The Silken Cord

by Leigh Bale

  “Aye, cherie, He has. We have so much to be grateful for. I haven’t heard your laughter for a long time and I cherish the sound. After we’re wed, I’ll demand you laugh each day, so be warned.”

  “And I’ll gleefully comply, my lord.” She nuzzled his chin with her nose.

  He kissed her again, clasping her close to his heart.

  “I love you, Wulfgar,” she whispered against his lips.

  “And I love you, sweet princess. My heart is tied to yours. Even without chains, I’ll forever be your willing slave.”

  His eyes shone with the promise of joy to come. Ariana sighed with happiness. No longer would she live in fear. The silken cord of love had wrapped around both of their hearts, binding them more surely than iron chains. And she would have it no other way.

  THE END

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  Dear Reader:

  I love medieval romance. I can never get enough of it. The rich history, the gallantry and daring deeds. The hardship and intrigue. Perhaps the clothing and technology has changed from our day and age, but not the situations. World leaders still conspire for power and exercise unjust dominion over their people. Since I have a degree in history, I suppose it’s only natural that I would write some historicals along with my contemporary books. I hope you’ll enjoy both genres of my books.

  Enjoy!

  Leigh Bale

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  Discover other titles by Leigh Bale at Smashwords.com

  Visit Leigh Bale’s website at http://www.LeighBale.com

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  Excerpt from The Heart’s Warrior

  Chapter One

  Northern England, AD 954

  Death surrounded her, a gruesome specter threatening to consume them all. The stench of lifeless bodies filled the early morning air. Screams of men vibrated throughout the forest along with the ringing clash of swords. A chilling breeze swept the copse and the tall pines surrounding the glade shivered.

  Cold fear washed over Kerstin of Moere. She stood at the edge of the woods and stared at the carnage. Sweat trickled down her neck and forehead. Her knees wobbled and her arms shook with fatigue.

  The destroyer had come, not a dark heathen with fangs and cloven hooves, but a golden warrior, fighting in the thick of battle. He stood shoulders above the rest, broader with hardened muscles. He wielded his sword with the skill and strength of a berserker.

  He yelled orders to his men and they obeyed. His mighty sword gleamed crimson as he thrust and lunged. Several of Kerstin’s men surrounded him, seeking to cut him down. He hacked his way through one and sliced through another. Blood sprayed across his chain-mailed chest, spattering against a tree trunk to his right. As his muscled arms heaved, his shrill war cry vibrated in the air.

  The cry of death.

  Kerstin’s throat tightened at the grisly scene. She longed to look away, but could not. He must be stopped else all would be lost.

  With trembling hands, she reached over her shoulder and plucked a long, straight arrow from the quiver strapped to her back. Her metal helmet made it difficult to see, but it shielded her identity and protected her head. Raising her bow, she aimed it at the warrior. His wide back made an easy target. Drawing back her arm, she let the arrow fly.

  The thin head of the shaft pierced through a link of his mail and buried deep in his left shoulder. He didn’t scream at the impact, but grunted.

  Pity that her aim had been poor, but her arms were weary from firing arrows at the enemy.

  The man whirled, a snarl on his lips. His gaze stabbed her, marking her for death. With little concern, he snapped the shaft off, leaving the head embedded in his shoulder. Did he feel no pain?

  He continued to slash his way toward her, his gaze leaving her long enough for him to slaughter any foe that stepped into his path. Kerstin’s men had little chance against his greater strength and a blaze of panic shot up from her toes. He would cut her down if he reached her.

  Knut, one of Kerstin's best, turned in time to see the threat. Having been her protector since her mother’s death a year earlier, Knut placed his own large frame in front of her and yelled over his shoulder. “Flee! We have lost the advantage and it’s only a matter of time before we are beaten.”

  Kerstin couldn’t move. Her feet were leaden with despair. She couldn’t abandon her men. Instead, she stared at the demon warrior as his burly shoulders flexed beneath his chain mail.

  He was coming for her.

