Viking: Legends of the North: A Limited Edition Boxed Set
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Viking
Legends of the North
by Glynnis Campbell, Shelly Thacker, Miriam Minger, and Tanya Anne Crosby
Viking: Legends of the North by Tanya Anne Crosby, Miriam Minger, Shelly Thacker and Glynnis Campbell
Published by Oliver-Heber Books
The Shipwreck COPYRIGHT © Glynnis Campbell
Viking’s Prize COPYRIGHT © Tanya Anne Crosby
His Captive Bride COPYRIGHT © Shelly Thacker Meinhardt
The Pagan’s Prize COPYRIGHT © Miriam Minger
ISBN 9781942820154
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be used or reproduced or transmitted in any manner whatsoever, electronically, in print, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of both Oliver-Heber Books and Tanya Anne Crosby, Miriam Minger, Shelly Thacker and Glynnis Campbell, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
PUBLISHER'S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Jafnan er hálfsögð saga ef einn segir.
(A tale is but half told when only one person tells it.)
—The Saga of Grettir the Strong
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Title Page
The Shipwreck by Glynnis CampbellChapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
More Books By Glynnis
About Glynnis
His Captive Bride by Shelly ThackerPrologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
An Asgard Island Glossary
More Books By Shelly
About Shelly
The Pagan's Prize by Miriam MingerAuthor's Note
Quote
Prologue
Quote
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
More Books By Miriam
About Miriam
Viking's Prize by Tanya Anne CrosbyChapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Epilogue
Author's Note
More Books By Tanya
About Tanya
The Shipwreck
By Glynnis Campbell
Chapter 1
The Ninth Century
Off the Eastern Coast of Pictland
The last ominous sound Brandr heard, before the icy ocean closed over his head, blocking out the roar of the storm and the crash of the waves, was the deep crack of his longship splitting apart.
The current dragged at his sealskin cloak and boots, pulling him down. But with his one still useful arm, he managed to claw his way to the surface. Gasping frosty air into his lungs as he broke through the waves, he blinked back the stinging saltwater, trying to see in the relentless black night. The ship’s lanterns had gone out. No light came from the distant shore. Even the trusty stars were hidden behind thunderheads.
“Erik!” he bellowed. “Erik! Gunnarr! Haral—“
A gulp of seawater choked off his cries. He fought to stay afloat in the paralyzing cold, turning in the water, listening for his shipmates. But all he could hear was the howl of the wind, the pounding of the sea, and the splintering of wood as his ship was dashed against the rocks.
A flash of lightning split the sky, zigzagging down like Thor’s avenging spear to blacken the timber of the mast. Before Brandr could wonder what he’d done to offend the god, thunder rocked the heavens, and the top of the mast exploded into sparks, igniting the square sail. For a moment it looked as if the dragon painted on the canvas was breathing fire.
By the light of the flaming sail, Brandr could see the extent of the damage to his ship. The hull was broken. Ropes snapped wildly in the shrieking wind. Chests and oars slid into the sea. And his crew…
Shuddering with cold and pain, fighting the tide, he called over the roaring of the storm until he was hoarse. He found four of his men. They were dead.
The rain eventually arrived to extinguish the fiery wreckage. Brandr—beaten by the storm, devastated by loss, and too exhausted to care what happened to him—used the last of his strength to climb atop the splintered prow of his ship and resigned himself to the whim of the gods.
Death was following him. It had already come for his wife and children. Now it had come for his men. Soon it would come for him. And as far as Brandr was concerned, it could have him.
“Stay close!” Avril called after Kimbery, shaking her head as the four-year-old raced ahead of her across the wet sand. Her intrepid daughter possessed insatiable curiosity, incurable wanderlust, and a stubborn will that left her deaf to her mother’s warnings.
Not that there was much to warn her about. Here in their seaside home, they lived far out of everyone’s way. No one would stumble across their stone cottage or cross their stretch of beach by accident. Their exile to the eastern shores had left them in a location that was remote, isolated...and far enough from her ancestral home of Rivenloch to satisfy the brothers who’d stolen it from her.
>
In the distance, Kimbery squealed as she bent over some treasure along the tide’s edge—probably a pretty shell or a starfish washed ashore in last night’s storm. Avril kicked off her boots and hefted up her basket. With any luck, the wild tempest had stirred up something edible from the sea.
