by Tami Dee
Mists of Time Viking Series
Book One
Under a Viking Moon
By:
Tami Dee
Desert Breeze Publishing, Inc.
24303 Walnut St, Ste C
Newhall, CA 91321
http://www.DesertBreezePublishing.com
Copyright © 2009 by Tami Dee
ISBN 10: 1-936000-26-1
ISBN 13: 978-1-936000-26-5
Published in the United States of America
Publish Date: June 1, 2009
Editor-In-Chief: Gail R. Delaney
Cover Artist: Jenifer Ranieri
Cover Art Copyright by Desert Breeze Publishing, Inc © 2009
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information retrieval and storage system without permission of the publisher.
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Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination, or are used in a fictitious situation. Any resemblances to actual events, locations, organizations, incidents or persons – living or dead – are coincidental and beyond the intent of the author.
Mists of Time Viking Series
Under a Viking Moon - June 2009
Dawn of a Viking Sunrise - January 2010
Beyond a Viking Horizon - August 2010
Through a Viking Mist - March 2011
Dedication
My family has offered support, faith, and undying encouragement to me, always. Without them, this book would have never been written.
Thank you, family.
A very special thank you to Carol A. Dunn and Paula McEwee, two of the most patient, caring critique partners a girl could ask for. They made my dyslexia a non-issue with their careful reading and kind spelling corrections. (Over and over again)
Thank you, ladies.
There are familiar names in the romance arena who always took the time to answer my e-mails and cheer me on as I strove to write, then seek, publication. A special thank you goes out to Lois Greiman, Jess Dee, Lynn Kurland, Sandra Hill, Christina Dodd, and Amanda Quick.
Your e-mails keep me trying.
I would like to dedicate this book to readers everywhere who love the idea of falling in love, and are not afraid to look outside their own Time to find it.
For, after all, Time has no boundaries.
Enjoy, readers.
Prologue
Northwest shore of Iceland
900 AD
Katla Rollodottir stood alone upon the damp sand at the cove's edge. The crisp, sea-scented breeze lifted her long braid from her back and her intricately embroidered linen skirt billowed about her ankles.
Gazing apprehensively towards the approaching ship carrying her betrothed, her breath caught. Even at this distance, Leif Nabboddrson, a mighty jarl and wealthy land baron was a magnificent sight to behold.
He stood facing the shore -- facing her -- tall and proud at the bow of his Drakkars, his golden, waist length locks gleaming as brightly as the rays of sun that suddenly burst through the clouds.
Mine.
Katla heard the claim as it drifted over the lapping waters of the shallow cove as clearly as though he had spoken close to her ear. The word brought terror to her heart.
Although she was not close enough to see the eyes of her intended, Katla felt the heat of his steady gaze upon her. She had not seen him since she was a child, before her father had taken his family and several hundred warriors abroad to conquer Iceland.
Her bottom lip trembled, and she pulled it between her teeth to still it. Leif had grown into a formidable looking man. She had no trouble imaging that he would be a deadly enemy.
Her eyes strayed to her father's two fully manned Drakkars flanking Leif's vessel. With arrogance typical of those in a high position, Jarl Leif accepted the heavily armed escort of three-hundred warriors accompanying his wedding party as an honor and his right.
That acceptance would prove to be a fatal error in judgment.
The dark thought sent a chill through her that touched her very soul.
She clenched her hands into tight fists as apprehension gripped her. Events progressed just as planned.
A wave of panic and regret washed over her. Perhaps she should not have been so quick to listen to the words of a slave, but she had been desperate for a reprieve from her father's command to marry Leif, for he was not the one she loved. And then, too, the slave's plan had seemed so simple when spoken in secret.
From the safety of her shoreline vantage point, Katla watched as her father's warriors boarded Leif's long boat. She heard the shouts of Leif's men as the guards who were supposed to ensure safe passage boarded their vessel.
The sound of sword meeting sword rang in the crisp air. Leif was rushed by at least twenty warriors and pinned to the deck by as many hands. Katla knew they needed him alive, for now at least. She could only imagine the fury that must be coursing through his vibrant warrior's body as, helpless to assist them, he was forced to watch the slaughter of his men.
The screams of the wounded and dying reached her ears in an unnerving symphony of pain and anguish. Brightly painted shields lined the outside railing of the vessel, out of reach and useless to Leif's men. The slaughter was horrid. Leif's men fought fiercely, but the opposing numbers overwhelmed them and, one by one, they fell.
The minutes it took to complete the siege became hours to Katla. Then, finally, she saw a row boat moving steadily towards her through the cresting waves. It was time for her to be escorted to the now shamed and beaten warrior.
