Love's Captive Heart Read online

  Love’s Captive Heart

  by

  Phoebe Conn

  New York Times Bestselling Author

  Author’s Cut Edition

  Published by ePublishing Works!

  www.epublishingworks.com

  ISBN: 978-1-947833-28-9

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  Please Note

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The reverse engineering, uploading, and/or distributing of this eBook via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the copyright owner is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Copyright © 1985, 2017 by Phoebe Conn All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

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  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  “Celiese!” Olgrethe’s thick, honey-colored curls flew wildly about her shoulders as she turned to summon her servant. “Where are my new gold bracelets? I wore them only last night but they are nowhere to be found!” The high-strung beauty stamped her tiny foot in angry frustration.

  Celiese lifted her cool green gaze from the silk gown she had been hemming, her steady glance sweeping the bedchamber with amused detachment before she nodded toward the young woman’s clothes-strewn bed. “I believe they are still lying in the corner where you tossed them, Olgrethe. Do you see them on the far side of the bed?” Celiese bent her head to hide her impish smile as she returned to her sewing, using stitches so intricate they were nearly invisible upon the sheer blue garment.

  “You are supposed to gather my jewelry and return it to my case each evening, Celiese, not leave my things lying about in such a careless fashion.” Yet Olgrethe stepped over the heaps of clothing she had thrown about the room to retrieve the bracelets herself. She slid them up her slender arms, but was no happier once she had them in place. Returning to an inspection of her clothes, she picked up first one shimmering garment then another, only to cast each aside in rapid succession.

  “I need a new wardrobe, Celiese, not one thing I have is worth wearing.”

  “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, and folded the blue dress neatly as she rose. She was the taller of the two, and even more fair. Her pale blonde hair sparkled like the finest silver in the bright sunlight filling the large chamber. After putting away her sewing basket she moved gracefully about the room, gathering the discarded apparel with a fluid rhythm that marked all her gestures. Except for the slight difference in their statures and the shades of their 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 broke into racking sobs, her desperation too great to bear in silence.

  Celiese ignored the weeping young woman until she had returned the room to its usual tidiness. 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 responded with a sympathetic smile. “Has none been to your liking? Has not one met with your approval? A Viking maiden shouldn’t be 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 considered the question thoughtfully. “No, 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, how can it be that you know so much of the world while I understand so little?”

  “Our childhoods were very different, and I have had far more opportunity to consider life and all its many variations than you have. If you would but hold your temper and think before you speak, you would also see the obvious, Olgrethe.”

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

  Choosing her words with care, Celiese struggled 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.”

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

  “Of course.” Olgrethe thought the characteristic too obvious to merit comment. “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, Olgrethe 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 her 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,” 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 her suggestion Celiese rose from the soft bed and stepped away. “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. 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 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 stonewall 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 a smile. “Now, let us devote ourselves to finding a husband for you, and allow me to meet my fate alone.” As I always have, she thought sadly.

  “I’ll give no such promise,” Olgrethe insisted. “Now brush my hair for me and we’ll go riding, the day is too lovely to waste in worrying over the future.”

  When her mistress sat down Celiese took her hairbrush to groom her glowing tresses, pinning them atop her head in a profusion of curls, while she left her own hair swinging freely in loose curls that reached past her waist. “If we do not worry now, I fear you will have far more to worry about once you find yourself wed to a man you scarcely know and may soon grow to despise. Let us consider those who live closest first, the men you see frequently, before we discuss those who must travel a greater distance to visit you.”

  After a weary sigh Olgrethe complied, and named each family with marriageable sons, dismissing them one by one as no better than loudmouthed boys she could not abide. “There are grown men too, more than I can count, but this is simply pointless, for none has touched my heart, nor even caught my eye.”

  After a moment’s silence Olgrethe continued in a hesitant voice, “Aldred Vandahl has sons, handsome ones, I’ve heard, but my father would never suggest one of those men for my husband.”

  “Vandahl? I’ve not heard you mention that name. Who might they be?”

  “It is a tragic tale. My Aunt Helga told me about them only once, but I’ve remembered her story. It happened in my grandfather’s time. When he was a young man, his best friend was a Vandahl. They were inseparable, closer than brothers, until they both fell in love with the same young woman and their rivalry over her led to the fiercest of fighting. They fought repeatedly and my grandfather finally won, but his friend died, and our families have been the bitterest of enemies ever since.”

  Celiese stood back to survey her handiwork, fluffing Olgrethe’s tawny curls as she spoke. “What of the young woman? Shouldn’t she have been the one to make the choice between her suitors?”

  “She was my grandmother, and she died before I was born. We will have to ask Helga to tell us more of her mother, for I knew her not.”

  “Would Helga not be a woman we could turn to for advice now? A marriage is too important a decision to be left to your father’s whim.”

