Jerrik

by Felicity Brandon

  Jerrik

  Viking Surrender

  Felicity Brandon

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. With the exception of well-known historical figures and places, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, now known or hereafter invented, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the applicable author, except for the use of brief quotations in a critical article or book review.

  The license granted herein is to read this ebook for entertainment or literary criticism purposes only. Without limiting the generality of the forgoing, any use of this work for machine learning or artificial intelligence training purposes is not included under the license and is expressly prohibited.

  Copyright © 2019 - Felicity Brandon

  Cover Design by Emmy Ellis

  The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The scanning, uploading, or distribution of this book without explicit written permission is theft of intellectual property.

  About Felicity Brandon

  Felicity Brandon is a top 100 Amazon bestselling author. She loves the darker side of romance, and writes sexy, suspenseful stories, with strong themes of bondage and submission.

  You’ll find her either at her laptop, at the gym, or rocking out to her favourite music.

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  Welcome to the Viking Surrender series: a scorchingly hot collection of nine sizzling Viking romances.

  If you’re yet to read the Prologue to this romance, please do read that first before you dive in to Jerrik and Brigid’s story (it’s free from all retailers).

  The Prologue sets the scene for all that happens next, so you don’t want to miss out…

  We hope the nine romances in this series provide welcome escape and entertainment, that they inspire you and transport you.

  While you’re cheering for our heroes and heroines, we want you to cheer for yourself. Like the women and men in these tales, you’re stronger than you may realize, more resourceful and more determined.

  As for happy endings, we all need to believe that things can get better if we persevere, that there is hope, and the chance to embrace a life of love and friendship and contentment.

  Go get ‘em!

  VIKING SURRENDER

  A horde of battle-hardened, ferocious Nordic warriors.

  A Pictish village at the mercy of its enemies.

  A harrowing bargain struck for nine fearful and reluctant brides.

  Delivered into Viking hands, claimed and conquered, each bride must accept that she belongs to her new master. But, as wedding nights bring surrender to duty, will fierce lovers also surrender their hearts?

  The Highland wilderness is savage, life is perilous, and the future uncertain, but each Viking has sworn protection, and there are no lengths to which a man will not go to safeguard the woman he loves.

  Nine provocatively sensual tales of suspense, seduction and adventure, told against the forbidding backdrop of medieval Scotland.

  Journey together with indomitable heroes and intrepid heroines, as they discover that the raging storms of fear and passion can transform into enduring devotion.

  Dare to enter our world

  Jerrik - by Felicity Brandon

  Brigid: The last thing I need is a husband, especially some Viking brute commanding my surrender.

  Jerrik: Fight all you want, little Pict. You will yield to my desire...

  Forced into a union she didn't seek, Brigid is terrified and aroused by Jerrik's masterful behaviour and carnal demands. But, when he saves her son from the ferocious ocean, Brigid realises he may be the hero she needs, as well as the man she craves.

  Contents

  1. Jerrik

  2. Brigid

  3. Jerrik

  4. Jerrik

  5. Jerrik

  6. Brigid

  7. Jerrik

  8. Brigid

  9. Jerrik

  10. Bram

  11. Jerrik

  12. Jerrik

  13. Jerrik

  14. Brigid

  15. Jerrik

  16. Brigid

  17. Jerrik

  18. Jerrik

  19. Brigid

  Epilogue

  Nine Passionate Viking Romances

  1

  Jerrik

  This expedition had certainly turned out to be more colourful than Jerrik had anticipated. When his jarl had first commanded he accompany him on their latest conquest, Jerrik had imagined the usual combat and triumphs of the past. As a fierce warrior, battles held no fear for men like him. They expected, and even craved its ferocity. He knew, just as every other Viking on the longships knew, that the best route to Valhalla was in battle—at the end of an enemy sword or axe, and though he was not an old man, Jerrik had sought the destination for many years. But this unexpected adventure had brought an unlikely gift from the gods. At his jarl’s insistence, he and a number of his peers had been allocated local wives. Jerrik knew nothing of the Picts, but he knew how his cock hardened when his gaze had first landed on the pretty brunette he’d been selected, and the memory stirred the other great love of his life.

  Sex.

  If war had been his lifelong craving, then lust had been his constant companion. Jerrik had been fucking women whenever and wherever he could, for as long as he could recall. He had to admit, he’d not been tremendously fussy about who he’d claimed in the past, but the way that petite Pict, Brigid, had fluttered those dark lashes at him made Jerrik realise she had something he badly wanted. He stumbled towards the small house he knew belonged to her, a surge of adrenaline washing over his body. Jerrik was on the brink of something important. Even in his mildly intoxicated state, he sensed it. Just like he had sensed it in the midst of every battle he’d ever fought and won—this moment, the moment he crossed the threshold into his new house, was significant.

