The Man of Her Dreams

By Leanne Burroughs

CHRISTIAN version of My Dream Came True

What if your future was the past?

Miranda Wellborn takes a trip of a lifetime to Norway to explore visions given her by recurring dreams. Never in her life does she imagine touching a real Viking ship will send her one thousand years into the past. She is soon claimed by a Viking warrior, the man from her visions. But her dreams are nothing like the reality of living in a time that is not her own, and she struggles to learn how to survive until she can return home.

Agnar Eiricksson hates the Danes. Bent on exacting revenge against them for killing his lady wife, he forges plans to attack their shores and enslave men, women and children. So why would he rather possess one spoil of war than keep her chained with the rest of the thralls?

When Agnar accepts the truth of where she’s from, he must decide if keeping her with him is the right choice. Miranda must use every ounce of self-preservation to keep her heart concealed from her fierce warrior. Where is her destiny meant to be? Back in Florida, or will love win out and keep her with the man of her dreams?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Highland Press Publishing
• Release date: May 21, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311392428

Leanne Burroughs

Leanne enjoys reading, writing, and traveling. Most recently she traveled to Norway to do research for an upcoming Viking epic. The year before, she traveled to Ireland, where she fell in love with the beautiful countryside and its Viking history. She’s also traveled to England, Spain, France, and Hawaii in search of stories waiting to be told! Her absolute favorite place to visit, however, is the lovely country of Scotland. Its beauty is beyond words, and the friendliness of its people is incomparable. In Florida, she can often be found at Disney World with her grandchildren (although everyone knows they are merely an excuse for her to visit). While doing genealogy research for her husband, she fell in love with Scottish history. That led to the novel HIGHLAND WISHES, a historical novel about Scotland’s War for Independence. Its sequel is HER HIGHLAND ROGUE. She currently has several other novels in progress. She's currently adapting her two award-winning Scottish books for the Christian market as well. HIGHLAND MIRACLE is currently available. KEEPER OF MY HEART, a novel about the Battle of Culloden and its aftermath is her current work in progress. THE POWER AND THE PASSION is the Viking epic. The third story in the Scottish War for Independence trilogy is also being worked on. In addition, Leanne has participated in several anthologies.

Book preview

What if your future was the past?

Miranda Wellborn takes a trip of a lifetime to Norway to explore visions given her by recurring dreams. Never in her life does she imagine touching a real Viking ship will send her one thousand years into the past.  She is soon claimed by a Viking warrior, the man from her visions.  But her dreams are nothing like the reality of living in a time that is not her own, and she struggles to learn how to survive until she can return home.

Agnar Eiricksson hates the Danes. Bent on exacting revenge against them for killing his lady wife, he forges plans to attack their shores and enslave men, women and children.  So why would he rather possess one spoil of war than keep her chained with the rest of the thralls?

When Agnar accepts the truth of where she’s from, he must decide if keeping her with him is the right choice. Miranda must use every ounce of self-preservation to keep her heart concealed from her fierce warrior. Where is her destiny meant to be? Back in Florida, or will love win out and keep her with the man of her dreams?

Dedication

To my awesome husband, Tom, who supports me in all my writing projects.

To my two wonderful chiropractors. Without their help and Tina’s wonderful massage, I would hurt too much to keep writing. Alex, you were the perfect ‘inspiration’ for my Viking hero. Thanks for listening to me ramble on about the book the entire time I was writing it.

To my Inkplots critique partners and to Patty Howell, many thanks for your excellent tweaks and suggestions.

The Man of Her Dreams

The Eiricksson Saga

An Inspirational Viking Romance

(Christian Version of My Dream Came True)

Leanne Burroughs

Highland Press Publishing

Florida

The Man of Her Dreams

Copyright © 2015 Leanne Burroughs

Cover Design 2015 Leanne Burroughs and Karen Michelle Nutt

Published by Highland Press Publishing at Smashwords

Produced in the United States of America. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system—except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine, newspaper, or on the Web—without permission in writing from the publisher.