  “Of course! My father’s sister is very clever. When next she visits, I will ask her. Now, please, let us forget this tiresome matter until then, please, Celiese, please.” Olgrethe turned to look up, her blue eyes pleading for agreement.

  Celiese laughed as she laid the hairbrush aside. “As you wish. Let us go riding and hope Helga arrives before your father presents another suitor, perhaps one he will not allow you the privilege of refusing.” Although the spring day was warm she reached for her cloak, pulling the hood low to shade her face. She would accompany her mistress, as she always did, like a shadow whose face was never seen, deliberately attracting no notice in the home of bloodthirsty Viking men. It was all she desired, and what she desperately needed to survive.

  The two lovely young women teased each other playfully as they went skipping down the steps and out to the stables, as they did nearly every morning when the weather was pleasant. Their mounts were spirited, the day drenched in brilliant sunshine, their lives were placid, easy. Olgrethe was the pampered daughter of Raktor Torgvald, a Viking whose fierce reputation was as well deserved as it was richly rewarded.

  He was not a man of unlimited patience, however, and, while his daughter spent the early spring days being fitted for new gowns or riding through the expanse of rocky coastline bordering his vast farmlands, he spent many an hour contemplating her future, unwilling to allow her to flaunt his will.

  *

  Olgrethe found her father and brothers unusually boisterous at the evening meal. She longed to return to her chamber to retire and covered her yawn with no real haste. When first her father began to speak she scarcely listened, until she realized the import of his words.

  “It is a well-known fact I have a daughter of astonishing beauty, a young woman who unfortunately finds all men unworthy of her attentions. I have been lenient in the past, Olgrethe, not overly concerned with your willfulness, but I have received a most intriguing offer for you, my dear, from an enemy I respect too greatly to ignore.”

  Frightened by her father’s tone, Olgrethe swallowed hard. “Who might this enemy be that you would consider sending him your only daughter?”

  “Aldred Vandahl, and he suggests a marriage to rejoin our families in the bond of friendship my father severed with his uncle’s death. You will become the bride of one of his sons, to put an end to the feud that has existed between us my entire lifetime.”

  Olgrethe leaped to her feet and clenched her fists defiantly at her sides. “How dare he offer such an absurd bargain! We are strong, we need no such truce with the Vandahls as to require my marriage to one of their vile kind.”

  Raktor frowned at his pretty child’s outburst. She was the image of her mother, a lady whose death he still mourned, and he attempted to explain his reasoning more clearly. “Our strength is considerable, that is true, but we are not so strong as Aldred, and he knows it.”

  “Then why would he have offered such a truce if he has no need? Is it a trap of some kind, a bit of treachery you fail to recognize?” she suggested in a valiant attempt to dissuade her father from the course of action she was sadly afraid he had already chosen.

  Raktor nodded thoughtfully. “Such a possibility also crossed my mind, as his offer came so unexpectedly. I do not know what his purpose might be, if it is not the one he declares, but we must not refuse this gesture without considering it fully, when it may be more to our benefit than to his.” The heavyset man leaned forward and gestured for his daughter to approach him.

  “Aldred has four sons, none married, so it is Mylan, his eldest, whom he has offered as your husband.”

  “Mylan? But is he not the one who was attacked by a bear and slain by the beast two winters ago? Was that not Mylan who died?” she asked.

  Raktor waved aside
her questions. “The man was merely mauled, not killed. He has recovered sufficiently to wed.”

  Olgrethe could feel the net tightening around her and cried out in desperation. “But was Mylan not engaged to Remald’s eldest daughter, Estrid? Surely Aldred wants Estrid for his son, not me!”

  Raktor seemed surprised. “How could you have heard such gossip? That engagement is long over, the girl refused to consent to a marriage with Mylan for some reason, and her father allowed it. I will not.”

  “Refused him? You mean she would not marry a man left so badly scarred by the bear he is no doubt hideous? That is the real reason Aldred has come to you, isn’t it? He wants a wife for his son, and no other woman will have him. That is his trick, an enticing offer of peace to secure a wife for a man who can no longer win his own bride.”

  Growing impatient, Raktor interrupted crossly, “Aldred has four sons, I have only one daughter among my six children to offer as a bride to seal this bargain. If it is to our advantage to make this truce, then you will go. I know of no Viking who is without marks from one battle or another. Whatever the man’s scars, they should not offend you. Now be still about it.”

  “No, I will not!” Olgrethe’s fury blazed brightly in her deep blue eyes. “The Vandahls have never seen me, you may send them any woman, and they will not realize they have been deceived!”

  Raktor scoffed at such an outrageous ruse. “He offers a marriage to create a peace for all time between our families, and I send him an imposter for my daughter? Your treachery outstrips mine, Olgrethe, but no other has your beauty, and it is well known.”

  Seeing the light of possibility in her father’s eyes, Olgrethe grew more bold. “There is one, my slave, Celiese. Shall I summon her?”