In July, I sat nervously across from the head of Blushing Books Publishing pitching my story. I could see from the look on her face I was losing her. I took a breath and stopped. She said, “You’re the fifth person to pitch me an FBI story.” It was 10 am – Ouch! I replied, “I have a Viking story.” She smiled and said, “I want it.” She wanted it ‘cause Vikings are HOT! Please enjoy Chapter One from my story, Temptation’s Rose.
Chapter One
Norwich, England, 1004
She felt the world slip away as she ran. Her chest ached with every rushed, ragged breath. She lifted the skirt of her gray dress, and jumped over a body. There were many, but she focused only on one. The far side of the fortified wooden wall was on fire. Its heat scorched her slender shoulder as she ran past. She stopped as she reached him and fell to her knees. With a shaky hand, she touched his chest. She didn’t recognize the screams as her own until the movement and chaos around her died.
A man knelt in front of her, and touched her hand kindly.
Her eyes lifted to his hand. It was splattered with blood which had started to dry. Her eyes followed his muscular arm upward to his green eyes. The green was the color of spring moss. Long, sun-streaked blond hair that fell to his shoulders had been tousled by the fight. He wore a recently trimmed beard which was a several shades darker than his hair. His long, slightly crooked nose looked as if it had been broken long ago, but there were no other visible scars. He was the most impressive man she had ever seen. She knew immediately he was more at home on a battlefield than anywhere else. At another time, perhaps another place, she would have found him attractive.
“He died a good death,” the man said, his voice deep and rough.
“Did you kill him?” She gasped with the pain of grief and asked again, “Did you kill my father?”
“No. What is your name?”
“Erienne.” Her shapely brows pulled together in confusion, realizing she could understand him and asked to confirm, “You speak our language?”
He nodded and said, “Erienne, you need to go.” He stood to his full height, and looked down at her. “This is no place for an English woman.”
She glanced around, finally taking in her surroundings, and stood. She barely reached his chest. Her wet eyes roved over the doom and she wiped away the tears roughly. She was in the middle of a battlefield. In the distance, her city burned. Plumes of dark smoke turned the sky gray. Ash had begun to fall, stinging her nose with the burnt smell. What had been a field ready for harvest the day before was now the center of violence. He was right; she didn’t belong with the blood and bodies, though as she looked back to the city, she didn’t know where to go.
Erienne looked longingly to her father, then inhaled sharply and stepped away. The fighting had stopped, each side separating. Her kinsmen had their backs to what was left of the wooden wall that surrounded her small sacked city. A few archers lined the ramparts of a portion that hadn’t burned. She crossed the few feet between the invaders and her people. The steps seemed weighted.
“Your ruler is dead,” a raider called out. “Victory is ours!”
Erienne stopped and looked incredulously at the man. He couldn’t just let her mourn. She stood near the middle of the groups, and glanced back to her people to see her brother step forward. He was two years younger but several inches taller than herself. She had heard rumors of the viciousness of the raiders. She feared for her brother now that their father was dead. Their father had been the Duke, Regent of Norwich, and she didn’t know what they would do to her brother. She marched to him, and placed herself between him and the raiders.
“Look! He needs a woman to protect him,” someone yelled out.
Her brother shoved her aside. Erienne tripped over a body, landing hard on her backside.
“I don’t need a woman for protection.”
She shifted and accepted an offered hand. She stood with help, holding it tightly as she took a large stride back, away from the body. She noticed the green eyes again as he helped her once more. She dropped his warm hand immediately, and smoothed her gray dress, pushing a long, dark curl out of the way. She turned and looked at her brother. “John,” she started.
“Stop!” he snarled, pointing at her.
There had always been animosity between them. With their father’s death, she was sure they could set it aside, and tried again, “John, father wanted…”
“Stop talking!” John commanded. He looked away from her, pointedly ignoring her. “The Duke is dead,” he shouted so everyone could hear. “I am the rightful Regent of Norwich, and I say we do not have to fight. Tell me what you have come for.”
The man who’d claimed victory took a step forward. He was massive, just as the man who had comforted her. She caught movement in her peripheral vision and saw the green-eyed man move to stand close by. “We come for gold, and slaves.”
John smiled; it emphasized the baby roundness of his youthful face. A curl of his long, dark hair caught in the smoky wind. “An offering then,” he said. “For peace between us, I give you my sister, the Lady Erienne.” He gestured to her.
Erienne felt everyone’s eyes turn upon her, and she asked, “What?”
“As a wife or a slave, I have no preference for one over the other.”
