Bjorn
Viking Surrender
Jane Burelli
Contents
About Jane Burrelli
Introduction
VIKINGS
Bjorn
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Epilogue
About Jane Burrelli
Nine Passionate Viking Romances
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. With the exception of well-known historical figures and places, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, now known or hereafter invented, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the applicable author, except for the use of brief quotations in a critical article or book review.
The license granted herein is to read this ebook for entertainment or literary criticism purposes only. Without limiting the generality of the forgoing, any use of this work for machine learning or artificial intelligence training purposes is not included under the license and is expressly prohibited.
Copyright © 2019 - Jane Burrelli
Cover Design by Emmy Ellis
The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.
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About Jane Burrelli
When Jane realised that the world was not hiring for a ‘sarcastic but benign Supreme Ruler of the Universe’, she decided to put her vivid imagination to good use and create her own world. Affectionately dubbed the 'sex author' by her good friends, Jane can often be found crafting her saucy tales in her local coffee shop, fuelled by copious amounts of vanilla tea.
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Welcome to the Viking Surrender series: a scorchingly hot collection of nine sizzling Viking romances.
If you’re yet to read the Prologue to this romance, please do before you dive in to Bjorn and Rhiannon’s story.
It’s free from Amazon and you’ll find it HERE.
The Prologue sets the scene for all that happens next, so you don’t want to miss out…
We hope the nine romances in this series provide welcome escape and entertainment, that they inspire you and transport you.
While you’re cheering for our heroes and heroines, we want you to cheer for yourself. Like the women and men in these tales, you’re stronger than you may realize, more resourceful and more determined.
As for happy endings, we all need to believe that things can get better if we persevere, that there is hope, and the chance to embrace a life of love and friendship and contentment.
Go get ‘em!
VIKING SURRENDER
A horde of battle-hardened, ferocious Nordic warriors.
A Pictish village at the mercy of its enemies.
A harrowing bargain struck for nine fearful and reluctant brides.
Delivered into Viking hands, claimed and conquered, each bride must accept that she belongs to her new master. But, as wedding nights bring surrender to duty, will fierce lovers also surrender their hearts?
The Highland wilderness is savage, life is perilous, and the future uncertain, but each Viking has sworn protection, and there are no lengths to which a man will not go to safeguard the woman he loves.
Nine provocatively sensual tales of suspense, seduction and adventure, told against the forbidding backdrop of medieval Scotland.
Journey together with indomitable heroes and intrepid heroines, as they discover that the raging storms of fear and passion can transform into enduring devotion.
Dare to enter our world
Bjorn - by Jane Burrelli
A proud shield-maiden vowing never to be possessed by any man. A ruthless Viking warrior swearing to tame the bold beauty.
A battle of wills and consuming desire.
But who will conquer who?
Bjorn
Jane Burrelli
Chapter 1
Achnaryrie Village, Gaillaibh, the land of the Picts, Scotland
912 AD
Sweat stung Rhiannon’s eyes and dripped down her shoulder blades, plastering her tunic to her body. Strands of hair fluttering in her sight line, she batted her opponent’s strike away with her round shield and side-stepped to deliver her own blow, aiming for the legs. Rinda swiftly moved out of her reach, sparring back and forth, trading blows. She shot a glare over the rim at Rinda, who appeared perfectly composed. Envy stabbed at her. Rinda had been trained with a sword from a young age; Rhiannon had begun her training late. Too late some had said, but she had proven her naysayers wrong. Her shield was smaller, her reach shorter than the powerful woman before her. Rhiannon’s eyes narrowed, her face a mask of determination, but she was faster and not afraid to engage a physically stronger opponent.
“Watch your flank!” Graeme, Rinda’s husband, shouted helpfully from the sidelines.
The blonde woman in front of her gritted her teeth, mouth pursing tightly.
“She moves like a blasted cat,” Rinda called out when Rhiannon once again dodged her blow, her frustration leaking into her rough, uneven movements.
“Your flank, I said! And for pity’s sake, don’t stop circling!”
“Stop helping!” Rinda snarled, turning her head in the direction of their spectators, breaking in her concentration for a precious moment.
Out of the corner of her eye, Rhiannon saw Graeme throw his hands up in defeat. Her senses alert and ready, she rotated the shield to the left and right sides of her body, deflecting Rinda’s blows, the tip of her sword hovering just over the rim. Breathing through her nose, Rhiannon charged forward in a sudden spurt of speed and braced her body for impact. Eyes wide, Rinda realised Rhiannon’s intention too late to change course. The crack of wood on wood rang in Rhiannon’s ears, the breath left her lungs, and the jarring force numbed her shield arm. Rinda staggered back, and Rhiannon pressed her advantage, throwing her weight behind her shield. Rinda fought for balance, her arms waving wildly, giving Rhiannon ample time to spin around her back and deliver a neat chop to Rinda’s knee with the dulled edge of her blade.