  Terror clogged her throat. This man showed no mercy.

  “Warn our people,” Knut said. "Your father will carve the blood eagle in my back if I let anything happen to you."

  He pushed her around to face the dense foliage of the forest. With a mighty shove, he thrust her toward the sheltering trees.

  “Go,” he roared.

  She ran. With her bow clutched in her fist, she sprang through the forest, ignoring tree limbs and branches that snatched at her as she passed. Her long shirt of chain mail slapped against her knees, hampering her flight. Tripping, she crashed hard upon the ground, her heart pumping.

  Lying in the dirt, she tried to catch her breath. Her lungs burned and her calf muscles cramped, but she had no time to tarry. She must warn the women, children and the old ones. Kerstin came to her knees, wiped her bleeding hands against her woolen hose, then picked up her bow where she had dropped it. As she placed one foot beneath her to stand, she heard a crashing behind her. Whirling, she saw the demon warrior plunging through the forest, moving at an alarming rate.

  She gasped. Knut must be dead. Slain by this monster.

  As she sprang to her feet, her heart lurched with grief. She raced through the woods, veering uphill, away from her home. Never would she lead this heathen to Moere, but she must find a way to outwit him before he caught her.

  Dodging hanging branches, she swooped over fallen logs. She glanced over her shoulder and saw him gaining fast. Relentless in his pursuit, he didn’t bother to push tree limbs aside as he charged after her. His heavy chain mail and helmet didn’t hinder him at all. Clutching his bloody sword in his hand, he yelled with fury, like an evil fiend from the netherworld.

  Twice, she evaded his grasp. For all his enormous size, he moved fast and light on his feet, his heavy breathing now at her back. Something brushed against her neck. His sword!

  With a fresh spurt of speed, she dipped around a tall pine. He hurtled after her. She couldn’t lose him.

  He knocked her to the ground. He was on her. Screaming with terror, she lay upon her stomach, her face pressed into the dirt. Bracing her hands beneath her, she tried to rise, but he flattened her again. Her skin crawled, awaiting the sharp bite of his sword.

  Oh, please, God. Don’t let him kill me.

  She rolled to press a frontal attack, kicking and biting. He straddled her with his great thighs, his chain mail leggings digging into her hips. He tried to grasp her flailing hands. Had he dropped his sword? Why didn’t he kill her? He had plenty of opportunity.

  Their scuffling knocked his helmet from his head. His fierce gaze clashed with hers, blue as the ocean on a clear day.

  If he subdued her, he would kill her. She clawed at his face. He knocked her hands away with a stinging blow and she sank her teeth into his hand.

  “Cease,” he roared.

  He struck a blow to her helm, knocking it from her head. As her long hair fell about them, the man grunted with surprise and his grip loosened.

  “A woman?”

  Kerstin took the advantage and clouted his head, knocking him backward. Now was her chance. She scrambled from beneath him, but he recovered and grabbed hold of her ankle, jerking her back.

  Clawing the ground, her fingernails filled with earth. She scooped up dirt and threw it into his eyes. The man roared with fury and she tensed, ready to duck a blow from one of his hammerlike fists. Instead, he lay against her, holding her wrists to the ground. She lunged upward, meeting the solid wall of his chest. She couldn’t move, nor barely breathe. Her skin pric
kled. Terror screamed inside her mind.

  “Hold still, woman.” His deep voice shook her.

  Tears burned the backs of her eyes and she swallowed, refusing to let them fall. Her brothers had taught her to be strong and she wouldn’t disappoint them now.

  His breath whispered across her lips, his chilling eyes crinkled with curiosity. Drawing back, he studied her, his voice like thunder. “Why would a woman battle amongst the men?”

  She jutted her chin. “I came to fight for my people. If you plan to kill me, have mercy and get it over with.”

  An evil chuckle shook his chest. “Nay, I have other uses for such as you.”

  Even subdued, his suggestion outraged her.

  “How dare you? You’ll have naught of me,” she vowed and shook her head.

