Rescued By The Viking
A brave Viking…Is her sworn enemy!When Norman Lady Gisela strays into hostile Saxon territory she doesn't expect to be rescued by a mysterious Viking! She has no delusions that handsome Ragnar Olafsson will be interested in her, with her war wounds, but she must make a deal with him to rescue her brother from his Saxon captors. Their journey results in unexpected passion, but surely there can be no future for Gisela with her enemy…?
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A brave Viking...
Is her sworn enemy!
When Norman Lady Gisela strays into hostile Saxon territory, she doesn’t expect to be rescued by a mysterious Viking. She has no delusions handsome Ragnar Svendsen would be interested in her with her war wounds, but she must make a deal with him to rescue her brother from his Saxon captors. Their journey results in unexpected passion, but surely there can be no future for Gisela with her enemy?
MERIEL FULLER lives in a quiet corner of rural Devon with her husband and two children. Her early career was in advertising, with a bit of creative writing on the side. Now, with a family to look after, writing has become her passion… A keen interest in literature, the arts and history—particularly the early medieval period—makes writing historical novels a pleasure.
Conquest Bride
The Damsel’s Defiance
The Warrior’s Princess Bride
Captured by the Warrior
Her Battle-Scarred Knight
The Knight’s Fugitive Lady
Innocent’s Champion
Commanded by the French Duke
The Warrior’s Damsel in Distress
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.
ISBN: 978-1-474-08873-2
RESCUED BY THE VIKING
© 2019 Meriel Fuller
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
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Contents
September 1069—north-east Lincolnshire
Sunshine quivered across the water. A skin of limpid light sealing in the deep blue-green depths, bright sparkles forcing Gisela to narrow her eyes as she paused in her work. Touching the brooch at her throat, making sure the long pin secured the wrap of linen around her head and neck, she stared bleakly across the water at the longships entering the mouth of the estuary. Her heart plummeted. Oh no, not them. Not the Danes.
Her hands released the bucket handles and she straightened up, rubbing her chafed hands, raw from rope burn. Blisters had formed on the undersides of her fingers: white, water-filled sacs that would soon start to hurt. The ships were coming closer, their round red shields, gold bosses gleaming, lining along the side of each vessel. The sails had been lowered, rolled up into great bundles of canvas and rope, and the men had taken to the oars to steer the narrow, lightweight crafts up the river. Strings of jewelled liquid trailed through the dusky air as the paddles lifted, then dipped again. A guttural chanting, rhythmic, echoed across the water. The sharp jabs of sound coupled oddly with the dainty twitterings of the wading birds who picked their way through the vast salt marshes that led down to the river, powerful current brown and churning. Like a burn of flesh, panic seared her veins and she chewed fretfully on her bottom lip, forcing herself to control her breathing. They would be all right, the three of them. She would make sure of it.
A cheer went up beside her. Then another. One by one the men and women who worked beside her spotted the ships, then put down their pails, the thick salty water slopping over the sides. Thrusting their fists into the air with jubilation, they turned to each other, smiling, clasping at hands and shoulders. Someone snared her sleeve. ‘We are saved!’ the woman cried, her bony fingers digging into Gisela’s forearm. ‘The Danes will help us! The Danes will send those Normans home with their tails between their legs!’
