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LENGTH: Full Novel (320 print pages)
SENSUALITY: Sensual

Cover art (c) Eliza Black 2003
ISBN 1-58608-341-4
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Rating: Contains sexual content and violence in keeping with the period.

"Blue Ribbon Rating: FIVE! VIKING SEDUCTION by Tracy L. Ranson is a glorious tale, full of wonderful characters. I adore Viking history and mythology and Ms. Ranson delighted me with her use of some of my favorite mythical characters. VIKING SEDUCTION is a beautiful historical romance--sensual, exciting and well written; a wonderful book to read and kept me engrossed throughout. I recommend VIKING SEDUCTION for all you lovers of superb medieval romances." Romance Junkies

"Vivid, fast-paced, detailed and character driven, Viking Seduction is a moving historical. The relationship between Morgana and Erik is volatile and passionate. Ms. Ranson deftly captured the nature of two very stubborn and proud people, both determined to have their own way while at the same time showing the small changes and concessions they made at every fight. This makes their love much more believable and magical. I highly recommend Viking Seduction." In the Library Review

"Very well written, VIKING SEDUCTION has strong characters and a creative plot line. Vivid, descriptive narrative brings the story to life in the reader's mind. VIKING SEDUCTION has all the right elements that make a good romance. Ms. Ranson has created a fine tale of love, suspense and humor. VIKING SEDUCTION is a definite must read this December." Romance Reviews Today

"This reviewer’s attention was held from page one, and this book ended far too soon. Ms. Ranson has a wonderful, innovative writing style that captures the reader’s attention and leaves one looking for more. Her writing reaches out and includes the reader as part of the story, yet entertains. Ranson sets the scene and describes the environment so one feels as if they are there and seeing it for themselves. Far too many writers in our modern day forget to engage the reader’s imagination in describing the surroundings of the characters; this book fully engages the reader. This book quickly became a “stay-up-in-bed-reading-till-it-is-done” page turner. This reviewer looks forward to Ms. Ranson’s next story!" Love Romances

"Ms. Ranson has created an entertaining and fun story. Her vivid descriptions of the setting put the reader right in the land of the Vikings. I’m looking forward to reading Ms. Ranson’s next book." Sizzling Romances

Viking Seduction

By

Tracy L. Ranson

(c) copyright October 2003 Tracy L. Ranson
Cover art by Eliza Black, (c) copyright October 2003
New Concepts Publishing
5202 Humphreys Rd.
Lake Park, GA 31636

Dedication
To the one man who is the inspiration for it all, my best friend as well as life mate and lover. John, this would not be possible if you were not here. You are my perfect hero.

Chapter 1

Morgana stood at the prow of her ship, the Golden Princess, as the strong wooden bow slipped through the semi-calm water as smooth as a ripple through silk. Tendrils of her free hair lifted, riding the same wind swelling the sails of the vessel. Dressed in blue-tinted men’s breeches and tunic, she drew in a deep breath and inhaled the salty tang of the sea, letting it fill her nostrils and lungs with its neat, familiar scent. How long had it been since her last trip on the sea? By her calculations, it had been almost too long. Had it not for her father’s plans for her, she would not be here at all.

“Are you all right, Princess?” issued a strong male voice behind her. She turned around to see Robert, the captain of her ship, standing before her. Concern and worry stamped his aged features.

Morgana shook her head and brushed the strands of loose hair over her shoulder. “Aye, Robert. I was just thinking about home.” She leaned against the railing and stared at Robert. His face, the color of tanned leather, was creased and lined with age. White hair tumbled around his head like a halo, wafting in the gentle wind. He was no taller than three-quarters of a rod were, but he was mighty.

Despite his grizzled appearance, his smile was warm and inviting. “What were you thinking?”

She sighed then turned to gaze out toward the sea with her resting on the element battered railing. “How much I would have liked to stay at home.”

Robert stepped up next to her, assuming the same pose. “You could have, you know.”

Morgana shook her head. “No, I could not. Facing a life next to a man who would give his horse more regard than his wife was not an enlivening prospect. I refuse to play the part of political pawn, so this was my only choice.”