  He peered at her chain mail and hose, as if amused by her man’s garb. “Why did your men attack? We were on a peaceful mission.”

  “Hah,” She snorted. “When has a Sigurdsson ever sought peace? You’re dressed for war.”

  “We are dressed for protection.”

  “Oh? And I suppose you also sought peace a sennight ago when your men raided our flocks and killed my youngest brother. Your presence in our hills can only be taken as a sign of hostility. You can’t blame us for attacking.”

  He frowned. “I find it difficult to believe your men take orders from a mere girl. Yet, they followed your command.”

  Pride enveloped her. “They are loyal.”

  “Loyal to their death.”

  “You could have sailed up the river, where we would’ve seen you. Instead, you hid your ships and landed behind my father’s steading. If you came in peace, you should’ve sent us word you were here.”

  “Your father?” He tilted his head to one side, his brows quirked. His mouth tightened, his entire body tensing against hers.

  “The Witch of Moere,” he whispered in a scathing tone.

  Kerstin cringed. With her foolish babbling, she had given away her identity.

  “You are Kerstin of Moere, are you not?”

  She froze. Dare she deny it?

  His eyes narrowed. “With your cheeks smudged with dirt, you look like a puling boy.”

  It had been her intent to pass as a lad to hide her identity, but pride got the better of her. “I am no puling boy.”

  His deep laughter filled the air, cold and hollow. “Nay, you are all woman. Your eyes aren’t blue, like most Vikings, but green as the damp moss that covers the trunks of pine. I’ve heard you’re Irish.”

  She locked her jaw. “My mother was from Eyre.”

  His brows lowered in an ominous scowl. “Is she the one who taught you the black arts of witchcraft?”

  Breathless with anger, she shook her head. “Of course not. She taught me the ways of healing.”

  “Your people say you practice magic and you’re a witch, but I don’t believe such foolishness. I think you’re a silly girl who likes to fight with men.”

  “Let me up.” She clenched her teeth. “I’ll show you what a silly girl can do with her bow and arrows.”

  He flexed his injured shoulder, flinching at the pain it caused. “You’ve already shown me your skill. I should kill you and be done with it.”

  Her throat closed.

  Releasing one of her hands, his fingers skimmed along the column of her throat. She tried to hit him but he leaned hard against her, stifling her fight. Swallowing heavily, her gaze never wavered as she glared at him. She was the daughter of a great earl and would not beg for mercy.

  A deep sigh whispered past his lips and he spoke as if to himself. “We hid our ships so an Eiriksson spy might not discover them. Though your people have long feuded with mine, we’ve come to form an alliance and put aside our differences. The king wants us to unite with him against the Eiriksson’s.”

  She didn’t believe him. Perhaps he was an Eiriksson, one of those heathens who murdered her mother last summer.

  His frosty glare clashed with hers. Even faced with his rage, she could not retreat. Her people must be kept safe. Already he had the advantage. What more must she relent?

  “You’re lying.”

  “You question my word?” he asked.

  “I have no reason to believe you.”

  “Be very careful, witch. Your treachery is well known. I won’t play games with you.”

  His warning made her tremble. “I never play games of war, but I would like to know who you are before I end your life.”

  As he lowered his sculpted mouth to gently graze hers, she tried to bite him. Drawing back, he laughed, a rumble she felt deep in her bones.

  “I think you’re in no position to make threats,” he said.

  Kerstin placed the sharp point of her dagger against his throat and he froze. When he had released her hand, she had taken advantage of the opportunity. Her father and brothers taught her well.

  “I underestimated you,” he confessed with a hint of respect.

  “It would be wise for you to let me go.”

  Dipping his head as if cowed, he raised his chest to release her. She gave a satisfied smile and started to sit up. In the next moment, he knocked the blade from her hand and pinned her once again to the ground.

  His hearty laughter brought a rush of anger to her cheeks. Her hand throbbed from the blow and her face burned with annoyance. As he lowered his face to hers, his dazzling blue eyes sparkled with wrath.

  She jerked her head away. “My father will kill you for this.”

