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Taken by the Viking
Michelle Styles
A Viking raidThey claimed they came in peace, but soon Lindisfarne was aflame. Annis of Birdoswald fled in fear, but she could not escape the Norse warriors. An honorable captor One man protected her–Haakon Haroldson. The dark, arrogant Viking swept Annis back to his homeland, taking her away from all she held dear.A new life–as his mistress! Now Annis must choose between the lowly work that befits a captive, or a life of sinful pleasure in the Viking's arms!
“You shall be marked as captive so that all the world will know at a glance what you are.”
He signaled to two of his men, who pinned her arms to her sides. She fought against them, her calm deserting her.
“What do you mean?” Annis’s voice held a note of panic.
Haakon gritted his teeth. Did she think he’d be lenient because they had lain in each other’s arms?
“Cut her hair. Place a collar about her neck. Then put her in the pigsty, where she can contemplate what she has done.” Haakon stared at her, hating her. She had lied to him, whispered soft words and given advice. Asked what the lands to the south were like.
He had liked her, lusted after her body, wanted to spend time with her, and all the while she’d wanted to betray him. He should have remembered the lessons of his youth—women were not to be trusted.
Taken by the Viking
Harlequin
Historical
Author Note
When I was very young, my maternal grandfather gave the grandchildren an illustrated book of Scandinavian fairy tales so that we could learn about our heritage. Some of the tales caused nightmares, but one of my earliest memories includes looking at the wonderfully romantic picture of a dark-haired Viking on a white horse, holding the woman he had just kidnapped, as my mother read the story about how Sweden was founded. I have had a soft spot for Vikings ever since.
Thus, when I met my lovely editors for lunch and they casually suggested the Viking period, I struggled to maintain my poise, be very professional and not punch the air in excitement. On the way home from the lunch, I scribbled basic notes, wrote a premise, then held my breath. Would they see the possibilities? Luckily, they were very enthusiastic about my ideas, and I was given the go-ahead to write this book. Hopefully you will find this time period as exciting as I do and enjoy this tale. I certainly enjoyed writing it.
As ever, I do love reader feedback. You can contact me through my Web site, www.michellestyles.co.uk, my blog, www.michellestyles.blogspot.com or through the Harlequin Books office. If you are interested in my latest news and forthcoming releases, I have a newsletter that readers can subscribe to. You can find details about it on my Web site.
TAKEN BY THE VIKING
MICHELLE STYLES
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Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Chapter One
8 June 793—Lindisfarne, Northumbria
Annis pressed her lips together, trying to keep her head from moving as her maid plaited her hair. What had she really hoped for? That her uncle, the Abbot of St Cuthbert’s Priory, would give her money to fight her stepfather? His only suggested alternative had been the church. She could have a good position as long as she brought her dowry with her.
‘My lady, it will take less time if you bend your head slightly this way.’
Annis regarded the wall of the guesthouse at St Cuthbert’s, with its mural of Mary kneeling at the base of the cross, and concentrated harder.
It had been a mistake to come. Last night’s conversation still rang in her ears. Her uncle refused to listen to her arguments. Why had she ever thought otherwise?
She’d leave the monastery and the island tomorrow at low tide when the causeway was passable, Annis decided. She would have to return home to Birdoswald on the River Irthing in the west of Northumbria. And face the future her way.
‘Is this suitable, my lady?’
Her new maidservant, Mildreth, finished plaiting her hair and handed her a small mirror. Annis took a brief glance at herself. Her wayward tumble of brown curls had been tamed into two neat plaits on either side of her head. Annis considered her hair to be her best feature, perhaps her only noteworthy feature, but something with a will of its own. Mildreth knew what she was doing, she’d allow, but Annis refused to trust her.
Mildreth was her stepfather’s creature. Had to be. Her stepfather had forced all her maids and retainers to be changed after her husband had died and she had returned to the family lands. There had been no excuse for her to stay with Selwyn’s family. She had no child and her sister-in-law had always resented her. So she had returned, hoping for a better reception, and discovered her stepfather firmly in control of the family lands.
‘Soon we will be preparing for your betrothal.’
‘If God wills…’ Annis placed the mirror back on the dressing table and forced her face to remain bland. She had no intention of marrying her stepfather’s son, the odious Eadgar, with his damp hands and even damper manner. Neither did she intend on retiring to a convent as her uncle had suggested. There had to be another way.
‘You will have to marry sometime. Eadgar is a fine—’ Mildreth stopped and her face grew distressed. ‘Mistress, I cannot lie. I have grown fond of you. Eadgar is a terror. All the maidservants fear him if they are caught alone with him. Please say nothing.’
Annis caught Mildreth’s hand. A faint pink tinged the maid’s cheeks, making her almost pretty. Annis felt happier than she had been in weeks. Her journey to Lindisfarne had not been in vain. She had discovered an ally of sorts.
