Nordic Moon by K. E. Saxon
She was his captive, he was her slave . . .
On a faraway island where the kings of both Norway and Scotland vie for control, a fierce Norse warrior lord and a Highland lady are forever unwillingly bound by the child she bore him and the passion they share. But now there is danger afoot, and only her foresworn power of prophesy can save the Norseman from the menace that lurks in the shadows. Will she break her vow in order to save his life, or will she use her pagan gifts instead to free herself from his command forevermore?
K. E. Saxon's
Excerpt from CHAPTER 1
The storm came, and Vika Cambel curled into a ball in the bow of her captor’s ship, under the oiled hide he had tossed o’er her only moments after the rain had begun. Lightning flashed in the skies o’erhead, followed by a loud clap of thunder, making her start, making her heart race even faster with dread.
From within her cocoon, she heard muffled, barked commands—those of her captor, Grímr Thorfinnsson, followed by those of the ship’s master—and felt the vibration in the planks beneath her as the pounding of feet followed.
Suddenly, the ship lurched in a horrifying, steep arch and she gripped tighter the rope that attached her to the stem post. A rope which kept her, and her captor’s babe that she carried, from being flung overboard by the wind and the rain, and the increasingly high waves that crashed o’er them.
She had little faith that being tied to the ship was that much safer, but she also had little liking for the other possibility: that of drowning in the tempest-torn sea. So, holding fast to the rope, she sent up short prayers of mercy to Heaven every other moment, on the part of herself, and for all those upon this storm-tossed vessel. For tho’ she was more than furious at Grímr Thorfinnsson for his high-handed abduction of her, and she intended to be successful in her next attempt at escape (unlike her ill-advised flight of the night before that had ended in her injury and near ravishment), she could ne’er wish for the death of the resolute, much too handsome North man, or his crew.
“We’re going to lay anchor in that harbor up ahead, so prepare to disembark!” Vika heard him say, his voice sounding mere inches from her. She peeked through a small slit where the edges of the hide met, and realized he’d squatted beside her, and that the words were meant for her.
“All right!” she yelled back o’er the raging of the wind.
His bright, silver-yellow hair, now deepened to dun by the rain, lay plastered to his forehead and wide, angular cheeks. Water droplets beaded his thick lashes, and dripped down the long, slender blade of his nose onto the strong line of his lips. But through the darkness, his striking blue eyes met hers and held. Finally, he nodded, rose, and made his way back to the stern, calling orders to the ship’s master and rowers to make haste.
Nordic Moon Coming soon!
Visit K. E. Saxon's web page
Follow K. E. on Twitter
Friend K. E. Saxon on Facebook