Synopsis:
When an unknown evil lingers in the distance, Viking daughter Freya is forced into a marriage to keep her safe. Defiant at first, Freya soon finds herself wanting the attention and touch of the stranger whom is set to be her husband.
Asgar never worried about finding a wife, he only wants to take care of his people the way his father always has. When he sees Freya, he's pulled in, knowing he has to protect her no matter what.
Thrown into a life neither really wanted, can these two learn to love? Can they share one heart? Is the unknown evil really the one they need to worry about?
Prepare to be thrown into the dark world of Vikings, mixed with a love story and betrayal that will tear at your soul.
Goodreads Link: Click here
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#1
The warm late summer breeze meets her face as Freya stands on the edge of the cliff; her eyes closed enjoying the feeling. Her home of the Shetland Islands main isle is beautiful in summer and she loves to spend her days like this; walking with her best and most trusted friend Eska.
“Your father will kill me if he knows I let you that close to the edge lass,” there is an edge of fear in the young man’s voice and Freya turns her green eyes on her friend, seeing his slightly taller than her frame standing with his arms crossed over his bare muscular chest. She just gives him a smile and shakes her head, turning her face back out to the sea and watching the waves crash into the grey stone of the cliffs.
Her father is always over protective of her, but even more so since she was twelve and her mother died of the fever. That was twelve summers ago and Freya is still working on getting her freedom from her Chief father, Ivan the Good, and her five older brothers. The thought of her mother and brothers makes her frown and her outstretched arms fall to her sides, swishing in her already dirty, simple brown dress with her favorite green apron holding in the young apples she has gathered.
Two of her brothers, Folkvar and Hoakon, helped her father rule the main isle with little villages of their own posted on the northern and southern points while the other three brothers, Lund, Rune and Arik, held posts on two of the out skirting islands; a first line in defense if they should be attacked. Their islands have been peaceful ever since before Freya was born and since her mother’s death, her father has let priests from the east introduce Christianity to his people; mingling the teaching with those of their traditional Gods.
She takes a long look out over the waves, taking in the salty smell and the everlasting call of the seagulls, smiling to herself as she turns to her friend. “My father will be fine because what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, right Eska?” She smiles, lightly slapping him on the shoulder as his brown eyes track her movement past him.
Being a son of former slaves in England, Eska was only a toddler when Ivan had taken his parents from their home and brought them back here on the last of his raiding trips. He carries the slight Scottish accent that his parents passed down to him along with the blonde hair from his mother. As he smiles and shakes his head, following his friend as she walks down the path away from the cliff, he takes in her scent as the wind blows it slowly to him.
Being of lower birth, Eska should not love her, but he does. He has loved her since the day he first saw her cuddled in a bear skin playing with a doll in the great hall at her father’s feet. They have been inseparable since. His parents have told him numerous times to move on and marry a girl of his own status, a nice farmer girl, one from the village but he doesn’t want any of the plump, already deflowered girls. He wants the petite yet curvy, strong willed, reddish-brown haired daughter of the Chief and has asked Ivan for her hand in marriage twice over, being turned down apologetically each time.
“I’m sorry son, but she is not ready to be married. Her soul still sails in the wind and roams the waves,” Ivan had told him both times, his massive worn hand on Eska’s shoulder, squeezing it caringly like a father. He has treated Eska’s family well, giving them a home and throwing work at his father when they needed the help. Ivan is a good leader, but Eska wishes that he would see that he too, can be a great man and husband to his daughter.
“Eska!” the urgent sound of his name brings him from his musing and mindless following of the one who holds his heart and he casts his brown eyes up, his chin length blonde hair sweeping across his eyes as he finds Freya standing on her tip toes, looking over the edge of a stone wall.
“What is it lass?” he asks, coming to stand at her side and seeing her eyes cast out over the waves once more. Yellow and blue striped sails catch his eye and he sees the longboats docked on their beach with men mingling around them. His eyes narrow and his ears strain, trying to hear what they are laughing at but the wind carries it away.
“My father didn’t say anything about expecting a landing today?” Freya questioned as a slight fear settled in her heart. The men on the beach had swords at their waists and battle axes strapped on their backs. Their shields lined the sides of their boats, four boats in total, and as they unloaded supplies onto the stony beach of her home, her heart stuttered.
She turns her green eyes to her friend, her long hair blowing across her face as she sees Eska’s head shake. That was the only sign she needed, pushing herself from the stone wall as the fear and adrenaline mixed in her veins, sending her heart racing. Her legs propel her forward as she picks up her dress, not wanting to trip as she runs down the worn cart path.