The brothers who’d banished her had probably expected her to starve, her and her “bastard Viking spawn,” as they called Kimbery. Certainly, her death would have been convenient for them.
But Avril hadn’t obliged them.
As willful as her daughter, she’d persisted, refusing to die. The land was hostile to crops, but she’d adapted to it. She’d learned to fish, to dig for clams, to pry mussels from rock, to snare coneys, to raid seagull nests, to make broth from seaweed and pottage from oysters. She’d even traded a silver cloak pin to her closest neighbor for a ewe that had lost its lamb, so she had milk, butter, cheese, and wool for clothing. A stream emptied into the ocean a short distance from the cottage, giving her ample water for drinking and bathing, and trout for supper.
But none of it was easy. So when the weather turned violent as it had last night and the ocean’s belly roiled, spewing its contents onto the beach, Avril considered it a gift from the sea. She might find a few stranded fish not yet picked apart by the gulls, a sizable clump of kelp, a useful shell, or even an odd tool or bit of line lost from a fishing boat.
Kimbery, of course, was convinced she’d unearth a mermaid’s jewels or Poseidon’s trident or an otter to keep for a pet. She’d learned to relish the flash of lightning and the crack of thunder that foretold a day of treasure-hunting on the beach.
The wee lass didn’t know any different. But Avril was well aware of how wrong their life of scraping and scavenging was. If she thought too deeply about what had been taken from her—her maidenhood, her lands, a proper family and playmates for her daughter, and about the fact that she’d been groomed from birth, not to dwell in a hovel, but to command a sizable holding—she’d be filled with constant rage and an unquenchable thirst for vengeance.
But there was nothing she could do. Invading Northmen had left her with child and killed her father. And once he was dead, her four younger brothers, racked with jealousy over the favoritism their father had shown her as the rightful heir, declared Avril unfit to rule Rivenloch. All the years her father had spent training her to take over his command—schooling her in the law, teaching her to wield a sword, bringing her up to be a moral, fair, honest leader—had been wasted. She was sent into exile with her daughter and what little she could carry on her back. And not a soul in Rivenloch had had the courage to face her thieving brothers and come forward in her defense.
Still, not a day passed that she didn’t think about winning it all back. It was only concern for her daughter’s welfare that kept Avril from taking up her sword and marching boldly to the gates of Rivenloch to demand the return of her keep.
“Mama!” Kimbery cried, draping a piece of dark seaweed over her sun-bright curls and skipping along the sea foam. “I’m a selkie!”
She smiled. She often wondered if ocean-loving Kimbery might indeed be half-seal. It was the little girl’s inventiveness that kept her own bitterness at bay and kept her fighting for survival. Sometimes Avril thought that being impregnated by a Viking berserker was the best thing that had ever happened to her.
She scanned the rocky tidepools as she walked toward the ocean, searching for periwinkles, glancing occasionally up at Kimbery to be sure she wasn’t straying too far. The wee lass had a healthy respect for the sea, but the tide could be unpredictable and unforgiving.
The air was calm today, and the sky was an unchanging gray, but evidence of the storm littered the beach. Avril picked up a piece of driftwood and poked at a clump of kelp on the sand. A fat abalone was attached to one of the strands, and it would make a nice supper tonight. She cut it loose, plopping it into her basket. A small purple starfish with six legs was stuck to the kelp, too. Though it was inedible, she added it to the basket to show to Kimbery, knowing she’d like its color. Closer to the water, she found a few crabs, but their shells had been picked clean by the seabirds.
She glanced up. Kimbery was hunkered down beside a tiny crab on the sand, and when the tide rushed in to cover it, the lass shrieked and leaped up, running and giggling as the ocean chased her.
Avril was still grinning when her attention was caught by something floating off the rocky point that jutted into the sea. It looked like a substantial piece of wood, maybe a crate or part of a cart, something that might prove useful. As she gradually made her way toward the point, she collected a few mussels for pottage and a large clamshell suitable for a bowl.
“Mama!”
Avril narrowed her eyes at the wood bobbing in the water. What was it? Though one end appeared to be splintered, the other sides were finished. Maybe it was a broken chest or a table.
“Mama! Look what I found!”
“In a moment!” she called back, studying the piece as it was tossed by the current.
“Mama! It’s my da!”
That got her attention. Avril whipped her head around and peered down the shoreline to where Kimbery was squatting beside a furry bulk on the sand.
