Avril, I love you...
Her heart in her throat, she relied on her feelings to guide her, riding through the night until she found him, lying in a clearing.
He was stretched out on his back, a black horse nearby, its reins trailing on the ground.
“God’s breath!” She jumped from her stallion’s back and rushed over to him. Sank down beside him in the drenched grass. He was garbed in a dark tunic and leggings and cloak, the garments soaked with rain.
He opened his eyes, a trace of a smile on his lips. “Heard... me,” he said weakly.
“Hauk.” She sobbed, leaning over him, touching his face. “How can you possibly be here—how long have you—”
“Seven...” he murmured, his lashes drifting closed. “Seven days.”
“Do you mean you have been away from Asgard for seven days?”
He did not respond.
“Hauk—”
“Thought it worked...” he whispered. “Did not... kill me. But may have been... wrong.”
Avril shook her head, unable to understand what he was talking about. She checked him for injuries, could not find any, save for a deep cut on his forehead. It seemed he had fallen from his horse.
She grasped his shoulders, felt anguished at how warm and solid and strong he felt, when she knew his life was ebbing from him. “Hauk, what can I do? There must be something I can do!”
“Saw you... one last time.” He looked up at her, his eyes glassy. Lifting one hand, he brushed his fingers over her cheek. “Worth it.”
“Hauk, nay—”
“Love you...” he whispered.
His arm fell back to the ground, limp, and his eyes closed.
“Nay!” she cried. Nay, she could not lose him, not again! Mercy of God, not again. She crumpled over him, wrapping her arms around him. Her cheek pressed against his chest, she held on tightly, as if by her will alone she could hold him here, with her.
And then she gasped in astonishment, in stunned relief.
His heart was still beating.
Even through the cloth of his tunic, she could hear it—steady and strong beneath her ear.
He was alive! She did not understand how it was possible, but he was not dead. Nor was he in the langvarig sovn trance he had said he could experience only on Asgard.
He was unconscious, his breathing even, his skin warm—too warm. Pressing a hand to his forehead, she realized he had a fever.
And an entirely different kind of fear shook her.
The first warm glimmers of sunset shimmered through the window, painting the bedchamber with shades of copper and gold, before his lashes finally lifted again. Avril exhaled shakily, felt as if she had been holding her breath all day. Sitting beside him on the bed, she brushed his damp hair back from his forehead, wanting to kiss him breathless, offer prayers of thanks for his life, and besiege him with questions all at once.
She settled for leaning down to kiss his bronzed cheek, relieved to find his skin no longer hot. She set aside the damp cloth she had used to try and cool his fever.
“Hauk, are you all right?” she whispered brokenly, all the tension and fear of this awful day spilling out of her.
He blinked up at her for a moment, as if uncertain she was real. Then he smiled. “Aye.” His voice was a dry whisper. He tangled his fingers through the loose strands of her hair, caressing her cheek. “Tired... but well.”
“You are not in any pain?”
“Nay.” He sounded surprised.
“Thank God.” Suddenly she was trembling. “Hauk, I cannot believe you are here. How is it possible? How long have you been away from Asgard? How is it that your—”
“Shhh, my little Valkyrie.” Burying his fingers in her hair, he drew her down to him for a kiss. “I am sorry that I frightened you so. I am not in any danger—”
“But last night you said you had been away seven days,” she sputtered. “Seven. And today makes eight.”
“Aye,” Hauk murmured, smiling as he tenderly kissed her tears away, a storm of emotions in his eyes. “It took time to find you. I first went to your beau-frère’s keep in the Artois, only to learn that the duc and his wife had escorted you here, to your home in Brittany, with your daughter—”
“Hauk, I do not understand.” She could not stop shaking. “How can you be here, with me, alive?”
“I am all right, Avril.” He pressed a finger to her lips, his smile deepening to reveal his straight white teeth and the dimples in his stubbled cheeks. “More than all right. I am free. As free as you are. Let me explain.”
Some time later, after he had told her everything, she sat staring at him through tear-filled eyes, too astonished and overjoyed and hopeful to speak.
“And that was when I fell from the saddle,” Hauk finished, frowning as he admitted it. “I had been feeling unwell all afternoon—dizzy and hot—and I became light-headed and fell. I feared mayhap the elixir had not changed me after all.”
“Hauk, I believe what you experienced is simply what we call the ague. It is what happens sometimes when one rides for long hours in a cold autumn rain.” Relief bubbled through her as she smoothed his tangled hair back from his forehead, smiling down at him. “It is quite common among us mortals.”
“I was eager to reach you, my love.”
“And I am afraid you will have a mark to show for it,” she told him reluctantly. “This cut on your forehead will take a while to heal, and it looks as if you may have a scar.”
He reached up to touch it, an odd smile playing around his lips. “A scar?”
“Pray do not sound so pleased,” she admonished. “I would greatly prefer that you not acquire any more.”
He laughed. “I will try, my love.”
“Hauk,” she said more seriously, “there is... there is something else that puzzles me. When you were out in the forest, hurt, I-I heard you somehow, calling to me—”
“From inside you, as if I were in your mind, your heart.”