  It took a moment for his eyes to adjust as he approached the small, Pictish house, but the closer he got, Jerrik could just make out the delicate figure of someone outside the entrance. The fading light made it difficult to ascertain the person’s identity at first, but upon closer inspection, Jerrik was sure it was the face of his new wife that met him.

  “There you are!” he exclaimed, closing the remaining distance between them with one long stride. Fleetingly, he was grateful for the linguistic skills he’d acquired on his many travels. Previous conquests had afforded him the opportunity to learn most of the Pictish tongue, and that was sure to make this new adventure all the easier.

  “I was wondering where you had disappeared to.”

  Two large eyes blinked up at him. “I’m sorry,” she replied with a sigh, scuttling backwards at his sudden proximity. “I had to return to tend to my business here.”

  Jerrik paused at that. Business? What business did his little spouse have that meant she had to flee from their wedding feast? He’d barely concluded his second ale when he’d lost sight of her, and now, some hours later, he found her skulking around out
side the house they were to share.

  Determined to lay the foundation of this marriage from day one, he loomed over her with a narrowing gaze. “And what business is this you speak of, wife?”

  Jerrik’s tone was intentionally curt, and he smiled at the way Brigid flinched. He wanted her to know who was in charge now they were wed. Jerrik wasn’t certain of the ways of the Picts, but in Norse, it was men who were the masters of their wives and homes—he would expect no less than capitulation from his new bride.

  “What is so vital that it lures you from my side on our wedding night? On this illustrious night for not only you, but the whole of your village?”

  The brunette let out a huff, her arms folding across her chest. “Illustrious?” she repeated with a sceptical tone. “Who told you such things? I did not seek this union, Jerrik. I do not need a husband!”

  Her tone caught Jerrik by surprise, his eyebrow arching in response to what sounded rather like petulance. “Oh, is that correct?” he murmured, towering over her. “I had no idea my services were not required. I did not hear a peep of protest from you earlier in the day when your self-appointed female leader made the arrangements with my jarl.”

  He thought her face blanched at that, but it was impossible to be sure in the shadows.

  “I did not want to upset her,” she mumbled by means of reply. “Eithne means well, I think. She wanted to protect the whole village, but she presumes too much.”

  “Hmmm.” His dark tone vibrated the short distance between them. “And yet it is done now. The vows are said, and the promises made, and now I have come as your husband to take what is rightfully mine.”

  Jerrik’s shaft hardened as he said the words aloud, and he had to fight the wave of hot arousal that washed over him.

  “I can’t.”

  Brigid’s words were so quiet that he barely even heard them on the growing evening breeze. Leaning down closer to her face, Jerrik tilted his head to take in what he could of her expression. She didn’t seem fearful. He had seen terror in all of its many forms—the petrified pleas of the woman he had taken by force in the past, and the final horrified expressions of the hundreds of men he had slayed—Hel, Jerrik could practically recognise its scent, and Brigid wasn’t exhibiting those signs to him. She wasn’t afraid, yet she seemed so resolute on the subject.

  Taking a deep breath, he assessed her responses. This was his wife, and he was going to have her, but he didn’t want to have to compel her. Better that she comply with his passion, and perhaps in time, Brigid could even learn to love him in her own way? He had heard of such things happening between a bonded pair, though in truth, Jerrik had never given the idea much credence.

  “What obstructs you from giving yourself to me?” he demanded in an uncharacteristically soft tone. “Tell me now, and let us deal with the matter. I was assured that you were no maid, but if that is the case, I can go easy on you this first time we mate.”

  Brigid gulped at his words. Her gaze travelled up and down the length of his body as though she was acting on reflex, before her own expression softened. “It’s not that,” she murmured, her gaze lowering to his tunic.

  “Then what?” His tone was harder now, his impatience showing in his timbre despite Jerrik’s every effort.

  “It is not what I am, but what I have,” she began in a hoarse whisper.

  He shook his head at her. Was the woman intentionally talking in Pictish riddles?

  “Tell me plainly, Brigid,” he commanded. “Or else prepare to find yourself over my shoulder and inside this dwelling. It is time we consummate this marriage.”

  Her small palms were raised in an instant, her eyes as large as conkers. “Please, no!” she gasped as Jerrik’s body pressed closer. “If you do that, you’ll wake him, and he only just settled a short while ago.”

