A Most Peculiar Season Series Boxed Set: Five Full-length Connected Novels by Award-winning and Bestselling Authors

by Michelle Willingham

  It wasn’t that at all. She’d tried, truly she had. But with no means of proving herself to be the viscountess, she’d lost everything. “I don’t think there’s anything you can do.”

  “You are wrong. Hundreds of men obeyed my rule in Rogaland. I went on many raids and defeated countless enemies.” He spoke with such confidence, he was beginning to sway her common sense. She had already tried everything else in her power.

  This man claims he’s a thousand-year-old Viking. You’re losing your wits if you think he can help you.

  “You don’t believe in magic or traveling through time,” she chided. “It’s not real.”

  “I do not know what is real anymore,” he said, his arms closing around her. “But you are real. And so is this.”

  His mouth drifted across her lips in the barest kiss, tempting her to open. She tasted the warm breath of his mouth, the sleek length of his tongue as he invaded her. In the darkness, every touch was intensified, and she did not know what he would do next.

  “Do you deny that I am real?” His hands moved down her spine, drawing her hips to his. Against her body, she felt the length of his desire, and between her legs, she softened to it, wanting him.

  “I don’t know you,” she whispered, as his mouth came down over her throat, his hands rising to fill with her breasts. A shuddering gasp caught in her throat as he stroked the tips, reminding her of how he’d given her such pleasure.

  “But you are no maiden. And I find myself wanting to be inside you again.” To illustrate his words, he slid himself against her, the hard ridge evoking the instinctive needs she couldn’t deny.

  “Please don’t,” she whispered.

  “You try my patience, woman. Already you have shared my bed. Why do you resist what I know you need?” His hand moved against her gown, sliding beneath it until he was stroking her thigh.

  She was wet and aching for him. If she asked it of him, she didn’t doubt he would have her against the back wall, filling her up with rigid thrusts. Her breasts were tight, and when he cupped her intimately, she tightened her thighs around his hand.

  “I can feel what you want, Juliana,” he said, his mouth moving back to her lips. With two fingers, he entered her, and a dark moan escaped her. Gently, he tantalized her with his thick fingers, moving deep inside. She closed her eyes, unable to breathe as he coated his fingers with her essence, his thumb exerting pressure upon her hooded flesh. “Let me take you there.”

  Was this how a courtesan felt before taking a lover? This sense of desperate need, while her mind and body warred with one another? Her fingers dug into his shoulders, but she forced herself to back away from him.

  “Don’t touch me,” she whispered. “I cannot forget that I am another man’s wife. And I can’t forget what’s important right now.” Slowly, she drew his hand out from beneath her skirts, struggling to catch her breath. “You may sleep on the floor within my house. But not in my bed.”

  She could feel the silent frustration from him, the words he would not say. He was as aroused as she was, and at the moment, he was dangerous, feral in his wild desire.

  “There will come a time, Juliana of Arthur, when you will beg to share my bed.” But he made no move to seize her or take her against her will.

  And she feared very much that he was right.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ARIK FOUND HIMSELF aboard a large ship, the vessel tossing upon the sea as a violent storm shredded the sails. He heard himself calling out orders to his men, in a strange language.

  Juliana’s language.

  Such could not be possible. He knew not her words, nor could he speak them. But he gripped the mast, the rain pouring over him. He saw his men swept overboard by vicious waves, and he prayed for mercy in that language.

  Lord, save me. Give me another chance to live, and bring me home.

  The waves quieted, and the blood-red moon slid out from beneath a cloud. The world slipped into stillness, and he felt the breath of fear pass over him.

  He thought he heard the whisper of a woman’s voice on the wind. Her words summoned him, and he felt his spirit being ripped free of his body.

  Arik bolted upright and found himself lying on the floor of the house. His skin was frigid, and his mind was reeling from a tangle of thoughts he didn’t understand. Images roared through him, memories that didn’t belong to this life. Madness was descending upon him, and he fought it with every breath.