“I am not an object for you to trade, John,” she snapped angrily. She bore into him with a glare. She had to find out and demanded to know, “Is this because of the horse?”
The new Duke looked directly to her and said flatly, “Yes. It still hurts.”
Erienne gasped with boiling rage.
“I don’t want another wife,” the leader said. He looked to the man standing next to her and asked, “How about you, Geirr? A new wife to warm your bed?”
Geirr smiled charmingly and shook his head with a laugh. “No, Steinn,” he said. “I don’t need a wife to warm my bed though she is beautiful. The blue of her eyes is appealing.”
“A slave then?”
Geirr shrugged with an attractive smile. “Slaves are useful.”
“It’s settled then; she is yours,” John said with a fiendish smile.
Erienne silently raged at her brother. She was nobility just as he was. Not a slave. Never a slave. She glanced around, needing to act. Her future was going from bad to worse the more they negotiated. Her eyes fell to Geirr. He held a bloody sword; she knew she would never be able to get it from him. On his hip was a dagger, sheathed in crafted leather. She lunged for it, yanking it free. She instantly gripped it with both hands.
Everyone stepped back as Geirr stepped forward.
“You’ve lost something, Geirr,” Steinn joked.
Geirr frowned and waved the comments away as he stared at Erienne. “Give that to me,” he commanded, slipping his sword back into its sheath to free up his hands.
“No!” She spun on her heels and yelled at her brother, “You ass! Trying to give me away!” She stepped toward him, then stopped abruptly.
The world erupted into chaos around her. An archer let loose an arrow, and it slammed into Steinn’s chest. The dagger fell from her hand as he drew his sword to his chest. He fell as she watched, transfixed. Erienne couldn’t break the connection, no matter how desperately she wanted to turn her eyes away. More arrows crashed around her, and she screamed. Massive arms enveloped her, lifting her from the ground as everyone fanned out, running in multiple directions. The fighting began anew.
Erienne couldn’t breathe, and elbowed the man. He groaned as she felt the hard connection to his ribs. Her feet hit the ground and she ran. She immediately realized she was running in the wrong direction, away from the city. She cried out as she slammed into the ground, knocked from behind. She gasped, unable to catch her breath. She scrambled to her feet, and felt a strong hand twist around her ankle, pulling her down again. She lost her breath as a massive weight jumped on top of her.
“Stop moving!” Geirr grunted.
An arrow slammed into the ground near their heads, and Erienne screamed into the dirt.
He covered her head with his arm, and snapped beside her ear, “I’m trying to save you!”
“What a coincidence!” she growled. “I’m trying to save me, too!”
“Why are the archers shooting at you?” he demanded to know. He stood, and she gasped for a quick breath. He instantly pulled her up from the ground as if she were a feather.
“They are shooting at you!” she snapped.
“They weren’t a few minutes ago, not until your brother gave you away!”
“Augh!” She was left completely insulted, then screamed as another arrow hit the ground beside her.
Geirr grabbed her boldly, binding his muscular arms around her chest, then lugged her away from the violence.
Erienne squirmed as he carried her, unable to put her feet on the ground to run. She kicked and clawed but he was too massive, had too much control over her small frame. He took her farther from the city wall which promised her safety and home.
Geirr held her to him, his arms banded tightly around her heaving chest as her back pressed against him. He ducked into a wooded copse and stopped. He turned and watched the fire leap onto Steinn. His head fell with regret; it was not the funeral he would have given. At least Steinn had his sword.
Others followed into the wooden copse and started asking questions in a language Erienne didn’t understand. She began screaming, and he clamped his hand over her mouth.
“Ew!” Geirr said with a smirk, pulling his hand away from her mouth.
“What?” his companion asked. “She bit you?”
Geirr laughed and said, “She licked me!”
The man pointed to Erienne and said, “Stop!”
“No, you sack of donkey…” Her head snapped as he slapped her. Both hands tensed around Geirr’s forearm, and she held on as stars exploded in her head.
Geirr’s arm tightened around her, holding her as he stepped back. “Ulfr, enough,” he cautioned. Geirr turned her in his arms, pushing her long hair from her face, and she looked up. His green eyes caressed her, and he smiled subtly as he asked, “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head and tried to keep back the tears. No one had ever hit her before. She had been bumped and bruised growing up as she played, but never struck intentionally. She tucked herself into Geirr’s arms as he spoke with the raiding party.
