Sold to the Viking Warrior

by Michelle Styles

  In her captor’s bed!

  Women are not part of Sigurd Sigmundson’s existence, and Eilidith should purely be a means to an end to gain access to a well-guarded Viking stronghold. He would have to be made of iron, though, not to be stirred by the warmly sensual woman beneath her ice-cold shield.

  Liddy has been made to feel ugly and insignificant because of her facial birthmark. Surely her captor couldn’t physically desire her? But, oh, how the stifled, passionate Liddy yearns to experience unrestrained love in his arms...

  ‘Of course, I might be willing to sell my daughter,’ her father said. ‘You may have her in lieu of this year’s harvest.’

  ‘I volunteered to be a hostage, not a slave,’ Liddy cried. ‘A hostage has certain rights. A slave has none.’

  ‘You offer your daughter as tribute?’ Sigurd asked in a tone chipped from last winter’s ice.

  ‘Aye,’ her father said heavily. ‘I may have to sell her on the open market to raise the amount required if the harvest fails.’

  Something flickered in Sigurd’s eyes and his face became more carved in stone than ever. ‘I will buy her from you...if the price is right.’

  Author Note

  For the last four years, my youngest son has spent part of his summers volunteering on the Scottish island of Oronsay. The first time he returned home, he told me all about the Vikings on the west coast of Scotland and how the Viking fleet had been based on Colonsay. I was intrigued and wanted to do some more research. In September 2014, I was lucky enough to spend a week on Islay and Jura as my husband wanted to go whiskey-tasting. The weather, contrary to all expectation, was blue skies and sunshine the entire time. I had a thoroughly good time and became more determined than ever to write a Viking romance set on the west coast of Scotland.

  It took me a little time to get it right but here it is.

  As ever, I do hope you enjoy Sigurd and Liddy’s story as much as I did writing it.

  I love getting comments from readers and can be reached at michelle@michellestyles.co.uk or through my publisher or Facebook or Twitter: @MichelleLStyles.

  Michelle

  Styles

  Sold to the Viking Warrior

  Michelle Styles was born and raised near San Francisco, California. She currently lives near Hadrian’s Wall with her husband, menagerie of pets and occasionally one of her three university-aged children. An avid reader, she became hooked on historical romance after discovering Georgette Heyer, Anya Seton and Victoria Holt. Her website is michellestyles.co.uk and she’s on Twitter and Facebook.

  Books by Michelle Styles

  Harlequin Historical

  Taken by the Viking

  Viking Warrior, Unwilling Wife

  The Viking’s Captive Princess

  Sold and Seduced

  A Noble Captive

  An Impulsive Debutante

  A Question of Impropriety

  Impoverished Miss, Convenient Wife

  His Unsuitable Viscountess

  Hattie Wilkinson Meets Her Match

  An Ideal Husband?

  Paying the Viking’s Price

  Return of the Viking Warrior

  Saved by the Viking Warrior

  Taming His Viking Woman

  Summer of the Viking

  Sold to the Viking Warrior

  Harlequin Historical Undone! ebook

  The Perfect Concubine

  Visit the Author Profile page

  at Harlequin.com for more titles.

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  To my loyal readers who asked for more Viking-set romances

  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

  Author’s Historical Note

  Excerpt from The Cowboy’s Cinderella by Carol Arens

  Chapter One

  AD 873—Islay, Viking-controlled Alba.

  Modern-day Scotland.

  ‘No good giving me that reproachful look of yours, Coll. I made a promise, so we have to go, even if I’d rather be anywhere else but there.’ Eilidith gathered her thin woollen cloak tighter about her body and tried to ignore the biting cold while her wolfhound padded softly beside her.

  In the half-light before dawn, Liddy could make out the Northman stronghold in the distance and, beyond the forbidding wooden walls, the purple-grey Paps of Jura rose. Appearances were deceptive. While she expected to arrive before the assembly day, Liddy knew she had at least a full day’s hard walk in front of her. She had refused to travel in a boat since the accident which killed her young twins, Keita and Gilbreath.

  Behind her, the footsteps which had been keeping pace with her for the last few miles stilled.

  Liddy reached down and grabbed her wolfhound’s collar. Her mother had objected to her taking Coll, even to the point of calling her by her proper name, Eilidith, and reminding her that she was a lady of the Cennell Fergusa, not an urchin without a noble kindred. Liddy had insisted and her mother had given way as she often did these days, commenting as Liddy left that for once she sounded like her old passionate Eilidith, the one who had vanished when her husband died.

  Liddy rolled her eyes and continued walking. Her old self had vanished long before the day she heard of Brandon’s demise. That self had ceased to be when her children drew their final rattling breaths and her heart had shattered into a thousand pieces.

  Liddy reached down and stroked the dog’s ears. Coll leant into her and gave a reassuring nuzzle of her hand.

