‘A good choice,’ Brandt commented. ‘Our mother knows how to bend us to her will. Danr is the most likely to be able to discern the truth from it. Is it too much to hope for that you saw our father’s murderer’s face that day?’
Sandulf shook his head. ‘Only the back of a shadowy figure.’
‘Then the search goes on. Honour will be restored, if not our land.’
The brothers lifted their ale and Sandulf swore an oath to the sons of Sigurd and to restoring family honour with his brothers. Somehow, this time, it felt different, because he was swearing it with his brothers.
‘Will you stay with us while we wait for Danr’s safe return?’ Lady Breanne asked in her lilting voice after the oath swearing. ‘It has been a long time since the brothers were together in friendship and harmony.’
The last little ache in Sandulf’s heart eased. His brothers were proud of him. He did matter to them, but he had another life, one where he was more than vital. He held out his hand to Ceanna, who came over. She squeezed it and he knew it was her way of saying that she’d support him in whichever decision he made.
‘I will always be there for you, my brothers, when you need me, but I must return to Dun Ollaigh with my bride. I made a pledge to help its people and I will. I want to dedicate my life to them and my bride.’
* * *
Read on for a teaser of
the next instalment of the
Sons of Sigurd series
Redeeming Her Viking Warrior
by Jenni Fletcher
Redeeming Her Viking Warrior
by Jenni Fletcher
AD 877—Isle of Skίð, modern-day Scotland
The woman appeared out of nowhere. One moment Danr Sigurdsson was alone, his body cradled amid the tangled roots of an oak tree, the next she was looming above him, the spear in her hand pointing straight at his throat.
He stared up at her, absently wondering who she was and where she’d come from, then gave up the effort and closed his eyes. His head and chest were throbbing. So, too, was his pulse, so hard and fast it felt as though his heart were trying to force its way through his ribcage. Considering how much blood he’d lost over the past few hours, he was surprised it could still summon the strength to beat at all, but at least the pain in his arm was fading to numbness now.
If he kept still, he could almost forget the angry red gouge where the blade had caught him, slicing through skin and muscle and tendon. If he didn’t move at all, scarcely allowing himself to breathe, in fact, he could forget almost everything.
The rustle of leaves overhead had already faded to a dull murmur and the light behind his eyelids was dimming, narrowing around the edges like a tunnel collapsing in on itself, enveloping him in darkness.
Something prodded his neck and he prised his eyelids open again. It was the woman, the blunt edge of her spear nudging his skin. What did she want? Was she threatening him? If she was, then she didn’t need to. At that moment he couldn’t have put up a fight with a kitten.
The very air felt heavy, pinning him to the ground as if there were a fallen tree lying across his chest. He was going to die whether she impaled him or not and he wasn’t going to protest either way. Perhaps it was best that she went ahead and put him out of his misery quickly. He would have failed his brothers—again—but at least it would have been while trying to fulfil his oath.
He curled the fingers of his good arm around the hilt of his sword, Bitterblade, determined to die with it in his hand like a warrior, even if he couldn’t lift it, but the woman didn’t move as much as a muscle. As far as he could tell, she didn’t even blink.
He felt a flicker of unease, wondering if she were some figment of his imagination or perhaps an apparition. She looked like one, her narrow, expressionless face streaked with grey smudges while her hair tumbled in such wild, half-braided, half-loose disarray that it resembled a cloak of golden hay around her shoulders.
She was a lot like a spear herself, he thought, sleek and slender with a flat chest and shoulders the same width as her hips, though he hated himself for noticing. Apparently it was true what Rurik had always said, that Danr would still be looking at women on his deathbed...
Well, he was on it now, so perhaps it was only fitting. A woman had brought him into the world, albeit reluctantly, and now a woman was going to take him out of it. It would be a fitting revenge for all the ones he’d known and discarded in between.
He waited, feeling increasingly uneasy beneath her silent scrutiny. Even from where he lay on the ground he could see that her eyes were pale and striking, like oyster pearls, mirroring the sky behind her head, an iridescent grey speckled with flakes of silver that looked a lot like... Snow?
Somehow he dragged a laugh up out of his chest. This was truly the end, then. He hadn’t even realised that it was cold enough for snow yet, though now he thought about it he could see whispery coils of air emerging from his mouth. From hers, too, which at least proved she was a real flesh-and-blood woman, no matter how spectral she seemed.
Snow was filling the air all around them, covering his broken and bloodied body in a gauzy white layer. After everything that he and his brothers had gone through, after they’d travelled so far and fought so many enemies from Maerr to Éireann to Constantinople to Alba, now he was going to die here in a forest all on his own and be buried in snow. His body would probably lie where it was all winter, encased in ice, refusing to rot away until spring. Maybe Hilda would be the one to find him eventually and know that she’d won.
