Viking's Embrace Read online

  Viking’s Embrace

  Suzannah Daniels

  Copyright © 2011 by Suzannah Daniels

  Cover Art by Dreamscape Covers

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

  First Electronic Edition: December 2011

  Second Electronic Edition: July 2012

  Viking’s Embrace / by Suzannah Daniels

  To my husband, Richard—

  May everyone know a love as great as ours.

  CHAPTER 1

  England, 10th Century

  “Please, Mother, speak to me!” pleaded Marina as she kneeled by the bedside, silently willing the frail old woman to open her eyes. She smoothed the wisps of graying hair from her mother’s wrinkled forehead and kissed her temple. Unable to hold them at bay any longer, her tears streamed down her face in scalding rivulets, pooling at her lips until she licked them away, tasting the bitter salt. Without her mother, she would be lost. She had no one.

  “Marina.” It was a low, cracked whisper—an effort that was surely more than her mother could withstand in her weakened state.

  “Nay. Mayhap ‘tis better if you do not speak. You need to save your strength, so you can get well.”

  “Hush, my child. ‘Tis too late for that. My time has come. Now listen carefully.” The old woman opened her gray lifeless eyes. Her hands were merely skin and bones yet she mustered the strength to raise her tightly clutched right hand and reached for Marina’s hand with her left. She hovered her clenched hand over Marina’s open palm and released her gnarled fingers.

  A small gold necklace dropped into Marina’s palm. She stared in awe at the dainty necklace, especially the tiny pendant inlaid with beautiful emerald stones, clear and brilliant—a green so vibrant she could scarce think of words to describe it. ‘Twas a deeper green than the new growth of spring, yet paler than the leaves of the ivy growing on the cottage wall. The craftsmanship was excellent, and she looked at her mother expectantly, wondering where she had gotten such an expensive piece of jewelry.

  “Take this, my child. ‘Tis rightfully yours. Allow no one to see it. No one, except the one you trust. You will know when the time is right, and then things can be set aright.” The old woman inhaled sharply, as if desperately needing to refill her lungs with air, and squinted her eyes shut in a pained expression.

  “Mother, what do you speak of? It makes no sense.” Marina felt her mother’s forehead, wondering if fever had driven her mad.

  “Promise me, Marina. No one, except the one you trust.”

  “I promise, but….”

  “I love you, Marina. Do not ever forget that,” her mother whispered in a hoarse voice.

  Marina choked back a sob and swiped at the burning tears with the back of her hand as she bent closer. “I love you, too,” she whispered in a voice that was much too calm considering the emotions that were churning within her.

  The elderly woman closed her eyes, a smile planted upon her thin, cracked lips. Slowly, the smile faded.

  “Mother.” Marina’s breath hitched as she waited for her to open her eyes.

  “Mother?” She felt the panic swell in her chest as she gently shook her last remaining family member’s arms.

  “Mother!” Marina’s frantic scream reverberated within the cottage walls. Fear laced its icy fingers around her pounding heart, making it difficult to breathe.

  The aging woman that she loved so dearly did not open her eyes, did not smile. She did not move. Marina hugged the lifeless body, sobbing violently as the realization seized her. It could not be. She was not ready to let go. She needed her.

  Loneliness poured over her like freezing water. Fresh tears stung her eyes and flowed freely across the curve of her cheek. She hugged her tighter as if her will alone could bring her back.

  “Come, Marina. She is gone.”

  Marina started. She looked up at Oliver, a close friend of her mother’s. He was tall and lanky with kind brown eyes and lips that were drawn into a thin line. He stretched a long, narrow hand out to Marina. “Come, you must leave before he arrives. No doubt he has heard of your mother’s illness. Quickly, Marina.”

  Marina stared at him, numb and confused. “What do you speak of, Oliver? I do not wish to leave. I must see that my mother has a proper burial.”

  “There is no time, Marina,” he prodded gently. “He will come, and he will not leave without you. Anna will see that she has a proper burial.”