  In the aftermath of Islay’s final fall to the Northmen, outlaws roamed the woods and desperate men were prepared to do desperate things. However, even a desperate man would think twice when confronted with a full-grown wolfhound. Coll’s head came up to her chest. He had a scar running down his nose, a legacy from a tumble he took as a puppy, rather than a fight, but it gave him a fearsome appearance that made most people and dogs avoid him. But it made Liddy love him more.

  She, too, had a disfigured face—a birthmark decorated the lower part of her jaw. When she’d been small and children teased her, her grandmother, her seanmhair, had declared her kissed by an angel at birth and that she’d bring good luck to the Cennell Fergusa. However, her late husband had considered the mark ugly and his mistress had declared her cursed at birth. After the twins died, she knew that woman had spoken the truth—she bore a curse. Her husband had even sworn in church, risking his immortal soul. Rather than risking the whispers, she shunned people and had become a virtual recluse, but now she had no choice—she had to act.

  ‘We can do this, can’t we, Coll? We can free my father and brother. Lord Ketil’s promise to my father must mean more than empty words.’

  Coll gave a soft woof and nudged her hand in agreement, as if he believed the words were truth rather than noise to fill the silence and bolster her flagging courage.

  Liddy squared her shoulders. No one was going to stop her. She would get her father and brother released. There had b
een a misunderstanding. Unlike her late husband, her father had sworn an oath of allegiance to the Northman overlord at the first opportunity. To protect his people and the land he’d been entrusted with by his father, he swore. Peace brought its own prosperity and it was the land which mattered. Cennell Fergusa had to endure on this land. It was in their blood and sinew.

  Her hand balled into a fist. Even the Northmen in their great fortress had to have some sort of honour. They, too, had laws and a king. The Northern jaarl simply had to be reminded of his obligations. He would see it was in his best interest to hold fast to the laws. He wanted peace and prosperity, not war with the islanders. And there was a tiny part of her which hoped that her seanmhair was right and she would bring good luck to the family.

  ‘You walk with a determined step and a strong purpose,’ a faintly accented voice said behind her, making her jump. ‘Most people would shun this place at this hour.’

  She half-turned and saw the same cloaked figure she’d been ignoring for the better part of an hour. The man had started following her a good mile or two back. He was tall and his face was hidden. There was no stoop in his back or shuffle in his step. Or rather not when he considered no one was watching. Under her gaze he seemed to shrink and hunch his shoulders as if he was attempting to seem less than he was.

  She forced a steadying breath. No need to be frightened of a solitary man, not with Coll by her side and a knife stuck in her belt.

  ‘What business is it of yours?’ she asked and advanced another step on the path. She was glad that her remaining gold necklace was safely sewn into the hem of her gown. Nowhere that any robber would think to look. It was not much, but her mother had insisted. If she could not appeal to the Northman’s honour and respect for the law, she could buy her father’s and brother’s freedom. Liddy had agreed more out of hope than expectation. There was no room for error. She knew what would happen if she failed, but she had to do something. ‘How do you know where I go?’

  ‘Unusual to encounter a lone woman on the road at this hour.’ His gaze took in her cloak. ‘Particularly one of high birth.’

  ‘I’ve business at the Northman’s fortress.’ Liddy resisted the temptation to pull the hood across her face and hide the curse. Instead she curled her hand about her knife and threw back her shoulders. Maybe the stranger would take one look and decide a cursed woman was not worth bothering with.

  Coll, sensing her mood, raised his hackles and gave a low growl.

  The man stepped back a few steps and held up his hands. Coll flopped down at her feet, but kept a wary eye on the man.

  ‘You are brave or foolhardy in the extreme going near that fort without a protector. Do you know how they treat attractive women?’

  ‘My dog is my champion. He dislikes strangers, particularly Northmen who begin talking without a proper introduction,’ she said between gritted teeth. Attractive? Hadn’t he seen the mark on her face? ‘Even the Northmen at the fort have to obey their own laws.’

  ‘It has been some time since I have encountered anyone like you. Such bravery in the face of overwhelming odds. Unusual for a woman,’ he said, slowly lowering his hands and risking a step closer. Coll gave another low growl.

  ‘Flattery fails to work with me. I know what I am.’

  His face took on a guarded expression. ‘We both travel in the same direction. What is wrong with a little conversation to pass the journey? Have you considered how you will get into the stronghold to put your petition? It is well guarded these days. They don’t just allow anyone in and lone unprotected women rarely emerge.’

  ‘Have you been there recently? Is it true that they keep the entrance guarded, only allowing people in at certain times?’ she blurted out.

  The stranger tilted his head to one side and Liddy caught an intense blue stare before his hood obscured his features. ‘The gate is locked at owl-light each night. They do not allow anyone in or out. During the day, everyone entering or leaving is searched. Thorbin, Lord Ketil’s current representative, is cautious. There is resentment on the island.’

  ‘You are one of the Northmen,’ she said, hearing the faint traces of the heavy Northern accent, but laced with the slight lilt of her native tongue. Normally Northmen growled their words, making it difficult to understand them. ‘But you speak my language better than most. Unusual.’

