Wednesday 25 November 2020

Vikings for Christmas? Right here!

I have two new romances for the holiday season, one serious, the other more light-hearted.

The first is my "Viking and the Pictish Princess".


Can a Viking and Pict save Black Broch before winter?

Eithne’s cruel father sold her mother into slavery and gave her away. Despised by her siblings as a bastard, beautiful Eithne has lost everything, including her name.

Now called Bindweed, the illegitimate daughter of King Giric has made a life for herself on Maiden Isle as a respected wise-woman. She is determined to hold fast to that position and her little home, no matter what—or who—may come to try to steal it.

But when a fleeing Norseman appears dripping from the loch to seek shelter on Maiden Isle, Bindweed traps him – is he friend or foe? What is his purpose here on her isle? When ruthless raiding Gaels invade, Bindweed and Olaf must unite and fight together, if they plan to survive.


Chapter 1

The lone figure rose silently from the loch. Emerging from

the grey shimmer of a winter morning with water sheeting off

his body, he glided over the submerged boulders onto the

shore of her island. Bindweed scrambled into a holly tree and

dropped to the parched ground. She gritted her teeth against

the shout surging up her dry throat, old fears from the past

made real.


He was big, this invader, big as a king stag of the forest,

tanned, barrel chested and with arms thicker than her legs. His

black hair, dark as December pinecones, matted itself to his

skull in long streamers of shadow and eyes, the colour of

storm clouds, were quick and piercing.

“Black Norse,” Bindweed muttered, not daring to stir as

that fierce grey gaze swept over her hiding place. His thick

gold collar and armlets flashed when he strode by, arrogant

as a lord. He moved with the swift, quiet grace of a warrior,

the low winter sun illuminating his leather tunic and trews,

the long dagger strapped to one thigh, his sword on the other.

Spy or assassin, Bindweed wondered, watching his retreating

back. He made for her cave-house as if he had walked the

path a hundred times, though she doubted he sought her skill

in herb-lore. Still, she did not stir.

Free to read with KindleUnlimited.

My second Viking romance is much lighter. It's a holiday read, a time-slip, coming out from Prairie Rose Publications on Dec 3rd and priced at only 99cents or 77p.


He was trapped and she freed him.

Bound by golden chains, the old statue of Eric the Viking protector had belonged to Carrie’s grandfather, and his father before him. Eric had always been a part of Carrie’s life, though she’d wished through the years that he was real—not just a statue.

But Eric had been imprisoned by magic spell dealt him by one of Carrie’s ancestors—a punishment for his own greed—until he truly understood what he’d done.

When Carrie’s ex-husband shows an unnatural interest in her modest little home left to her by her grandfather, Eric finally gets his chance at freedom. Who else can save Carrie from the ancient, wicked forces at work against her?

But will his protection be enough against the powerful evil they face in this present time? It’s his only chance to prove himself worthy of release from his centuries of imprisonment. He vows to love and cherish Carrie in his heart forever—if he can save them both. Though the dangerous dark powers threaten them, Carrie has faith. For at Christmas, anything is possible—even magic!


Bound, shackled, he waited. Unable to stir or speak, he

had, over the countless seasons since his capture, learned to

listen. He was a long way now from self-pity. The Norns had

judged and found him wanting. He had betrayed a kinsman.

Big brute of a fellow, mangled by battle scars. A Viking in all but

name, who went crusading, instead. What was he called?

“Magnus.” The captive mouthed, though he made no

sound. Magnus his ugly cousin, with his pretty son, the little

lad who he had tried to steal.

Chained, he could not twitch, though now, eons later, the

Viking acknowledged his stupidity. Magnus had a wife, a

witch-wife, and she had stopped his foolish scheme stone

dead, as if he had been struck by a crossbow bolt.

What magic did she fashion? He did not know. Worse, he

had never forgotten the dreams she had sent him, ever since

he had been trapped by her enchantments.

“Release me!” he had bellowed in his nightmare, trying

and failing to struggle in his chains. He could speak then, but

the red-haired witch shook her head and laid two fingers on

his rigid jaw. His lips tingled, then froze.



Free to read with KindleUnlimited.


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