  Marina slowly rose to her feet and smoothed her wrinkled garment. She waved her arms into the air and nearly shouted in her frustration, “Whom do you speak of, Oliver? I do not know what this is about. Who will come after me?”

  “There is no time to explain, Marina. Please get your things together as quickly as possible. ‘Tis your mother’s request that I take you away from this place. The sooner, the better.”

  Marina did not understand, but she knew her mother must have a good reason for wanting her to leave. She pressed her fingertips to her temples to clear her thoughts. “There is something I must do first.” Marina walked swiftly to her room, opened her sewing basket and removed a needle and thread. Her fingers worked efficiently as she quickly sewed the necklace into the hem of her tunic. She packed fresh clothing into a satchel and returned to her mother.

  “Good-bye, Mother. I will miss you terribly.” She lightly trailed her fingertips down the side of her mother’s face as she stared intensely, engraving every detail into her memory, and then joined Oliver in the entranceway.

  She opened the door, scurrying out in thoughtless motion, and nearly collided into a powerfully built man, tall, dark, and judging by the look in his steely gray eyes, evil. A long thin scar marred his right cheek. A small group of men, mounted on horseback, swords at their sides, waited behind the stranger. They appeared travel-worn and filthy, and they smelled like they had not bathed in months. Some were wearing strange clothing. All were staring at her.

  An unwelcome foreboding overcame her senses. Suddenly she was chilled despite the warmth of the sun, perched in a cloudless sky. Her mouth was parched, surely even drier than the rain-deprived deserts she had heard tale of in the foreign lands far away.

  She licked her lips.

  “What do we have here? I hope you are not leaving so soon, my dear.” The man spoke with a deep, rough voice that sent shivers scurrying down her spine.

  Marina clutched her satchel until her knuckles were white and took two steps back. What to do? “Who are you?” She stared at the tall stranger wondering if he was a servant of the devil himself. “Mayhap you are seeking someone else.”

  “I am Roscoe Vandergriff, and you are the one I seek.”

  Marina stood motionless as Roscoe slowly circled her, studying her as if she were a prize mare he was considering to purchase.

  “You have grown into a beautiful woman. I had agreed to let you stay with the old hag until your twentieth winter, but I shall take you now that she is ill.”

  Marina’s eyes narrowed. “She is not an old hag. She is my mother, and now she is….” She could not force herself to say the word. To say it aloud would be to realize that it was, indeed, true, that all of this was not some sort of dreadful nightmare, but a cold and cruel reality.

  Roscoe watched her face purposefully. “Dead,” he supplied, curling his lips into a smile that revealed his blackened teeth and deep creases at the corners of his mouth. He stared at the soft mounds of flesh beneath her tunic and the silken black curl that contrasted with the brilliant blue fabric. “I shall truly enjoy plowing your belly after I have made you my wife. Now, what to do
with my present wife.” He rubbed the stubbled growth on his chin with his thumb and forefinger as if deep in thought. Then, he clapped his hands together. “No matter. I shall think of something. Mayhap she will have an accident.”

  “I will never wed you, you black-hearted pig. You are a foul man, and the thought of your touch makes me want to retch,” she spat, stamping her foot in indignation.

  Roscoe let out a deep rumble of laughter from the pit of his belly. He reached out and touched the lone, soft strand of hair, wrapping it around his finger. “And she has fire, too. You will make a very passionate lover, my dear.”

  Anger flooded her senses, her thoughts, her control. How dare this stranger speak to her so intimately?

  Marina spit in his face.

  Roscoe reared back his fist, and Oliver jumped in front of Marina to protect her. Roscoe pummeled his stomach and ordered his men to take him in the cottage and tie him up. Then, seething with anger, he turned back to Marina. With one powerful stroke, he backhanded her and sent her sprawling to the ground.

  Dazed by the blow, she lay still, the pungent smell of the earth filling her nostrils. Slowly, she lifted her hand and lightly touched her cheek, unable to believe what was happening.