‘We share the same view of Eadgar.’
‘They said you were kind, my lady, and you are.’
‘It is far too soon to speak of remarriage in any case.’ Annis straightened the neck of her gown. ‘My husband is barely cold in his grave. There will be time enough to speak of marriage after I have finished mourning him. I came here seeking my uncle’s advice and, having received it, I will return to my home.’
‘As you say, my lady.’
A sudden fierce tolling of the bells resounded in the room, crowding out all thought or speech. Every fibre of Annis’s being tensed.
‘We are going to be attacked!’ Mildreth wrung her hands. ‘Murdered in our beds!’
Annis forced a breath from her lips. Despite the increasing shrillness of the bells, she had to stay calm. It could be anything. Blind panic would not serve.
‘Attack? Really, Mildreth, you must not let your fears take hold. Who would dare attack this place?’ She forced her voice to sound normal. Annis wasn’t quite sure whom she was trying to convince, her maid or herself. ‘The bells will be ringing for another reason. A pilgrim misjudged the tide and is stuck on the causeway.’
Mildreth gave a tremulous smile and ducked her head as the bells continued to peal. Annis offered up a small prayer that her words were correct. They had to be. Who would risk eternal damnation by attacking one of the most holy and learned sites in Northumbria, if not Europe?
The protection it offered was the reason her family chose to store the bulk of their coin with the monks rather than keeping it in locked chests on their estates. The vast majority of landowners in Northumbria used this simple but effective way of ensuring their coin was truly safe.
Then, as suddenly as the bells started, they stopped. The silence became deafening.
‘It will be nothing.’ Annis’s voice sounded loud, echoing off the wooden walls. ‘A ship might have been stranded and a monk panicked. My uncle says some of the newer monks can be excitable. Whatever it was, it is sure to have been solved.’
‘As you say, my lady.’
Mildreth gave another nod, but her thin face bore a distinctly unhappy look to it. Annis reached out and touched her hand.
‘All will be well, Mildreth. We are in God’s place. He will look after us.’
‘There have been portents,’ Mildreth said and then dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘One of the monks said he saw dragons flying across the moon. And strange fires in the night. Whirlwinds in the skies. Something to punish us for our wicked, sinful ways. They were speaking of it in the Abbot’s scullery only yesterday.’
‘Tales to frighten young maidservants, without a doubt.’ Annis gave an uneasy laugh. ‘By Michaelmas, after the harvest, no one will remember. It is the way of things.’
Annis rose and crossed quickly to the small window that overlooked the sea. Yesterday, she had admired the view of clear yellow sand and bright sparkling water, empty save for a few fishing boats. Today, an entirely different sight lay before her.
‘I may have been wrong, Mildreth. The monastery has company.’ Annis fought to keep the sound of rising panic out of her voice. She must not jump to conclusions. She was too impatient, her imagination too active, or so her uncle had told her several times this visit.
The early morning sunshine threw sparkles on the water but the sea was no longer empty. Three boats with serpents on their prows, round shields on their sides and red-and-white striped sails were in the shallow bay. One had drawn up on shore while the others followed closely behind.
As Annis watched, warriors disembarked from the first serpent ship, wading through the surf. They were dressed in trousers and chain mail, carrying their helmets and round shields. An air of wildness hung about them. No two were dressed alike. Heathens. Pagans. Raiders.
Annis leant out the window to get a better look. The leader had dark hair that touched his shoulders and several days’ growth on his beard. An intricate design of a serpent and beast fighting covered his shield. The warriors behind him ranged from a wild man with flowing hair and beard to a slim, blonder version of the leader. The leader glanced up towards the window. His startling blue gaze held hers for a heartbeat. A brief smile touched his lips as he turned to greet the group hurrying from the monastery. Annis put her hand to her throat.
Had he seen her?
Her uncle stood at the front of the group in his white habit, taller than the rest, but not as tall as the barbarian leader, with an air of confidence and command. Annis gave a half-smile. She had been wrong to worry. Her uncle’s skill as a politician was renowned throughout Northumbria and Mercia. She was certain he would have the measure of these heathen warriors in no time.
Her uncle held out his hand to be kissed in the traditional manner. The pagan warlord ignored it, and inclined his head before he handed her uncle a tablet.
The colour drained from her uncle’s face and his hand shook.
What did these barbarians want?
Haakon Haroldson stared in disbelief at the fine-featured Abbot. He had shown the elderly man the tablet and the tablet was quite specific. He had made certain of that, taking the trouble to read it after Oeric the Scot’s scribe had written the demand out. And he personally placed Oeric’s seal on it.
The felag had come for gold coin lawfully owed them. If they could trade or provide some measure of protection while they were here, so much the better. But no one cheated them.
