by Grafford, Jo
Sven patted her shoulder awkwardly, then stiffened.
“Not bad for a mongrel, I suppose.” Eirik’s voice was icy. He stood before them in her green gown whose seams were splitting now that he was restored to his normal size. “Now turn over the blasted witch to me so I may punish her for all the foolish risks she took.” Without waiting for her to respond, he stalked nearer. “You lied to me, Branwyn. Cuckolded me into thinking I was part of your scheme by wearing this blasted gown. All the while, you had me hunkering down in the safety of the forests whilst you took the greatest of the dangers upon yourself. When I get my hands on you, I swear I—”
Branwyn started to disengage herself from Sven, but he held her fast. “Ye’ll not touch one hair on her head, my lord, and that’s a fact. She saved us all.” The color drained from his face as he spoke. To Branwyn’s knowledge, he’d never disobeyed his jarl before.
She sighed long and loud at the bristling men. Pointing her wand in the air, she removed the last traces of the glamour. She swapped and mended their clothes while she was at it. “Do with me as you wish, Eirik. I’ll not be taking one thing back that I did today. A few minutes ago, you and your men were too cursed to do ought but interfere with my plans to save you. I would do what I did a thousand times over, because I love you.” She raised her chin and met his glare with one of her own.
The air bristled between them with a fury of raw emotion. Several of the crewmen eyed them with concern.
“By Thor,” Eirik choked at last. “Unhand my future wife at once, Sven, so I may kiss her.”
Stunned, Sven dropped his hands to his side. “Your w-wife?” he stammered.
“Your wife,” Branwyn echoed uncertainly. “You missed all of Mista’s revelations about New Dorset and its citizens. The truth is I am but a poor healer from Exeter, whilst you are—”
“The bastard son of a god and mortal?” He raised a questioning brow and held out a hand. “I much prefer the other thing you called me, Branwyn — the man you love.”
When she hesitated, he closed the distance between them and swept her up in his arms. “Give me a little credit, lass. I’ve known the truth about New Dorset since the key to the city was first handed to me by my father. What is more, I had a powerful desire to take you there as my bride the moment we met.”
“Oh...” Her breath slid out on a wistful sigh. “You did? Initially, I thought you only wanted me for my powers.”
“Aye, that is precisely why I sought out your acquaintance at the tavern. When I enclosed your hand in mine and gazed into your eyes for the first time, however, everything changed.” Eirik’s arms tightened. “Look at me, lass,” he begged when she buried her burning face in his chest. “Aye,” he muttered in appreciation when she raised her head. “This is just like the first time you laid eyes on me. The world itself shook beneath my feet.” He bent to press his lips reverently to hers. “I am Viking. I’ve sailed the world and sought out its most coveted treasures. What I recognized in you was instantaneous and real and priceless. You are my mate, Branwyn. The moment our hands touched, I knew ’twas so and vowed to myself I would win your love or die trying.”
“Eirik,” she moaned, overcome at his words. She was quite certain every inch of her body was blushing to hear him bare his heart in such a manner before his men.
“Tell me what you felt when you first looked at me, Branwyn,” he persisted, apparently oblivious to their audience. “What you feel now.”
The memory shook her with its intensity. “I saw light. I felt fire. I knew joy. Now I am bursting with love. Take me home, Eirik.” She pressed trembling lips to his.
He turned with her to face his men. “Behold, I give you the princess and healer of New Dorset.”
The men cheered wildly, waving shields and spears and crossbows.
Sven shot her a half grin. “At least you chose one of us,” he said wistfully. At Eirik’s signal, he raised his voice. “All aboard. Set sail for home.”
The Viking oarsmen ran for the beachfront in a thunderous stampede.
Branwyn wound her arms around her perfect mate as he ran closely behind them with her in his arms. Sven and their Viking guardsmen brought up the rear of the joyous exodus. Eirik boarded the longship and set her down at last, pulling her against his side as the oarsmen pushed away from the coast.
Together, they watched the shores of Wales fade into the horizon. The prospect of sailing to New Dorset at long last made Branwyn’s breath catch in wonder. Never in her wildest dreams could she have conjured up all the dangers in hiring a Viking, nor all the joys. No regrets, she thought as she drank in the sight of her gorgeous husband-to-be. Nay, she was more than satisfied with her end of the bargain.
