Sold To The Viking Warrior
IN HER CAPTOR’S BED!Women are not part of Sigurd Sigmundson’s existence, and Eilidith should purely be a means to an end to gain access to a well-guarded Viking stronghold. He would have to be made of iron, though, not to be stirred by the warmly sensual woman beneath her ice-cold shield.Liddy has been made to feel ugly and insignificant because of her facial birthmark. Surely her captor cannot physically desire her? But, oh, how the stifled, passionate Liddy yearns to experience unrestrained love in his arms.
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In her captor’s bed!
Women are not part of Sigurd Sigmundson’s existence, and Eilidith should purely be a means to an end to gain access to a well-guarded Viking stronghold. He would have to be made of iron, though, not to be stirred by the warmly sensual woman beneath her ice-cold shield.
Liddy has been made to feel ugly and insignificant because of her facial birthmark. Surely her captor couldn’t physically desire her? But, oh, how the stifled, passionate Liddy yearns to experience unrestrained love in his arms...
‘Of course I might be willing to sell my daughter,’ her father said. ‘You may have her in lieu of this year’s harvest.’
‘I volunteered to be a hostage, not a slave!’ Liddy cried. ‘A hostage has certain rights. A slave has none.’
‘You offer your daughter as tribute?’ Sigurd asked, in a tone chipped from last winter’s ice.
‘Aye,’ her father said heavily. ‘I may have to sell her on the open market to raise the amount required if the harvest fails.’
Something flickered in Sigurd’s eyes and his face became more carved in stone than ever.
‘I will buy her from you...if the price is right.’
For the last four years my youngest son has spent part of his summers volunteering on the Scottish island of Oronsay. The first time he returned home he told me all about the Vikings on the west coast of Scotland, and how the Viking fleet had been based on Colonsay. I was intrigued, and wanted to do some more research. In September 2014 I was lucky enough to spend a week on Islay and Jura as my husband wanted to go whisky-tasting. The weather, contrary to all expectations, was blue skies and sunshine the entire time. I had a thoroughly good time and became more determined than ever to write a Viking romance set on the west coast of Scotland.
It took me a little time to get it right, but here it is.
As ever, I do hope you enjoy reading Sigurd and Liddy’s story as much I did writing it.
I love getting comments from readers and can be reached at [email protected], or through my publisher, or Facebook or Twitter: @MichelleLStyles.
Born and raised near San Francisco, California, MICHELLE STYLES currently lives near Hadrian’s Wall with her husband, a menagerie of pets and occasionally one of her three university-aged children. An avid reader, she became hooked on historical romance after discovering Georgette Heyer, Anya Seton and Victoria Holt. Her website is michellestyles.co.uk and she’s on Twitter and Facebook.
Books by Michelle Styles
Mills & Boon Historical Romance
Viking Warrior, Unwilling Wife
An Impulsive Debutante A Question of Impropriety Impoverished Miss, Convenient Wife Compromising Miss Milton The Viking’s Captive Princess Breaking the Governess’s Rules To Marry a Matchmaker His Unsuitable Viscountess Hattie Wilkinson Meets Her Match An Ideal Husband? Paying the Viking’s Price Return of the Viking Warrior Saved by the Viking Warrior Taming His Viking Woman Summer of the Viking Sold to the Viking Warrior
Mills & Boon Historical Undone! ebook
The Perfect Concubine
Visit the Author Profile page
at millsandboon.co.uk for more titles.
To my loyal readers,
who asked for more Viking-set romances.
Contents
AD 873—Islay, Viking-controlled Alba.
Modern-day Scotland.
‘No good giving me that reproachful look of yours, Coll. I made a promise, so we have to go, even if I’d rather be anywhere else but there.’ Eilidith gathered her thin woollen cloak tighter about her body and tried to ignore the biting cold while her wolfhound padded softly beside her.
In the half-light before dawn, Liddy could make out the Northman stronghold in the distance and, beyond the forbidding wooden walls, the purple-grey Paps of Jura rose. Appearances were deceptive. While she expected to arrive before the assembly day, Liddy knew she had at least a full day’s hard walk in front of her. She had refused to travel in a boat since the accident which killed her young twins, Keita and Gilbreath.
Behind her, the footsteps which had been keeping pace with her for the last few miles stilled.
Liddy reached down and grabbed her wolfhound’s collar. Her mother had objected to her taking Coll, even to the point of calling her by her proper name, Eilidith, and reminding her that she was a lady of the Cennell Fergusa, not an urchin without a noble kindred. Liddy had insisted and her mother had given way as she often did these days, commenting as Liddy left that for once she sounded like her old passionate Eilidith, the one who had vanished when her husband died.
Liddy rolled her eyes and continued walking. Her old self had vanished long before the day she heard of Brandon’s demise. That self had ceased to be when her children drew their final rattling breaths and her heart had shattered into a thousand pieces.
