her. She kissed the old man’s weathered cheek sweetly before turning to look up at Mylan. “He was a groom in my father’s stable, a dear friend I had not dared hope would still be alive.” Backing away, André continued to regard Mylan with a terror-filled gaze, then said, “That you have returned when we need the d’Loganvilles most is a great blessing, but who is this barbarian at your side?”

Knowing Mylan could not follow their conversation, Celiese spoke to him first, carefully choosing her words so he would not be insulted. “He is happy to see me, as there seems to be some trouble, but he is puzzled as to who you might be.”

Mylan gave the most charming smile he could manage, hoping to put the assembled group at ease since Celiese seemed to have found a countryman who knew her. “Say I am your husband, for they seem to admire you greatly, and to describe our relationship as anything less than a lawful one would destroy that esteem.”

Celiese gave the Viking a withering glance, but knew he was right. She was now home, where she had little other than her good name, and she had no desire to sully it. Lacing her fingers in his, she introduced him to her old friend. “May I present my husband, Mylan Vandahl. He rescued me from the villains who destroyed my home, and wanting only to please me has brought me back to France. You are in no danger from him, for he is a good man, unlike the other Danes you have known.”

Mylan thought Celiese’s native tongue very pretty to the ear, but did not trust her to say what he’d asked until he saw by the men’s curious appraisal that she must indeed have introduced him as her husband. That they had planned to attack him with pitchforks brought a smile to his lips, but he had to admire their courage. Small in stature, with dark hair and brown eyes, they were exactly the type of men he’d expected to see in France, but that still didn’t explain why Celiese was so different in appearance from them.

Turning to lead the way, André spoke excitedly. “You must come with us, for there is much to discuss. I have a little wine, not much, perhaps you would honor me by coming to my home.”

“Will that be all right, Mylan? André has invited us to his home, and I would like to go,” Celiese translated quickly.

After waving to the men on board the Falcon, Mylan took Celiese’s hand. “Yes, but please tell him again that I am your husband, for I do not want to walk unarmed into a trap.”

Shocked that he would accuse André and his friends of such treachery, Celiese whispered softly. “My countrymen are nothing like yours! These are peaceful men who will do you no harm, so you have no need to worry.” Then, just in case his suspicion should prove true, Celiese reached up to kiss him lightly. Turning to André, she praised her “husband’s” virtues for the entire walk into the village.

The homes of the farmers were little more than crude huts. Deserted now, they lined the muddy path with a sorrowful, vacant silence. “Where is everyone, André?” Celiese looked around, wondering where the women and children might be at that hour of the day, since she’d seen no one working in the adjacent fields.

“Forgive me, but I did not know it would be you aboard the Viking ship, and all our loved ones are hidden.” With an embarrassed gesture, he showed them to the small house he called his own.

“How clever of you, André. Have there been many attacks?” Celiese stopped to warn Mylan to be careful, but he had had years of practice in entering homes through doors not made to accommodate men of his size and had already slipped through without mishap. There was a small table, two rickety benches, and a bed alongside the wall. The fire on the hearth was cold, but the smell of fish still pervaded the one-room structure, and Celiese thought André must catch most of his food and hoped he did not often have to go without, but the village did look like a very poor one. She took a place upon one of the benches, and Mylan sat down beside her ready to leap up should his weight prove to be too great, but the old wood held together with only a slight moan.

André produced a flask of the promised wine and three wooden cups. Taking a place opposite his guests, he poured them a small sip of the beverage and apologized for having no more. “It was a great tragedy we lost the vines, but they are all gone, burned beyond recovery, and no one has been able to travel inland in search of cuttings we might cultivate to begin our vineyards anew.”

Mylan thought the tragedy a slight one after he tasted the deep red wine, for it had a most unpleasant aroma and taste, but he saw Celiese smile sweetly as though it were delicious and attempted to do the same. As always, she seemed to have the finest of manners. He could well imagine Olgrethe refusing to enter such a humble abode let alone sample the wine, but Celiese appeared quite at home, the most gracious of guests no matter what her surroundings.

“I have lost count of how many times our land was ravaged, our possessions stolen, our women raped, our sons murdered. Now King Charles has handed over to that rascal Hrolf what little we have left. It seems we cannot escape the greed of the Danes, except in death.” Glancing toward Mylan to be certain his words were not understood, André continued. “There are many who would fight the king’s decree, many who recall the proud name of d’Loganville and would rally to your side should you wish to lead them.”

Taking a deep breath, Celiese asked pointedly, “How much belongs to Hrolf now, exactly how much does the man have the audacity to call his own?”

“All of Neustria, dear lady. The lands on both sides of the Seine are his.”

Worried by the frantic troubled glances passing between his companions Mylan interrupted. ‘What are you two discussing so earnestly that you have no time to describe it to me?”

Celiese brushed away the tears that filled her eyes and spoke proudly: “It seems the king is the coward you thought he was, for he has given Hrolf the entire province, not only my estate but dozens of others, as well. André thinks many would fight, however, were there someone to lead them.”

Knowing only too well who that someone would have to be, Mylan shook his head as he issued a stern warning. “Raktor is a playful child compared to Hrolf, Celiese. Do not encourage this man in his belief the thief can be defeated by peasants wielding pitchforks!”