Rinda grunted, falling to one knee as it buckled under the blow. Rhiannon disengaged and drove her blade into the ground. Sweat dotting her brow, she waited for Rinda to recover.
“Enough?” she suggested, panting to catch her breath and wiping her forearm across her brow. Rinda nodded in agreement. Thank God for that. Biting back a groan, Rhiannon lowered her shield and, extending her free hand, aided Rinda to her feet. That Rinda didn’t slap her hand away always surprised her. After butting heads in the beginning, they had reached a truce of sorts that was fast turning into friendship, though neither would admit it. Their weapons sheathed, they made their way back towards Graeme and the tall, powerfully built warrior standing beside him.
“Bjorn.” Rhiannon nodded in greeting. His presence unnerved her. Since he’d been able to rise from his sickbed, he was often near her, just prickling on the edge of her awareness, leaving
her feeling off balance. After all, what did you say to a man you had stabbed? Pushing the fluttery feeling in the pit of her stomach aside, she allowed herself to become distracted by the conversation taking place between her sparring partner and her husband.
“I told you to stop underestimating her,” Graeme growled at Rinda.
The blonde woman blew hair out of her eyes and scowled unabashedly at Graeme. “If she would just stay still a moment, I would have had her.”
Rhiannon snorted under her breath and allowed the words of the squabbling couple to roll over her. She would never stand still long enough for Rinda to catch her. If Rhiannon did, she wouldn’t have a chance. Careful to keep her gaze fixed ahead as Alarik and Bjorn engaged in an animated conversation, she dipped the ladle into the pail and took a drink.
Alarik was her shadow. He had been assigned to guard her while Bjorn’s life had hung in the balance. A quiet man with a wry sense of humour, he appeared less intense than some of his fellow Vikings. Now, just short of fully recovered, Bjorn had released her from those cursed fetters, but for appearances, Alarik had still been assigned to watch her. It was laughable. If she wanted to run, they would never catch her.
Homing in on the Nordic words traded back and forth between the two friends, it took her a moment to follow the conversation. She had spent days confined to the same house as Bjorn’s sickbed, and at his suggestion they had started to learn each other’s languages. Used to being active, it had only been this particular challenge that had stopped Rhiannon going mad, and her dedication had paid off. She narrowed her eyes. They thought her sword was too heavy.
“It belonged to my brother and my father, and his father before him. The only way I will part from it is when it is pried from my cold, dead hands,” Rhiannon interrupted with a proud shake of her head.
Silence. As one, the group of Norsemen turned to stare. It was only a little jab of pain underneath her ribcage that stopped her from laughing at the collective shock on their faces. Her father had recently succumbed to his illness, and it was still painful to think of him. Bjorn caught her eye and merely smiled like they were sharing a secret jest. Curses, her belly fluttered again.
Bjorn uncrossed his arms and stretched, the actions reminding her of a relaxed predator, but you would be a fool to trust that easygoing mask. All that lazy, coiled power lay beneath the surface ready to burst out when crossed. “You fought well, Rhiannon, though you should be careful when charging your opponent. It might not work with a stronger man.”
Rhiannon rolled her eyes, bristling at his criticism. “I know that.” If she’d been fighting against him, she would never have charged. He would have swatted her away like an annoying fly and taken her straight off her feet. “Are you here to practice?”
“I have been inactive for far too long.” A hint of amusement glimmered in his eyes, and the rest went unsaid—since she had stabbed him.
Rhiannon had the decency to blush, and her gaze trailed over the great expanse of his chest. She stared at the muscles at play as he lifted the strange weapon up to cradle the shaft between his hands, his very large and masculine hands. Why was her mouth suddenly dry?
“It’s called a Dane axe.”
His words snapped her back to the present, and Rhiannon gave her head a little shake. “What?”
“The weapon that has taken your interest is called a Dane axe,” he repeated, perfectly straight-faced. “Made in the lands across the sea to the southeast.”
It took a moment for Rhiannon to understand his meaning. Oh, he thought she was admiring his ‘weapon’. The beginnings of a giggle bubbled at the back of her throat, and she clenched her body tight, refusing to let it escape. What was wrong with her? She didn’t giggle—ever.
“You’re getting old and slow, brother,” Rinda poked fun at him, saving Rhiannon and allowing her to recover.
Rhiannon forced herself back to his words and examined the weapon closer. The handle was longer than the length of her arm, the head oddly shaped with a slight curve. How did Bjorn fight with it, or more importantly, how did she defend against it? She grasped her sword and shield again, determined to shake off the strange tingling Bjorn made her feel.
