скачать книгу бесплатно
Marrying Her Viking Enemy
Harper St. George
A Saxon maiden Bound to a Viking warrior Part of To Wed a Viking. The conquering Danes have taken everything from Elswyth – even her mother. So, despite the uneasy truce between their people, she knows where her loyalties lie. Until she meets towering Rolfe, leader of the opposing forces. Her mind knows this muscled Viking is her enemy. So why is her traitorous body so tempted by his suggestion that she become his wife?
A Saxon maiden
Bound to a Viking warrior
Part of To Wed a Viking: The conquering Danes have taken everything from Elswyth—even her mother. So, despite the uneasy truce between their people, she knows where her loyalties lie. Until she meets towering Rolfe, leader of the opposing forces. Her mind knows this muscled Viking is her enemy. So why is her traitorous body so tempted by his suggestion that she become his wife?
HARPER ST GEORGE was raised in rural Alabama and along the tranquil coast of northwest Florida. It was this setting, filled with stories of the old days, that instilled in her a love of history, romance and adventure. At high school she discovered the romance novel, which combined all those elements into one perfect package. She lives in Atlanta, Georgia, with her husband and two young children. Visit her website: harperstgeorge.com (http://www.harperstgeorge.com).
Also by Harper St George (#ub43fd2ac-352f-5c77-84e3-73fafcc3a2c1)
Viking Warriors miniseries
Enslaved by the Viking
One Night with the Viking
In Bed with the Viking Warrior
The Viking Warrior’s Bride
Outlaws of the Wild West miniseries
The Innocent and the Outlaw
A Marriage Deal with the Outlaw
An Outlaw to Protect Her
To Wed a Viking miniseries
Marrying Her Viking Enemy
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).
Marrying Her Viking Enemy
Harper St George
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-08882-4
MARRYING HER VIKING ENEMY
© 2019 Harper St. George
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
With sincerest thanks to
Laurie Benson, Nathan Jerpe and Tara Wyatt
for their friendship and guidance
while I was writing this book.
Contents
Cover (#u221edf84-2cbc-530f-8376-88db2f3ff4dc)
Back Cover Text (#ud846808f-2356-5f3f-a72b-63242e883133)
About the Author (#uee174696-5878-507f-80e2-20e3be727a79)
Booklist (#u642396b6-ea5c-5bc2-86db-8a12bf2cce2e)
Title Page (#ud3fd3553-5708-517f-bf59-c1bb985de438)
Copyright (#u78d47874-fe5e-569e-ba34-6c108516a19e)
Dedication (#u730272d2-ea13-576f-a3a4-db253ab3823a)
Prologue (#u36ef2b41-caaf-56c0-992a-1cad9fbc5515)
Chapter One (#u9d467931-e18e-5c42-bcee-3292998b412f)
Chapter Two (#u489b7f2d-82ba-5e1f-829f-918193aeb530)
Chapter Three (#u649853fc-1c6a-5b00-b115-fdb44d4ccee0)
Chapter Four (#u46de3ea9-3280-55ed-be6a-6d89d80a2d85)
Chapter Five (#uc9a29696-594c-5788-8ebb-d1e93faa1f75)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue (#ub43fd2ac-352f-5c77-84e3-73fafcc3a2c1)
‘Traitors will be punished.’ Rolfe’s words rang out over the gathered crowd, punctuated by the roar of the newly set fire at his back.
A black cloud of smoke rose high in the air, filling the village of Banford with its acrid scent as tongues of flame licked hungrily at the hut’s thatched roof. It was engulfed like kindling, half-burned to the ground by the time a blaze flickered to life on a second one. Tightening his hold on his stallion’s reins to be ready should one of the Saxon warriors dare to attempt to fight him, Rolfe ignored the sharp ache in his shoulder from yesterday’s battle. He refused to show weakness before these people, especially when he had to make certain that his words were heard.
‘We found one of your neighbours among the Scots we battled yesterday. Durwin was there as a friend to them, giving information to our enemy, and he raised his axe to us in battle.’ Durwin had been a simple farm worker with no sword to his name. He’d had no cause to meet with the Scots. No cause save the wounded pride that many of the Saxons seemed to share when it came to the Danes. On his cue, his men cut Durwin’s blanket-wrapped body down from a horse and laid him respectfully on the ground.
Rolfe and his men had come directly from that confrontation to this village on Alvey lands where the traitor lived. Cnut, Rolfe’s man in charge of the Saxon village, had quickly led them to Durwin’s house. Thank the gods that it had been empty. Rolfe didn’t relish the task of making women and children homeless.
‘But what of his brother Osric?’ An old woman’s voice rose from the people who had come from their homes to watch. They all stood huddled together, a few with blankets over their shoulders to guard against the snow that had started to fall. The flakes hissed when they touched the flames that engulfed the second hut. ‘Was he there, too?’
Cnut stepped forward. ‘They’ve been suspected of fraternising with the Scots for months. Osric hasn’t been seen in days. Can anyone vouch for his whereabouts?’
Of course no one could. Rolfe knew in his gut that Osric was fraternising with the Scots. Everyone in the village knew it, but no one would give up that information. It was why Rolfe had given the order to burn both of their houses. It was the only way to send the harsh but necessary message that traitors would not be tolerated.
‘You are people of Alvey.’ It was a simple fact that should need no reminder. ‘You were born here and your loyalty should lie with your lord and lady.’