  “Did you have a bad dream?” a boy’s voice asked.

  Arik glanced up and curled his hands into a fist. Once again, he’d understood the boy’s words. The response came to his lips, though he hardly trusted what he was saying. “Yes. A nightmare.”

  The boy sat down beside him, and in the dim glow of the firelight, he saw the child smile. Harry reached out his hand and the small fingers curled against his. “It’s all right. I’m here.”

  The gentle response was one Juliana had likely given Harry over the years, but this child’s simple trust rocked him to his very soul. They were strangers, and yet the boy was offering him comfort.

  He squeezed the child’s hand, and the boy added, “I’m glad you’re talking now. Do you want another blanket? I could give you mine.”

  Arik stood, still holding the boy’s hand. He wanted to push back at the foreign presence within his mind that comprehended these strange words. It was like having another spirit dwelling within him. He could not know if it was a benevolent god helping him or whether it was madness drawing him under.

  “Go back to sleep, boy,” he said quietly, guiding the child to the small bed that pulled out from beneath his mother’s. He helped the boy get under the covers and tucked him in, smoothing his hair back. Harry smiled at him, before closing his eyes.

  He understood why Juliana would fight for this child. Why she would sacrifice everything to give him a better home and a better life. He would do the same, were he in her position.

  Although he did not know what had summoned him across time, he believed their lives were intertwined with his.

  And somehow he would save them.

  Arik stared at the red stone fortress before him and it was clear why Juliana wanted it back. The structure was massive, a fortification that stood tall above the landscape with ivy curling up the side. There was no ditch to keep out invaders, nor were there guards posted—only a large gate to prevent enemies from attacking. The road led up the hillside and curved around the front of the fortress. It had taken them two days of traveling on horseback to reach it, and he was well pleased by the sight of the dwelling.

  “This is Hawthorne House,” she explained, still speaking in Norwegian. Arik had already decided not to tell her that he was beginning to understand her Anglo-Saxon words, for he hardly trusted the strange language. “I lived here after my marriage to William.” Upon Juliana’s face, he saw the wistful longing, as if she missed this place.

  “Was he a king, then?” Arik guessed.

  She smiled and shook her head. “No. Only a viscount, and he was never good with money. He inherited a large sum from his father and spent it as he pleased. He also traveled a great deal on the Continent.” A shadow crossed her face, and she folded her hands. “He never returned, and they searched for many years before declaring his brother guardian of the lands. Marcus is now the acting viscount, according to the law, unless William returns.”

  “Do you want your husband to be dead?”

  She crossed her arms, and tightened her cloak around her. “I don’t want him to come back, if that’s what you mean. But I want Harry to inherit what belongs to him. This property, along with another in London, should be entailed to him. Not Marcus, William’s younger brother.”

  “And this... Marcus... was the one who removed you from your home.”

  She nodded. “He told me that he’d allowed me to stay far longer than he should have, for the sake of my son. But once the lands were declared to be under his guardianship, he ordered me to go. I think it was because he will b
e married soon. His wife may wish to live here.”

  He didn’t miss the dismay upon her face. Whether or not she would admit it, Juliana missed this home. He could see it in the way she drank in her surroundings, and in the way she walked the land with a sense of ownership.

  Arik kept within the trees but moved toward the outer perimeter. “Where are the servants and guards for this place?”

  “There’s supposed to be a land steward and a small staff, but I don’t know where they are now. Until Marcus returns, most of his servants will remain with him in London.”

  “Then there are few people to defend it?”

  Her eyes narrowed, as if she could guess his thoughts. “At the moment. But we can’t simply walk in and take possession of the house. Someone would find out, and I would be guilty of trespassing.” She shook her head and admitted, “I shouldn’t have let you bring me here. I don’t know how you talked me into it, except that I didn’t know what else to do.”

  He ignored her doubts and continued, “If the house rightfully belongs to your son, then it is not trespassing.”

