Passion: His Savage Embrace Read online

  PASSION

  BOBBI SMITH

  Copyright © 1995, 2019 by Bobbi Smith. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or distributed in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of The Evan Marshall Agency, 1 Pacio Court, Roseland, NJ 07068-1121, [email protected].

  Version 1.0

  Published by The Evan Marshall Agency. Originally published by Kensington Publishing Corp., New York.

  This work is a novel. Any similarity to actual persons or events is purely coincidentally.

  Cover by The Killion Group

  bobbismithbooks.com

  ESCAPE . . . AND LOVE

  It was just at dusk when they heard the roar of the stream flowing fast and deep. Dynna had not thought the water would be running this high.

  Brage studied the banks on either side, trying to pick the safest place to ford the stream. The current looked fast and dangerous. “Follow me,” he said, as he slid down the bank. “Here, take my hand and I will help you.”

  As she reached for his hand, juggling her bundles of food and clothing, she slipped and lost her footing.

  Brage reacted instinctively, sweeping her up into his arms and clasping her to his chest. “Are you all right?” he asked.

  Dynna gazed into his eyes. “Yes.” She was breathless from his rescue . . . and more.

  He stood there, the cold stream rushing around him, unaware of anything save the precious weight of Dynna in his arms. He looked into her eyes and could see the longing there that matched his own, and he could not stop—not this time.

  He bent his head to her, his lips seeking and finding hers in a passionate claiming.

  This book is dedicated to four ladies whose knowledge of the book business is phenomenal. They are a joy to work with and exciting to watch in action: Lynn Brown, Kathryn Falk, Laura Shatzkin, and Joan Schulhafer.

  I’d also like to thank the Pinnacle Lake Gang for their constant support: Marilee Poulter, Paul Poulter and Louis Reuther.

  A special note of thanks to Mr. Tom Pearson, History Librarian of the St. Louis Public Library.

  Contents

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  Norway, 838

  Lightning flashed across the night sky, and thunder, deep and ominous, rumbled across the land.

  Standing in the doorway of her small home, the old woman stared out into the darkness, waiting. He would be coming soon, just as he had in the past. She was sure of it.

  The rain began then, pelting the earth with a stormswept violence that sent her seeking a seat by the fire in the center of the main room. Though the night was not cold, she felt chilled—a chill of the soul. Her gnarled hands clutched her wrap more tightly around her. She closed her eyes to her surroundings and sought peace from the storm of nature outside and from the storm the gift of foresight had created within her.

  “I have come.” His voice was deep.

  The old woman opened her eyes and looked up to find the tall, dark-haired warrior standing over her. Her expression revealed no surprise at his presence. “You would have me read the runes for you?”

  “I sail with the new moon.”

  She nodded, then rose slowly to go to a small table with two benches nearby. She sat on one bench and motioned for him to sit on the other opposite her. She then paused to study him for a moment. He was a handsome one, this Viking whose black hair, a trait inherited from his Irish mother who had died giving birth to him, had set him apart from the others and earned him the name of the Black Hawk. His eyes were blue, as pale as his Nordic father’s. His features were chiseled and strong, his shoulders broad and powerful. He was a magnificent warrior, his reputation for courage and honor unmatched by any other . . . save his sire.

  After a moment, the old woman turned her attention to the runes. She spread a white cloth over the tabletop and then took out the prophetic stones. Holding them in her hands, she chanted two verses from the Runatál to invoke the powers.

  “I know I hung upon a windswept tree,

  Its roots to the wise unknown;

  Spear-pierced, for nine long nights,

  To Odin pledged, self offered to self.

  They gave no bread, nor drinking horn;

  Down to the depths I gazed:

  Crying aloud I took up the runes,

  Then finally I fell.”

  As she spoke the last, she cast the runes on the cloth before her. She chose three very carefully, then studied their inscriptions.

  “What do they say, old woman?” the Black Hawk asked, wondering at her lengthy silence. “Will my raid succeed? Will I claim the prize I seek?”

  Her blue eyes were glittering with the secrets of the ages as she lifted her gaze to him. She stared at the warrior for a moment, measuring, judging, then looked down again at the stones she held in her hand. Finally, she answered him. “You will get far more than you bargained for, my handsome one. Oh, yes, far more . . .”

  Relief showed in his expression. “Good. And what of my men? Will the fighting be fierce?”

  “There will be danger. Blood will be shed. False words will be spoken. But a treasure of great value awaits you at the end of your journey.”

  As she made the last pronouncement, lightning once more ripped across the heavens. The ground trembled and a heavy roll of thunder followed in its wake.

  The sense of unease that had gripped the warrior lessened at her words. “So we will be successful.” He smiled as he got to his feet. “The prize is a glorious one?”

  “More precious than any you have claimed before.”

  He nodded, satisfied, then paid the woman and left.

  She watched him go, knowing that danger surrounded him and wondering if he would survive the treachery. She had not told him everything she had seen. There was a path he had to walk and a danger he had to face alone.