“Aye,” she said in soft wonder, holding his gaze.
“I am not certain myself how it is possible, only that it is said that some men of Asgard share such a bond with their brides. Does it frighten you, little Valkyrie?” he asked gently.
“Nay.” Avril touched his face, her heart beating fast. “I... it only startled me. The way the dreams did. I—” She blushed, glancing down. “I had dreams of you, before we even met. Rather vivid dreams.”
“And I have dreamed of you, as well,” he said huskily, drawing her down onto the bed with him.
Their mouths met in a deep, lingering kiss.
“Hauk,” she said with a sigh as he nuzzled her cheek, her hair. “I am afraid I cannot stay in here much longer, or they will become suspicious.”
“They?”
“Celine and Gaston. They are waiting downstairs in the great hall.”
“Avril, you did not explain to them—”
“Nay, of course not,” she assured him. “I told them I happened upon an injured man—while I was out riding because I could not sleep—and like any good Samaritan, I brought you here to one of the guest bedchambers to heal.”
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, milady.” He chuckled.
“And yours, sir,” Avril returned with a grin. “But if I remain in here with you any longer, they will begin to realize I am much more to you than a concerned hostess.” She started to get up. “I have been informing them of your condition every now and then.”
“Tell them I will live—as long as you stay with me.” Smiling, he pulled her back down to sit beside him. “Tell them we once saw each other from afar, and I have traveled a great distance to find you because I knew I would love you forever. But do not go yet. First, I have something to ask of you.” His expression became serious. “We must still keep Asgard a secret, to protect everyone there.”
“Aye.” She nodded, warmed by his words and his touch.
“And I am afraid I must retract the other promise I asked of you.” He
smoothed her hair back from her face, drew her down for another kiss, murmuring against her mouth, “I do not wish for you to find another husband.”
“Oh?”
“Marry me again, Avril. In the tradition of your people. Let me love you, and take care of you and Giselle... and give you more children to love.”
Tears blurred her vision as she looked into his eyes, those pale-blue eyes like the sky lit by the sun’s hottest rays. “Aye. Oh, aye, Hauk Valbrand. I will marry you. Again.”
Another quick kiss gave way to long, slow kisses. And an embrace that made her body tingle in all its most sensitive places.
“Hauk,” she murmured, even as she melted down onto the bed with him, “I really should go and speak to Celine and Gaston...”
“Five minutes,” Hauk murmured hungrily, easing her onto her back, his hard body covering hers. “Only five minutes more.”
“You are most impatient.” She laughed, twining her arms around his neck. “For a man of three hundred.”
“Thirty,” he corrected lightly. “Here in your world, I am only thirty.”
She pulled him closer, filled with wonder and joy. “I think you will be very handsome, all craggy and silver-haired one day.”
“You will have a chance to find out, my love.” He grinned. “Now then, I believe I was about to make your dream come true.”
“You already have,” she whispered happily. “You already have.”
~ The End ~
An Asgard Island Glossary
Althing – traditional gathering ceremony for innfodt raiders and their utlending women
Althing-vellir – place where the althing ceremony is held
Eldrer – council of elders
Frigga – highest among the Norse goddesses, wife of Odin
God kveld – good evening
Havamal – ancient text offering advice to the young men of Asgard about how to please a wife and be a good husband
Hel – Hell in Norse mythology
Hjem – home
Hjerte – heart
Hneftafl – game of strategy played on a carved wooden board
Horde – small chest, used for holding valuables
Hund feig – cowardly dog
Innfodt – the native-born people of Asgard Island
Ja – yes
Jeg gjor – I will
Knorr – single-masted ship used for transporting cargo
Kvasir – a mysterious son of the gods, associated with wisdom and poetry
Langvarig sovn – the deepest sleep
Loki – dark god of lies and mischief
Mine – my
Nei – no
Odin – chief ruler among all the gods, powerful and wise
Sommer root – extracted juice of this plant can be used to induce sleep
Stille – peace, calm, quiet
Thor – god of the sky, thunder and lightning
Torque – a decorative band of metal worn around the neck
Tyr – god of war and bravery
Ulv – wolf
Utlending – foreigner
Vaer snill – please
Valhalla – Heaven in Norse mythology
Valkyries– fierce warrior maidens in the Norse myths
Vaningshus – longhouse, the most common type of dwelling on Asgard
Velkommen – welcome
Vokter – the peacekeeper, appointed by the eldrer to enforce the laws and serve as guardian of the island’s security
If you enjoyed this book,
try more in the Stolen Brides series by Shelly Thacker…
Prequel: His Stolen Bride
Book 1: Forever His
Book 2: His Forbidden Touch
Book 3: His Captive Bride
About Shelly
USA Today bestselling author Shelly Thacker has won numerous national awards and earned lavish praise from Publishers Weekly, The Atlanta Journal-Constitution, The Detroit Free Press and The Oakland Press, who have called her historical romance novels "innovative," "addictive," "erotic" and "powerful." Find out more at shellythacker.com
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The Pagan’s Prize
By Miriam Minger
Author’s Note
In the eleventh century, the country known today as Russia was called “Rus” by its inhabitants, and so they referred to themselves. The Rus called the Norsemen who came as mercenaries and traders to their land “Varangians,” meaning “pledge men,” for these fierce warriors obeyed an inviolable oath to defend their sworn leader to the death. The word “viking,” a name given to the Norsemen in later centuries, described a favorite activity of these bold and fearsome Varangians…“ adventuring in search of wealth.”