For information, please contact:

Highland Press Publishing,

PO Box 2292, High Springs, FL 32655.

All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names, save actual historical figures. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

Print ISBN: 978-1-942606-03-1

Highland Press Publishing

http://highlandpress.org

Viking Imprint

~1~

Miranda skated around the frozen bay, the handsome Norseman holding her hand. Snowflakes lightly fell, gently kissing the earth. She laughed with glee.

Living in Florida, she’d never skated before. Had never even seen snow. She looked about in wide-eyed wonder. Norway was beautiful. Snow-covered cliffs rose above them, as if reaching toward God’s Heaven.

When they’d stepped from the hard-packed frozen ground onto the ice, her Viking wrapped a strong arm around her waist. Good thing, too. Her feet would have shot out from under her. She giggled.

Others skated around them. Her Viking said many of them were his family. He had a lot of brothers and sisters. For a moment, sadness overtook her. A car accident had taken the life of her one and only sister and their parents. How did people not know when they’d had too much to drink? Facing that driver in court had been one of the hardest things she’d ever had to do.

As if sensing her distress, her Viking took her hands in his and spun her in circles around the pond. Wind whipped at her face and the cold, fresh scent of falling snow whirled through her senses. She pushed her melancholy aside.

Once again focusing on the skaters, Miranda marveled at their skates made from animal bones. Who would have thought?

This is wonderful! She offered the man a wide smile. Thank you. I love doing things I’ve never done before. And with you everything seems to be a first.

You are wel-come. I am glad you are enjoying yourself. I love seeing you smile, unnasta.

He’d called her sweetheart! Her heart took wing. She’d never felt like this before. Never loved anyone the way she loved this Viking.

They maneuvered to the edge of the frozen pond and he helped her up onto the snowbank. Lowering himself to one knee, he removed her bone skates, then gently massaged her feet and her ankles, warming them with his hands. His touch sent shivers through her body that had nothing to do with the cold.

Rising, together they slowly walked toward the settlement. Toward his longhouse.

Inside the Spartan building, he crossed to the hearthfire, picked up a stick from the floor and stirred the embers to better warm his home. Then he rose and sat on the edge of his fur-covered bed while Miranda sat on one of the benches by his long wooden table.

With it being so cold outside, wooden shutters were closed over the small windows placed around the building.

Her Viking watched her closely, his azure blue eyes darkening. He motioned her forward. Come to me, Miranda.

A chill settled on her spine. She shouldn’t go. Not near his bed. It was far too tempting. He was too tempting. But she rose and crossed to him, standing in front of him.

He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. He raised his face for a kiss and she lowered her mouth to his. A gentle touching of lips. This was safe.

His brushed against hers, gentle at first, then harder, deeper, with more urgency. He pulled her down beside him on the bed.

"Wed with me, Miranda. Become my lady vif. You know I want you."

She eased away from him, although it was the last thing she wanted to do. Her eyes locked with his. Saw the turmoil in them. Oh yes, he wanted her. What was more, she wanted him.

No! Miranda jerked awake. "No! Oh, not again. Not another dream about my Viking. And they’re getting more vivid!

For the past month, fantastical dreams had beguiled her. Always of the same Viking—blond, blue eyed, tall and muscular. Each one had started different. They’d done various things throughout his homeland, like ice skating. Last night’s had been gardening outside his parents’ home. The night before that he’d taken her sailing near the coast of his homeland—not in one of the Viking’s massive longships, but in a smaller vessel, a Faering.

But each dream—and tonight’s had been the twelfth—wound up with them kissing. With him professing his love to her. Asking her to marry him.

This was ridiculous. The man wasn’t real. He was only a dream. He lived in the tenth century, she in the twenty-first. No way were they going to meet. Still…

Thoughts whirled in her mind. What if he did exist? Not in olden days, of course, but in present day Norway. Shouldn’t she at least go look for him? See if the sparks she felt in her dreams could possibly exist in the real world?