  “I have no means to prove it. I’m still searching for the evidence.” She followed him along the property boundaries, both of them remaining out of view from anyone who might see them. “But when I find it, I will reclaim this property for Harry.”

  Arik inspected the land surrounding the house, searching for any threat. There did not seem to be any outward danger, which made him even more wary. A property of this wealth would never stand unprotected.

  “I am going to take a closer look,” he told Juliana. “Wait here.”

  “But you don’t have to—”

  He touched a finger to her lips. “Do not fear for me.” He’d gone on enough raids to recognize danger when he spied it. The house appeared abandoned from what he could see.

  With a sword in his hand, he strode to the iron gates and examined them. The craftsmanship was like nothing he’d seen before, as was the lock that bound them. When he attempted to break it open with the hilt of his sword, the gates held fast. Yet, there was nothing to prevent him from climbing over them.

  “Mr. Thorgrim—truly, you needn’t do this.”

  Still she refused to call him by his name. He ignored her words, sheathing his weapon. A gnarled walnut tree rested nearby, and he climbed up, moving across the tallest branch to drop over the tall hedge that grew beside the entrance. Keeping his back to the hedge, he sniffed the air for the evidence of a hearth fire. There was nothing, save the cool winter air.

  Silence hung over the property, making him more confident about entering the grounds. He continued along the path of crushed rock leading toward the house. A curved staircase led up to the doors, and he spied elaborate handles upon each. He touched one, astounded at such symmetry. He pulled the handle, but the door wouldn’t budge.

  With the hilt of his sword, he pounded on the wood, demanding entrance. The low thud echoed in the stillness, but no one came to the door. He kept his sword ready, listening hard for any sound, while his other hand rested upon his battle-ax. He narrowed his gaze upon the door, wondering whether he should attempt to hack at the wood with his ax, when he heard footsteps from behind him.

  He spun with his sword, prepared to swing, when he saw Juliana standing a few paces away. “Wait.” She hurried forward, and he saw that the gates in the distance were now open.

  He sheathed the weapon. “How did you get inside?”

  A guilty look passed over her. “I used the keys. I tried to tell you, but you weren’t listening to me.” She withdrew a narrow iron key and showed it to him. With an apologetic look, she added, “Also, I wanted to stable the horses and ensure that no one was here before I joined you. But you needn’t chop the door down.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest while she slid a different key into the keyhole. The door unlocked, and she pressed down on the handle, pushing the door open.

  The interior smelled of dust, as if no one had set foot inside the dwelling for months. “When did you leave?” he asked Juliana.

  “Last summer. Marcus came and escorted me out, but I kept a key that he didn’t know about.” She rubbed her shoulders against the chilly interior, walking through one room, then the next. “I thought he would have been here by now, but it seems he must have had a reason to stay in London during the winter.” She frowned, adding, “And it doesn’t seem that the servants took very good care of Hawthorne House.”

  The space was dizzying in its vastness. Arik had never been inside a fortress of this size before, and as he followed her through the rooms, he saw foreign objects that he didn’t recognize. With every step, he grew more wary of his environment. Uneasiness crept beneath his skin, and he gripped his battle-ax.

  Juliana walked over to a tall wooden box, adjusting some weights and twisting a metal object across the numbered face. He passed by the strange object, and when a loud gong resounded from within it, he swung his ax without thinking.

  The blade bit into the rectangular structure, which continued to make loud noises. He lifted his weapon, prepared to swing again, when Juliana gave a cry of alarm.

  “It’s a grandfather clock, Thorgrim. Nothing more.” She let out a dismayed sigh as he lowered the ax.

  He didn’t know what a “clock” was, but the wooden structure was making a ticking sound that unnerved him. Everything, from the soft carpet beneath his feet to the elaborate textiles upon the furnishings, made him more aware that he was no longer within his own time. He knew nothing of this world, not even what was dangerous or what was safe. How could he even hope to protect Juliana when he didn’t understand anything about this place?