For now brother said to brother: “This is mine, and that is mine also,” and the princes began to say of little things, “Lo! this is a great matter,” and to forge discord among themselves.
“The Lay of the Host of Igor”
(S. Cross’s Translation)
Prologue
Novgorod, Rus Land,
April, A.D. 1024
“No, you cannot go! You stay with Semirah!”
Rurik Sigurdson smiled lazily at the pouting, sable-haired woman straddling his hips, her wet warmth sheathing that part of him that only moments before had throbbed in thunderous climax.
Of his six concubines, he favored this tempestuous Khazarian slave with her long white limbs, lilac-stained nipples, and flashing agate eyes. But he would never allow her to know his mind, or permit his attraction for her to grow beyond lust. He had learned long ago to put no faith in women, seeking only the carnal pleasure they could provide him.
“You have no say in the matter,” he said huskily, caressing Semirah’s slender thighs. Her pale skin, a startling contrast to his deeply bronzed hue, was as soft as swan’s down beneath his large, callused hands. “I leave at dawn.”
The woman’s chin jutted, her expression growing determined in the glow of an oil lamp placed near the richly carved bed. She touched her fingers to her breast as she leaned over him, her silky hair enveloping them like a gossamer ebony cloud. She laid her hand over his heart. “I go with you.”
Chuckling at the absurdity of her statement, Rurik drew her against his chest and rolled with her to one side, her lithe, coltish body molded to his powerful frame.
“Greedy wench.” He nuzzled her throat, her spicy citrus scent of bergamot and cedar exciting his senses. “Isn’t it enough that I summoned you to share this last night with me rather than one of the others?”
“Those women are cows,” came her petulant reply. “How could you not choose Semirah?” Draping a smooth leg over his thigh, she softened her voice, almost purring. “Take me with you, Lord Rurik. I want to please you, yet how can I if you go so far away?”
“Enough,” Rurik said firmly, his patience ended. He raised his head to look into her face. As his newest concubine, this exotic desert woman with her thick, honeyed accent had apparently not yet discerned what his other women already knew and accepted. He treated his concubines equally, granting none special favors. “Fetch us more wine, Semirah, and plague me no more with your demands. You will remain here like the others and wait patiently for my return.”
Despite the disappointment shining in her eyes, the slave woman said no more. Extricating herself from his embrace, she rose with athletic ease from the bed and sauntered across the room, her body gleaming white as alabaster, her trim bottom swaying with provocative exaggeration as if she wanted to emphasize what he would soon be missing.
By Thor, she was impertinent. Rurik smiled and felt his good humor return. Yet it was tempered by the memory of his meeting that morning with Grand Prince Yaroslav, his sworn lord, at the kreml, the citadel overlooking the city of Novgorod. Without the distraction of a warm, willing woman in
his arms, his thoughts turned easily to the gravity of the times and the secretive mission to which he had been entrusted.
“Not only has my brother Mstislav laid claim to my throne and invaded my realm with his warriors,” Yaroslav had blustered, the short, barrel-chested ruler pacing restlessly in front of Rurik, “he has now conquered Chernigov, one of my most prosperous trading cities, and established there what he calls his temporary throne! His arrogance knows no bounds! Does he truly believe that he can defeat me, the grand prince of all Rus Land?”
“Perhaps so,” Rurik had commented dryly. “It is rumored that Mstislav boasts of victory before the winter brings ice again to the rivers.”
“Never! He was nothing but a boy and a weakling when our father Vladimir sent him as viceroy to Tmutorokan. I always thought that southern city founded upon stinking swampland a fitting place for him to rule!”
“A weakling no longer, my prince, but a bold and calculating warrior who lusts for more than a swamp. While you fought your brother Sviatopolk for the Rus throne after your father’s death, Mstislav made no move but harbored his forces during those four long years of battle.”
“Yes, the coward! And while Sviatopolk, may his putrid corpse writhe in hell, murdered three of our brothers, Mstislav hid behind his palace walls among his women–”
“Shrewdly waiting,” Rurik interrupted, knowing that in his position of friend and trusted adviser, Yaroslav would not take offense. “He planned his strategy during these last five years of peace since your victory to strike against you now.”
“And so he has.” Yaroslav faced Rurik, who towered almost a foot above him. “You must go to Chernigov under a merchant’s guise and discover the strength of Mstislav’s forces. I’ve already sent a message to my northern allies, your King Olaf of Norway and to my wife’s father, the king of Sweden, asking them to send more Varangian mercenaries to bolster my army. When they arrive, we shall make our move, but until then I must know how many enemy warriors we face to better plan our attack. And if you can find out Mstislav’s battle plans without jeopardizing your guise, do so.”
Viking: Legends of the North: A Limited Edition Boxed Set Page 42