“Why would I marry you, Sidroc?” Foolish question! But then I am feeling foolish.
“I know, I know the answer to that, Mother.” Runa was jumping up and down. She glanced up at her father, as if looking for a cue.
“Go ahead, rosebud,” he said.
Runa preened. “Because we love you.”
Drifa let out a sob and turned tearful eyes to Sidroc.
He smiled again, one of those I-can-make-you-do-anything smiles, and said, “Because I love you.”
She was so mad at him for so many things.
He was so mad at her for so many things.
But what did it matter if he loved her?
“Well, Drifa, are you suddenly without words? Pray Odin the sky does not fall down.”
She launched herself at him, and he caught both her and Runa in an embrace. Against his neck, she whispered, “I love you, too.”
And the lout said, “I know.”
Reader Letter
Dear Reader:
Well, Drifa is the last of the Viking princesses. Did you like her story?
I smile sometimes to think of where I have placed my Vikings over the years. The Norselands, of course, which would be all the Scandinavian countries. Norsemandy (Viking Age Normandy). Britain. Iceland. Scotland. The Baltics. America. And now Byzantium.
What next? you may very well ask.
Well, how about Transylvania, Pennsylvania, and a group of Viking vampire angels? Talk about tortured heroes with a sense of humor! This Deadly Angels series will begin in May 2012.
That doesn’t mean that I will discontinue the historical romances. Wulf, and Jamie, and Thork, and even clumsy Alrek deserve their own stories some day. I’m thinking these so-called Viking pirates need their comeuppance, maybe even capture by a group of Amazon-like female Viking pirates. And in the back of my mind, there has always been a story calling to me: The Harlot Bride. Maybe Isobel from The Norse King’s Daughter would fill that role well.
Keep in mind that the previous books in this series are still in print, either as new books or as reissues: The Reluctant Viking, The Outlaw Viking, The Tarnished Lady, The Bewitched Viking, The Blue Viking, My Fair Viking (retitled The Viking’s Captive), A Tale of Two Vikings, Viking in Love, and The Viking Takes a Knight. I have made sure to update the reissues, giving them new, funny scene tags, as well as new reader letters and glossaries.
For the record—in case you thought I was guilty of an anachronism—trepanning, or head drilling for medicinal purposes, did take place in the tenth century. In fact, ancient (meaning before the time of Christ) skeletal remains show drilled holes in skulls. Archaeologists tell us they were made for a variety of purposes: to release evil spirits, to alleviate headaches, or to relieve the pressure of swelling on the brain. There is no evidence that head drilling had the sexual side effect mentioned in my book (grin).
And just for a note of interest . . . there’s a reason that I wanted Drifa to have an interest in irises. My aunt Eliza was a great gardener, and her favorite flower was the iris. Over the years, every time anyone in her small town traveled around the world, they would bring her back roots (or rhizomes) from some special species. In the end, she probably grew hundreds of different kinds. Unfortunately, when I went back to that town a few years ago, an art gallery was located in her former home, and all the gardens dug up and planted with grass.
Keep checking my website at www.sandrahill.net for more information on my books, genealogy charts, free novellas, and contests. I love hearing from readers at
[email protected], and, as always, I wish you smiles in your reading.
Sandra Hill
Glossary
Abayah—long loose robe with built-in head cover.
Asgard—home of the gods, comparable to heaven.
Augustaion—public, ceremonial square in Constantinople.
Azan—call of faithful to prayer.
Berserker—an ancient Norse warrior who fought in a frenzied rage during battle.
Birka—Viking Age trading center in Sweden.
Blood eagle—a method of punishment whereby a sword was placed on the victim’s spine to hack all the ribs away from the backbone down as far as the loins, then the lungs pulled out as an offering to Odin.
Braies—slim pants worn by men.
Chalmys—in ancient Greece, a cloak clasped on one shoulder, leaving the weapon arm free.
Chamberlain—high steward, person in charge of managing a household, sometimes a high official at court.
Chiton—gown or tunic without sleeves, worn by both sexes in ancient Greece.
Christogram—symbol for Christ using Greek letters.
Concubine—a woman who cohabits with a man who is not her husband.
Danegeld—in medieval times, especially Britain, a tribute or tax paid to Vikings; in other words, you pay or we plunder.
Danelaw—northern, central, and eastern parts of Anglo-Saxon England in which Viking law prevailed.
Dynatoi—border warlords similar to later-day samurai soldiers.
Drukkinn (various spellings)—drunk, in Old Norse.
Ealdorman—a royal official who presided over shire courts and carried out royal commands within his domain. Comparable to later earls.
Ell—a linear measure, usually of cloth, equal to forty-five inches.
Eparch—next to the emperor, the most important official in Constantinople; alternately called the prefect; served as chief magistrate, chief judge, chief of police, supervisor of immigration, and trade commissioner.
Fillet—band worn around the head.
Garderobe—latrine or privy.