“Your father will kill me if he knows I let you that close to the edge lass,” there is an edge of fear in the young man’s voice and Freya turns her green eyes on her friend, seeing his slightly taller than her frame standing with his arms crossed over his bare muscular chest. She just gives him a smile and shakes her head, turning her face back out to the sea and watching the waves crash into the grey stone of the cliffs.
Her father is always over protective of her, but even more so since she was twelve and her mother died of the fever. That was twelve summers ago and Freya is still working on getting her freedom from her Chief father, Ivan the Good, and her five older brothers. The thought of her mother and brothers makes her frown and her outstretched arms fall to her sides, swishing in her already dirty, simple brown dress with her favorite green apron holding in the young apples she has gathered.
Two of her brothers, Folkvar and Hoakon, helped her father rule the main isle with little villages of their own posted on the northern and southern points while the other three brothers, Lund, Rune and Arik, held posts on two of the out skirting islands; a first line in defense if they should be attacked. Their islands have been peaceful ever since before Freya was born and since her mother’s death, her father has let priests from the east introduce Christianity to his people; mingling the teaching with those of their traditional Gods.
She takes a long look out over the waves, taking in the salty smell and the everlasting call of the seagulls, smiling to herself as she turns to her friend. “My father will be fine because what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, right Eska?” She smiles, lightly slapping him on the shoulder as his brown eyes track her movement past him.
Being a son of former slaves in England, Eska was only a toddler when Ivan had taken his parents from their home and brought them back here on the last of his raiding trips. He carries the slight Scottish accent that his parents passed down to him along with the blonde hair from his mother. As he smiles and shakes his head, following his friend as she walks down the path away from the cliff, he takes in her scent as the wind blows it slowly to him.
Being of lower birth, Eska should not love her, but he does. He has loved her since the day he first saw her cuddled in a bear skin playing with a doll in the great hall at her father’s feet. They have been inseparable since. His parents have told him numerous times to move on and marry a girl of his own status, a nice farmer girl, one from the village but he doesn’t want any of the plump, already deflowered girls. He wants the petite yet curvy, strong willed, reddish-brown haired daughter of the Chief and has asked Ivan for her hand in marriage twice over, being turned down apologetically each time.
“I’m sorry son, but she is not ready to be married. Her soul still sails in the wind and roams the waves,” Ivan had told him both times, his massive worn hand on Eska’s shoulder, squeezing it caringly like a father. He has treated Eska’s family well, giving them a home and throwing work at his father when they needed the help. Ivan is a good leader, but Eska wishes that he would see that he too, can be a great man and husband to his daughter.
“Eska!” the urgent sound of his name brings him from his musing and mindless following of the one who holds his heart and he casts his brown eyes up, his chin length blonde hair sweeping across his eyes as he finds Freya standing on her tip toes, looking over the edge of a stone wall.
“What is it lass?” he asks, coming to stand at her side and seeing her eyes cast out over the waves once more. Yellow and blue striped sails catch his eye and he sees the longboats docked on their beach with men mingling around them. His eyes narrow and his ears strain, trying to hear what they are laughing at but the wind carries it away.
“My father didn’t say anything about expecting a landing today?” Freya questioned as a slight fear settled in her heart. The men on the beach had swords at their waists and battle axes strapped on their backs. Their shields lined the sides of their boats, four boats in total, and as they unloaded supplies onto the stony beach of her home, her heart stuttered.
She turns her green eyes to her friend, her long hair blowing across her face as she sees Eska’s head shake. That was the only sign she needed, pushing herself from the stone wall as the fear and adrenaline mixed in her veins, sending her heart racing. Her legs propel her forward as she picks up her dress, not wanting to trip as she runs down the worn cart path.
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Asgar watched his future wife being led from the hall by the two stout women whispering in her ear as the blonde man across the room argues with those surrounding him. He takes his eyes off of Freya’s disappearing figure to watch the angry man argue with Ivan and the Chief tower over him, but Asgar just puts his mug up to his lips, cringing at the sweet taste of the mead.
“Brother,” Asgar turns to face one of his older brothers, Herlof, and nods for him to continue as he keeps surveying the room and the rising tension between the Chief and the younger man. “At least her father didn’t lie about the beauty but I wonder if she is still a maiden.”
The brothers laugh as Asgar just shrugs and their father silences them all, slamming his mug down on the table and sloshing the sweet fermentation over the lip. “If Ivan says she is a maiden, than she is. He is an honorable man. Do you think he would be giving his only daughter away to the likes of us if he wasn’t? He’s afraid and he can sense the same thing I can.”