  Lord Alfrick, roused from his sleep by his servant, was disgruntled at being disturbed. He pinned the man with an icy glare as he sat up in bed to speak to him.

  “What is it of such importance that you would wake me in the middle of the night?” he demanded.

  “I am sorry to disturb you, my lord, but a stranger from the Viking lands has come to the tower demanding an audience.”

  “A Viking?” Lord Alfrick was now fully alert.

  “Yes, my lord. He insists that he must speak to you and no other. He claims it is a matter of life or death.”

  “Whose life? Whose death?” he asked. “I do not trust any Norseman.”

  “Yours.”

  “Mine?” He scowled blackly as anger filled him. “Who is this messenger who dares to approach my tower and threaten my life?”

  “Not threaten, my lord. He says he is here to warn you of danger to come.”

  Lord Alfrick frowned as he considered his words. “Rouse Sir Thomas. Tell him to meet me belowstairs with several guards in my private chamber off the Great Hall. I will speak with this mysterious one from the north, but I will have him slain in an instant should this prove some kind of devilish trick.”

  Lord Alfrick rose and prepared for his audience with the stranger. He dressed quickly and strapped on his sword. His mood was cautious
and wary now. He had ruled this land for more than twenty-five years and had suffered at the hands of the raiders more times than he cared to remember. Never before had any Viking sought him out to talk. He wondered what this man was about. Ready to meet the midnight visitor, he quit the room.

  A short time later, Lord Alfrick faced the mysterious man with Sir Thomas and several other of his armed guards by his side. Sir Thomas was a tall, battle-hardened man of some thirty years. His dedication to Alfrick was known throughout the land, and he was trusted above all others. It was Sir Thomas’s counsel Alfrick sought when making important decisions, for he was a good judge of character and often offered insights overlooked by the other advisers. Alfrick was glad he was with him now.

  “Tell me why I should not kill you where you stand, Viking?” Lord Alfrick demanded. The Norsemen were his sworn enemies. He held no love for them.

  “Because I have news that could save your life.”

  “Why should I believe anything you say?” the lord asked as he peered into the heavy gloom, trying, but failing, to make out the man’s features.

  The stranger deliberately stepped farther back into the shadows. He kept the hood of his dark cloak up, shielding his identity even more from the probing gaze of the Saxon lord. He shrugged as he answered, “It is your choice to accept my warning or not. I am here to tell you what is to come. The Black Hawk and his men will attack your land soon after the new moon.”

  As if in prophetic emphasis of his words, lightning flashed and thunder rumbled around them.

  “The Black Hawk!” Lord Alfrick went rigid at the information. He exchanged quick glances with Sir Thomas, his dark-eyed gaze mirroring his disbelief. The Viking known as the Black Hawk was a powerful raider who plundered towns at will, stripping them of their wealth and making captives of their men and women. “Why would you tell me this? Why would you betray one of your own?”

  “Because I want him dead!” the traitor hissed, his voice full of venom. “I cannot raise my hand against another of my kind, but I can give you the sword to do it.”

  “What payment do you demand of me for this knowledge you have shared?”

  “Only that you see the Black Hawk slain.”

  “If the attack does come as you’ve said, how will we know which man is the Black Hawk?”

  “The sail of his ship is blood-red and bears the crest of a Black Hawk in its center, as does his shield and helm.”

  Still, knowing how cunning Vikings could be, Lord Alfrick harbored doubts. “Is this some trick? Some ruse to distract us, while your warriors attack us from another direction?”

  “If I had wanted to attack you, I could have done so this night. You and all your men would have been slain in your beds,” the conspirator pointed out. “You have heard my warning. I have given you time to prepare. If you do nothing, this tower and all its treasure will belong to the Black Hawk.”

  “And if I do prepare?”

  “You may defeat the mightiest of all the Viking raiders and save yourself and your subjects.”

  “How many will come?”

  “He will sail with at least three ships of warriors. You must amass a powerful force if you are to prevail against them. His men are the fiercest of fighters.”

  “Will you sail with him?” Lord Alfrick asked a sneer sounding in his voice. He felt great disgust at this man’s betrayal of one of his own and wondered if this traitor considered himself a fine warrior.

  “I will know all that transpires,” he replied. “But be warned. The Black Hawk will not be stopped easily. No man yet has matched him for strength, courage, and bravery. You must be clever or you will lose all.”

  “You need not worry. We will prepare,” Lord Alfrick answered. “I will see the Black Hawk dead, and, by doing so, I will bring a blessing upon the lands made safe from his pillaging.”

  The betrayer nodded, then turned to leave. One of the guards accompanied him in order to see him from the tower grounds.

  Lord Alfrick watched until they had disappeared from sight, then spoke to Sir Thomas as they started upstairs.

  “What do you think, Sir Thomas? Do we believe this man’s warning?” Lord Alfrick’s expression was grim as he awaited his friend’s answer.