~THE END~
VIKING BORN
OCTOBER was much colder than it should have been — a bad omen. Icy winds battered the longship with a fury that could freeze the blood in a man’s veins. At least most men’s veins. The cold no longer phased Sven. The thick sable cloak draping his shoulders was more for show than necessity. He allowed the wind to whip freely through his long brown hair while he squinted at the heavens, only mildly relieved not to glimpse any seething, swirling clouds. Nevertheless, a storm was coming.
Sven sensed the disruption in the atmosphere deep in his bones. He closed his eyes and allowed the picture to form in his mind. He’d seen it often enough lately in his dreams. The last traces of autumn heat slamming into the indomitable wall of bitter coldness. The splintering protest of lightning, the answering boom of thunder, the unforgiving sheets of rain mixed with hail, and the cries of the dying. The storm in his dreams always left a trail of death in its wake. It might be minutes away, hours, or even days but it was coming.
He abruptly opened his eyes. A signal of his arm sent a dozen men on deck dashing to their places to draw down the wide rectangular sail. The canvas billowed downward to flutter against the semicircle oak step that anchored the ship’s mast. Kerling, they called the thick timber structure in the belly of the ship, for she was as steady and reliable as a wise, old woman.
Scanning the churning sea waters, Sven felt the lurch of the longship underneath his feet as the Viking rowers returned to their posts and dug in their oars. Their urgency was visible in every movement. Thick muscles bunched beneath their tunics as they drug their vessel through the waters along a northeasterly route. Home to the mystical land of New Dorset. Best to get as far as possible up the coastline of England before they would be forced to pull ashore to weather the coming storm.
As bo’sun of his Jarl Eirik’s rig, Sven strode between the two ranks of rowers lining the sides of the ship, pausing to tighten down one of the round, iron shields mounted to the outer rails. They planned to venture away from England today into the open sea with a course set to skirt the southerly coast of Iceland and Greenland on their way to the upper islands and peninsulas of the New World. New Dorset lay cradled in its craggy ridges, a haven for the few allowed to enter her glorious golden gates.
Gripping the high dragon’s neck of the prow, Sven squinted through the morning mists beginning to lift. Puffs flitted here and there, damp specters who hovered until the morning sun burnt them away. On quiet mornings, their whispers haunted him. Most times they were distant murmurs. He could rarely make out their words, which was fine with him. The aimless babbling of ghosts drifting into oblivion was far preferable to the occasional vengeful one who sought out Sven to wrangle favors.
“A good morning to you, sailor.” The low musical voice tightened his gut with its haunting, ethereal quality. A sound so soft and fragile should not so easily have cut through the muted wail of the winds and singsong shanty of the sailors rowing behind him.
The woman wavered in and out of transparency as she emerged from the mists, her face framed by a silvery-white waterfall of hair tumbling over her shoulders. Her tresses twinkled and glowed as if powered by tiny lights, partially hiding her pale, fine-boned features. Without warning, she leaped from the water to cling to the l
ower, wider base of the prow. Her lovely face tipped upward, no more than a foot from his. Her bosom pressed against the carved length of the prow, two perfect orbs barely concealed by a narrow weave of seaweed and shells. A delicate ribcage tapered to a tiny waist, and a long, slender tail with gossamer green and purple scales flipped and swished against the surface of the waters.
The mermaid moved so quickly, Sven could do nothing more than half draw the dagger from his waistband.
“Hold your weapon, Viking,” she implored, raising a porcelain hand. “I did not come to pick a fight.”
“Then what do you want?”
“You,” she breathed.
~VIKINGS SAGA 2~
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jo Grafford is the author of the award-winning Lost Colony Series and Vikings Saga. Her online home is www.JoGrafford.com. You may also connect with her at www.facebook.com/JoGraffordAuthor and www.twitter.com/JoGrafford.
ALSO BY JO GRAFFORD
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VIKINGS SAGA
Viking For Hire - Book One
Branwyn O’Tyre’s estranged brother summons her for a healing ritual. Fearing he actually plans to arrest her for witchcraft, she drinks a protection potion before he arrives. Eirik, a Viking sea captain pretending slumber in the tavern corner, witnesses Branwyn’s magic and offers her safe passage from Exeter if she will attempt to reverse a curse that plagues him. Unfortunately, every woman who touches him falls madly but falsely in love with him. There’s only one hitch. If she fails, Branwyn’s heart will fall victim to the same madness...forever!