  Jerrik halted abruptly at Brigid’s explanation. What in Odin’s name was going on here?

  “Who will I wake?” he enquired.

  Brigid pulled in a deep breath. “My son,” she murmured. “You’ll wake my son, Bram.”

  2

  Brigid

  Somehow, Brigid had managed to put the thought of the consummation aside until this moment. She had not been thrilled with Eithne’s decision in the first place and had largely remained in denial about the betrothal, even when she was forced to wed the Viking who now loomed over her. Jerrik had barely said a word to her after the ceremony, seemingly content to take his fill of ale and celebrate the unions with his Nordic friends, so Brigid had taken the opportunity to bring Bram back to the house and prepare him for slumber.

  The boy was only eight years of age, and the death of his father had taken its toll. Widowed more than two years before, Brigid had become accustomed to her solitary lifestyle with her son, perhaps even growing to relish her relative independence. Of course, she worried about the usual things—she wondered whether the neighbouring tribes would attack their village again, and whether the crops would fail—but beyond those things which only God could determine, Brigid had lived in relative contentment. She liked being the mistress of her own domain, able to come and go as she pleased, and able to raise her son as she saw fit. She had always been good at growing what vegetables she needed to survive, and she didn’t miss the constant demands for carnality. Her husband had been something of an unimaginative brute in the bedchamber, taking what he wanted, when he wanted it, and never giving a thought to Brigid’s pleasure. Only brief discussions with some of the other women in the village had revealed that such satisfaction was even possible, but she had never sought it. If God be known, the thought was not appealing. She just wanted to be left in peace—without the company of any man.

  The same could not be said for Bram, though. He was barely beyond infancy when her husband had passed; the accident that had taken his life had been swift and unexpected, and the boy had few recollections of the man who had fathered him. Brigid had tried to compensate for the loss by teaching him skills like how to fish, but the truth of it was, her own abilities were not sufficient to become his tutor. Bram needed a man for those things—a father to show him how to become a man. It was the only reason she’d ultimately concurred with Eithne’s plan. Although she herself had no desire to be wed again, the duty she felt to her son was compelling. She must do what was right for him, though as she gazed up at the giant who now claimed to be her husband, Brigid wondered if she hadn’t made a mistake.

  The man was colossal in stature, far taller than Bram’s father had been and seemingly blessed with more brawn as well. Brigid’s gaze swept over his body again, taking in the huge arms which were at this moment folding across his tunic in apparent dissatisfaction with her response. Risking a glance north, she noticed the way his cool-blue eyes had narrowed.

  “You have a son?”

  His voice was as hard as the north wind, and she gulped at the timbre.

  “Yes,” she replied in a barely audible tone.

  “From a prior marriage?” he probed.

  “Of course,” Brigid snapped, her disdain evident from her curt tone.

  “And you did not think to relay this piece of information to me before our union?”

  Brigid sensed her face colouring at his words. “I… I thought you were aware?” she answered. “I thought such details were exchanged when the bargain was struck between our leaders.”

  That was a partial untruth. Brigid had not been privy to the negotiations, but she had a notion that Eithne may not have relayed all of the specifics. As she stood there now at the entrance to her small dwelling, she couldn’t recall why she hadn’t just told Jerrik about Bram in advance. Perhaps the knowledge of a dependent would have been enough to put him off the idea altogether?

  Why hadn’t she thought of that?

  Jerrik peered down at her in silence. She watched with trepidation at the way his left brow arched at her answer, his cynicism about her response more than obvious.

  “It appears not in this case,” he replied at length.


  Brigid bit her lip at the look in his eyes. She knew enough about men to know when to be wary, and something about the flash in Jerrik’s blue gaze pricked at her self-preservation instincts. But there was something else, too. Something that concerned Brigid more than that. Jerrik’s gaze was like a frozen ocean, unrelenting and deep. There was more going on beneath the surface than she could read in the shadows of the summer evening. She sensed he was unimpressed with the new information she had divulged, but even more critically, the man was flagrantly amorous—come to claim his new wife on their wedding night. Brigid should be terrified. The Viking was huge, after all, and her limited experience in the marital bed had already told her how uncomfortable the act could be. A part of her dreaded to think how she would cope with the demands of Jerrik, but for some reason, another part of Brigid was intrigued by the concept.

  “I’m sorry,” she answered in a gasp. “If you are unhappy, perhaps I can talk with Eithne and arrange another bride for you—one without the responsibilities I come with?”