She hadn’t taken a vacation in a long time. And she still had time to plan one before preparation for the upcoming school year began.

Excited about her spur of the moment decision, she hopped out of bed and turned on her computer to bring up travel sites. If she booked her flight and tour now, she wouldn’t be able to talk herself out of it.

~2~

The vacation of a lifetime. One a person would never forget. How right the travel brochures were.

Miranda Wellborn’s two week tour to Norway’s resplendent countryside proved everything she’d hoped for.

The people have been so friendly and hospitable. Her seat-mate on the tour bus, Carole, stood beside her, leaning against her cane, as they waited in the hotel parking lot.

I know. They totally captured my heart. I can’t believe my vacation is over. I don’t want to leave.

The scenery has been like a small miracle. Although I guess in God’s eyes no miracle is small.

A pain overtook Miranda and she doubled over.

Are you all right? Carole placed her hand on Miranda’s shoulder.

Y-yes, just give me a minute. She breathed deeply. In. Out. My endometriosis is acting up. I’ve had another attack since I’ve been here, but it was while I was in my room.

Carole frowned. How old are you?

25.

Isn’t that too young for the disease to be so bad?

I don’t know. That’s just what my GYN said I have. Finally she straightened. Sorry about that.

I’m glad you’re better.

Miranda hugged one of the departing passengers, said goodbye, then turned back to Carole. I saw everything I came to see. Fjords. Glaciers.

A sad smile inched up the corners of Carole’s mouth. Everything except your handsome Viking.

"Yes, I guess my dreams of Vikings were merely brought about by historical novels or the TV mini-series. No message to visit involved."

I’m sorry you didn’t find him. As much as we joked about it, I really wish you had.

And goodness knows I looked hard enough.

What did he look like?

His hair is blond, the tips just brushing his shoulders. In my dreams I believe he’s about 6’5. And his eyes are the most beautiful shade of blue—azure. He’s handsome, with a drop-dead body. My Viking’s the epitome of kindness. Gentle. Considerate. And he loves me with all his heart. The absolutely perfect man. Even though I know there’s really no such thing. How could I not visit here in hopes of finding him?"

Warmth rushed up her cheeks and a sigh escaped her lips. But it was all for nothing. He wasn’t here. Clearly he’s been a figment of my very overactive imagination. Too many historical romances. But oh, how I wished.

A smile wreathed Carole’s face. Well, enough about what didn’t happen. Remember our train ride in Flan? When we went backward, I held my breath.

Words tumbled over each other’s as they shared remembrances.

Mine was the boat trips on the fjords. They were majestic and so peaceful. The corner of Carole’s lips raised.

And why I expected to see a Viking ship sailing through the fjords I don’t know, but naturally there were none. They only exist in museums now.

They hugged their tour guide, exchanged e-mail addresses, and shook hands with the bus driver. He’d done an excellent job driving them on the narrow roads through the mountains. Especially when it snowed! For a Florida girl, Miranda told him, seeing snow for the first time was memorable. I’ll never forget it.

Miranda glanced up. The weather was gorgeous for late July—crisp and cool, the sky a light blue filled with white puffy clouds. She turned back to Carole. No rain coming. I’m heading to Akershus and the Viking Ship Museum this afternoon. I want to see them both one last time before I leave Norway tomorrow. Want to come with me, or are you tired from all the driving?

I’d love to join you. I didn’t come on vacation to sit in my hotel room or to waste the day sleeping. There’s far too much to see. I’ll catch up on sleep after I get home.

Then let’s go. Miranda eased the straps of her backpack over her shoulders. With Carole at her side they headed toward Akershus.

They reminisced about places they’d toured.

Journeying to an actual glacier was beyond awesome, as my granddaughter would say, Carole enthused. I still can’t believe I climbed up that steep incline and touched it. I was slower than the rest of you, but I made it. I wouldn’t have if I hadn’t had my cane to lean on. She closed her eyes. Ice. Massive ice everywhere. And it was so cold some of it looked blue.