  But the pain was real. As well as the lump that was quickly rising on her cheekbone.

  Roscoe crouched on his haunches beside her and rolled her onto her back. He kneaded her breasts, and she could feel her nipples straining against the thin fabric as they hardened. She felt sick.

  “You will do as I say. Otherwise, I will kill Oliver and his dear sweet Anna. They were such close friends of the old hag. I am sure she would hate to know they died because her disobedient daughter acted like a fool.” He held his thumb steady over her taut nipple and closed his eyes. “You respond to me quite nicely, my dear. I do not know that I can refrain from taking you until our wedding night. I thought it might add a little excitement to wait, but then again, I am not a very patient man.”

  He grabbed her arm and jerked her to her feet. “Shall we try this again, my dear?” He lifted her onto his horse’s saddle and swung up behind her, her satchel still on the ground where she had fallen.

  She wanted to scream and slap his hands away as he snaked his arms around her waist. What was going on? Was this man connected to the necklace her mother had given her?

  Her mother. She could not even see that her mother was properly buried. Oliver and Anna would see to it, but that offered her little comfort. Grief and loneliness settled in the pit of her stomach. Her mother had been the only family that Marina had ever known during her nineteen years. And now she was gone.

  Marina did not know where Roscoe was taking her, only that she must escape. The thought of being wedded to him made her skin crawl. She tried to focus on the countryside, to memorize the landmarks. If she were going to escape, she would need to know how to get back home.

  Home. Marina exhaled. ‘Twould not seem like home without her mother. Mayhap it mattered not where he took her. She belonged nowhere now. Of course, there were Oliver and Anna, but they had their own family to take care of. If she did return to them, this man would surely come after her, and the consequences would be fearsome. That much she knew.

  Fresh tears stung her eyes as memories of her mother flowed into her thoughts. How had her mother known that someone would come for her? Who was this Roscoe, and why did he want her?

  Marina shook her head, trying to clear all the unanswered questions weighing heavily on her mind. Her head ached, and her jaw was sore. The stench of Roscoe’s unwashed body was nearly more than she could bear. She wanted to jump from the horse and run freely across the meadow to the safety of the woods and lose herself amongst the great oaks. Roscoe’s grip tightened as if he were reading her mind. He was much stronger than she. She would have to bide her time and outsmart him, escaping when he least expected it.

  The day wore on. The evening sun cast a golden glow over the land. Weariness overtook Marina. The grief from losing her mother and the stranger who had taken her from her home had taken their toll. Exhausted, she yawned.

  “When will we stop for the night?” Marina asked, stiffening her shoulders, knowing that she would never be able to escape as long as she was on horseback with Roscoe’s chest pressed against her back.

  “Is my bride getting weary?” Roscoe asked in a mocking tone.

  “I am not, nor will I ever be your bride!” Marina shouted as she turned in the saddle to glare at her captor. “Get that through your thick skull. You may as well release me now.”

  Roscoe laughed, an eerie sound. Marina shivered and then stiffened her shoulders as she eyed him defiantly, refusing to let this beast frighten her.

  “I can see obedience is the first thing I will have to teach my new wife.” He slapped her hard, forcing her to grab his arm to keep from falling off the horse backward.

  “That is it, my dear. Grasp me. Your touch makes me wild with desire,” Roscoe whispered, his breath warm against her ear.

  Repulsed, Marina released his arm as if she had been burned and grasped the pommel. Her mind worked furiously to plan an escape.

  They left the meadow and ducked into the woods for cover, stopping under a canopy of trees surrounded by thickets. “We will stop here for the night,” Roscoe announced to his men. They tied the horses to yew bushes and began making camp.

  William, who was apparently next in charge, built a fire. He was short and stout with a balding head and an aquiline nose, a peculiar looking fellow. Marina felt his eyes on her as she sat on the trunk of a felled tree. She looked at his face, and he quickly diverted his eyes back to the fire.

