Viking Warrior, Unwilling Wife. Michelle Styles

      Sela watched the boat draw up and the fully armored men leap down, swords drawn.

      Her heart went to her throat as she saw the lead warrior, recognized his armor and his sword with its intricate marking.

      Vikar Hrutson.

      She screwed up her eyes tight and then looked again, hoping he would be a ghost from her memory, but he remained. Deep down inside her, she had known he would be here from the first moment she had heard the dragon ships. Something had told her that her idyllic life of the last few years had ended. She had to face this and win.

      He towered over the men; broad-shouldered, commanding. She had no doubt his face would be as rugged as ever. He had reached the rocky shore and stood there. Proud. Arrogant. Determined.

      But why now? Why after all these years?

      Viking Warrior, Unwilling Wife

       Harlequin^® Historical

      Available from Harlequin^®Historical and MICHELLE STYLES

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      VIKING WARRIOR, UNWILLING WIFE

      MICHELLE STYLES

VIKING WARRIOR, UNWILLING WIFE

      To the eHarlequin community, in particular

       to the denizens of the Mouse and Pen, the SWC and the Library.

      Always there. Always supportive. Always appreciated.

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Chapter Sixteen

      Author’s Note

      Chapter One

      AD 794, Central Norway

      ‘Prepare shields! Raise spears! Unsheathe swords! The gables of Bose the Dark’s stronghold are on the horizon,’ Vikar Hrutson, jaarl of Viken, shouted to his men.

      ‘It is a serious step you take, Vikar,’ Ivar said in an undertone. ‘What if you are wrong? What if Bose desires peace with Viken?’

      Vikar turned from where he studied the headland with its inlets and rocky islands towards Ivar, his fellow jaarl and co-leader of the felag. His dark green eyes regarded his friend and comrade. ‘The time Bose is at peace is when he sleeps. The raid on Rogaland was only the beginning. He has broken the truce and declared war.’

      ‘But will Thorkell agree?’ Ivar shifted uneasily. ‘It was pure good fortune we had stopped at Rogaland. My sister and her husband could never have withstood the raid alone.’

      ‘It was a victory for the felag, for Viken.’

      ‘It was your sword and shield that brought down Hafdan. He could have been acting alone. He sailed under his own standard.’

      ‘Only one man could have ordered that raid and he still breathes with his lands intact.’ Vikar tightened his grip on the railing, and looked towards where the dark walls of the great hall rose from the fjord. ‘Bose the Dark ordered that raid, that destruction. Hafdan would never dare draw a breath, let alone attack a Viken jaarl’s main hall without his express order. I warned Thorkell that Bose would strike again. It gives me no pleasure to be right.’

      Ivar banged his fist against the railing. ‘Thorkell should never have spared Bose. What he nearly did to Haakon was unthinkable! He should have known that Bose would not be content in the north.’

      ‘I am not a soothsayer. I have no great insight into the king’s mind. Haakon lives and thrives. Our friend is very happy with his new wife and child.’ Vikar gave a slight shrug. ‘Bose twists words to suit his purpose. The only thing he understands is deeds. This time, he will lose…everything.’

      ‘And Thorkell—what will he do when he discovers that you have led a raid on Bose’s stronghold?’

      ‘He will reward me. Bose broke the truce. This time I administer the punishment.’ The breeze whipped Vikar’s blond hair back from his forehead. ‘The battle will be long and bloody, old friend, but Thor and Tyr will be with us. Underestimate Bose at your peril. The man is a master strategist, slipperier than Loki.’

      ‘If you say such things, I believe them.’ Ivar tapped the side of his nose. ‘You were once married to his daughter.’

      ‘Thankfully it was a short alliance.’ Vikar refused to think about his former wife today. Was she there with her long blonde hair, tempting curves and pig-headed temper? Or had she married again? Someone who was more willing to be Bose’s lapdog? Vikar stared at the intricately carved gables. It no longer mattered. She was the symbol of all that was wrong with women, why he would never marry again.

      ‘Is it true Bose’s daughter never appeared in Thorkell’s court after the divorce? And that the hall was built on the bones of wild men who will rise up and fight any invader?’

      ‘Men at oars tell too many tales.’ Vikar pushed off from the railing and strode towards the prow of the boat. There he could catch a glimpse of how his new, red sail fared in the wind. A sail fit for one of the leading jaarls in Viken, a man who had made a fortune through one single raid last summer, a man whose exploits were lauded by the skalds in the latest poems.

      A low horn sounded across the water of the fjord. Their boats had been spotted. The battle would begin when he set foot on the shore.

      ‘Exactly what are you planning, Bose the