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  Thorolf

  Viking Surrender

  Vanessa Brooks

  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 - Vanessa Brooks

  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.

  Contents

  About Vanessa Brooks

  Introduction

  VIKINGS

  Thorolf

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Epilogue

  Nine Passionate Viking Romances

  About Vanessa Brooks

  Vanessa lives in the heart of Sussex. Her passion is history and when she is not writing steamy romances with strong heroes and elements of power exchange, she is out and about with her husband, exploring Britain’s many castles and stately homes; absorbing the past and dreaming up her next romantic plot!

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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 before you dive in to Thorolf and Ailsa’s story.

  (find it FREE here, on Amazon)

  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

  Thorolf - by Vanessa Brooks

  Ailsa, a woman scarred by the brutality of men, knowing peace only in the depths of the forest. Thorolf, a cunning warrior, as fierce as the wolves Ailsa adores. Enemies bound by marriage, their attraction is undeniable. But can her Viking husband tame Ailsa’s wounded heart?

  Thorolf

  Vanessa Brooks

  Prologue

  Achnaryrie Village, Gaillaibh, the land of the Picts, Alba (Scotland)

  912 AD

  “This, again?”

  “We have no meat or fish, Irb. It was all I could find to make,” Ailsa explained as her husband complained about the bowl of mushroom broth she’d set before him.

  “You are a worthless lazy, woman,” he muttered, swilling a hunk of rye bread about in the soup she’d served for the second evening in a row. Ailsa knew better than to argue, it only made things worse between them.

  “You are good with your bow, go and hunt on the morrow. Bring back some meat,” he demanded.

  She stared at him, confused.

  “But you said hunting was man’s work. You told me after we married I should remain home to grind grain, bake bread, churn butter and cheese, work the loom, tend the fowl, wash our dirty clothes and...”

  “Be silent woman! Don’t you know the other wives work far harder than you? They also fulfil their promise to obey and offer their bodies willingly to their husbands, unlike you, who can barely suffer my attention. You’ll do as I say. I am a busy man.”

  She couldn’t contain her snort of derision. Hot broth scalded her skin as Irb hurled his bowl at her head. Thankfully, the bowl missed her, but the liquid cascaded down her neck, searing her. She yelled and ran to the water barrel; scooping out a horn full she splashed it over her burning flesh.

  His harsh laughter brought tears to her eyes. She turned her head away lest he see her cry, for any weakness on her part only ever made him crueller.

  “Clear up that mess. I am going to find a proper meal from another man’s table. One where the wife knows how to treat her husband with the respect he deserves.”

  He cuffed her head as he passed, banging the heavy wooden door shut behind him.

  Ailsa sank to her knees beside the fire pit and wept. Were the other Achnaryrie men as unkind to their wives, or was it only Irb? She noticed that many of the women sang as they went about their daily chores, but she could never summon enough joy to lift her voice to join them in song.

  Perhaps a day of hunting in the forest would bring her some peace, if only for a short while. Ailsa had hunted with the men of the tribe, providing for herself and her mother after her father had died, becoming proficient with the use of a bow.

  Times had changed since then. The Nechtain tribe had begun regular raids upon their village, stealing their livestock and food stores.

  Would it be safe for her to hunt alone in the forest where wild boar and wolves lurked among the shadows?

  Taking up a cloth, she began to clear the splattered broth from the wall. She froze as another thought struck, there were the Eanfrith to avoid, outlaws who moved stealthily about the forest, preying upon unwary travellers. Perhaps it would be sensible to keep to the outer trees while she hunted.

  Once the mess had been clear
ed away, she sat and ate her own supper. It was lukewarm but flavoursome. She pondered her husband’s words as she ate. How was she expected to get through all her daily tasks and find time to hunt, too? Why did Irb expect her to do everything? What was it he did on those days he vanished for hours upon end?

  She waited and waited, but when it grew late with no sign of Irb’s return, she stripped her clothes off and snuggled into the bed set back in the alcove.

  Pain...