Robert’s tanned, freckled hand covered her. “If I were your father, I would have let you have some say in a choice of a husband.”

She patted his hand affectionately. “Much thanks, Robert. It pleases me that you think that way. However, my father, being who he is, decided my marriage to King William of England would prove to be a very good alliance with Wales. He was only doing as he was taught.”

“Still, I would ... .”

She laid a finger to his lips. “That is enough, Robert. I want to discuss this no further. Now, where will our course take us?”

It was his turn to sigh. “France then onto Spain. From there, we may go wherever our heart desires.”

Morgana cast her gaze out onto the crystal blue waters rumbling past the hull. With the dawn of each new day, she pushed away from the familiar Welsh shoreline she had loved so much toward an unknown destiny. At least it was better than facing a life with the horrific King of England.

Just as she turned to her left, something caught her eye. Though it was quite a span away, it possessed the resemblance of a ship. She could not make out the size because of the distance, but something definitely intrigued her. Red and white material glared at her, flapping at the vessel’s mast. They must be the sails of traders roaming the sea in search of good trading routes. Morgana let out a sigh of relief. For a moment, she thought it might been a roving band of pirates in search of hapless ships to plunder.

“’Tis the Vikings!” came the shout from the crow’s nest.

“Princess, get down below!” Robert bellowed.

Her brow lifted. “What are the Vikings doing this far south this time of year?”

“I know not, but the fact remains they are here. Now get down below where you will be safe.”

“No, Robert! Give me a sword! I can defend myself as best as any man!”

Robert gripped her upper arms in an iron clasp and pushed her toward the stairs. “This is one time that I will not obey your orders, Princess.”

Rough hands shoved Morgana into her cabin. Once she was in, the door slammed and locked behind her. Damn them! She kicked the door with vicious swipe while cursing Robert with a bitter tongue. She could take care of herself!

Her gaze drifted to the hinges of the door. If she could just push up the pins holding them in place, she could easily slip through the void. Before she could find anything to take out the hinge pins, a large thunk resounded above her. She looked up, her heart hammering in her chest. Overhead, she heard the hard pound of feet moving over the sturdy wood as the men readied for battle.

She moved away from the door, making her way to the large round window. Morgana peered out, holding her breath as she watched the ship approach. Its sails were indeed red and white, only they were in vertical stripes, indicative of the Vikings. Her heart lurched.

Morgana hurried away from the window and knelt next to her bed, her hands frantically searching underneath.

It must be here somewhere!

This seemed to go on for a few tense moments until her hands locked around the thick leather sheath of her sword. Her lips curled into a smile. We shall see what the Vikings withstand, she thought as the full scabbard came into her sight. The hilt, with her initials carved in the sturdy metal, was ornate, made of the best iron Wales produced. Her father had the blade fashioned for her to give to her husband on their wedding day. From the moment she had planned her escape, Morgana knew this would come with her.

With a firm grip on the hilt, Morgana felt the smooth cold points dig into her palm. It felt comfortable, almost like a long lost friend. She pulled the blade out and stood up, hefting it around. It was the right weight and height, perfect for her. Perhaps her father had it made for her all along instead of her husband.

Now came the harder task. She needed to hide her hair.

Morgana opened a coffer at the end of her bed and started plowing through it. Gowns, bodices, and undergarments went flying as she searched for a head covering.

Under one of her darker gowns, buried near the bottom, lay a black velvet cap. Picking it up, she jammed it on her head, cramming all the errant strands underneath.

With her hair tucked neatly under the cap, Morgana pulled the ornate sword from its sheath and wielded it. It made a sharp slice through the air. Any man who got in her way would end up with the tip of it through his gullet.

Once she pulled out the pins of the door with the hardened edge of her sword, Morgana strained against the hard wood until it gave way. She slipped through the small void created between the jamb and the door. Above her, the scuffle of feet and the shouts of anxious voices became more intense. The Vikings must be close or on board.

She wound her way cautiously through the darkened stairwell, her head pounding. Light seeped through the crack under the door as well as the sharp smell of burning wood, making her eyes water slightly. What was going on out there?