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Viking Born - Book Two
A premature winter and fear of a second mer attack threaten the Vikings' return to their mystical home of New Dorset. While Sven oversees the grueling task of rowing across the icy Atlantic, he is haunted by creatures of the mists. Whispering ghosts and a breathtakingly beautiful mermaid named Willow follow their longship. She claims she did not come to pick another fight with his sailors, however. What she wants this time is—him!
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LOST COLONY SERIES
Breaking Ties – Book One
Intelligent and well ahead of her times, ROSE PAYNE'S world is shattered after a secret betrothal to the duke’s son costs her job as a clerk in his father's household. Without a letter of recommendation, she becomes an easy target for recruiters to the Colonies. Desperate for work, she signs up for a risky overseas venture and sails for the New World, vowing never again fall for a wealthy gentleman.
Returning from a diplomatic tour in London, CHIEF MANTEO is bewitched by the elusive, fiery-haired ship clerk and determined to overcome her distrust. He contrives a daring plan to win her heart – a plan he prays will protect her from a chilling conspiracy involving murder, blood money, and a betrayal of their fledgling colony so terrifying it can only be revealed in BREAKING TIES
Book Trailer for BREAKING TIES
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Trail of Crosses – Book Two
Jane Mannering can shoot a rifle and handle a knife as well as any Englishman. However, she is no match for the red-painted warriors who ambush her section of a Colonial caravan on the shores of Virginia.
Jane plots their escape during a forced march inland, leaving a trail of maltese crosses carved on the trees – their pre-agreed upon signal of distress. All the while, she puzzles over what interest their captors could possibly have in a twenty-three-year-old spinster and a rugged band of brick masons, sawyers, and farmers.
When the ruthless Chief Wanchese intercepts them at the crossroads of the Great Trading Path, Jane is shaken to discover their greatest enemy plans to keep her for himself. It’s a pity he’s the only man on two continents who’s ever stirred her heart. Unfortunately, she has an entire colony to save, and capturing his attentions is not part of their escape plan.
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SNEAK PEEK
Breaking Ties, Book One in the Lost Colony Series
Excerpt from Chapter Nine
“Someone might walk in,” I hissed. “What are ye doing?”
“Distracting you from the pain. Is it working?”
I chuckled breathlessly. “What pain?” I glanced through the doorway, but the beach was almost vacant of colonists now. We hadn’t much time left before the ships raised anchor.
“Rose.”
“Mmm?”
“I’m glad you refused to heed your brother’s warnings.”
“Even though I brought with me such an ill run of luck?”
“I am not complaining.” His voice was low against my neck.
I drew a shaky breath. “Are not ye afraid?”
“Nay.” He reached around and laced his fingers through mine. Our scars from the blood oath rested palm to palm.
My heartbeat quickened. “I must look like a rag doll.”
“Your attire offends me no more than usual.”
“Oh?”
“English women hide beneath too many layers.”
I choked out a laugh. “I saw the governor’s watercolors. Do your people truly wear so little?”
“Aye.”
“Including the ladies?”
“Aye.” His voice was earnest. “Thank the gods.”
I flushed scarlet. “I-I could not!” I twisted to look at him. “’Tis scandalous by any English standard.”
He tugged me back against him. “Then I pray you change your mind.”
My chest rose and fell rapidly. We were surrounded by danger and his thoughts were centered on seeing me naked, or nearly naked, I corrected.
He trailed the back of his hand down my cheek.
Tendrils of apprehension squeezed my heart. Manteo desired me, but he spoke not of love. I’d walked this path before.
The stinging of my feet intensified. I sat up, needing space. He grunted in protest but loosened his arms.
“Agnes will be here any moment.”
He moved quickly. My heartbeat quickened to see him crouched before me, whiskey eyes dark with emotion. He lifted my hand and pressed the scarred palm to his heart. The wound tingled from the heat of him.
“There is one English custom I like very much.” He bent his head over mine until his breath stirred my lips. I stopped breathing. He took my upper lip between his in a caress as light as a bird’s feather.
A breathy sigh escaped me. ’Twas several moments before I gathered the strength to open my eyes. He was gone.
~TO BE CONTINUED~
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