  Her eyes flashed open, it was dark. She registered discomfort between her thighs and a stifling weight held her down. Groans filled the air as Irb moved on top of her. How she wished him gone. What a wicked thought ... Yet nowadays her husband was a rutting beast and nothing more. When had things changed? He had never been romantic but at least once, he had been kind.

  Ailsa tried not to wince as he thrust again into her body. His teeth nipped painfully at her left nipple while he pinched and twisted the other. There was no way she could withhold her cry of agony.

  “Quiet, insolent woman, learn your place.”

  Insolent? She never fought back, never complained, but whatever she did was wrong, or was not enough. Why was her husband so dissatisfied with her? Why?

  Nausea overwhelmed Alisa daily. She feared it might be a serious malady. The other women teased her, but she remained clueless to the nature of the cause. It was only after Eithne congratulated her that it finally dawned on her. She was with child. Surely, at last, this was news to please her husband? The new life they created would bring them together as a family. They could finally heal the rift between them.

  Ailsa dropped what she was doing and ran from the croft to find her husband. He must hear this joyous news from her lips and not through village gossip.

  To her delight he was thrilled by her news, and actually kissed her, a rare occurrence since their marriage. There was no more mention of her going hunting. Irb began to provide adequately for the table. For a while she was happy, and then disaster struck.

  Yet another Nechtain raid on the village left her weak and afraid. Lack of sleep and nourishing food took its toll. She lost the babe.

  Some months later, she conceived again, but Ailsa knew from the start that something was not right with her pregnancy. The constant tension of being raided resulted in scarce food stocks. Over time the lack of nourishment weakened her. The baby was not to be.

  Irb blamed her, cursing her every waking moment. Overwhelmed by grief, she sought refuge and peace in the forest where somehow the dangers now seemed less than those waiting for her at home in Achnaryrie.

  Not only did she find sanctuary in the woods, but she also found, Shadow...

  1

  Ailsa heard Eithne calling her name. Sweet Jesu! She was accompanied by two Vikings, a man and woman, both enormous in stature. Terrified, Ailsa drew back into the shadow of the trees her heart thudding. Where was Eithne’s sister, Rhiannon?

  Ailsa stifled a moan. What was going to happen to all of them? The sun glinted off something. Intrigued, she forced herself to step forward, her palms clammy where she gripped her bow. Peeking around the tree she’d hidden behind, she saw that both Vikings held mighty weapons—an axe and broadsword.

  Ailsa knew she’d be no match against these powerful warriors. She must withdraw into the safety of the forest. Her best defence was with her bow, since an arrow shot from the shadows would be silent and deadly, and she never missed her target. After her father had died, Ailsa had been forced to hunt; she learned the hard way that missing a kill meant hunger. Reaching for a feathered shaft, she recalled having given her word not to attack unless signalled. Frustrated, she dropped her weapon to her side.

  Earlier that morning, she had spotted a swirl of gulls circling the three dragon ships heading inland under full sail. Terror had entered her heart. Running from the cliffs, she screamed warning of the invaders to the other members of her village. The women and children scattered and hid in the forest.

  As Ailsa glanced north in the direction of Orkney she wondered if the women of Achnaryrie could flee their homes and make their way across the strip of water which separated the islands from the mainland, possibly finding shelter and protection there.

  Even as she had this thought, Ailsa dismissed it. She sighed, knowing there was no safe haven to be had anywhere nearby. Endless raids by the ferocious Norsemen had destroyed or simply absorbed the Pictish communities who had inhabited Orkney and now Vikings occupied many of the isles.

  Meanwhile, Eithne, daughter of their village chieftain, had decided on another route. She could have been cut down by the Vikings, yet here she was, calling out to all the village women who’d hidden in the forest. Whatever she’d said to these Norsemen in order to save her life, must have worked—at least so far…

  Ailsa couldn’t help thinking Eithne rash and foolish—to attempt bartering with these barbarians. The situation was sure to end in bloodshed. So far, she’d been wrong, but how long could a truce last with these invaders?