Celiese had seen as much as Mylan. This village was not simply poor, but destitute, and despite her own rage she would not risk the lives of the few surviving inhabitants on a quest to regain what was hers. She would have to reclaim it by means other than a fight, but what that could be she did not yet know. Finding the close confines of the small home suffocating, Celiese thanked their host warmly for his wine and asked to be excused, explaining, “I would like to see what is left of the house. There is still light, and the way cannot be far.”

“I will come with you.” André rose to his feet, pausing to shut the door as they left his home, more to keep out the chill should he not return before nightfall than to protect any valuable possessions.

As they left the house they were surrounded by a strangely silent crowd, the women holding their small children aloft so they might see the pretty lady who had arrived from the sea. Celiese smiled and waved, but she had never expected to be greeted with such awe and was terribly embarrassed. Mylan, on the other hand, was simply worried. He knew how little it would take to set Celiese on a trail of revenge that would lead all too swiftly to her own death, and he took her hand to draw her near as he whispered, “It is always far wiser to listen than to speak, Celiese. Do not make any promises to these people you cannot keep.”

“I want only to see what is left of my house. It was all in flames when I was carried away, and I am curious, that is all. Besides, what can I promise these people that would have any value?”

“Sometimes a name is all that is required to start a war, and I do not want it to be d’Loganville, dear wife.” Clasping her hand all the more tightly, Mylan walked with care down the edge of the muddy road. The peasants were still following along, and that he had not thought to bring someone to guard his back pained him greatly, for he did not want to meet his death on French soil, either.

The walk was farther than Celiese had remembered it, but at last they reached the top of the gently sloping hill where her family home had stood. Little remained of the once elegant structure. The stone walls had not been completely destroyed by the fire that had swept through it, but many of the carefully gathered stones had been carried off by the peasants who had used them to rebuild their own homes. Celiese did not think such vandalism a crime, for the stones would probably have lain upon the ground for decades had they not been put to a more useful purpose. She was glad to see the house had been serving someone, at least, since she’d had no use for it.

Mylan surveyed the ruins of the house, roughly gauging the proportions from the walls that remained standing. “It is clear you cannot live here until some reconstruction has been done, but what Hrolf will have to say to that prospect I don’t care to speculate.”

“You think I should ask the man for permission to rebuild my own home?” Celiese asked indignantly. “I plan to speak to him, all right, but I’ll not beg for what is rightfully mine, including the right to construct a home upon my own land!”

Smiling at the assembled crowd, who still regarded them with rapt interest, Mylan whispered a stern warning. “Do not involve these wretched souls in your battles, Celiese. If you care so little for your own life, then think of these people and how diligently they have obviously struggled simply to survive.”

“As if my survival were a small matter?” Celiese responded defiantly, taking only a moment to enumerate a few of the wrongs she’d suffered. “My parents were slaughtered, my home destroyed, my lands stolen, I was raped and kidnapped, and you think I should calmly walk away?”

“Yes!” Mylan responded, trying to keep his voice low so it would not be obvious they were arguing, but he could tell André was greatly amused by their animated conversation. “Let us go back to the Falcon, and decide what we want to do from there.”

“Couldn’t we sleep here tonight, Mylan? What is left of my house provides more in the way of shelter than we’ve ever had on this journey. Couldn’t we please stay here?”

Mylan was certain the screams of ghosts would keep him awake all night, but if so small a concession would please her he’d agree. “If that is what you want. The ground is dry, the nights still warm.”

“Thank you.” Celiese hugged him tightly, her display of affection for the Viking startling the crowd, but she had no reason to hide the love she felt for a man she’d introduced as her husband. What she’d tell everyone when he returned to his homeland without her she didn’t know, however. Turning to André she explained in a few simple sentences, “We will rest here for the night, for my memories of my parents are so dear here, far outweighing the nightmare of their murders.”

Raising his hands to the heavens, André exclaimed excitedly, “But you do not know! I buried your father’s body myself, but your mother is alive, living in the convent at Yvetot! Forgive me for not telling you that immediately, but I am an old man and sometimes forget.”

Mylan saw Celiese grow pale and stepped forward to catch her before she fainted in a heap upon the ground. “Celiese, what has happened, tell me!”

Celiese looked up into Mylan’s eyes. The golden flecks seemed to be spinning among the brown, and she wondered how he managed to do that, but his rapt gaze was so intense she came to her senses swiftly and struggled to stand without his help, “I am sorry, Mylan, but André has just given me a great shock. My mother is alive, it seems, and living in a convent nearby.”

Not recognizing the word, Mylan asked her to explain. “What is a convent?”

“You have heard of monasteries, have you not? They were a favorite target for Viking raids, for the monks had the most marvelous of treasures.”

Exasperated by that bit of unwanted news, Mylan urged her to continue. “Yes, I know what a monastery is, a place where men live to study your god.”

“A convent is a similar place, only it is women who live there, they devote themselves to prayer and the religious life, as monks do.” Seeing he understood, she continued excitedly, “My mother is alive, Mylan, she’s alive! I want to visit her tomorrow, as it is too late to go today. Will you come with me?”