  She watched him a moment longer as he heaped small twigs into the hungry flames. It seemed that he wanted to speak his mind, but had quickly thought better of it. He frightened her, and she quickly withdrew her curiosity and concentrated on her task at hand.

  Escape.

  Though she did not have an appetite, she ate the roasted rabbit and drank the water from a nearby creek that was offered to her, thinking it wise to keep her strength up so she could escape when the chance arose.

  As she finished her meal and the sun dipped below the horizon, Roscoe stood and stretched his arms over his head, then rested his fists on his hips. “Everyone, get to sleep,” he bellowed. “We leave for Hedeby at dawn.”

  Chapter 2

  Hedeby

  The swirling gray mist released its gloomy tendrils from the bustling marketplace, allowing the golden rays of the sun to cast their warmth upon the many traders below.

  Men from faraway lands brought their goods here in search of riches, be it gold and silver or luxurious silks and spices.

  “You accuse me of cheating you? Why, I have been more than generous!” The merchant fixed his closely set eyes on the man before him as he waved his hand gesturing to the silver coins and trinkets he had offered as payment.

  Eirik Haroldsson stood fearless under his angry glare.

  “Nay, I accuse no one of cheating. It is known near and far that Gaylord is a fair merchant and that he has an eye for quality.” Eirik rubbed his palm across a sable pelt. “No one could recognize the quality of these fine furs better than you, Gaylord. And no other merchant can match your skills at finding buyers who would pay handsomely for such thick furs.”

  Gaylord examined the furs once again, his mood lightening under such praise. He tossed down an intricately woven gold brooch with a solitary ruby twinkling in the center, clinking the silver coins as it found its mark.

  “Be off with you, Viking! I will pay no more!”

  Eirik bagged the silver and the gold brooch the merchant paid him for the furs that he had collected since the spring. He would go home a very rich man. Being a second son, he had left the home his elder brother had inherited after his father’s death in search of his own riches. He had done well.

  But he needed land, fertile land that would produce bountiful crops and sustain the necessary animals to support his people. A home.


  Leif, Eirik’s closest friend since childhood, slapped him on the back and smiled. They had grown into manhood together, sparring, hunting, and fishing. Each would gladly give his life for the other.

  “Now, we need women and mead to celebrate,” Leif said happily, his excitement that they had gained more silver than expected evident.

  “Aye, a soft woman and sweet mead would make this day even better. But there is much to be done. I wish to get back to Vestfold as quickly as possible. I must speak to Malik. Soon, I will search for land of my own.”

  “If you are ready for land, then you must be thinking of taking a wife for you also need an heir,” Leif said, watching his friend’s face closely.

  “By Thor’s hammer, Leif, I shall never wed. I only wish to get land so my people will have a place of their own. Besides, it is time to leave my brother’s home. Malik needs not the added burden of feeding and caring for my people this winter as well as his own. Come, as I said, there is much to be done.”

  Thunder boomed overhead, though there was no sign of rain. With his men following him, Eirik lowered his head so he could clear the door frame and exited the merchant’s wattle-and-daub hut carrying the bags of silver.

  A woman’s scream pierced the crisp morning air.

  Eirik immediately focused on a peasant girl kneeling on the wooden planks of the walkway. Her hands were fastened behind her back, and she was bent over. Her face, hidden by a curtain of thick dark hair, was close to the ground. A stocky man with a pointed, curved nose befitting an eagle’s beak reared his leg back and kicked her in the ribs.

  At that same instant, unleashed rage whipped through Eirik’s body. He clenched his jaw. He knew she was probably the stocky man’s slave, and the law allowed men to treat their slaves however they wished. Yet he could not turn away. He was drawn to this faceless female as if guided by the unseen hand of fate. He shoved his bags of silver into Leif’s arms. Without hesitation, he unsheathed his sword, a sword that had been given to him by his father who had quickly named it Wrath. The story had been told that his father knew that his second son would be a fearsome warrior who could wield a sword with deadly accuracy, allowing no one to escape his wrath. Eirik faced the thickset rogue.