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‘I thought … I thought he had killed you.’
Her voice shook with delayed reaction and he heard it with some surprise.
‘I am not so easy to kill, my sweet.’ He hesitated. ‘Would it have grieved you, then, if he had?’
‘Of course it would.’
‘Gold would buy you another protector.’
‘I don’t want another protector.’
Anwyn swayed towards him. Then his mouth was on hers. He felt her arms slide around his neck, her body pressed against his. And then she was kissing him back. His heart seemed to skip several beats. The kiss grew deeper, more intimate. Desire flared.
AUTHOR NOTE
The birth of Wulfgar at the conclusion to THE VIKING’S DEFIANT BRIDE not only rounded off the story, but left it on a note of optimism for the future. It also offered the possibility of a sequel. Twenty-seven years after the events in that book, England was a different place. The Danelaw had been established in the north and Alfred had defeated the great Viking leader, Guthrum. However, other Viking raiders still harried the coasts of England and Europe. Among the most notorious was Rollo. He was clever as well as daring, and seemed to be an ideal candidate for a projected partnership with my hero. Of course events don’t play out as Wulfgar expects, because on his way to join the pirate force a storm blows his ship off course. The need for urgent repairs causes him and his men to put in at an apparently deserted bay on the coast of East Anglia. That in turn sets off a chain of unforeseen events and life-changing decisions.
Having lived in Norfolk as a student many years ago, I am familiar with East Anglia. A fascinating area, with a rich and diverse history, it certainly repays exploration. It is also scenically attractive, with gentle green countryside and the huge skies that have proved an inspiration to so many painters. The coast has its own attractions. The big resorts like Great Yarmouth and Hunstanton draw thousands of visitors every year. I have always preferred the more remote, less populated areas, with their rolling dunes, sandy bays and huge expanses of grey-green water. I have drawn on those experiences in this book. When one stands on the edge of the dunes and looks out across the North Sea it isn’t hard to visualise a striped sail on the horizon.
About the Author
JOANNA FULFORD is a compulsive scribbler, with a passion for literature and history, both of which she has studied to postgraduate level. Other countries and cultures have always exerted a fascination, and she has travelled widely, living and working abroad for many years. However, her roots are in England, and are now firmly established in the Peak District, where she lives with her husband Brian. When not pressing a hot keyboard she likes to be out on the hills, either walking or on horseback. However, these days equestrian activity is confined to sedate hacking rather than riding at high speed towards solid obstacles.
Previous novels by the same author:
THE VIKING’S DEFIANT BRIDE
(part of the Mills & Boon Presents … anthology,
featuring talented new authors)
THE WAYWARD GOVERNESS
THE LAIRD’S CAPTIVE WIFE
THE COUNTERFEIT CONDESA
Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk
The Viking’s Touch
Joanna Fulford
In loving memory of Pam Barnard
Prologue
Northumbria—AD 889
Tongues of flames from the roof leaped thirty feet into the night sky and the heat grew so intense that it forced the spectators back. Grim-faced, they watched helplessly as the hall was consumed, beam and rafter and shingle backlit in a blaze of scarlet and orange. Acrid smoke oozed from the timbered walls and poured from the doorway, thickening the eerie glow. No one spoke. The only sounds were of crackling wood and the roar of the fire.
Wulfgar stood unmoving, like a man petrified by fell enchantment, and looked upon the destruction of the place he had once called home, the pyre of those he loved most. The light of the flames dyed his face blood-red and lent his gaze a terrible aspect. All the thoughts behind lay buried, overwhelmed by grief and anger too deep for utterance. His sword companions stood a little way off with the rest, watching in horrified silence from the edges of a vast darkness.
Time lost all meaning. Oblivious to fatigue and chill, Wulfgar remained there until grey dawn stole through the trees. Its pallid light revealed a black and smoking ruin. He did not notice the soft thud of hoof falls on turf or the creak of saddle leather as the rider dismounted. Only when the horseman stood beside him did he look round and, as one emerging from a long sleep, come slowly to consciousness.
The vivid blue gaze that met his might have been the mirror of his own. The face, lined now with age, also bore a striking resemblance to his. However, his father’s hair was now more grey than dark. Similar in height to Wulfgar, he bore himself erect and his powerful frame carried yet its familiar aura of power. For the space of several heartbeats the two men surveyed each other in silence. Wulfgar was the first to look away.
‘I should have been here,’ he said.
Wulfrum shook his head. ‘It would have changed nothing.’
‘I failed them when they needed me most.’
‘You could not have foreseen this.’
‘She begged me not to go, but I paid no heed. Tried to convince myself it was for her and the child I was doing it.’ Wulfgar’s voice shook. ‘It was my own selfishness that brought them to this.’
‘You could not have saved them, any more than you could have saved all the others who died.’
‘I could have tried.’
‘Aye, but the result would likely have been the same. The fever makes no distinctions. It kills noble and base-born together.’
‘That doesn’t help.’
‘No, only time will do that.’
‘Will it?’
Wulfrum paused. ‘What will you do
