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To Sin with a Viking
Michelle Willingham
PLAYING WITH FIRE!Caragh Ó Brannon defended herself bravely when the enemy landed – only now she finds herself alone with one very angry Viking… Styr Hardrata sailed to Ireland intending to trade, never expecting to find himself held captive in chains by a beautiful Irish maiden.The fiercely handsome warrior both terrifies and allures Caragh, but he is forbidden territory. He is the enemy… and he is married. Yet Styr harbours a secret that might just set them both free…Forbidden Vikings Resist them if you can!
AUTHOR NOTE
Sometimes arranged marriages in historical romance end in happily-ever-after. And sometimes two good people are never meant to be together. I wanted to explore the idea of a marriage between a husband and a wife who want to make it work but are unable to connect. And what will happen to them when they meet their true soul mates?
This duet of books, beginning with TO SIN WITH A VIKING, explores that theme without trespassing into the realm of adultery. Both Styr and Elena Hardrata deserve a happy ending…but it will not be with each other. Styr is taken captive by Irishwoman Caragh Ó Brannon, and the forbidden attraction between them is searing. He must decide whether to maintain his loyalty to a wife who is heartbroken in their marriage or whether to reach out to the woman who has taught him how to love. Elena’s story will follow, when she is rescued by fellow Viking Ragnar Olafsson.
I hope you’ll enjoy these Irish-Viking stories. If you want to read more about my Hardrata heroes, Styr is the ancestor of Tharand Hardrata, the hero of THE VIKING’S FORBIDDEN LOVE-SLAVE, and later of Kaall Hardrata, hero of The Holly and the Viking in WARRIORS IN WINTER.
You’re welcome to visit my website at www.michellewillingham.com for excerpts and behind-the-scenes details about my books. I love to hear from readers, and you may e-mail me at michelle@michellewillingham.com or via mail at PO Box 2242 Poquoson, VA 23662, USA. I can be found on Facebook at: www.facebook.com/michellewillinghamfans and Twitter at www.twitter.com/michellewilling.
About the Author
RITA
Award Finalist MICHELLE WILLINGHAM has written over twenty historical romances, novellas and short stories. Currently she lives in south-eastern Virginia with her husband and children. When she’s not writing Michelle enjoys reading, baking and avoiding exercise at all costs. Visit her website at: www.michellewillingham.com
Previous novels by this author:
HER IRISH WARRIOR* (#litres_trial_promo)
THE WARRIOR’S TOUCH* (#litres_trial_promo)
HER WARRIOR KING* (#litres_trial_promo)
HER WARRIOR SLAVE† (#litres_trial_promo)
THE ACCIDENTAL COUNTESS†† (#litres_trial_promo)
THE ACCIDENTAL PRINCESS†† (#litres_trial_promo)
TAMING HER IRISH WARRIOR* (#litres_trial_promo)
SURRENDER TO AN IRISH WARRIOR* (#litres_trial_promo)
CLAIMED BY THE HIGHLAND WARRIOR** (#litres_trial_promo)
SEDUCED BY HER HIGHLAND WARRIOR** (#litres_trial_promo)
TEMPTED BY THE HIGHLAND WARRIOR** (#litres_trial_promo)
WARRIORS IN WINTER* (#litres_trial_promo)
THE ACCIDENTAL PRINCE†† (#litres_trial_promo)
Also available in Mills & Boon
Historical Undone! eBooks:
THE VIKING’S FORBIDDEN LOVE-SLAVE
THE WARRIOR’S FORBIDDEN VIRGIN
AN ACCIDENTAL SEDUCTION†† (#litres_trial_promo)
INNOCENT IN THE HAREM
PLEASURED BY THE VIKING
CRAVING THE HIGHLANDER’S TOUCH
And in M&B:
LIONHEART’S BRIDE (part of Royal Weddings Through the Ages)
* (#litres_trial_promo)The MacEgan Brothers
† (#litres_trial_promo)prequel to The MacEgan Brothers mini-series
** (#litres_trial_promo)The MacKinloch Clan
†† (#litres_trial_promo)linked by character
Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk
To Sin with a Viking
Michelle Willingham
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Chapter One
Ireland—ad 875.
The tribe was slowly starving to death.
Caragh Ó Brannon stared at the grain sack, which was nearly empty. One handful of oats remained, hardly enough for anyone. She closed her eyes, wondering what to do. Her older brothers, Terence and Ronan, had left a fortnight ago to trade for more food. She’d given them a golden brooch that had belonged to their mother, hoping someone would trade sheep or cows for it. But this famine was widespread, making anyone reluctant to give up their animals.
‘Is there anything to eat, Caragh?’ her younger brother Brendan asked. At seventeen, his appetite was three times her own, and she’d done her best to keep him from growing hungry. But it was now evident that they would run out of food sooner than she’d thought.