Morgana charged out of the door and stormed to the deck, brandishing her sword before her like a flame. To her left was a young lad, about her size. His blade flashed in a blinding arc in her line of vision, but she caught his steel with her own. Metal clashed against metal with sparks flying as they danced around in a circle of death, thrusting back and forth. With quickness on her side, Morgana swiped her sword at his belly. The red-headed lad fell forward, his eyes turning glassy before he fell onto the deck, his hands clutching the wound as if to prevent the bleeding. The hot coppery smell of blood, mingling with that of the burning wood, rose and stung her nostrils, encouraging her belly to retch at all this death. She had never encountered this before.

Morgana turned, her chest heaving in an effort to regain her breathing as well as to calm her erratic heart, to see more of them scrambling over the side. They swung from the mast on thick ropes, descending like hungry insects to feed on dead flesh. Fear threatened to overtake her, but she quelled it for the moment despite the hard pounding against her ribcage. They must defeat these heathens.

She looked to her right. There was another Viking about her size trying to slay one of the cabin boys. She picked up a discarded Viking sword as well as her own and rushed to the boy’s side, burying both blades in the mid-section of the taller man. She pushed the screeching yell echoing from his dying lips out of her mind. Blood spurted from the wounds, bathing her completely. Before she could stop herself, the contents of her stomach spilled through her mouth and mingled with the congealing blood on the deck.

Morgana tossed the Viking blade to the cabin boy, leaping onto the upper deck. The swift descent of the enemy had all but ended now with all of the raiders aboard her ship.

Suddenly, she caught sight of Robert, backed against the side of the ship with a sword at his throat. A large Viking held the hilt, his bulging, naked arms glistening with blood and sweat. Tendrils of long blond hair streamed out from underneath his helmet and flowed over massive shoulders. He was large, but she had the element of surprise on her side. Leaping from the prow, Morgana ran with her sword in front of her, ready to thrust the tall man. Just as she came within reach of his back, a sharp pain rang in her head then her world grew hazy. She felt herself fall and slipped into the bleak world of unconsciousness the moment her head hit the blood-splattered deck.

* * * *

“It looks like we have done well, Erik,” Sven commented in a hearty tone as they both wove a path through the piles of dead bodies. Smoke rolled by in thick plumes. Death was everywhere, the smell of lifeless flesh clinging to everything. It had been a long time since he encountered a battle such as this.

Erik removed his helmet and tucked it under his burly arm, surveying the scene before him. Most of the dead were the crew of the captured vessel, hardly any of his own. “Aye, that we have. Have you searched the ship for treasure?”

Sven let out a hearty laughter, his brown eyes crinkling around the edges with delight. “Aye, and you will be most amazed at what we found.”

Erik turned to Sven as his blond eyebrow rose in response. “What did you find?” For this degree of excitement to fill Sven, it must be worth seeing.

With the snap of his fingers, Sven gestured to bring the treasure out. Two of the men rose from the smoky depths of the ship carrying an ornate coffer between them. In front of him, they halted, setting the box down. Sven broke the iron lock binding the coffer, lifting the lid carefully. Brilliant colors greeted Erik’s vision. Various shades of silk fluttered in the breeze of the sea, emitting the soft scent of wildflowers. Erik inhaled the scent.

Sven rummaged with the clean handle of his axe, moving things around so they could get a better look. “There must be a woman aboard, perhaps the ship’s whore. Why else bring all theses gowns and jewels?” Sven turned to him for an explanation.

Erik’s arms crossed over each other, his hand going to his chin in a pensive move. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, crossing his fur booted feet at the ankles. Sven could be right. If there was a woman aboard, it could prove very interesting indeed. “Sven, do you not think perhaps these are goods to be sold in port?”

Sven shook his red head. “There’s a woman about, Erik. I can smell it.”

Erik let out a snide smirk as he threw his hands up in a mocking gesture. “I think what you are smelling is yourself, Sven. As for this mystery woman ... .” Sudden calls of one of his men drew his attention, cutting off his words.