It looked like a dead seal.
“See, Mama?”
Of course, Avril realized—Kimbery was pretending she was a selkie, so the dead seal must be her da. The lass had a vivid imagination. “I see!” A seal was indeed a good find. If it was freshly killed, its meat could keep their bellies full a long while. And she could make coats and slippers out of its fur. “I’ll be right there! Don’t touch it!”
A few more yards and she’d get a good look at whatever was floating off the point. If it wasn’t worth salvaging, she’d leave it be and see what she could get off the dead seal.
A broad wave caught the wood and turned it on its side. The instant she saw the design, her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach. A great round knob rose above the water. Painted on its surface in hues of red and blue was the face of a snarling dragon. It was the masthead of a longship.
Time slowed as she dropped her basket and turned toward Kimbery.
“Nay!” she screamed.
She picked up her skirts and tried to race across the beach, but the air suddenly felt heavy, and the sand dragged at her heels. Kimbery seemed impossibly distant and far too close to the body that Avril could see now was not a dead seal, but the remains of a man.
The bloody images of the berserker attack were as clear and fresh as that day five years ago...
Wild-eyed, axe-wielding giants bursting through the gates of Rivenloch, roaring and foaming at the mouth, hacking at everything in their path, smashing pottery, splitting furniture, slicing flesh...
The hounds’ yelps, cut off abruptly as their throats were slit...
The steward falling as his legs were cut out from under him...
A shrieking serving woman losing her arm...
One fleeing child axed in the back while another was trampled beneath heavy boots...
A young lass, frozen with fear, snatched up and carried off, never to be seen again...
It was happening again. The Northmen had returned. Avril staggered onto one knee.
Then she looked up at Kimbery, still yards away, and bit out a curse. She wouldn’t let the bastards have her daughter. She was no longer the innocent lass she’d been five years ago who’d become a victim of rape. She was prepared for them this time. Clenching her jaw in determination, she scrambled to her feet again and hurtled forward across the sand.
At last she reached Kimbery, sweeping her into her arms and clutching her so tightly that the wee lass squealed in complaint.
“Shh!” She spun, searching the boulders and clumps of sea grass lining the shore. The longship must have crashed in the storm. But what had become of its crew? Where were the dead man’s shipmates?
Everything seemed normal, undisturbed. Waves lapped at the beach, leaving arcs of foam. Gulls screed and soared ov
erhead. Crabs skittered over the rocks. No strange footprints marred the virgin stretch of sand.
“Mama,” Kimbery whimpered impatiently. “Put me down.”
“Hush.” Avril scoured the beach once more. The Vikings had come again. There was no mistaking the origin of the carved dragon’s head. But they weren’t here now. Either they’d bypassed her cottage and moved inland already, or their dead bodies would be washing ashore soon. But for now at least, it appeared she and Kimbery were safe.
“Maaaamaaa,” Kimbery whined.
She let Kimbery slip to the ground. The lass immediately skipped over to the dead man.
“Don’t touch him,” Avril repeated.
Kimbery crouched a few feet away from him, resting her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands, peering curiously into his face. “Is it my da?”
“Nay!” Avril replied, a little too vehemently, though she could see why the lass would think that. The man’s face was hidden behind strands of long blond hair that was the same pale color as Kimbery’s. He was covered in a cloak of seal fur, and his sealskin boots looked much like theirs. But there the resemblance ended. He was a giant, a head taller than any man she knew. His shoulders were broad and his feet huge. A silver cuff in a dragon design encircled one thick wrist, and hanging around his wide neck from a leather thong was a hammer of silver with foreign runes carved into it.
Thank God he was dead. His kind—the invaders from the North—were bloodthirsty, vicious, ruthless murderers.
She shuddered. Despite the value of all that silver, she had no desire to loot the corpse. She didn’t want to touch a Viking at all. Then she frowned in distaste. What would she do with the body? She didn’t want it rotting on her shore. She’d have to bury it, she supposed. It was a pity it wasn’t a beached seal. That much meat would have seen them through the winter.
Kimbery, flouting Avril’s instructions, picked up a club of driftwood and began nudging the man’s bloody shoulder. Avril shook her head. The lass might not openly disobey her by touching the dead man, but even at four years old, she had an annoying habit of stretching the rules as far as she could.