  A cold wet nose pushed into her palm. She glanced down, and there was Shadow, the wolf she had befriended, materialising in his uncanny way to comfort her.

  The wolf’s yellow gaze met Ailsa’s briefly then slid away. His size and strength were reassuring to her, his thick pelt warm beneath her palm. Shadow often sensed her mood, appearing silently at her side—especially when she hunted deep within the forest. The Vikings moved again, and Shadow gave a low, growl. Ailsa released a sighing breath.

  A sudden shout was followed by loud cries from the village. Ailsa neared the forest’s edge, slipping between the trees while Shadow nervously hung back.

  The Viking leader appeared to be holding Eithne tightly, which told Ailsa their intentions were hostile. Readying her bow, she watched closely, swearing to let her arrow fly if anything dangerous happened.

  An ominous crack of twigs behind her broke the silence. Shadow’s snarl alerted her to danger. The hairs rose on the nape of her neck. Turning, she saw nothing—then, through the trees, a man emerged. He appeared as thick as a tree trunk and just as tall. Dia! A Viking!

  His muscular chest was wide and strong, while his gaze seemed strangely wolf-like, his amber eyes intently focused upon Ailsa. Taut as the string on her bow, Ailsa lowered her weapon—gradually, carefully.

  Calmly raising his arm, he spoke, seemingly without threat, although Ailsa sensed his apprehension. The Viking stretched out his palm, indicating the wolf should stand down and, to Ailsa’s amazement, Shadow sat, his threatening growl diminishing to a mere rumble of discontent.

  Ailsa trembled under the scrutiny of the invader, intimidated by his superior physique. Her cheeks heated. How did a man become so muscular?

  Irb, her husband, would seem paltry beside this giant. The Viking spoke again, but Ailsa shrugged with lack of understanding. He moved forward; she edged back blindly, snagging her foot in a briar and stumbling. With a cry of fright, she tumbled to the ground.

  All at once, Shadow leapt through the air, landing on all four feet to stand over Ailsa’s prone form. Hackles rising, he snarled, standing as her protector. To her astonishment, the Viking dropped to his knees and inclined his head to the great wolf, showing no fear. The man spoke in a soft, husky voice. Shadow’s growl subsided. The wolf stood down. Astounded, Ailsa sat up. What strange alchemy did this Viking possess to control her wild friend?

  The Norseman rose to his feet gracefully and, closing the distance between them, held out his hand. At first, she refused to touch him—to trust him. His kind meant only death for her people. Had she not lost her own father during a Viking raid? But there was something about him… Hesitant, Ailsa finally accepted his aid, reaching for his hand. He pulled her up, holding her against his chest. She stared at his bronzed body, hardened by labour and war. Surprisingly, he smelled good. His sweat fresh and clean, not stale as she remembered her husband, Irb’s.

  His fingers, warm and insistent, lifted her chin to meet his gaze. She attempted to resist, but the intonation o
f his voice reverberated through her. Ailsa shivered, and not with cold. His fingers lightly traced the shape of her face; his thumb brushed her bottom lip.

  What did he want?

  The feelings his touch awakened, confused her. How could he, an enemy, affect her this way? She had met him only moments before and had been fearful, yet she instinctively felt he was an honourable man.

  She tried to break away, but his arms encircled her. Gripping the hair at the nape of her neck, he held her still. In turn, she wound her fingers through the braid hanging over his shoulder, endeavouring to tug his head back. He gave a rumbling laugh at her meagre attempt to control him. Desire flooded his eyes as he leaned closer to her face.

  She struggled against the fear that threatened to overwhelm her. Had she been wrong, did he intend to rape her?

  Her efforts to break free proved useless.

  His lips touched hers; she whimpered. The unexpected kiss felt sweet as his mouth caressed hers. He released her, and she staggered. Chuckling he caught her elbow to steady her but Ailsa tugged her arm away, spinning beyond his reach. When Ailsa looked behind her, he was gone.