“Erik, there is something I think you should see!” Ulrich cried, his arm waving in a frantic motion.

Erik strode to Ulrich’s side, waiting for reason for the summoning. “What is it?” he stated in annoyed tone. All of these interruptions wore on his patience, and he wanted to be on his way back to Darvisson as soon as possible.

“Look at this,” Ulrich stated as he laid a blood grimed hand against the boy’s chest where it rose and fell rhythmically. His brow cocked up. Did Ulrich call him over to confirm the boy was alive?

Erik shook his head, shrugging his massive shoulders. “So? The child breathes. Bring him aboard, and we will make use of him at home.”

Ulrich shook his dark, blood-bathed head. “No, there is something more. Feel his chest.”

Erik cast a hardened look at his cousin then bent down to feel the boy’s chest. Much to his amazement, the chest was not flat but mounded, almost like a woman’s. He drew his hand back as if it had been scorched. “Thor’s teeth, the lad has breasts!”

“That is not all he possesses.” With that, Ulrich pulled the cap from the woman’s head. A plethora of blonde hair tumbled out. Portions of it appeared tinted crimson with blood that oozed from the cut on her head.

Erik stood back, staring wide-eyed at the unconscious female. She was dressed in a tunic with breeches and boots, trying to pass as a man. Why was she doing that?

Underneath that dirt and grime, he suspected her skin was as soft as the finest silk. This woman was no whore. “This changes things then. Why was this woman on the ship?”

Sven threw his hands up in frustration. “I already told you! She is the ship’s whore, and now she can be our whore until we reach home.”

Erik shook his blond head, his mind pondering the fabulous silks contained in the trunk. This was not the wardrobe of whore but more than likely belonged to a noblewoman. “We do not know that, Sven. Do not assume what may not be true.”

“There is one way to find out. If you let me take down her breeches ... .”

Sven made a lunge for the shapely legs outlined in the tight breeches, but Erik’s firm hand on his shoulder halted her injustice. “No, Sven. No one is to touch her until I find out her identity and what she is doing on the sea.”

Sven’s deep laughter filled the air. “Not to mention her skill with a sword. If I had not struck on her on the head with the hilt of my sword, she surely would have run you through.”

“Why did you not kill her?”

Sven’s broad shoulders shrugged. “I know not. Perhaps Loki clouded my vision today.”

He clapped his friend on the back in a friendly gesture. “At least it was not a half a barrel of English ale. You have saved me yet again from disaster.”

“What are friends for?”

Chapter 2

Painful throbs in her head brought Morgana back from the depths of dreamless sleep. How long she was there, she was not sure. The last thing she remembered was getting ready to run a Viking through ... her ship! A roving band of Vikings attacked her ship on the high sea!

Morgana opened her eyes. Where was she? Was she in her own cabin aboard the Golden Princess? On one side, moonlight bathed the rough-hewn tent in gray, outlining the confines slightly. Just beyond the edge, she heard the soft murmur of voices in a language she had never heard before. Where was everyone?

Morgana put her hand down and felt the soft fur pelts underneath her constructing a bed. It was warm but foreign. Fear pounded along her veins as the sudden realization of her situation sank in. She must have been captured to be taken God only knows where.

What was she going to do?

Were they going to ravish her and pass her around like some sort of sport?

Before she could think upon it further, the tent parted with the help of two large hands. Terror pushed Morgana’s heart to a new pace as a lump formed in her throat. Who was it that was coming into the dim room? Better still, what did they want with her? She backed up a little on the mound.

A very tall figure emerged from the opening and stood before her with arms crossed. From his silhouette, she could see his heavily muscled arms as well as his strong legs splayed out in a gesture of power. Light colored, wavy hair framed his unseen face.

“I trust you are well,” he stated in a strong masculine voice. She was taken aback. He spoke her Welsh tongue with a perfect accent.

“How ... how ... you know my language?” she managed to stammer.

Snorts of annoyance escaped his lips. “You forget that the Vikings have traveled the seas since time began. Most of us know many languages.” His arms fell to his sides where his hands went to his burly hips. “I suppose you could use some light.” With a quick snap of his fingers, a small pot, filled with oil, passed through. Though the flame was small, the light was generous enough for her to get a good look at him.