Katla barely noticed the ocean spray that misted her face as one of the men who attacked Leif's men rowed her to her betrothed's ship. She barely acknowledged the strong arms that helped her to board it. The scent of blood thickened the air, suffocating her. Bile burned her throat and guilt threatened to envelop her. Willing herself to remain calm, she stopped before the bloody and bruised jarl that would have been her husband.
As three warriors jerked him to his feet, she saw the corded bands of his muscles strain against the leather straps used to bind him. Blood spilling from his split lip made a crimson path into the thick, coarse hair of his golden beard, its winding journey holding her fascinated attention while at the same time sickening her.
She forced her gaze away from his battered lip to meet his eyes and saw loathing churn within their piercing blue depths. His anger swirled around her as if it were a tangible being set to consume her. Katla shuddered under its force and averted her eyes.
Images of the dead seared her vision. A severed forearm twitched at her foot, the constricting muscles causing the fingers of its hand to open and close, as if seeking something to cling to before becoming forever stilled.
Moans of the injured and dying burned her ears. Chaos and destruction surrounded her. And death. And she was responsible for it all.
Hearing a scream she spun to watch, horrified, as Scipio's men systematically plunged their swords into the hearts of Leif's seriously injured, defeated warriors before pushing their bodies into the sea.
For now, the dead littering the deck were ignored.
M
eanwhile the victorious warriors shouted out commands as the defeated men who were still whole were bound and herded onto Scipio's vessel. They would, she knew, become prisoners of war... slaves. They would never see their homeland or families again.
Shame surged through her, but she had gone too far to turn back now.
"It is time for you to perform the ceremony, priest," Scipio commanded from across the deck.
She raised troubled eyes towards the warrior she loved more than life itself, the man her father -- Jarl Rollo -- had vehemently forbidden her to marry for reasons he refused to explain.
Reason and good judgment were lost within the folds of her heart's desperation. Katla took him as her lover, despite the threat of severe punishment upon both of them if discovered. A discovery that was sure to come to pass as the child growing in her womb continued to develop.
She flinched as Scipio shoved the unwilling man of God across the slippery deck with the hilt of his sword until he stood in front of Leif.
Surely the priest's Christian God will punish me for this travesty. If he didn't, Katla knew it would only be a matter of time before her own people would condemn her for this day's treachery.
She studied the twisted lines of Scipio's sneering face as he taunted his prisoner. His unnecessary malice unsettled her. Would he turn his sharp tongue on her when he learned that the raid he now led was not of her father's command, but her own? Would he understand that she believed with her whole heart that this treachery would allow them, in the end, to wed and raise their child together?
Katla never imagined that a raid would be like this. So bloody, so painful, so final. Tears blurred her vision. Where was the glory? Where was the exhilaration that her father and his men always boasted of after a victory?
Now, standing in front of her beloved, the accusing priest and the defeated warrior, all she saw was blood and solemn faces.
Her body felt like it was made of stone. Time stood still. Katla knew that she had erred greatly. Nothing good would come of this day. Not now. Not ever.
The words the priest spoke were no more than a buzz in her ears. Leif's hair was grasped, his head shoved up and down in agreement to the oaths spoken.
Leif spat at her feet and struggled against his captors. Katla forced herself not to recoil in fear.
Scipio reached inside Leif's vest and grasped the pendant from his neck.
Katla's eyes fell to the disk and froze.
It was identical to her own, yet completely different. Both pendants were on a disk of blended metals, cut into a perfect circle. Each had five sharp points stationed at the edge of the circles at even intervals. A rune letter, Lagu, which meant water or sea, was placed in the center of each pendant. Her father explained to her the day he placed the disk around her neck that the letter symbolized life sustaining water or oath-associated beer.
Encircling the rune letter was a complicated series of circles and knots, all intertwined, with no obvious beginning or ending to their journey.
That is where the similarities ended.
The rune letter and knots on Leif's pendant were raised upon the unusual metal, indicating the stretching forward of time. The future. The markings of her pendant were pressed into the disk, forming hollow groves representing the past.
Even now she could hear her father's gravely spoken words.
"The pendant represents solemn oaths taken and leading to true friendship, a sign of hope for the future."
She had dropped her tear filled gaze to the floor and nodded her understanding, unable to trust her voice to speak clearly through the shattering of her heart. Then, as now, she could not understand how her father could give her to Jarl Leif knowing she loved another.
When the pendants were joined as her father decreed, they would fuse together perfectly, in an un-movable bond. Peace between their clans would be achieved and nothing could disrupt or break it.
At Scipio's curt nod, Katla pulled the pendant from her neck and held it out to the priest.
The child hidden deep within her womb chose that moment to move for the first time. Icy fingers touched her spine and she shivered.