His grip slipped and he released her. She inhaled deeply and tried to form a strategy for escaping. His hand slid down her arm, and he settled on her elbow. She glanced around the group of men. Whatever they had decided, it seemed a unanimous decision. He started towards the woods, and Erienne gasped with realization. They weren’t heading towards her home. Rather, they were heading away from it. Definitely in the wrong direction for her liking. “I want to go home,” she demanded, trying to keep up with Geirr’s long strides.
“Walk,” he said.
She walked quickly, or risked being dragged by the raider. She yanked on her arm, testing him. His grip tightened, and she grimaced. She couldn’t keep pace and tripped. He pulled her up and forced her to march. She knew where they were heading but the sight of the rocky beachhead was more than she could stand. Panic raced through her, giving her shivers. She surveyed the ships. Two low, open wooden ships moored beside each other. He stepped onto the rocky beach, and she backed away, pulling against him as hard as she could. He stopped and looked at her.
“No!” she said sternly. “No! I am not going with you.”
“Yes.”
“No! Leave me here! I will find my way home.”
He bent and grabbed her by the hips, lifting her over his shoulder.
She screamed as he walked towards the ships. “No! Geirr! No!” She fought him with all of her strength as he stepped into the rolling surf.
He stood beside the wooden boat and handed her over its edge. Someone else grabbed her, pulling her onto the ship. She was instantly dropped to the deck. Her breath rushed from her with the collision, and she groaned.
Geirr grabbed hold of an oarlock and hauled himself over the longship’s edge. As soon as his feet hit the deck, he yelled instructions. He wanted to leave as quickly as possible. He glanced down at the beauty and smiled. His smile quickly faded with the realization that his brother had passed on to Valhalla. He watched her sit and rub her shoulder. She looked up with powder blue eyes, so clear he was sure he could see the paradise in them. “Do you swim?” he asked.
She shook her head no.
He glanced around as the men settled into the seats and began to row the ship away from the shore before his eyes fell back to her. “Sit where you are,” he ordered. “Stay out of the way.”
Erienne pushed herself further back and grabbed the main post for support. She scooted onto her knees and risked a peek over the edge. She held on tightly to the rocking ship, and watched quietly as the land she called home began to get smaller. She could pinpoint her city from the huge gray, smoke clouds which rose high above the land. She whimpered at the loss of her home, feeling its loss as deeply as that of her father’s. She let go and turned, making herself small as she pulled her knees to her chest, tucking her dress around her. Her eyes fell to Geirr. He sat in the closest seat, rowing. They stared silently at each other.
Chapter One
Norwich, England, 1004
She felt the world slip away as she ran. Her chest ached with every rushed, ragged breath. She lifted the skirt of her gray dress, and jumped over a body. There were many, but she focused only on one. The far side of the fortified wooden wall was on fire. Its heat scorched her slender shoulder as she ran past. She stopped as she reached him and fell to her knees. With a shaky hand, she touched his chest. She didn’t recognize the screams as her own until the movement and chaos around her died.
A man knelt in front of her, and touched her hand kindly.
Her eyes lifted to his hand. It was splattered with blood which had started to dry. Her eyes followed his muscular arm upward to his green eyes. The green was the color of spring moss. Long, sun-streaked blond hair that fell to his shoulders had been tousled by the fight. He wore a recently trimmed beard which was a several shades darker than his hair. His long, slightly crooked nose looked as if it had been broken long ago, but there were no other visible scars. He was the most impressive man she had ever seen. She knew immediately he was more at home on a battlefield than anywhere else. At another time, perhaps another place, she would have found him attractive.
“He died a good death,” the man said, his voice deep and rough.
“Did you kill him?” She gasped with the pain of grief and asked again, “Did you kill my father?”
“No. What is your name?”
“Erienne.” Her shapely brows pulled together in confusion, realizing she could understand him and asked to confirm, “You speak our language?”
He nodded and said, “Erienne, you need to go.” He stood to his full height, and looked down at her. “This is no place for an English woman.”
She glanced around, finally taking in her surroundings, and stood. She barely reached his chest. Her wet eyes roved over the doom and she wiped away the tears roughly. She was in the middle of a battlefield. In the distance, her city burned. Plumes of dark smoke turned the sky gray. Ash had begun to fall, stinging her nose with the burnt smell. What had been a field ready for harvest the day before was now the center of violence. He was right; she didn’t belong with the blood and bodies, though as she looked back to the city, she didn’t know where to go.