  His probing gaze roamed over her, touching her face, hair, neck and chest. “I don’t think so. Our king has sent me here on a mission of peace, not war.”

  She frowned at this news. “Again, you’re lying.”

  He drew back, but not enough to allow her an escape. Crinkling his nose, he sniffed, then nuzzled her temple. “Your hair smells of lavender.”

  Shocked, Kerstin didn’t think to struggle until he lifted his head again. Did he seek to distract her with nonsense?

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  He showed a chilling smile. “Your new husband. By the king’s word, ere this day is through, you will belong to me.”

  Outrage flooded her mind. It couldn’t be true. Never would she be trapped into wedding this horrible man. “I’m already betrothed to Elezer of Lade.”

  “No longer. The betrothal is broken and you are mine.”

  Her mouth dropped open and she stuttered over a denial. “But ... but that can’t be. Will you get off me?”

  He stilled, considering her. “If you run, I’ll catch you. Will you give your word not to try to escape?”

  “Only while the sun is high.” Thankfully the sun would soon slide behind the western hills.

  He squashed her once more and she groaned at his solid weight, like a wagonload of rocks. “I cannot accept that.”

  She grit her teeth. “I won’t promise more.”

  For a moment, he hesitated. Then, he lifted himself off her and watched as she took a deep breath. Her bow lay close by in the pine needles littering the ground and he positioned himself so she couldn’t reach it without going through him.

  He was a shrewd one.

  She faced him bravely, ignoring the dirt and leaves clinging to her hair. “Why did you spare my life?”

  The wind blew her curls about her shoulders. She pushed them back and looked at him boldly. He stood close by, easily within reach.

  “I thought you were a boy. I don’t murder women and helpless children.”

  Should she be pleased or insulted? “I’m not helpless and I’m certainly no child.”

  His gaze lowered over her body and she felt the heat of a blush rise to her cheeks. “Aye, you are a woman, though it’s hard to tell in your present attire.”

  The man’s long hair stirred in the breeze, the color of ripe wheat at summer’s end. He wore no beard like the other warriors, his lean cheeks high and chiseled. Golden and bronzed, his brutally handsome face appeared angular and harsh.


  Kerstin watched as he bent and picked up his sword from where he had tossed it upon the ground. The slim weapon bore the signature of Ulfberht, the blacksmith from Germany, one of the finest blades Kerstin ever saw. Many a man would covet that sword, and no doubt much rich coin purchased it.

  He reached for his helmet and held it beneath one arm, his gaze never leaving her. When he sheathed his sword, she breathed with relief.

  The scent of rain teased her nostrils. A storm was coming and she must get home.

  His sardonic smile showed even, white teeth. Though his alert gaze remained on her, he gave her a deep courtly bow. “At last we meet, Kerstin of Moere.”

  His words brought a thud of dread to her chest. She looked at him with curiosity, feeling as though she should know him. There was something vaguely familiar about him. Her heart pounded. Had the king truly sent him to marry her? How absurd.

  The crooked length of his nose showed it had obviously broken before. His blunt jaw gave him an arrogant look. A thin, white scar ran along his left cheek. Did he have other scars won in battle? Aye, he was indeed a man of war.

  Above them, clouds gathered in the heavens. He glanced up, his face grim. “Odin must be angry.”

  She shook her head. “I am a Christian, like my mother. I don’t believe in the pagan gods of my father.”

  He snorted.

  “You haven’t told me who you are. I’d like a name to place you with.” She spoke in a tight voice, eager to run home and tell her father what had occurred.

  “In time. For now, I wish to know why Alrik sent his only daughter to meet me in battle. Are all your brothers dead?”

  Her youngest brother died less than a sennight ago, killed by one of this man’s warriors. The memory was still raw and a tremor of pain washed over her. “My father and two of my brothers yet live.”

  “Why aren’t they here? Do they hide behind your skirts?” His brows quirked as he looked at her calves. “Such nice legs. Do you prefer woolen hose to a skirt?”