“Show me,” Rhiannon said, bringing her weapon up in readiness.
Bjorn’s lips curled, and he shook his head, the sun bouncing off his ash-blond locks and turning them into spun gold. “No, little warrior, not against my axe.”
She bristled at his insult. He had started calling her little warrior since he had lain in his sickbed, and it galled her each time. “What’s wrong?” she jeered, purposely challenging the man. “Afraid? I promise not to injure you.” Rhiannon smirked above the rim of her shield. “This time.”
Lightning fired in his blue eyes, and Bjorn’s good humour disappeared. Rinda sucked in a breath behind her, but still he didn’t take the bait immediately. Bjorn’s brows rose, disappearing into his hair, his gaze trained on Rhiannon, and she held it. He was taking her measure, and she found herself holding her breath, not wanting to be found unworthy. He nodded curtly, appearing to reach a decision and, adjusting his grip on the weapon’s shaft, straightened from his relaxed position. He towered over Rhiannon, despite her being the tallest of the Achnaryrie women, his deceptively large frame light on his feet.
“Very well.” He shucked out of his tunic.
Her mouth dried with her watching the taut muscles move under golden, tanned skin and broad, powerful shoulders. The only thing marring the perfection was the raised puckered scar on his side, pink and newly healed.
A spark of shame flared deep in her chest at the glaring evidence of her actions. Focus, Rhiannon, she told herself sternly.
“No shield?” she asked, drawing her head back, perplexed.
“Don’t need one.”
What? Was he touched in the head?
“Ready?” Bjorn asked.
She frowned, the first stirrings of unease preying upon her in the face of his confidence.
Rhiannon flexed her grip on the hilt of her sword. She couldn’t back down now. “Yes.”
She came at him head-on, intending to start with a basic thrust. Bjorn swung the monster axe and immediately forced her to retreat out of its formidable reach. But not fast enough. The curved edge hooked the lip of her shield and yanked it down, leaving her flank open. Rhiannon grimaced at the point having been made and jerked the shield back up. Her gaze flickering over Bjorn’s intimidating form, Rhiannon circled him, searching for an opening, a blind spot…something. There were none. She gnashed her teeth with frustration. She couldn’t get close enough to use her sword. Every time she surged forward, he swung that axe with surprising speed and shoved her back, the axe head butting against her shield. Every. Single. Time!
It was quickly apparent that Rhiannon was simply outclassed.
Seeming bored of having her dance around him, Bjorn swung and twisted the handle in his hands at the last minute and reversed to the blunt side of the axe head. It hit like a battering ram, the impact vibrating down her arm and sound ringing in her ears. Rhiannon staggered back, fighting to keep upright. What was even worse, she knew he was pulling back his strength. Bjorn could have hit her shield hard enough to shatter it. Tripping over her feet, Rhiannon had barely recovered her balance when Bjorn lunged forward, extended his arms, and somehow, he hooked her ankle. For one heart-stopping moment, his eyes met hers. Awareness sizzled between them, time froze and Rhiannon forgot that they were sparring, right up until he yanked back.
Rhiannon’s body went back, her legs went up and over her head, and she hit the ground hard. The breath burst from her lungs in a painful gasp, and it felt like a lump of gristle was wedged in her throat. Eyes watering, Rhiannon lay on the ground, still clutching her now useless weapons, making an odd rattling sound as she tried to breathe. A hand waved in front of her, and she gratefully grasped Bjorn’s thick wrist, letting him pull her upright.
“Are you well, little warrior?” His warm voice rumbled, and he breath
ed hard through his nose, his free hand running over her shoulders and down her sides, checking for injury.
Bent double with her hands braced on her knees, Rhiannon bobbed her head. “Yes,” she wheezed. “Just knocked the breath out of me.” When the tightness in her chest had passed, Rhiannon straightened and, meeting his questioning gaze, noticed his cheeks were flushed with exertion. If that didn’t gall her the most, Bjorn had yet to recover his full strength, and he had thoroughly beaten her. “Thank you for being gentle,” Rhiannon grudgingly acknowledged, her pride dented and bruised. Her lips curled ruefully. She had asked for it, had challenged the man, and he had delivered. Rhiannon was well aware that she had been outclassed and Bjorn had decided to teach her a lesson by giving her a taste of what he was capable of. She respected him for allowing her to discover her error, leashing his strength to prove a point when he could have seriously hurt her.
Unexpectedly, Bjorn reached out and offered the weapon to her. “Take it.”
Rhiannon backed up a step, shifting uneasily away from the foreign weapon. “Why?”
Bjorn Page 1