Instead of answering, she showed him what was left. He sobered, his thin face hollow from lack of food. ‘We haven’t caught any fish, either. I’ll try again this morning.’
‘I can make a pottage,’ she offered. ‘I’ll go and look for wild onions or carrots.’ Though she tried to interject a note of hope, both of them knew that the forests and fields had been stripped long ago. There was nothing left, except the dry summer grasses.
Brendan reached out and touched her shoulder. ‘Our brothers will come back. And when they do, we’ll have plenty to eat.’
In his face, she saw the need to believe it, and she braved a smile she didn’t feel. ‘I hope so.’
After he went outside with his fishing net, Caragh stared back at the empty hut. Both of their parents had died last winter. Her father had gone out to try to catch fish, and he’d drowned. Her mother had grieved deeply for him and had never recovered from the loss. She’d given her own portion of food to Brendan numerous times, lying that she’d already eaten. When they’d discovered the truth, it had been too late to prevent her death.
So many had succumbed to starvation, and it bled Caragh’s conscience to know that both of her parents had died, trying to feed their children.
Hot tears rose up as she stared at her father’s forge. He’d been a blacksmith, and she was accustomed to hearing the ring of his hammer, watching the bright glow of hot metal as he shaped it into tools. Her heart was as heavy as the anvil, knowing she would never hear his broad laugh again.
Though his boat remained, she didn’t have the courage to face the larger waves. Her brothers knew how to sail, but none of them had ventured out again after his death. It was as if evil spirits lingered, cursing the broken vessel that had returned without their father.
She wished they could leave Gall Tír. This desolate land had nothing left. But they lacked the supplies to travel very far on foot. They should have gone last summer, after the crops had failed to flourish. At least then, they would have had enough to survive the journey. Even if they now travelled by sea, they had not enough food to sustain them beyond a day.
The hand of Death was stretched out over everyone, and Caragh had felt her own weakness changing her. She could hardly walk for long distances without growing faint, and the smallest tasks were overwhelming. Her body had grown so thin, her léine hung upon her, and she could see the thin bones of her knees and wrists.
But she wasn’t ready to give up. Like all of them, she was fighting to live.
She picked up her gathering basket and stepped outside in the sunlight. The ringfort was quiet, few people exerting the energy to talk, when there was the greater task of finding food. Her older brothers weren’t the only ones who had left to seek supplies. Most of the able-bodied men had gone, especially those with children. None were expected to return.
A few of the elderly women nodded to her in greeting, with baskets of their own. Caragh thought of her earlier promise, to find vegetables, but she knew there was nothing out there. Even if there was, the others would likely find it first. Instead, she made her way towards the coast, hoping to find shellfish or seaweed.
She stopped to rest several times when her vision clouded and dizziness came over her. The water was nearly black this morn, the waves still and silent. Her brother was standing along the shoreline with his net, casting it out into the waves. He waved his hand in greeting.
But it was the sight of the longship on the horizon that evoked fear within both of them. The vessel was large, a curved boat that could hold over a dozen men. A massive striped sail billowed from the mast, and a single row of white and red shields hung over the side. In the morning sun, a bronze weathervane gleamed upon the masthead and a carved dragon head rested at the prow. As soon as she spied it, her heartbeat quickened.
‘Is it the Lochlannach?’ she cried out to her brother. So many tales she’d heard, of the barbaric Vikings of the Norse lands who ravaged the homes of innocent people. If their ship was here, they had less than an hour before the nightmare began. Gooseflesh prickled upon her skin at the thought of being taken by one of them. Or worse, being burned alive if they attempted to seize her home by force.
‘Go back to our house,’ Brendan commanded. ‘Stay inside, Caragh, and for God’s sake, don’t let anyone in.’ He pulled in his fishing net and hurried back towards the ringfort.
‘What are you going to do?’ She caught up to him, afraid he was about to do something foolish.
Her brother’s grey eyes turned cold. ‘They have supplies, don’t they? And food.’
She was horrified at his sudden thoughts. ‘No. You can’t try to steal from them.’ The Norsemen were ruthless warriors who would murder her brother without a second thought.
‘They’ll try to raid the fort. They’ll be gone while I take what’s on board their ship.’
‘And what about the rest of us?’ she demanded. ‘If we’re fighting for our lives, we might all be dead by the time you return. If you return,’ she added. ‘No, you can’t do this.’
Her brother entered their father’s hut, searching for a sword among the blacksmith tools. ‘If you’d rather, go and hide in the forest. Climb one of the trees as high as you can and wait until it’s over.’
‘I can’t abandon the tribe.’ There were elderly folk remaining, who were too weak to fight. Though her own strength was waning, she couldn’t turn her back on their kinsmen.