"The picture taken of us inside the glacier is a real keeper. It was one of the many masterpieces of God I evidenced on this journey."

She gave a low laugh. And don’t forget eating reindeer in almost every imaginable form. I still can’t believe I did that!

A smile spread over Carole’s face. I spoke with as many locals as I could and got a sense of their pride in their country. Unlike back home, Norway takes care of its citizens from the day they’re born until the day they die. Cradle to grave they call it.

The brochures I studied before booking the tour were dead on. After seeing the Geirangerfjord and the largest of Norway’s fjords, The Sognefjord—even without a Viking ship sailing in either of them—I’ll forever leave part of my heart here. Perhaps with the Viking I never saw. The memory caused her heart to skip a beat. If only she had found him.

Now it was time to go back to the real world. To her apartment. Hopefully not to more dreams about her elusive Viking warrior. That would be too heartbreaking. The man clearly wasn’t real, yet her dreams were awfully specific. And more than passionate. Her Viking could definitely kiss! No! No sense thinking about it anymore. He wasn’t real and she was going home. Alone.

But then, why had he invaded her dreams since she’d been in Norway. Every night he said the same thing. ‘Come to me.’ Those words echoed throughout her mind. She couldn’t forget them. A sense of loss tugged at her heart.

Yet excitement mounted as they entered the palace ruins. Miranda let her imagination run wild. She touched the cold stone walls. Carole, can you envision how this palace looked in its heyday? Tables and chairs in the Great Hall. The king’s bright banners on the walls. Maybe with rushes on the floor.

Miranda spun about in a circle, like a child seeing dolls all around a toy store. Surely weapons would have been everywhere—covering almost every wall—swords, axes, mace, shields, maybe even a long-handled lance with a pike and a battle-axe on the end. She shuddered. A battle-axe crashing down on some unsuspecting person’s head is something I never wish to see.

Carole walked to one of the walls and looked up. Tapestries would have been hung to decorate the keep and to help repel the cold. Sometimes they were just for beauty, but other times they actually depicted something that happened in the person’s life.

Miranda gasped. Suddenly she was there. Not just a maybe, I wish I could be. She closed her eyes and swayed, seeing herself in clothing of bygone days. Yet…suddenly…if she really paid attention to the detail…something was off. It wasn’t this palace. The scene shifted and it was some rustic building. Long wooden hewn logs rather than the brick, stone, or whatever the palace was made from. And her handsome Viking stood in the middle of the room by the hearthfire! He turned and smiled at her and their eyes met. He held his hand out to her. Come to me.

Was she losing her mind?

She opened her eyes again and a sigh escaped her lips. Carole looked at her oddly. You had another vision, didn’t you?

Miranda nodded. She took a deep breath. Placed her hand against the stone wall to steady herself. He keeps telling me to come to him. She moaned. I did, Carole. I came to Norway and he wasn’t here. There’s nothing else for me to do. Why does this keep happening?

That’s the second time you had a vision since coming to Norway.

"Yes, the first was at the Jorvik Viking Centre. Carole, I swear I saw myself in the past. As it would have looked then. While visiting the Centre, I suddenly saw myself in the displays. One minute I was with the tour group looking at scenes and the next I was down on my knees, planting vegetables in a garden. My Viking smiled as he came out of a longhouse. He came over and told me not to work too hard in the garden. He said to let the children help me with the weeding. Then he brushed his lips against mine before he left to go work the fields." Warmth rushed up her neck.

Am I losing my sanity? Is my imagination running rampant? She groaned aloud. That’s what brought me to Norway in the first place!

Bidding farewell to Norway’s great palace, the brackish scent of Oslo’s bay wafted across her senses. Tall masts from the moored boats bobbed in Oslo’s ever-present light wind.

She zipped her jacket up halfway against the brisk breeze as they headed to the closest bus stop.

Miranda and Carole found their way without incident to the museum. I’m not leaving Norway until I again see the warship that captured my heart the first day on the tour.

Bright pink looks good on you with your coloring. Your dark hair and eyes set the jacket off perfectly.