Gunna—long-sleeved, ankle-length gown for women, often worn under a tunic or surcoat, or under a long, open-sided apron.
Hectare—unit of land measure equal to 2.471 acres.
Hedeby—market town where Germany is now located.
Hersir—local military commander who owes allegiance to jarl or king.
Hird—a permanent troop that a chieftain or nobleman might have.
Hnefatafl—a board game played by the Vikings.
Houri—beautiful woman, often associated with a harem.
Housecarls—troops assigned to a king’s or lord’s household on a long-term, sometimes permanent basis.
Jarl—high-ranking Norseman similar to an English earl or wealthy landowner, could also be a chieftain or minor king.
Jihad—religious duty or holy war deemed a sacred duty by Moslems.
Jomsvikings—elite group of Viking warriors who banded together as mercenaries, often for noble causes, and lived together in military fortresses.
Jorvik—Viking Age York, known by the Saxons as Eoforwic.
Khopesh—type of curve-bladed sword, a sickle sword.
Komvoskoini, or chotki—prayer beads.
Léine—a long, full shirt down to the knees, resembling an undertunic, often of a saffron-yellow color.
Logothete—chief minister, the person who introduced important visitors to the emperor during public sessions.
Loki—blood brother of Odin, often called the trickster or jester god because of his mischief.
Midden—refuse dump.
Miklagard (various spellings)—Viking name for Constantinople.
More danico—Norse practice of multiple wives.
Muezzin—person or persons who call the azan.
Nithing—one of the greatest of Norse insults, indicating a man is less then nothing.
Norns of Fate—three wise old women who destined everybody’s fate according to Norse legend.
Norselands—early term referring not just to Norway but all the Scandinavian countries as a whole.
Norsemandy—tenth-century name for Normandy.
Northumbria—one of the Anglo-Saxon kingdoms bordered by the English kingdoms to the south and in the north and northwest by the Scots, Cumbrians, and Strathclyde Welsh.
Parapet—low wall along edge of roof.
Patriarch—the bishop of an ancient see, such as Constan
tinople, in the Greek Orthodox religion.
Paximadi—very hard Byzantine bread, often carried by ancient armies because it lasted so long.
Pennanular—a type of brooch, usually circular in shape, with a long pin crossing it in back for attachment to fabric.
Pladd (or brat)—large length of fabric like a blanket, which was fastened on the shoulder with a brooch; a mantle of sorts, looped under the sword arm for better maneuverability, and secured at the waist with a leather belt. Men usually wore it over the léine or long shirt, which left the legs exposed.
Porphyry—hard, purplish-red rock that contains large crystals of feldspar.
Portage—act of carrying a boat overland from one navigable waterway to another.
Praetorion—the building that housed government offices, including that of the eparch.
Sagas—oral history of the Norse people, passed on from ancient history onward.
Sennight—seven days; one week.
Skald—poet or storyteller.
Straw death—to die in sleep upon a rush mattress, shameful for Vikings.
Tagmata/tagmatic—troops that were assigned to the emperor. These were separate from the Varangian guardsmen.
Tamarisk—a tree or shrub with feathery needles and numerous small pink flowers, also known as salt cedar.
Thane—a member of the noble class below earls but above freemen, usually a landowner.
Theme/thematic—Byzantium was divided into separate military districts called themes, which had their own native garrisons and governor generals.
Thing—an assembly called to discuss problems and settle disputes, similar to a district court.
Thralls—slaves.
Tun—252 gallons, as of ale.
Valhalla—hall of the slain, Odin’s magnificent hall in Asgard.
Valkyries—female warriors in the afterlife who did Odin’s will.
Wergild (various spellings)—a man’s worth.
Read on
for a sneak peek
at Sandra Hill’s
KISS OF PRIDE,
coming in May 2012
from Avon Books.
Transylvania, Pennsylvania, 2012
Welcome to my world, sweetling . . .
“I need to taste you,” Vikar said, and almost immediately wished he’d bitten his tongue, except his fool fangs had come out in anticipation of—what else?—a taste.
Son of a troll! How he hated these fangs! They were embarrassing, really. And inconvenient. In fact, they seemed to have a mind of their own. Like another part of his body.
But wait. Something strange was happening here. The air fair crackled, and he could swear his skin tingled. Tingled, for the love of a cloud! Every hair on his body was standing at attention, like bloody antennae.
The woman backed up a bit, but he was between her and the door to his castle office where he’d yanked her after seeing her alarm on first viewing his fellow VIK members. There was a telling silence on the other side of the door now, as if all twenty-seven vangels in residence so far were attempting to listen in on how he would handle this latest disaster.
He wasn’t sure if she sensed the same chemistry in the air, or if it was his rude behavior that frightened her. Probably both.
“Taste . . . taste . . . ?” she sputtered, her green eyes sparking anger at him. “In your dreams, buster. I’m here for an interview, and nothing else. I don’t appreciate your manhandling me, either.”