  When he had been inside Juliana’s home, the interior had reminded him of his own dwelling. Simple and unadorned, with only a bed pallet and a hearth, along with a few belongings.

  But this... this was too much.

  His head ached, trying to absorb it all. The floor coverings were woven in a rare pattern, likely from the lands far to the East. Silver candlesticks rested upon furnishings, and he spied a large object with a panel of white and black rectangular pieces. When he touched one, it let out a high-pitched musical sound.

  He sat down in a chair, his gaze stony, while he fastened the ax at his waist. Tall glass windows let in the light, and the grim morning clouds reflected his mood.

  “Are you all right?” Juliana asked.

  He could give her no answer. She moved closer, studying him with concerned eyes. He could smell her skin, and the floral aroma pulled him back to her. Though he could not understand what was happening, or why he’d been brought here, he reached for her hand and gripped it.

  “You’re cold,” she said, rubbing his hand with hers. “Are you not feeling well?”

  “I’ve never seen a place such as this,” he admitted. “With objects that make noises and wealth greater than a king’s.”

  She stared at him, and likely she believed he’d gone soft in the head. She couldn’t accept that a soul could travel across time. Nor had he truly believed it until now, when he was faced with so many unusual objects.

  He drew Juliana between his knees, just holding her hands. She was his anchor to the world, steadying him through this terrible dream.

  “Perhaps we should return to my father’s house,” she suggested.

  Inwardly, he wanted to, but that was a coward’s path. He couldn’t allow his own fears to dominate what must be done. “Not yet. Show me the rest.”

  She led him through a labyrinth of rooms, and as they walked, he noticed her graceful movement and the way she held herself like a queen. This was why the gods had brought him to her. Juliana of Arthur had fallen from her throne, and her son would be heir to these lands.

  But there was one door she did not open. She started to turn around, but he paused. “What lies inside that chamber?”

  “My husband’s room,” she admitted. “It has a connecting door to mine, but I see no reason to go inside.” There was a darkness upon her face,
the look of a woman who had experienced pain. Without asking for her permission, Arik approached the door and opened it.

  The interior smelled as if it had not been aired out in years, and a thin layer of dust covered the furnishings. Juliana followed him with reluctance. She opened one of the large window coverings, coughing as she did so.

  Morning sunlight spilled into the room. A large bed stood in the center, carved of wood with four posts rising toward the ceiling and a canopy. The floor was covered with a softer woven carpet, and he bent to touch it with his hands.

  She indulged him, though he could tell she wanted to be out of this room immediately. Color flushed upon her face, and she remained over by the window, far away from the bed. Arik stood and went to touch one of the wooden posts. It was beautifully carved, with grooves etched in the wood and the image of leaves near the base. The bed covering, though dusty, was soft and warm. He sat upon the mattress, his weight sinking it down, and he imagined what it would be like to sleep in such luxury. His own home boasted little more than a pallet upon the floor, though he’d had dreams of one day owning a bed like this.

  “You’ve seen his room,” Juliana said, starting to close the window coverings. “I think we should go back. Someone might find us and—”

  “You said you did not share his room. Why?” If Juliana had been his bride, they would share a room and only one bed. He couldn’t fathom why a husband might send his wife to sleep elsewhere. It was unnatural.

  “William did not believe it was proper.” Her face turned crimson, and she started toward the door. “He visited me in my room, and sometimes he ordered me to come to his. I left afterward.”

  “Did he hurt you?” Arik saw her stiffen as her hand reached the door.

  “N-no.”

  “I don’t believe you.” He remained on the bed, watching the excuses form upon her lips.

  “I obeyed him, as a good wife should.” She kept her back turned, and he suspected she didn’t want to reveal the emotions she was holding back. Most of the happily married women he’d known had smiled and blushed at the mention of joining with their husbands. But not Juliana.