Warm golden light highlighted his bronzed skin underneath the strange fur vest covering his wide torso. He possessed a strong brow that hooded his eyes, almost like those of a hawk. His nose, aquiline and sleek, swept down to high cheekbones. Luscious full lips parted to let out a soft breath. Her heart thumped an extra beat as the masculine scent of him filled the dim room.

“Much thanks, milord. What ... what are you going to do with me?”

“That all depends.” Sitting beside her, the corner of the bed sunk under his weight, bringing forth the thought that at any moment this giant could spring on her and there was nothing she could to stop him.

Her eyebrow rose. “On what?”

The stranger picked up a strand of her hair and dangled it between his strong fingers. “On you. First, you are going to tell me who you are and what you are doing on the sea with a band of men.” Strange light danced behind the light gray eyes. What was his real intent?

She shook her head defiantly, crossing her arms. “No. That is my concern and my concern alone.”

In a swift motion, his strong arm locked around her waist and drew her against his hardened plane. Her trembling increased fourfold as her breath quickened. From her position, Morgana could do nothing but to look into his eyes. “Come, vixen, I can be very cruel indeed." His lips were inches away from hers, his breath warm and inviting. For a moment, she thought his lips would touch hers, but, as the moments passed, it became clear he was not. A bite of uninvited lust nipped at the back of her mind.

Morgana threw her head back. “If I do not?”

His lips turned upwards in a devilish smile. “Are you willing to find out?”

“If you must know, I was traveling as the ship’s whore, nothing more,” she snarled through gritted teeth. “I was given to the captain, but he unfortunately died en route. So, I dressed as a man to keep the others away from me.”

His gaze traveled all over her face as if to memorize every line then returned to stare into her eyes. “You lie.”

“Nay, I do not!”

He nodded. “You do. Whores do not have such soft skin,” he murmured in a low tone as his free hand captured hers, his fingers tracing patterns on the palm of her hand. “They also do not have hands of a noblewoman, so ‘tis best that you tell me your identity, or I will kill one of your men for every moment that you do not tell me.” Intense heat from his fingers seared up her arm and flowed around her body, exploding in a delicious meld of sensation.

A mask of smug delight crossed his face. “You would not ... .”

“No? Do you wish to discover that for yourself?”

Morgana drew in a deep breath and let out a reluctant sigh. “I am Morgana from Wales and betrothed to a very powerful man whose riches are vast. He would pay handsomely for my safe return.”

Small chuckles escaped his throat. “Then, I assume you sought to free yourself from an arranged marriage? Perhaps find your true love upon the sea?”

She tilted her head in a slight nod. “Aye, I wanted to get away but to find love, nay. I do not believe in such foolishness.”

It was the truth. Love did not exist, at least for her. All those times she had heard her mother cry because of one of her father’s indiscretions with the chambermaids, her heart shattered. The myth that a man took a woman’s heart, disregarding all others was for fools. Aye, the man kept the woman’s heart but not to treasure it. He had to hoard it, possess it, then destroy the fragile organ when he no longer desired the love. Her father's actions had proved it was all a lie. After her mother's death from a broken heart, she knew love never really existed.

“Now that you know my name, ‘tis my turn to learn yours.”

The corners of his full lips turned sensuously upward as the light in his eyes deepened. “I am Erik, son of Ragnar, Jarl of Darvisson. ” His blond brow rose in question. “Your lord and master.”

Morgana’s anger bubbled over the kettle containing it. Before she could stop herself, she slapped his cheek soundly. Erik’s head recoiled from the strength of her strike.

His face came around to show her the blazing fury on it, his bronze cheek reddened from the strike. Releasing her, Erik’s left hand slowly rubbed the area of her slap. “You will pay for that little vixen Morgana, but now is not the time. You have fire in you. I like that. I imagine that a man could be consumed with it if he chose to be.”

“That is something you will never find out,” she snarled as she tried to move beyond his reach.