  “I would like to believe that his words were all lies, but I know it would be a fool’s game to doubt him. Far better that we are prepared for an attack that never comes than to be caught unarmed by the Black Hawk and his men.”

  “I agree. We must be ready. I will send word to the neighboring kingdoms. With our combined strength, we can mount a force large enough to repel the raiders.”

  “Shall I ride with the news in the morning, my lord?”

  “Yes. The sooner we begin to plan, the better our defenses.”

  Lord Alfrick went on to his bedchamber, while Sir Thomas retired to his own quarters. Both men knew they would sleep no more that night.

  Meanwhile, outside in the yard, a lone figure emerged from a darkened hiding place and silently followed the guard and the traitor into the night.

  One

  The wind filled the sails of the three Viking longships and sent the vessels slicing through the water. The ship with the scarlet sail marked with the sign of the Black Hawk led the way, as its master guided it unerringly to the south and west. They had sailed from their homeland just three days before and were now closing on their goal—the Saxon coast.

  “How much longer until we make landfall?” Seger, a brawny warrior aboard the lead ship, asked as he stared out to sea.

  “If the wind remains strong in our sails, we should see the coast in another two days,” Neils replied.

  “Good.” Seger grinned wolfishly as he thought of the battle to come. “It will be good to be raiding again. I have been wintering too long and my sword arm needs practice!”

  “I believe the Black Hawk feels the same way,” Neils remarked with a laugh as he nodded toward their leader, Brage Nordwald, also known as the Black Hawk. The tall, powerfully built Viking was standing on the small deck at the front of the ship, his sword already in hand. “That is probably why we sailed two weeks ahead of the others.”

  “He always strives to have the element of surprise on his side. No one will be expecting us. He is a great warrior, and it is my privilege to serve him.”

  “He is a clever man. I pledged myself to him three years ago, and I’ve never regretted it. My share of treasure has grown every season.”

  “When it comes to raiding, no one can match him. He strikes without warning, claims his prize and then quickly disappears.”

  “My father followed Brage’s father, Anslak, and now I will follow him wherever he leads.”

  “And if everything I have heard is true, he is leading us now to one of the wealthiest kingdoms on the coast.”

  They both smiled as they thought of the riches that would soon be theirs. They glanced once more to their leader who stood brave and proud before them. They felt invincible knowing he was the one who would lead them into battle.

  “No one can conquer the Black Hawk.”

  Brage had planned this raid very carefully, and he was eager for the fight. As he studied the horizon and thought of the battle to come, he tightened his grip on the golden hilt of his sword. Lord Alfrick would not be an easy opponent. That was why he’d sailed early. He wanted to catch the Saxons unprepared. He’d learned long ago to make use of every weapon he could, and surprise was one of the most effective tools of raiding.

  “Well, my brother, are you ready to add even more wealth to your already bulging coffers?” Ulf asked as he joined Brage.

  “As always,” he answered with a smile as he slid his sword back into its scabbard.

  Ulf was Brage’s older half brother by their father’s mistress. Other than their height and blue eyes, though, they bore little physical resemblance to each other. The blond-haired Ulf was a bear of a man, barrel-chested and heavily muscled. Many a foe had thought him slow because of his size, and their judgment had pro
ven a fatal mistake. Brage, on the other hand, was lean yet muscular. His hair was dark in contrast to Ulf’s fairer coloring. As children they had been ardent rivals, each constantly seeking to best the other, to prove their worth to their warrior father. As they’d grown to manhood, however, they had set aside their rivalry and had begun to raid together, earning accolades for their bravery from all who fought with them.

  “Have caution,” Ulf warned. “Do not be overly confident.”

  “My confidence is in my men, and the fact that Lord Alfrick will not be expecting us. While his tower is sturdy, it should present no great challenge to us since he has had no time to prepare for our attack. Once we make landfall, we should lay claim to the sizable treasure within a few days. The element of surprise will be with us.”

  “Let us hope for all our sakes that it goes as you say.”

  “It is my responsibility to make sure that it does. I took great care in the planning.”

  “Ah, but for a few words spoken before the gods, I could be the one leading this raid. Instead, I am relegated by our father to protect your back,” Ulf remarked with a laugh and a rueful shake of his head, as if he accepted his fate.

  “And a fine job you do.” Brage clapped his brother on the shoulder. “Without you, I would have been long dead. You bear the scars to prove your faithfulness.”

  A long, jagged scar marred Ulf’s right cheek, stopping just below his eye. It was a trophy from a particularly hard battle, fought years before when the two had first sailed together.

  “Which is why I caution you now. I need no more marks upon me to further ruin my beauty.”

  “Fear not. The runes have predicted our claiming a great treasure on this raid.”

  “The stones are never known to lie.”

  “Besides, no Saxon can match any of my men. When the raid comes, the day will be ours.” Brage looked down at his warriors, some fifty strong in his lead ship alone. They were the finest fighting force ever assembled and had never tasted defeat. “We will show them the full strength of the Black Hawk’s power,” Ulf agreed.