Erienne looked longingly to her father, then inhaled sharply and stepped away. The fighting had stopped, each side separating. Her kinsmen had their backs to what was left of the wooden wall that surrounded her small sacked city. A few archers lined the ramparts of a portion that hadn’t burned. She crossed the few feet between the invaders and her people. The steps seemed weighted.
“Your ruler is dead,” a raider called out. “Victory is ours!”
Erienne stopped and looked incredulously at the man. He couldn’t just let her mourn. She stood near the middle of the groups, and glanced back to her people to see her brother step forward. He was two years younger but several inches taller than herself. She had heard rumors of the viciousness of the raiders. She feared for her brother now that their father was dead. Their father had been the Duke, Regent of Norwich, and she didn’t know what they would do to her brother. She marched to him, and placed herself between him and the raiders.
“Look! He needs a woman to protect him,” someone yelled out.
Her brother shoved her aside. Erienne tripped over a body, landing hard on her backside.
“I don’t need a woman for protection.”
She shifted and accepted an offered hand. She stood with help, holding it tightly as she took a large stride back, away from the body. She noticed the green eyes again as he helped her once more. She dropped his warm hand immediately, and smoothed her gray dress, pushing a long, dark curl out of the way. She turned and looked at her brother. “John,” she started.
“Stop!” he snarled, pointing at her.
There had always been animosity between them. With their father’s death, she was sure they could set it aside, and tried again, “John, father wanted…”
“Stop talking!” John commanded. He looked away from her, pointedly ignoring her. “The Duke is dead,” he shouted so everyone could hear. “I am the rightful Regent of Norwich, and I say we do not have to fight. Tell me what you have come for.”
The man who’d claimed victory took a step forward. He was massive, just as the man who had comforted her. She caught movement in her peripheral vision and saw the green-eyed man move to stand close by. “We come for gold, and slaves.”
John smiled; it emphasized the baby roundness of his youthful face. A curl of his long, dark hair caught in the smoky wind. “An offering then,” he said. “For peace between us, I give you my sister, the Lady Erienne.” He gestured to her.
Erienne felt everyone’s eyes turn upon her, and she asked, “What?”
“As a wife or a slave, I have no preference for one over the other.”
“I am not an object for you to trade, John,” she snapped angrily. She bore into him with a glare. She had to find out and demanded to know, “Is this because of the horse?”
The new Duke looked directly to her and said flatly, “Yes. It still hurts.”
Erienne gasped with boiling rage.
“I don’t want another wife,” the leader said. He looked to the man standing next to her and asked, “How about you, Geirr? A new wife to warm your bed?”
Geirr smiled charmingly and shook his head with a laugh. “No, Steinn,” he said. “I don’t need a wife to warm my bed though she is beautiful. The blue of her eyes is appealing.”
“A slave then?”
Geirr shrugged with an attractive smile. “Slaves are useful.”
“It’s settled then; she is yours,” John said with a fiendish smile.
Erienne silently raged at her brother. She was nobility just as he was. Not a slave. Never a slave. She glanced around, needing to act. Her future was going from bad to worse the more they negotiated. Her eyes fell to Geirr. He held a bloody sword; she knew she would never be able to get it from him. On his hip was a dagger, sheathed in crafted leather. She lunged for it, yanking it free. She instantly gripped it with both hands.
Everyone stepped back as Geirr stepped forward.
“You’ve lost something, Geirr,” Steinn joked.
Geirr frowned and waved the comments away as he stared at Erienne. “Give that to me,” he commanded, slipping his sword back into its sheath to free up his hands.
“No!” She spun on her heels and yelled at her brother, “You ass! Trying to give me away!” She stepped toward him, then stopped abruptly.
The world erupted into chaos around her. An archer let loose an arrow, and it slammed into Steinn’s chest. The dagger fell from her hand as he drew his sword to his chest. He fell as she watched, transfixed. Erienne couldn’t break the connection, no matter how desperately she wanted to turn her eyes away. More arrows crashed around her, and she screamed. Massive arms enveloped her, lifting her from the ground as everyone fanned out, running in multiple directions. The fighting began anew.
Erienne couldn’t breathe, and elbowed the man. He groaned as she felt the hard connection to his ribs. Her feet hit the ground and she ran. She immediately realized she was running in the wrong direction, away from the city. She cried out as she slammed into the ground, knocked from behind. She gasped, unable to catch her breath. She scrambled to her feet, and felt a strong hand twist around her ankle, pulling her down again. She lost her breath as a massive weight jumped on top of her.
“Stop moving!” Geirr grunted.
An arrow slammed into the ground near their heads, and Erienne screamed into the dirt.