Suddenly, before Scipio had removed the disk from Leif's neck, it began to glow and a frightened murmur rose from her father's warriors. Scipio dropped the pendant as one whose fingers had been burned. At the same time, her own pendant burst into a responding glow. Of its own accord, it was drawn toward its mate. Katla's scream echoed across the waves as she clutched the disk. Her terror was so great she barely noticed that the small spikes bit into her flesh.
Droplets of her blood fell to the deck and mixed with the blood of the fallen.
"Throw them overboard," Scipio ordered, his booming voice increasing her terror tenfold.
A commotion broke out amongst the captives. Scipio, his sword raised, set out immediately to regain control of the prisoners, deftly stepping over the mangled bodies in his path to reach them.
To Katla's horror her arm was grasped in a painful grip. She whirled around to face her attacker. "Amund, release me!" she cried in desperation, struggling to break free of his hold.
The panic in his eyes told her more clearly than words that his fear of the uncanny events frightened him more than the prospect of her father's wrath when he learned that he attacked his only daughter. He dragged her towards the edge of the long boat. Her feet slid across the blood-slick deck, despite her frantic efforts to get a foothold. Her heart pounded wildly against her ribs, Katla continued to struggle against his hold with all her might. Reaching out to clutch a nearby mast, splinters cut into her flesh.
When Amund yanked her arm in an effort to break her hold, her feet slipped from beneath her and she landed hard on her knees, the impact jarred the breath from her lungs and sent darts of fire through her legs. White-hot pain shot through her shoulder as the bone was jerked from its socket. A cry of agony ripped from her throat.
Swinging his massive, warrior's body toward them, Scipio shouted to Amund. "Not her, you fool!"
Amund cast a superstitious look toward her and released her abruptly. The pendant seared into her throbbing flesh. She watched the priest and Leif being shoved into the sea through a haze of pain and soul wrenching guilt.
This is my doing.
As soon as their bodies hit the water the waves whipped up, the sky darkened ominously and the cool afternoon air became frigid. Thunder boomed and lighting cut through the inky darkness of the sky with quick jagged streaks of silver-white light. A blood-curdling war-cry echoed over the water. Katla covered her ears in a vain attempt to keep out the eerie sound, knowing the accusing cry would haunt her for the rest of her life.
The sound faded, the sky lightened. Aware of the uneasy eyes of her father's warriors watching her and mindless of her bruised knees, she knelt at the edge of the long boat and peered into the now calm sea. A short distance away from the ship the priest, garbed in his long wool robes, struggled to stay afloat. His eyes met her for the briefest of moments before his head slipped beneath the crimson veil of the sea. As for the body of her husband...
Chapter One
Peace Haven Residential Care Facility,
Livermore, California
2006 A.D.
Kat Jonsdottir blinked back tears as she looked down at her sleeping Amma. Careful not to awaken her, she smoothed the fluffy folds of the ivy-printed comforter more securely about the frail, ninety-eight-year-old woman and smiled as the familiar scent of Bengay ointment mixed with the soft aroma of lavender drifted into the chilled air. Dagmar Hannedottir had raised Kat from the day she was born. Her own mother, Dagmar's only child, died bringing her into the world.
Although Kat wished she could have known her mother, she never lacked for love or attention, as her dear Amma had an endless supply of each. She, quite simply, cherished her. Kat gently brushed a strand of soft gray hair from Amma's forehead and placed a tender kiss in its place.
Her grandmother had always made an effort to keep their Icelandic tradit
ions alive for Kat, right down to the customary meals she cooked on special occasions. It was love for her Amma alone that allowed Kat to ingest singed sheep's head and pickled ram's testicles without gagging. Where her Amma purchased the ingredients for such meals had always been a mystery to Kat... a mystery she had no immediate plans to solve.
Emotions gripped Kat as she curled up close to the bed in Amma's familiar, overstuffed chair.
Her world had tilted on its axis the day they had been asked to leave their modest, one bedroom apartment in the picturesque Russian Hill district of San Francisco. Amma, who was in the habit of brewing tea each afternoon, had somehow managed to set the fire that had marked a turning point in both their lives.
Taking a steadying breath, Kat half stood and carefully removed the worn leather book entitled Saga or Truth of Norse Myths and Legends; You Decide from under Dagmar's sleeping hands.
Kat sank back into the chair and flipped open the book. She wasn't surprised to find that Amma had been reading about their ancestor's legend.
It was her grandmother's strong belief that Kat would someday have a part to play in that saga, although she had never explained why or how. Kat pulled her bottom lip under her teeth. Sometimes she worried that the opportunity had somehow passed her by unnoticed.
Kat read out loud, her hushed voice filling the small room. "Rollo Esbjornson, a mighty, greatly respected Norse jarl and conqueror of Iceland, sired only one child in his lifetime. A daughter, Katla, whose life ended at the age of twenty-one. Disturbingly, her death had been caused by her own hand, prompted by a betrayal that ended in murder. A murder she herself had plotted."