Read Online Viking For Hire (Vikings Saga Volume 1) by Jo Grafford - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jo Grafford
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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
––––––––
O CTOBER 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
“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
––––––––
O CTOBER 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
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