Her hands were trembling, the fear rising up from inside. Brendan took her hand and squeezed it. ‘If we don’t take their supplies, we’ll die anyway. Either today or a fortnight from now. We both know it.’
She did. But she didn’t like stealing. Though she’d lost nearly every possession they’d owned, she still had honour. And that meant something.
‘We could ask,’ she said. ‘If they see how little we have, they may share with us.’
Her brother’s expression darkened. ‘Since when do the Lochlannach possess mercy?’ He belted the sword at his waist. ‘Gather the others and take them from here, if you wish. Leave the ringfort unprotected, and perhaps they’ll take what they want without hurting anyone.’
She stared at him, her thoughts caught in a tangled web of fear. ‘Don’t go, Brendan. The risk is too great.’
‘Don’t be afraid, a deirfiúr.’ He bent down and kissed her forehead. ‘I’d rather die in battle than die the way our parents did.’
She could see that no argument would influence him. But perhaps she could speak to his friends. He might listen to them, though he paid no heed to her warnings.
All she could do was try.
No man ever wanted to admit his marriage was dying.
Styr Hardrata stared out at the grey waters cloaked with mist, watching over his wife Elena. She stood with her hands upon the bow of the ship, her long red-gold hair streaming behind her in the wind. She was beautiful and strong, and he’d always been fascinated by her.
But that strength had now become a coldness between them, an invisible wall that kept them apart. She blamed herself for their childlessness, and he didn’t know what to say. He’d tried everything until now, she grew sad every time he tried to touch her. Lovemaking had become a duty, not an act of passion.
Though he’d tried to ignore her growing reluctance, he was tired of her flinching whenever he tried to pull her near. Or worse, feigning pleasure when he knew she no longer wanted his touch.
The slow burn of frustration coiled inside him. This was a war he didn’t know how to fight, a battle he couldn’t win. Styr approached the front of the boat and stood behind her. He said nothing, staring out at the grey waves that sloshed against the boat.
‘I know you’re there,’ she said after a time. But she didn’t turn around to look at him. There was no smile of welcome, nothing except the quiet acceptance she wore like armour.
He didn’t know how to respond to her coolness but said the only thing he could think of. ‘It won’t be long now before we arrive.’ And thank the gods for it. Their ship had been plagued by storms, and he hadn’t slept in three days. None of them had, after the strong winds had threatened to sink the vessel. His mind was blurred with the need to find a pallet and sink into oblivion.
In fact, the moment his feet touched ground, he was tempted to lie there and sleep for the next two days.
‘I’ll be glad to reach land,’ she admitted. ‘I’m tired of travelling.’
He reached out to touch her shoulder, but she didn’t turn to embrace him. She held herself motionless, staring out at the water. In time, he lowered his hand, suppressing the disappointment.
In truth, Elena had startled him when she’d agreed to leave Hordafylke and journey with him to Éire, for a new beginning. Though their marital troubles had worsened over the past year, he wanted to believe that she wasn’t ready to give up yet. He held on to the hope that somehow they could rekindle what they’d lost.
Styr waited for her to speak, to share with him the thoughts inside, but she offered nothing. He considered a thousand different things to say to her, questions about what sort of house she wanted to build. Whether she would want a new weaving loom or perhaps a dog to keep her company when he was fishing at sea. She loved animals.
‘Do you—?’
‘I’d rather not talk just now,’ she said quietly. ‘I’ve not been feeling well.’
The words severed any further conversation attempts, and he stiffened. ‘So be it.’ He went to the opposite end of the boat, needing to be away from her before he said something he would later regret.
Disappointment shifted into anger. What in the name of Thor did she want from him? He wasn’t going to lower himself and beg for her affections. He’d done everything in his power to make her happy, and it was never enough.
Frustration surged inside him, though he knew it was unwarranted. She was tired from the journey, that was all. Once they built a new home and started over, things might change.
The shores of Éire emerged on the horizon, and he stared at the desolate, sun-darkened grasses. Though he’d heard tales of how green the land was, from this distance, it appeared that they were suffering from a drought.
His friend Ragnar stepped past the men rowing and stood beside him. ‘I still don’t know why you wanted to settle here, instead of in Dubh Linn,’ he remarked, pointing towards the east. ‘The settlements there are a hundred years old. You’d find more of our kin.’
‘I don’t want Elena surrounded by so many people,’ Styr admitted. ‘We’d rather begin anew, somewhere less crowded.’ As they drew nearer, he thought he glimpsed a small settlement further inland.
Ragnar sat across from him and picked up an oar. Styr joined him, for the familiar rowing motion gave him a means of releasing physical frustration. He was glad his friend had decided to journey with them, along with a dozen of their friends and kin from Hordafylke. It made it easier to leave behind his home, when his closest friends were here. He’d known Ragnar since he was a boy, and he considered the man like a brother.