  ‘You are a Gael.’ He looked her slowly up and down, from the bottom of her travel-stained gown to the top of her couver-chief from which a few tendrils of hair kept escaping. Again she resisted the urge to hide the birthmark. ‘Most Gaels take better care of their women rather than simply providing them with a large dog before sending them to bargain with one of the most notorious men in the North. Have you considered what he will do to you when you lose?’

  Liddy kept her hand on Coll. He couldn’t have guessed about the necklace, could he? Using her knife on him would be possible, but he would have to be closer. She would have one chance and the point where his throat met his shoulder was her best option. The quickest way, according to her late husband, who had liked to boast of his expertise in battle.

  Her body went numb at the thought of killing a man, any man, but particularly this one who seemed so full of life.

  ‘Most men would think twice about tangling with my dog,’ she said instead. ‘They will let me go once I’ve finished my business. They will be men of honour. They will keep the promise Lord Ketil made to my father.’

  The words rang even more hollow to her ears than before. But if she lost this slender hope, she might as well turn back. She had to believe this miracle was possible and that she lived for some reason beyond a cruel joke by God. It had come to her that perhaps she had been spared so that she could do this thing—rescue her father and brother and somehow atone for her part in the twins’ death. She had tried so hard to rescue them.

  ‘I’ve seen dogs die before. A pity. He seems like a good and faithful animal.’

  ‘I’ve seen men back away from him before.’ Liddy wrenched her mind from the day shortly after the twins’ deaths when she’d encountered the Northmen on the track which ran along the headland. Coll had guarded her well that day.

  The man shrugged and Liddy became aware of the strength of his shoulders. ‘You throw them a bit of meat and they are happy. Instant friends. Dogs have a simpler view of life.’

  Liddy crossed her arms. This Northman might think he knew dogs, but he didn’t know Coll. ‘Not my dog. My dog distrusts strangers, Northmen in particular.’

  His eyes flashed an intense blue. ‘I’m hardly one to refuse a challenge.’

  ‘You may try, but you are bound for disappointment. I know my dog. He is an excellent judge of character.’

  He reached into his pouch and held out a piece of dried meat. A slight keening noise filled the air.

  Coll, the traitor, took it from the man’s fingers with only a heartbeat of hesitation. The man reached down and stroked Coll behind the ears. Coll completed his surrender by lolling against the man.

  ‘Not all Northmen.’ The voice slid over her skin as if he had stroked her hair instead of Coll’s ears. ‘But maybe he senses that I could be a friend and an ally. You would do well to trust your dog’s instincts if he is such a good judge of character.’

  ‘I stand corrected and it is duly noted. I will not make that mistake again,’ she said through gritted teeth. Anyone would think that she was some sort of maiden from a convent who had never experienced men and their ways, rather than a widow. ‘Coll, come here.’ To the man, she said, ‘I will bid you good morning and be on my way. I’ve urgent business with Lord Thorbin, who will uphold the law once the truth of the matter is explained.’

  Coll instantly bristled as if embarrassed by his actions and slunk away from his new friend. Liddy caught his collar and began to walk away with determined steps.

  The man seemed to take
the hint and let her go without a protest, but she felt his eyes watching her with a speculative glint.

  Liddy hurried her pace, rounded several bends and went off on a different track. The trees were closer and the air silent. She turned her head to one side and her feet faltered. Trees with bodies hanging from them like overripe fruit blocked her way. She wanted to run, but her legs refused to work. Instinctively, she turned away as her stomach revolted. Coll began to bark in earnest.

  ‘Lord Thorbin sacrifices women to the gods,’ the man said behind her in a low voice. Coll’s howls immediately ceased. ‘He takes positive pleasure in it. He never does anything important without making one human sacrifice. Are you still certain about continuing on with your quest?’

  ‘How do you know it was him?’

  His eyes became narrow slivers of blue ice. ‘I’ve seen his work before.’

  ‘And the women? Who were they?’ Liddy whispered, pulling Coll closer. A distinct shiver ran down her spine. This man was intimately acquainted with Lord Thorbin’s work.

  ‘Slaves who were freed before they were sacrificed. Lone women without families to protect them or women whose families had abandoned them.’ His mouth twisted. ‘Sacrifices must be made with a free will, lest the gods get angry. How much choice they actually had...well...they were slaves. Sometimes there are worse things than dying free.’

  Liddy put her hands on her knees and tried to breathe. The heathen Northmen might believe such things, but she knew it to be false. Those women were murdered for no good reason. How could she appeal to the honour of a man who murdered women like that? Her idea seemed more and more naïve, but she had to do something. Pretending her mother could cope was wrong. The barren fields were a testament to that. ‘I thought those were tales from the priests to scare people.’

  ‘Do you want me to cut one down and show you? Do you truly want to risk disturbing the dead?’

  Liddy regarded the grove again and one of the bodies seemed to reach towards her. A scream welled up inside her. She wanted to run but her feet had turned to blocks of stone. ‘I...I...’

 
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