He gave a grunt of disgust and then froze, the hairs on the back of his neck rising at the sound of an answering growl. With an effort he lifted his head, his already pounding heartbeat redoubling in speed at the sight of a wolf—no, wolves—stalking through the undergrowth towards him, their teeth bared in twin snarls, no doubt drawn by the scent of his blood.
Quickly he shifted his gaze back to the woman, trying to convey a warning with his eyes since his throat was too dry to speak, but she appeared not to notice, her expression unreadable as the wolves came to stand on either side of her like a pair of dark sentinels.
Maybe she really was an apparition after all, Danr thought with a shudder, an unforgiving ice maiden like the ones his mother had told him and Rurik stories about as boys, a supernatural force able to control the animals of the forest as well as the elements. If she was, then he was entirely at her mercy. She could do whatever she wanted and there was nothing he could do to stop her.
He swallowed, waiting for her to decide his fate. At least a spear would be quick, whereas being torn apart by wolves... Surely not even he deserved that?
Did he?
He dropped his head back to the ground and closed his eyes for a few seconds, feeling the kiss of cold flakes on his lids and lashes, but when he opened them again she was gone and the wolves were nowhere to be seen. All he could see was snow.
Copyright © Jenni Fletcher 2020
If you enjoyed this story, be sure to read the first
two books in the Sons of Sigurd miniseries
Stolen by the Viking
by Michelle Willingham
Falling for Her Viking Captive
by Harper St. George
Don’t miss the next stories in the
Sons of Sigurd miniseries, coming soon!
Redeeming Her Viking Warrior
by Jenni Fletcher
Tempted by Her Viking Enemy
by Terri Brisbin
Keep reading for an excerpt from The Flapper’s Baby Scandal by Lauri Robinson.
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The Flapper’s Baby Scandal
by Lauri Robinson
Chapter One
1928
Betty Dryer sat at the bar on the outskirts of the dance floor, tapping the toe of one black patent leather shoe against the foot rail to the beat of the music while scanning the crowded room. The Rooster’s Nest was a hopping place tonight and her sisters were already taking advantage of that. Exercising the freedom that only came when the three of them escaped into the night, became the women they could only dream about being.
Her youngest sister, Patsy, wearing a cute blue dress covered with layers of fringe and a matching hat, was nearly dragging a guy onto the dance floor, while Jane, in her red-and-white-striped A-line dress was over by the piano, pinning numbers onto the backs of couples for the dance-off that had just been announced. Jane wore a hat that matched her outfit, too. They all did. Betty’s hat was silver, with a purple feather, the same shade as her purple dress, trimmed with double layers of wide silver lace at the hem, neckline and sleeve openings. She’d sewn it herself. They all had sewn their dresses and wore hats to cover their blond hair. In order to keep people from recognizing them as William Dryer’s daughters.
This was their secret life. One their parents could never learn about or they’d be locked away in the top floor of their house like a trio of Rapunzels.
Betty scanned the crowd a little harder, looking for a dance partner. She’d already turned down two men, because she’d danced with them earlier tonight. That was one of the rules she’d set for herself and her sisters. To never dance with the same man too many times. They were here for one reason. Fun. Getting paired up with someone could ruin that for everyone.
A knot formed in her stomach. She breathed through the tightening, wishing she could make it go completely away, but that wouldn’t happen. Just like not marrying James Bauer wouldn’t happen. The man her father had chosen for her to marry. Other than seeing him at one of the houses he’d built in partnership with her father, she didn’t even know James.
She didn’t know many people in general. Due to a life of being locked up in her father’s house, knowing her only taste of freedom was this—sneaking out at night to visit speakeasies—which would stop as soon as she married James.
She used to have dreams, when she was younger, of growing up and getting married. She’d thought that would be the most wonderful thing on earth. Having her own house, her own children, who she would take to the park, to the beach, on picnics, just all sorts of different places and have all kinds of fun.
Then, she’d grown up and discovered the real world. That had happened three years ago, when she’d been up in Seattle visiting her grandmother and aunt. Her aunt had fallen in love with a man, one who had run out on her, left her pregnant and alone.
It was the next thing that had solidified how wrong Betty’s dreams had been.
She’d met a man. A man who proved how easy a woman can become besotted and how fast a man can disappear.
That thought was enough to anger her all over again, and she wasn’t here to be angry. She was here to have fun and dance.
Dance the night away.
She scanned the room again, and as it had before, her gaze landed on a man sitting alone, at a table in the far corner behind the piano. He’d been there since she’d arrived, and she’d wondered if she’d seen him before, here or at one of the other speakeasies she and her sisters visited regularly. There was something about him that was familiar, but she couldn’t say what.
He looked like an average Joe, as did most of the other men in the room. The Rooster’s Nest attracted those types, working men. Day laborers and dockworkers. Men who had their sleeves rolled up and their boot strings double knotted. Those were the type of men who wouldn’t know her father.
There was something about that guy in the corner that made him stand out to her. She wasn’t sure what, except that his flat, newsboy-type hat partially hid his face, making her even more curious.