“And what is that father?” Keir asks, his blonde braid swishing against the chain mail of his vest as he averts his attention from the Chief still arguing with the lad in the corner to look at his brothers.
Halvard takes a long drink from his mug, feeling the liquid dribble down his chin and into his beard but he doesn’t care. There are no pretty ladies to impress and his wife is thousands of miles away, but knowing she would scold him and swipe her apron across his face he wipes the back of his hand across his chin, grumbling silently to himself. He skirts his eyes over to his friend Ivan, the tall man’s face being red from arguing with the son of slaves he had told Halvard about. The one who will object to the wedding for he loves Freya himself and he lets out a snort of a laugh, knowing the boy doesn’t stand a chance against Asgar if he were to challenge him.
He knows Ivan’s reasoning for wanting him to take Freya as far away from here as he could manage with someone he trusts and Halvard can’t say that he wouldn’t do the same thing. Traders who visit their inlet village have passed the story of the mysterious raids along the Scotland coast; telling of the massacred bodies and horrific scenes they have witnessed and they chilled even Halvard’s battle hardened heart.
In his younger years, Halvard the Hammer was one of the most feared men on the battlefield. He had had tribes turn and run from his men when he raised his mighty hammer and swung it over his shoulder even before the first contact had been made. He had had men fall to their knees, their faces bloodied with the blood of his men and have them beg for their lives but he showed no mercy to those that killed his kin. He had executed only Thor knows how many sniveling and screaming men with his hammer that sits proudly at the side of his chair back in their village; it being too valuable to bring with him to a peaceful exchange.
“There is an evil brewing,” he mumbles half into his cup as he spies Ivan shoving the boy away, towards the door and the boys’ eyes fall on him and his sons. Halvard feels the hate radiating off the young man as he stalks past, his blonde hair following in the breeze and the sword at his side shining in the sunlight as he hits the dirt.
Throwing back the last of his mead he slams his mug down onto the table and turns back to his sons, signaling a servant girl for another. “There is an evil growing and both Ivan and I know it will come here in due time. He wants to protect his daughter the best that he can.”
“The stories from the traders are true?” Asgar rests his elbows on the table and leans towards his father. He had heard the many stories but hadn’t given them a second thought. They were probably just drunken tales from sea weary travelers.
As his father just nods his head, turning his eyes down into his mug and taking a long drink, Asgar glances up to the dais. The tower of a man Ivan is sitting in his massive throne, his head resting in his hand as he rubs his forehead and temples. The worry on the man’s face pulls at something inside Asgar that scares him.
He’s never been one to want to be married, but faced with his father telling him that they need this alliance, Asgar agreed. Now seeing the worry on the usually stoic face of Ivan the Good, Asgar feels something he has rarely felt in his twenty eight summers of life; he’s worried. Even when he was a young toddler and his father had left for months on raiding expeditions, Asgar had never worried. He turned all his faith into his father, his father’s crew and the Gods.
But now? Well now he looked from Ivan, rubbing his temples and talking quietly to his brother on the dais beside him to his father, Halvard the Hammer, seeing the same worry play across the normally strong and emotionless features. His three older brothers were silent as well, all studying the men around the room or watching the servant girls giggling off in the corner.
“Does the girl know she’s basically being traded for around one hundred men and the promise of assistance if needed?” Raghnoll chimes in, smiling and waving at one of the plumper servants as she blushes and whispers to another. Asgar just snorts out a laugh at him; both at his question and his flirting. If his wife Katla saw him do that he’d be strung up and stuck like a pig.
“No, but I’m assuming she’ll find out soon enough.” Their father takes another drink and Asgar sees him nod to Ivan, who stands and approaches them trying to wear a welcoming smile.
Asgar can see the hesitation and hurt behind it. The man has the weight of an entire island on his shoulders and the hard job of trying to smooth everything over with an already angered daughter. Asgar pitied the man and tried to gather his strength to face the feisty Freya by downing the mead and signaling for another.
“Brother,” Asgar turns to face one of his older brothers, Herlof, and nods for him to continue as he keeps surveying the room and the rising tension between the Chief and the younger man. “At least her father didn’t lie about the beauty but I wonder if she is still a maiden.”
The brothers laugh as Asgar just shrugs and their father silences them all, slamming his mug down on the table and sloshing the sweet fermentation over the lip. “If Ivan says she is a maiden, than she is. He is an honorable man. Do you think he would be giving his only daughter away to the likes of us if he wasn’t? He’s afraid and he can sense the same thing I can.”