Thank you. I love bright colors. Always have. I find colors like brown and gray boring, although I have a gray pair of slacks for work. I don’t own anything brown. Never plan to.

Their first solo journey, sans tour group, accomplished without mishaps, Miranda wrestled the wind for control of her newsboy hat as they disembarked the city bus, then hurried to pay the entrance fee. She didn’t have a band to fasten it, but she quickly plaited her hair and tucked it and a few stray strands up into the hat. As she entered the doors of the Viking Ship Museum, a feeling of calm washed over her. She loved this place. It spoke Norway to her. The history. The people. She inhaled deeply and breathed out slowly as her eyes swept the large room filled with well-preserved artifacts like pottery, farm implements, and what might have been kitchen utensils. She walked past the guards on duty, past small boats, and went straight to the main displayed ship. She wanted to be near the ship she’d seen in her dreams. The massive vessel filled the majority of the museum’s well-polished floor space. The posted sign informed it came from Gokstad during the ninth century.

Oh, Carole, I can almost see the ship gently cresting the waves as it speeds along to its destination—be it to go trading or a-viking—its red and white striped mast unfurled in the breeze. She closed her eyes a moment. The dragon head at the front surely frightening innocent people as it lands on their shores uninvited.

They listened to the staff’s well-rehearsed speech. …The oak constructed Gokstad ship is intended for warfare, trade, and transportation of people and cargo.

She drew in a sharp breath. It’s beautiful. Oh, Carole! This is the ship from my dreams. And my Viking stood at its helm.

One of the staff members told guests, …the ship was commissioned during the reign of Harald Fairhair at the end of the ninth century. It was built to carry a crew of forty men, but often carried up to seventy, including captured slaves. His words wafted over her like a deceptive ocean wave, one whose treacherous undercurrent could drag an unsuspecting person to their death. Just like Vikings often did with those they battled or took captives.

Yet this was the Norway she’d come to love. Had she any way to accomplish it, she’d spend the rest of her days in this beautiful country.

Okay, so maybe everything she’d learned about Vikings hadn’t been good. Eating in restaurants or sitting around hotel lobbies chatting with locals about the olden days revealed not only the good Vikings had done throughout the centuries, but also the bad. But still... No matter their plundering and pillaging, something told her they’d been good men. Men who’d loved their families and only wanted to provide for them. That’s how her Viking had been in her dream.

She was ever the romantic.

Curators informed everyone, Ladies and gentlemen, the museum is closing. Thank you for visiting with us. We hope you enjoyed your time here. Please exit through the doors at the front of the building.

She inched closer to the warship, leaned forward, and in a farewell gesture, extended her hand so she could place it on a spot museum curators had proudly informed everyone had come from the original vessel. It was precisely as she’d seen it in her dreams. She swallowed and closed her eyes, breathing a silent prayer. Someday, Lord, help me find a way to return to this beautiful, gentle land. If it’s not asking too much, and doesn’t sound too silly, let me find my heart’s desire.

Before Miranda could remove her hand to step away and head toward the door, the air around her stilled. She grew hot and started to sweat. She gasped and struggled for breath and her muscles tensed. Heartbeat quickened. The room spun.

A white film coated her eyes.

No!

I’m going to pass out!

Fearing her knees would buckle under her, Miranda leaned closer to the huge ship to brace herself.

Water. Carole, I need some water.

~3~

Water. There was water as far as the eye could see.

Miranda’s knees buckled and she crashed to the ground beside the wooden ship. A gust of wind whipped at her bright pink jacket, while swirling sand stung her eyes.

She swiped at them as she took in her surroundings.

The large vessel she’d been touching had been pulled to ground on a beach. She looked out upon the glistening water as brine scented waves gently crashed to shore.

No guards stood about protecting the sanctity of the ship and answering visitors’ questions. The quiet solemnity of the museum was gone.

The sound of breaking waves filled the air. In place of the exhibition’s quiet came sudden screams of terror. Her body tensed as she whipped her head around from the vast body of water to see warriors storming out of some nearby village, war cries on their lips.