A few in the crowd nodded along with his words, but many only stared at him. Pockets of rebellion had broken out since his Jarl, Vidar, had married their Saxon lady, Gwendolyn. Rolfe was hopeful that the melding of their people would continue, but it was inevitable to face some resistance. Their only choice was to catch it early. It was particularly disconcerting in this case because the village of Banford was the closest to the Scots who lived just north of their border. A rebellion here could have devastating consequences should they join with the Scottish army, which was why it was particularly important that he squash any seeds of uprising now. ‘Lord Vidar and Lady Gwendolyn will not tolerate traitors. Anyone known to be giving information to the Scots will have their belongings seized and risk execution.’
A grumble of unease ran through the gathered crowd, prompting his dog, who had been lying beside the horse, to get to his feet, his ears forward. ‘Easy, Wyborn.’ Rolfe kept his voice low and the mongrel settled while still keeping alert to the possibility of danger.
‘Consider that we Danes have not butchered your people. We have not taken your land from you. Will the Scots, who have haunted you for generations, be so fair? Will the Scots allow your women to choose their own mates? Will the Scots extend silver to the families who marry their warriors?’
He paused to look over their faces, hoping that his words rang true for them. The people murmured, but not one of them stepped forward or offered comment. This brooding rebellion was merely misplaced pride. If sense prevailed, they would come to understand that. For real peace to be fostered and to thrive, they would have to accept that the Danes were here to stay.
‘Your lord and lady have offered you all of these things. We have come to live in peace and to unite our people. The Scots will not offer you that. They will befriend you, only to enslave you.’
Rolfe gave a final nod and swung his horse around to walk to the edge of the village. Cnut and Wyborn walked beside him. ‘Are any other men missing besides Osric?’
‘None from the village.’ Cnut nodded in the direction of the fields and the farmhouse set with several outbuildings on the outskirts of the village. ‘I couldn’t say about the farm. Since I’ve been here Godric keeps most of his people to himself, but I will question him.’
The wheat field was fallow now with the arrival of winter and, though most of the trees were bare, a hill hindered a clear view of the house. Godric was known to dislike the Danes, but so far had done nothing that would cross the line to outright treason. However, Rolfe had been gone from Alvey all summer—first visiting Jarl Eirik to the south and then Haken up north where he’d come across Durwin meeting with the Scots—and things might have changed. He’d need to speak with Vidar before doing anything in that quarter.
‘Thank you, Cnut. Send word if Osric returns or you have more information.’
‘Aye, immediately.’
Rolfe set his heels to his horse and led the way from the village, some of his men falling in line behind him. The rest of his army had been left to return home in the longships, while he detoured to Banford. Wyborn ran out front as if he sensed they were going home. The wound from the spear Rolfe had taken to his shoulder the day before ached with every jolt of the horse. It would take over a day of hard riding to make it home to Alvey. He’d been gone for months and was ready to be home. He only hoped this show of treachery wasn’t a sign of things to come.
Chapter One (#ub43fd2ac-352f-5c77-84e3-73fafcc3a2c1)
Bernicia, northern Northumbria—winter 872
‘The Danes are a fearful sight, are they not?’
Elswyth could not find the breath to answer her sister’s question. It had lodged in her throat where it held until her lungs burned. The Norsemen came out of the forest on horseback, filtering into the clearing in a stream of warriors that didn’t seem to have an end. There were thirty...forty, but even more followed behind. Several mongrels in various shades of brown and grey ran in their midst. She imagined them as bloodthirsty wolves from the tales she had heard growing up, with teeth dripping the blood of their enemies and snapping jaws clamouring for more.
The sun hung low behind the trees, a stray beam glinting off their armour and the hilts of their sheathed swords, casting their faces in the shadow of a cold nightfall. The earth rumbled from the beat of the hooves as the horde moved closer. Her heart echoed that beat of distant thunder. It knew that the days of calm were over. These men were why her father had sent her to spy on Alvey.
It was an objective she meant to carry out, not only to prove her loyalty to her family, but also to bring hope to their small village of Banford. Banford needed hope that a reprieve from the Danes would soon come. She was to bring that hope to them in the form of information about the Danes’ plans for the future.
‘Aye,’ she finally whispered when she could draw breath. ‘They are quite fearful.’ The frigid stone of the fortress wall bit into her palms as she stared down at the men approaching. The warriors were merely coming home and not here for battle, but her instinct was to reach for the short-handled axe at her belt as fear pounded through her veins. They were Danes, which meant they were her enemy.
‘’Tis good they are attractive, then.’ Ellan grinned, her eyes calculating as she looked them over.
Elswyth smiled, for once grateful that Ellan was never serious about anything. Though only scarcely more than a year separated their births, Elswyth sometimes felt far older than her often frivolous younger sister. ‘Why do you care if they’re attractive?’
‘Because I would not care for an ugly husband.’
The horde forgotten for the moment, Elswyth swung her head around to stare at her sister in shock. ‘You are not seriously considering marriage to one of them?’ Ellan surely wouldn’t, especially after the way their mother had run off with a Dane, abandoning the whole family to take up with the heathen. But something in her sister’s expression made Elswyth’s breath catch.
‘And why wouldn’t I?’ The wind caught the cloak covering Ellan’s hair, forcing her to take it in hand. Her cheeks were pink from the frigid air, while her eyes were fierce with challenge. ‘What husband is there for me once we return home to Banford? Shepherd? Farmer? I’d much prefer a warrior.’ Her gaze returned to the Danes below. ‘You have to admit they’re far more attractive than the men at home.’