“And what is that father?” Keir asks, his blonde braid swishing against the chain mail of his vest as he averts his attention from the Chief still arguing with the lad in the corner to look at his brothers.
Halvard takes a long drink from his mug, feeling the liquid dribble down his chin and into his beard but he doesn’t care. There are no pretty ladies to impress and his wife is thousands of miles away, but knowing she would scold him and swipe her apron across his face he wipes the back of his hand across his chin, grumbling silently to himself. He skirts his eyes over to his friend Ivan, the tall man’s face being red from arguing with the son of slaves he had told Halvard about. The one who will object to the wedding for he loves Freya himself and he lets out a snort of a laugh, knowing the boy doesn’t stand a chance against Asgar if he were to challenge him.
He knows Ivan’s reasoning for wanting him to take Freya as far away from here as he could manage with someone he trusts and Halvard can’t say that he wouldn’t do the same thing. Traders who visit their inlet village have passed the story of the mysterious raids along the Scotland coast; telling of the massacred bodies and horrific scenes they have witnessed and they chilled even Halvard’s battle hardened heart.
In his younger years, Halvard the Hammer was one of the most feared men on the battlefield. He had had tribes turn and run from his men when he raised his mighty hammer and swung it over his shoulder even before the first contact had been made. He had had men fall to their knees, their faces bloodied with the blood of his men and have them beg for their lives but he showed no mercy to those that killed his kin. He had executed only Thor knows how many sniveling and screaming men with his hammer that sits proudly at the side of his chair back in their village; it being too valuable to bring with him to a peaceful exchange.
“There is an evil brewing,” he mumbles half into his cup as he spies Ivan shoving the boy away, towards the door and the boys’ eyes fall on him and his sons. Halvard feels the hate radiating off the young man as he stalks past, his blonde hair following in the breeze and the sword at his side shining in the sunlight as he hits the dirt.
Throwing back the last of his mead he slams his mug down onto the table and turns back to his sons, signaling a servant girl for another. “There is an evil growing and both Ivan and I know it will come here in due time. He wants to protect his daughter the best that he can.”
“The stories from the traders are true?” Asgar rests his elbows on the table and leans towards his father. He had heard the many stories but hadn’t given them a second thought. They were probably just drunken tales from sea weary travelers.
As his father just nods his head, turning his eyes down into his mug and taking a long drink, Asgar glances up to the dais. The tower of a man Ivan is sitting in his massive throne, his head resting in his hand as he rubs his forehead and temples. The worry on the man’s face pulls at something inside Asgar that scares him.
He’s never been one to want to be married, but faced with his father telling him that they need this alliance, Asgar agreed. Now seeing the worry on the usually stoic face of Ivan the Good, Asgar feels something he has rarely felt in his twenty eight summers of life; he’s worried. Even when he was a young toddler and his father had left for months on raiding expeditions, Asgar had never worried. He turned all his faith into his father, his father’s crew and the Gods.
But now? Well now he looked from Ivan, rubbing his temples and talking quietly to his brother on the dais beside him to his father, Halvard the Hammer, seeing the same worry play across the normally strong and emotionless features. His three older brothers were silent as well, all studying the men around the room or watching the servant girls giggling off in the corner.
“Does the girl know she’s basically being traded for around one hundred men and the promise of assistance if needed?” Raghnoll chimes in, smiling and waving at one of the plumper servants as she blushes and whispers to another. Asgar just snorts out a laugh at him; both at his question and his flirting. If his wife Katla saw him do that he’d be strung up and stuck like a pig.
“No, but I’m assuming she’ll find out soon enough.” Their father takes another drink and Asgar sees him nod to Ivan, who stands and approaches them trying to wear a welcoming smile.
Asgar can see the hesitation and hurt behind it. The man has the weight of an entire island on his shoulders and the hard job of trying to smooth everything over with an already angered daughter. Asgar pitied the man and tried to gather his strength to face the feisty Freya by downing the mead and signaling for another.
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Theresa Marguerite Hewitt is a very laid back person; enjoying the simpler things in life more than most sometimes. She grew up in a very, VERY small town in Central New York and she will always be a Redneck Woman. She loves reading, writing, taking long pointless drives and long dusk time walks. Fall and winter are her favorite times of year and she spends more time outside then than in the summer. She loves hearing from fans and isn’t above fan-girling on those that show her tons of support. She is addicted to the cheap-Harlequin romances you can pick up in most drug stores and can't go in and out of a store without picking up at least one. She reisdes in Buffalo, NY with her boyfriend, two dogs and two cats.
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