He’d watched her earlier, when she’d danced, and she’d expected him to approach her, ask her to dance.
But he hadn’t.
A slow smile built on her lips as she rose to her feet.
She’d just have to ask him.
That was part of the fun about being a flapper. They embraced life with gusto. They weren’t shy, nor did they worry about what others thought. They tossed the conventional standards of female behavior out the window and embraced life with newfound freedom.
The same freedom she and her sisters embraced during their nights out on the town. They had all come to love the liberty their nightlife gave them. It was the exact opposite from the stifling life they lived during the day. Every day.
Skirting around the line of people waiting to have numbers pinned on their backs, she saw him stand up. Her heart thudded, and she wasn’t exactly sure why, until he turned, as if he was going to walk away from his table before she arrived.
She cut through another line of people between him and her and stepped in front of him, stopping his escape, if that was what he’d had in mind.
“You aren’t thinking about taking a hike, are you?” she asked while batting her mascara-covered lashes at him. That was a trick Jane had read about in one of the magazines she’d snuck into the house, and it always made men smile.
He didn’t smile. Instead, he tugged the brim of his flat brown leather hat up a touch. “I was.”
She peered up at him harder, and the moment she caught sight of the eyes his hat had been shadowing, her heart stopped. Right then and there. At the exact same time her entire body started to tremble. “It’s you!” she gasped. The very man who’d—who’d—who was the reason she’d set down another rule for her and her sisters. No kissing. Absolutely none!
“And it’s you,” he said. “Imagine that.”
Imagine! She didn’t have to imagine! She knew! Those blue eyes were too unique to forget. Pale blue, like the sky first thing in the morning, and darkly rimmed with black lashes. She’d never seen another set like them and knew she never would, either.
Her heart started to pound and she was nearly gasping for air. It was him. The man who’d kissed her on the beach, right where anyone could have seen, and then walked away as if nothing had happened.
Anger, a level she’d never hit before, struck hard. “What are you doing here? How did you find me?”
“Right here!” someone shouted. “We have the final couple! Lacy and her Reuben!”
Betty recognized Jane’s voice and twisted as her sister grasped the back of her dress to pin a number to her back. “We aren’t entering the dance-off.”
“Yes, you are!” Jane said.
Betty twisted, trying to keep Jane from pinning on the number. “No, we—”
“Yes, we are,” the blue-eyed man said, grabbing her hand.
“You two are number three,” Jane said, moving to pin a piece of paper on his back.
“I’m not dancing with you,” Betty said, trying to pull away.
“Yes. You. Are.” His voice was deep, low, and under his breath.
Betty’s insides quivered at the seriousness of his tone.
“Clear the floor!” someone shouted. “Give the dancers room!”
Jane slapped his back. “Hit the floor, Reuben!”
“Come on, Lacy.” He drew her toward the dance floor.
“My name’s not Lacy,” she said, gritting her teeth.
“And mine’s not Reuben.”
Of course his name wasn’t Reuben, that was just slang for a stranger in town. His plain blue shirt, black suspenders, and tan pants made him look like he wasn’t a man-about-town. She and her sisters never used their real names while on the town. They used whatever name took their fancy. Jane had called her Lacy because of her lace-trimmed dress.
They stepped onto the dance floor and he spun around, facing her. With a grin that revealed he had nice and straight, white teeth, which made him even more h
andsome, he planted his free hand on the small of her back.
She tried to move, get away, but between his hold and the people crowding the dance floor around them, she had nowhere to go.
“Dig any clams lately?” he asked.
She pinched her lips together, refusing to answer. Too bad she couldn’t refuse the memories from flooding forward.
While in Seattle three years ago, she’d been digging clams, and had wandered out too far. Before she’d realized what was happening, the tide had been rolling in. She’d panicked, having never experienced how quickly the water was rising and had climbed up on some rocks, but the waves had soon covered the rocks. Out of nowhere, he’d shown up and carried her to shore. Then he’d kissed her! More than once! Until she hadn’t been able to breathe, or think, or move, and then...then he’d walked away! Like nothing had happened.
A bandit. That was what he was, and she was not going to dance with him. Mad all over again, she turned to run away.
He spun her neatly back round again.
“Nice try, Lacy, but you’re dancing with me.”
“No, I’m not,” she hissed. “I was hoping to never see you again!”
“Then you need to find different company.”
“What?” That made no sense. None whatsoever.
The piano man struck the keys, and they were suddenly moving across the floor. Her and this...this kissing bandit!
His movements were smooth, flowed perfectly with the music, even as she held herself stiffly.
“No wonder you didn’t want to enter the dance-off,” he said. “You don’t know how to dance.”
“I do, too!”
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do. I just don’t want to dance with you!”
“Too late. We’re couple number three and we are dancing,” he said, his hands going to her waist and lifting her up. “Until you get us disqualified.”
Conveniently Wed to the Viking Page 24