Erik was too quick for her. His hand on her wrist prevented her escape. “All in due time, my dear. Now as for these rags,” he stated, pinching the tattered material between his fingers, “they do not befit you. I will have one of my men bring in a fresh bucket of water so that you may wash. After that, you can dress in your own gown.”

“What if I should refuse?”

“’Tis much to late for refusal, my dear.” With those words still hanging in the icy air, Erik laid both hands on her shoulders and ripped the material. “There, that will make sure you will change into your own gown!” he snarled. Before she could issue a retort, Erik stormed out of the tent, leaving her completely alone. Outside of her confines, she heard the murmur of his voice among the others in their tongue. Damn him!

How dare he tear her tunic like that? Was ravishment on his mind? Nay, it could not be. The King would pay nothing for her if she were not intact. Tears moistened her eyes, creating a hazy film she could barely see through. Just where was it they were taking her? Worse yet, what would she be made to do once she got there?

If only Kennuric were here! Sweet, strong, older brother Kennuric who taught her everything she needed to know about defending herself and weaponry. He would find a way out of this.

“Here is your water, Morgana. Now wash,” ordered a gruff voice as the bucket landed on the board with a dull thud, drawing her from her thoughts. Droplets of water splashed around in a circular pattern around the pail. Her eyes flew open to see Erik standing before her, a scowl stamped on his aquiline features.

“Leave this tent, or I will not wash.”

Erik threw his hands up in frustration. “Thor’s teeth! I will turn my back while you wash woman!” He turned around amidst the strong sighs of annoyance escaping his lips. Good. Perhaps he would leave her alone until the King paid her ransom.

Morgana slipped the tunic from her shoulders all the while keeping her eyes on him. With a quick hand, she pulled a gown from the coffer and covered herself with it while she dipped the cloth into the cool water. She wrung it out with one hand and proceeded to wipe away the grime and blood. The water was cool and refreshing, not at all harsh or salty. It must be from their fresh water supply.

Slipping the breeches down her thighs, she stepped out of the bloody garments. Morgana turned her back on his reluctantly and proceeded to cleanse the rest of the blood and gore from her body. Soft skin returned from underneath, glowing with a velvety creaminess. The water in the bucket surely must be the color of rust by now.

Oh, how good it felt to be clean again! If only she could wash her hair, but the best she could do was rinse it out with the already muddled water.

Just as she slipped her emerald hued gown on, Morgana suddenly felt as though intent eyes watched her. She turned around to say she was finished, but what she saw stopped her. Erik had his dagger out, holding it at an odd angle so it would catch the light better. Anger stormed through her. He was using it like a mirror so he could see her movements and the nakedness of her body. How dare he!

“What do you think you are doing?”

“Watching you. You are truly beautiful,” he commented as he slipped the dagger back into his boot.

Morgana was outraged. “Have you no shame? What I did was private!”

“When you are aboard my ship, nothing is private. That gown suits you.” With two lengthy strides, Erik was in front of her. His large hands went to her shoulders and spun her around, sending ripples of sensation throughout her body. “Let me fasten your laces.” Before she could stop him, Erik’s nimble fingers had them tied better than Bridget, her lady in waiting, could have ever done. Her trembling returned at the close proximity of him.

“Get your heathen hands off of me,” she attempted to snarl through clenched teeth. “Take me back to my homeland and you shall have more riches than you could ever dream of.”

“The more fire I see in you, the more I desire to keep you for myself. The riches of your land pale in comparison of what you have to offer. Tell me, would a night spent in the arms of an English nobleman be better than that of a Viking one?"

Before Morgana could issue a reply, Erik’s lips plowed hers with a heavy passion. His tongue burrowed between her taut line in a hurried fashion, encouraging her tongue to dance with his. She was stunned and afraid. None of her previous suitors had ever kissed her like this before. Her knees weakened. Her heartbeat picked up as her breath quickened with a light sheen of perspiration breaking out on her forehead. What was wrong with her?

Just as she delved into the swirling eddy of new emotion, Erik broke the kiss. “Tell me your answer in a few days.” With that, he turned and left the tent, leaving her senses to reel in the relentless sea of desire.