Saved by the Viking Warrior. Michelle StylesЧитать онлайн книгу.
045ead98-03aa-5f70-b98f-e0a7afbd4bdf">
‘War is my life—my whole life,’ Thrand said. ‘It is what I have chosen. There is nothing else for me.’
He stalked away, ending the conversation. Cwenneth stared after him, weighing the jar in her hand.
‘Curiosity can get you killed, Cwenneth,’ she muttered. ‘Treacherous Norse blood runs in his veins. You have to think about saving your life and escaping. Keep away from him. Stop trying to see good where none exists.’
The trouble was a small part of her heart refused to believe it.
Some characters just decide they want to be written. Lady Cwenneth was one of those characters. She popped into my head and refused to go. Part of the trouble with writing this book was that the primary source documentation is not very good for Northumbria in the ninth century. It is a mixture of legend and fact. Sometimes the facts masquerade as legends, and sometimes it is the other way around.
One of the inspirations for this story was an archaeological dig in Corbridge, where they discovered a woman buried in the Viking rather than the Christian manner. The Vikings did not settle around the Tyne—rather they had the area as a client kingdom. Just how friendly everyone was towards the Vikings remains an unanswered question.
I do hope you enjoy Cwenneth and Thrand’s story. In case anyone is wondering, Thrand is the grandson of the hero’s stepbrother in TAKEN BY THE VIKING and the sister of the heroine in THE VIKING’S CAPTIVE PRINCESS. This is why he knows how to make the healing balm which Cwenneth uses in the story.
As ever, I love hearing from readers. You can contact me through my website, www.michellestyles.co.uk, my blog, www.michellestyles.blogspot.com, or my publisher. I also have a page on Facebook—Michelle Styles Romance Author—where I regularly post my news. And I do Twitter as @michelleLstyles
Saved by the
Viking Warrior
Michelle Styles
For my youngest son, Patrick, who wanted a Viking story because there was more fighting and who passed his A levels and now is studying at university.
Sometimes hard work does have its own reward.
Born and raised near San Francisco, California, MICHELLE STYLES currently lives a few miles south of Hadrian’s Wall, with her husband, three children, two dogs, cats, assorted ducks, hens and beehives. An avid reader, she became hooked on historical romance when she discovered Georgette Heyer, Anya Seton and Victoria Holt one rainy lunchtime at school. And, for her, a historical romance still represents the perfect way to escape.
Although Michelle loves reading about history, she also enjoys a more hands-on approach to her research. She has experimented with a variety of old recipes and cookery methods (some more successfully than others), climbed down Roman sewers, and fallen off horses in Iceland—all in the name of discovering more about how people went about their daily lives. When she is not writing, reading or doing research, Michelle tends her rather overgrown garden or does needlework—in particular counted cross-stitch.
Michelle maintains a website, www.michellestyles.co.uk, and a blog: www.michellestyles.blogspot.com. She would be delighted to hear from you.
Contents
Spring 876—near the border between
Viking-controlled Northumbria and Anglo Saxon-controlled Bernicia
‘We’ve stopped again. How many times can the wheels get clogged with mud? Perhaps we should have waited until the spring rains stopped.’ Lady Cwenneth of Lingwold peered through the covered cart’s one small window. ‘This journey to Acumwick has taken twice as long as it should have with all the stops Hagal the Red’s men insist on making. Delay after delay. I want to prevent hostilities rather than be the excuse for them.’
Her new tire woman, Agatha, glanced up. ‘Are you that eager for marriage to Hagal the Red? You went on about his unsavoury reputation only a few nights ago. About how your brother threatened you into the marriage.’
Cwenneth pressed her lips together as the cloying scent from the herbs Agatha had spread to help with the stuffiness of the cart tickled her nostrils. In her loneliness, she had confided too much the other night.