Men from the shore charged into the fray with bloodcurdling yells, steel meeting steel. Swords clanged and the cries of those engaged in battle rent the air.

Fine hairs lifted on the nape of her neck as fear overtook her. Her body shook.

What happened? Reminding herself to breathe, the scent of sea-salt filled her lungs. Her heart beat loudly within her chest. Where am I?

She shifted position so her back rested against the large ship. Not much protection, but it was all she had right now to stay out of the fracas. I need a place to hide. No place near the ship. From the shouting, fighting occurred on both sides. A nearby forest adjacent to the settlement seemed to be her only hope. Can I get to it without being seen? Seconds ago I was safe in a museum. Surrounded by people—tourists and curators. Where’s Carole?

She searched, but didn’t see her friend.

Lord, help me!

Using both hands, one man nearby cut right and left, quickly dispatching the fellow in front of him with a slice of his sword to the neck. The marauder turned his head and stopped for the space of a heartbeat. He looked straight at her. His eyes were cold and bitter, what little she could see of them with the metal helm on his head. Yet familiar. Then he returned to fighting, the sword moving like an extension to his arm. Killing others as if the sanctity of life meant nothing to him.

With her next breath, the copper scent of blood mingled with the pungent mix of seaweed and brine from the sea. Miranda fought the impulse to gag. She fisted her hands to keep them from shaking.

Surely people weren’t truly dying in front of her!

One man with a scraggly beard was backed close to her against the ship. Within seconds his body lay beside her at odd angles. His severed head hit against the vessel, flopped down to the ground and rolled to her feet. Sand covered the blood-flecked strands of his beard. Blood oozed to the ground around her.

No!

A distant roll of thunder seemed to echo her scream.

She rolled away and scrambled to her knees to get away from the head. Oh God, it touched her! It was real, and it had touched her! Red stains covered her.

Loud cries rent the air.

She tried to draw a deep breath, but couldn’t make her body do so. Instead, she could only manage short quick gasps. If she didn’t get a grip, she’d probably pass out.

Whether she awakened was up to the raiders around her.

In hopes of escaping, she placed her hands on the ground to help her rise. Forced herself to quickly get to her feet. Wetness from the moist sand had penetrated through her jeans. Shock overtook her as she looked at them. They were covered in sand—red sand. No question what that was. She wiped her reddened hands on her jeans, desperately trying to get rid of the sticky, gritty feel.

The hot press of tears threatened. I want to go home! She closed her eyes to shut out the carnage. I sound like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz. Only the red on my shoes isn’t going to take me anywhere. Certainly not home.

Bodies littered the ground.

Her breathing grew even more rapid, the urge to flee overwhelming. As she gazed out over the horizon, dark, ominous clouds formed.

Her body shook. She couldn’t stop it. A keening cry of the wind matched the silent scream in her mind. Move!

She pulled her right foot up to start running. Her multi-colored New Balance sneaker stuck in the muck. She glanced down and quickly slammed her foot back in it. Part of the shoe was covered in red. She couldn’t escape the blood.

She circled away from the men, heading for the trees, hoping they wouldn’t notice her.

No such luck. The same man as before paused, stared at her. He stalked toward her. As his intent became known, men surrounded her. Some were bare-chested, while others wore short tunics.

Murderers!

Too many who stopped fighting turned their attention to her while others rushed toward the village.

A gust of wind tugged at her newsboy hat. She quickly reached up to anchor it fast to her head while inching backward.

Yes, I wanted to stay in Norway—but I didn’t mean to do that dead! I wanted a life of love—a husband who wanted only me. God, help me!

The man who’d locked eyes with her earlier—the one who so callously lopped off another’s head and dispatched so many others—stalked toward her as she backed away. One man grabbed her arm to stay her steps, but the warrior waved him away. As he removed his steel helm, the wind swept through his long blond hair. A short brown tunic ended just above his knees. Fury drew his brows together, his nostrils flared, and his mouth tightened to a thin line. His proud bearing told who he was. The leader of this group of butchers.