He covered her head with his arm, and snapped beside her ear, “I’m trying to save you!”
“What a coincidence!” she growled. “I’m trying to save me, too!”
“Why are the archers shooting at you?” he demanded to know. He stood, and she gasped for a quick breath. He instantly pulled her up from the ground as if she were a feather.
“They are shooting at you!” she snapped.
“They weren’t a few minutes ago, not until your brother gave you away!”
“Augh!” She was left completely insulted, then screamed as another arrow hit the ground beside her.
Geirr grabbed her boldly, binding his muscular arms around her chest, then lugged her away from the violence.
Erienne squirmed as he carried her, unable to put her feet on the ground to run. She kicked and clawed but he was too massive, had too much control over her small frame. He took her farther from the city wall which promised her safety and home.
Geirr held her to him, his arms banded tightly around her heaving chest as her back pressed against him. He ducked into a wooded copse and stopped. He turned and watched the fire leap onto Steinn. His head fell with regret; it was not the funeral he would have given. At least Steinn had his sword.
Others followed into the wooden copse and started asking questions in a language Erienne didn’t understand. She began screaming, and he clamped his hand over her mouth.
“Ew!” Geirr said with a smirk, pulling his hand away from her mouth.
“What?” his companion asked. “She bit you?”
Geirr laughed and said, “She licked me!”
The man pointed to Erienne and said, “Stop!”
“No, you sack of donkey…” Her head snapped as he slapped her. Both hands tensed around Geirr’s forearm, and she held on as stars exploded in her head.
Geirr’s arm tightened around her, holding her as he stepped back. “Ulfr, enough,” he cautioned. Geirr turned her in his arms, pushing her long hair from her face, and she looked up. His green eyes caressed her, and he smiled subtly as he asked, “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head and tried to keep back the tears. No one had ever hit her before. She had been bumped and bruised growing up as she played, but never struck intentionally. She tucked herself into Geirr’s arms as he spoke with the raiding party.
His grip slipped and he released her. She inhaled deeply and tried to form a strategy for escaping. His hand slid down her arm, and he settled on her elbow. She glanced around the group of men. Whatever they had decided, it seemed a unanimous decision. He started towards the woods, and Erienne gasped with realization. They weren’t heading towards her home. Rather, they were heading away from it. Definitely in the wrong direction for her liking. “I want to go home,” she demanded, trying to keep up with Geirr’s long strides.
“Walk,” he said.
She walked quickly, or risked being dragged by the raider. She yanked on her arm, testing him. His grip tightened, and she grimaced. She couldn’t keep pace and tripped. He pulled her up and forced her to march. She knew where they were heading but the sight of the rocky beachhead was more than she could stand. Panic raced through her, giving her shivers. She surveyed the ships. Two low, open wooden ships moored beside each other. He stepped onto the rocky beach, and she backed away, pulling against him as hard as she could. He stopped and looked at her.
“No!” she said sternly. “No! I am not going with you.”
“Yes.”
“No! Leave me here! I will find my way home.”
He bent and grabbed her by the hips, lifting her over his shoulder.
She screamed as he walked towards the ships. “No! Geirr! No!” She fought him with all of her strength as he stepped into the rolling surf.
He stood beside the wooden boat and handed her over its edge. Someone else grabbed her, pulling her onto the ship. She was instantly dropped to the deck. Her breath rushed from her with the collision, and she groaned.
Geirr grabbed hold of an oarlock and hauled himself over the longship’s edge. As soon as his feet hit the deck, he yelled instructions. He wanted to leave as quickly as possible. He glanced down at the beauty and smiled. His smile quickly faded with the realization that his brother had passed on to Valhalla. He watched her sit and rub her shoulder. She looked up with powder blue eyes, so clear he was sure he could see the paradise in them. “Do you swim?” he asked.
She shook her head no.
He glanced around as the men settled into the seats and began to row the ship away from the shore before his eyes fell back to her. “Sit where you are,” he ordered. “Stay out of the way.”
Erienne pushed herself further back and grabbed the main post for support. She scooted onto her knees and risked a peek over the edge. She held on tightly to the rocking ship, and watched quietly as the land she called home began to get smaller. She could pinpoint her city from the huge gray, smoke clouds which rose high above the land. She whimpered at the loss of her home, feeling its loss as deeply as that of her father’s. She let go and turned, making herself small as she pulled her knees to her chest, tucking her dress around her. Her eyes fell to Geirr. He sat in the closest seat, rowing. They stared silently at each other.