“I ‘manhandled’ you for your own safety. The tasting must be done, for your own safety.”
“ ‘For your own safety,’ ” she mimicked him. “That’s a new line, right up there with ‘I have to have sex or my blue balls will fall off.’ ”
She has a mouth like a drukkinn sailor. I like it. “You have a coarse tongue, m’lady.”
“Yeah, well, m’lord, you put your tongue, coarse or otherwise, anywhere near my private parts, and you will be very sorry.”
“What? That is not what I meant.” But, now that you’ve planted the picture in my mind, I wonder if it fits in with Trond’s “near sex” idea? “You missay me. ’Tis your blood I must sample in order to—”
“Whoa! The only taste you’re going to get is of the mace I’m going to blow your way.”
“A gun and mace? What are you, some kind of bounty hunter?” He was fairly certain she referred to the eye-blinding substance, not the medieval ball and chain weapon. So he put both hands up in mock fear.
She made a snarling sound and was already digging into a briefcase-style purse the size of a boar’s behind. As she bent forward, he relished the sight of her reddish-blonde hair falling forward out of the knot at her nape. He also relished the sight of the cleavage exposed under her flimsy upper garment, a wisp of flesh-toned silk and lace. Immature? No doubt. But when a Norseman had been celibate for a hundred years, he got his kicks wherever he could.
“Ah, here it is.” She held up a pocket-sized canister that might fell a dwarf, but not a man his size, and certainly not one with his supernatural composition.
He tried but failed to hide his grin. “Blow away, but the only effect it will have is to make me sneeze. You do not want to see a vampire angel in a sneezing fit. Last time, my fangs turned my lower lip into bloody pulp, and feathers flew everywhere.” That was not quite true, his not being winged yet, but exaggeration was a God-given Viking prerogative, in his opinion.
“Angel?” she scoffed. “First you’re a vampire. Now an angel. I can’t wait to hear what else you claim to be.”
“Viking.”
“Huh?”
“I’m a Viking vampire angel. A vangel. My brothers and I, Viking to the bone, are called the VIK, leaders of the vangels.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Are journalists usually so cynical and . . . discourteous?”
She blushed. “No. Let’s start over here. I’m Alexandra Kelly, World Gazette magazine.” She extended her hand toward him.
“And I am Vikar Sigurdsson.” He shook her hand, but only lightly, fearing a recurrence of the current that flowed betwixt them. “I mean you no harm, that I do swear.” He placed a hand over his heart for emphasis.
She studied him for a moment, then set her canister on the desk that was piled high with bills and account books and wallpaper samples, a Bible, and two empty bottles of Fake-O. Cobwebs hung from every corner. Mr. Clean, he was not.
Apparently she’d decided he was no longer a threat. How humbling was that for a fierce Viking warrior? But then humility was part of his ongoing penance.
“How come you’re being so open now, when a few minutes ago you were refusing my interview?”
“Because I saw the fang marks on your neck.”
“I beg your pardon.”
Enough! There was no way to convince this woman that he needed to suck out a bit of her blood to test for a demon infection. No quick way, leastways. And time was of the essence.
So, with a speed faster than any human could comprehend, he grasped both her wrists and held them behind her back with one of his hands, his hips propelled her back against the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and his other hand grasped her chin, forcing it to the side so that her neck lay open to him. With a reflexive hiss of anticipation, he sank his teeth into her skin where she’d already been bitten.
He’d done this hundreds of time before. He could do it in his sleep. He could do it and recite the Poetic Edda in his head. He could be cool, calm, and as collected as any Viking vampire angel in the midst of a fanging. But this was different, he recognized instantly.
The taste of her washed over him like a tidal wave. His cock shot up without warning and went lance hard without any forewarning. It was a thickening so exquisitely orgasmic that he felt his knees begin to buckle.
Jerking backward, he released his hold on her and put the back of his hand to his mouth, rubbing. Staggering to the other side of the desk, he plopped down to the swivel chair to hide the continuing erection that tented his shorts, the thigh-
length braies men wore in the summer months.
At the same time, she appeared more stunned than angry, although the anger was sure to come. Gingerly picking up a dirty tunic from another chair, she dropped it to the floor before sitting down to stare across the desk at him.
“Who are you?” they both asked at the same time.
Was that arousal hazing her green eyes? Was she feeling as shocked as he was? And why, after being dead for one thousand and sixty-two years, was he being sucker-punched with this kind of temptation?
Mike, he immediately thought. St. Michael the Archangel, their heavenly mentor.
On the other hand, what if the fiendish Jasper, head of all the demon vampires, had a hand in this? What if this strawberry-blonde vision was actually a Lucipire? Hmmm. He would have to tread carefully. At least the pole between his legs was unthickening.
“I am Vikar Sigurdsson,” he repeated. “I am the owner . . . um, developer of this property.” A seventy-five-room, run-down castle built by a coal baron in the Pennsylvania hills. Well, ’twas true. To a point. He was developing . . . something.