A murdering, pillaging, despoiling Viking.

With the face of the Viking in her dreams!

The only difference was this man had a beard, whereas hers had been clean shaven. Her stomach lurched and she gagged. Not a normal response to seeing the man she’d searched throughout her entire vacation. The one she dreamt of night after night.

Miranda stumbled back. Her hoarse cry sounded strangely weak to her ears. No!

She couldn’t stop it. She leaned forward and tossed everything she had for lunch, her stomach spasming.

Men around her jumped back.

She drew in a sharp breath as she lifted her head, swiped at her mouth with the back of her hand, and stared at her Viking open-mouthed. Instant disbelief shot through her. It couldn’t be. He was just a dream. Certainly not some living, breathing, gorgeous specimen of man. Not one who viciously killed people. In her dreams he hadn’t been covered in blood of men he ruthlessly murdered. He’d been kind. Loving. Sensual. This man was…evil.

He swept her with a contemptuous, dismissive glance as he circled her.

Forcing her gaze away from the men littering the ground around her, Miranda closed her eyes in distress. She braced herself against the onslaught of coming pain—whether from her head severed from her body, a mace smashed against her, or a sword through her heart. Get it over with you miserable lout.

Clouds overhead raced angrily toward the horizon as the wind moved them swiftly along, bringing the storm closer. Just as the threat of death was now upon her.

She didn’t need their intent spelled out. Dead on the sand like so many others. She squared her shoulders defiantly. Springing into action, she hurled herself forward, knocking one man out of the way. Fled in blind panic.

Why she’d dreamt of this man she couldn’t begin to fathom. Her romantic dreams had turned into a ghastly nightmare. She ran as fast as she could, a stitch forming beneath a rib and her sides burning. Her breaths came short and fast as the scent of death hovered. If it was the last thing she ever did, she’d figure out a way back home.

And never dream of her Viking again.

The sound of pounding feet echoed behind her. Too soon strong arms snaked around her waist, jerking her firmly against a hard body, the force of it slamming the breath from her lungs, and lifting her feet into the air.

"Stoppe."

Pulling her hard against him, the thug whipped her around to face him. The top of her head came no higher than his massive chest as her feet were lowered to the sand.

Let go of me! Still laboring for breath, English words escaped her mouth. She repeated her demand in halting Norwegian. "Slipp på meg."

Her Viking didn’t listen. No! She had to stop thinking of him as hers. He wasn’t. The idyllic dreams she had would never come true. Not now. Not ever. It had been little more than a fairytale. This was harsh reality. The face may be the same, but that’s where the similarity ended. There was nothing the same about them.

Eyes as blue as Norway’s Sognefjord met hers. His massive chest rose and fell, and the man had to be a good 6’5". He towered over her.

He finally spoke, a deep guttural sound. You dare try to damage my ship? I saw your hand against it, you leaning beside it. Did you think to put a hole in it to sink us? Take heed, you puny Dane, I checked it and found no damage, but you have not begun to see what fear and damage I can instill do you harm even one board on my ship. His voice hard with anger, he slid his sword slowly into its scabbard.

He kept talking and his words sounded like garbled grunts. She understood few of the rapid words. Ship? Fear? Damage? Dane? The miserable lout thought her Danish? Where had that come from? She drew her back ramrod straight and pulled herself to her full 5’5." See if she’d back down from him!

At least he was sheathing his sword and not swinging it to lop off her head. Whatever he tried, she wouldn’t die meekly.

She made the mistake of once again looking across the body-littered beach and cringed at the scene of carnage. Her stomach clenched in terror. She breathed deeply. In. Out. In. Out. No way was she going to be sick on this man. Then again, she should do just that. It would serve him right.

Good men? Men who love their families and only want to provide for them? Ha! You’re nothing but murderers and pillagers. Her Viking probably the worst of them all. She focused her attention on them. Tall, muscled, some with blond hair, others various shades of brown.