The Berserker's Salvation

By Becky Lunt

Gunnar Larssen is feared amongst his people. His berserker's battle cry terrifies those around him. He doe not believe in love, indeed, he does not believe in anything other than the bloodlust.

Keely Twyford is a simple girl, alone and surviving day to day. Her dreams ended years before when she and her mother where thrown from the village.

When the Viking raid her small home, her life is thrown into turmoil and she is forced to leave the only home she's ever known.

Will falling in love with a barbarian be the biggest mistake of her life?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Becky Lunt
• Release date: Oct 15, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370024391

Becky Lunt

My name is Rebecca but I prefer Becky. I could start waffling on about my work and life but that would bore you just as much as it does me so I will just tell you that my imagination is awesome.... Come and get lost with me in my dreams.

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The Berserker’s Salvation

Copyright 2017 Becky Lunt

Published by Becky Lunt at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

The ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people.

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Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Epilogue

Please keep reading

About Becky Lunt

Other Books by Becky Lunt

Prologue

Early November 875, somewhere along the Northumbrian coast

The single sturdy, narrow longboat glided noiselessly across the shallowing water. The remaining longboats of the felag sailed slowly past the deserted beach, just on the horizon. Even the sound of the oars breaking the surface did not rise above the foggy early morning stillness. A few warriors balanced precariously over the railing at the head of the boat, just under the dragon figurehead. Their swords and shields held steadily in hand as their alert eyes searched the area. A muffled thud sounded as the boat rode upon the sand and the oars were dragged back in through the gaps. The rowers armed themselves quickly and then moved to the railing awaiting the order to move, murmuring amongst themselves in anticipation. Gunnar Larssen, the fearsome berserker, studied the sanded beach intensely while his ears strained to find any danger beyond the low hum of his companions. He could detect no immediate threat and then turned his attention fully to his leader with his battle axe held at the ready.

‘Silence!’ A brawny man growled in his native tongue. The waves of his Jarl’s greying hair bounced lively in the wind while he waved his shield arm high above his head. ‘Olav, you and five others stay to protect the boat. Prepare the deck for our new provisions and keep the signals open to the felag for we will sail north immediately. The rest will follow me and we hunt enough to feed all.’ The warrior known as Olav, selected his small band quickly with a brief wave of his hand while the remaining warriors formed up behind their leader. ‘Hvarfa!’

The Vikings clamoured over the sides to land deftly in the soggy sand, Gunnar landed first, the water knee deep but paused to provide cover while the other warriors crossed the dull sand noiselessly while heading into the dense cover of trees. He tightened his fist around his axe and swung the shield to the left as he followed. He knew that Bjorn Gunnlaug, the Jarl of the felag, had sailed from home hoping this voyage would be his last and he was proud of the army he had amassed before setting sail.

The berserker could not hope for the same thing though, for raiding, killing and causing destruction was all he’d known. Having seen the thirty summers that Bjorn had, it was not his choice to raid in the cold months along the English coastline, but he was a jarl, one of the most experienced warmongers in the Viking nation whereas Gunnar was not. Bjorn’s people were on the verge of starving, for the years had not been good, whereas Gunnar’s people were dead. Bjorn’s wife Thedra, that frail and delicate frame of a woman was waiting for her husband to return to her and their two daughters with enough food to feed them and their clan for years to come, whereas Gunnar had no one waiting; no one depending upon him. It was a cold comfort. Even the knowledge that his leader wanted to try again for a son and heir after the birth of his second daughter three winters past meant little to him for he had no desire to change his life. The thick fog made progress slow, painfully slow for the hardened warriors but they trudged forward.

‘Gunnar, come to me.’ The Viking leader commanded. He moved stealthily closer however as there was no sign of danger, the fearsome berserker grumbled audibly as he crossed the eerie space.

‘I’m not a bloody nursemaid,’ the brutal, blood thirsty warrior snapped, but Bjorn merely snorted, used to Gunnar’s small rebellions. Although they were not blood related, Gunnar had been a part of the Jarl’s family since being weaned from his wicked mother as a nothing more than an infant. With four years difference in age, he and Bjorn were the best of friends and as close as true brothers; the only difference between them was Bjorn would return to his family steading while Gunnar would be left to find his own way in life. He was not content to give into a peaceful existence just yet. The Jarl noticed how he wrinkled his nose in a snarl as his cold brown eyes surveyed the unwelcoming landscape. From the looks of things, there would be nothing worthy of him here for food or for fun.

The sand gave way under their feet and chilly water puddled in the indents. Their heaving breaths caused puffs of frozen air to rise from equally frozen chapped lips. The cold, unfriendly early morning light struggled to filter through the fog but silently the invading raiders disappeared into the dark. They had only landed to replenish their food supplies before sailing further onto their destination, but from the looks of the land around the beach, there was no meat or food of value to steal. It was disappointing that the place they landed was not as wealthy as other ports along the coastline. They would have to travel further inland before finding enough to satisfy the needs of the felag.

After walking for some hours, the fog lifted and the sunlight began to guide them at a quicker pace. As the ground opened up, and the security of the trees dimmed, the Viking broke into a run. Swords and shields clanked and echoed in the quietness. They only halted when they came upon what looked like a deserted little wood hut. Bjorn shouted an order and Gunnar lifted his battle axe and charged towards the building ready to destroy all things in his path.

Chapter One

Keely Twyford lifted the cane basket higher on her right hip. There was only a few small hessian sacks and one tiny glass jar containing the meagre purchases from the trading post, but after walking for half the day, the light basket had become a dead weight. Honey, wool, tea leaves and the ingredients of making bread. It was not much, but it would be enough for her to stretch out for the sen-night before her next trip into the village. The straw hat sat tightly on her head, the cotton scarf wrapped around her temple soaking up the perspiration from the exertion. The long sleeved tunic had began the day a crisp clear white was now a dirty brown, and her soft leather shoes were wet from the early morning dew and puddles of leftover rain from the day before. The sleeveless jerkin did not provide much warmth so only her pace had keep the day’s bitter chill at bay. The decrepit barn was now in sight, not much longer before she would be able to stop and ease the aches and pains of her body in front of a warming fire. As she paced closer, the track straightened out and her home came fully into view. A weary smile lifted the edges of her mouth but quickly dipped into a frown as her eyes spotted the wispy stream of smoke rising from the roof. The fire should have died just after her leaving for she'd moved the wood away from any of the remaining hot embers. Someone had been here; been in her home. Fear gripped her body and her feet stopped moving altogether as she looked around.

The abandoned little cabin was filled with the half dozen warriors all at various degrees of restfulness. There was not much to show the place had been lived in recently other than the embers in the firegrate were fresh but cold. The bed was covered in a few frayed old blankets and the only other furniture in the space was the square table and two chairs. There was no food but a bucket of water was placed near the firepit. Gunnar sat on one of the two chairs running his sharpening stone over the edges of the axe blades but paused as he watched Bjorn move to the open door. His leader's gaze was directed to something along the track that had caught his attention. His hand gripped the hilt of his sword in readiness as his eyes assessed the danger.

‘It appears this place is not deserted after all, there is a young boy coming down the path.’ Bjorn announced and when he had everyone’s attention, he nodded his head out the door. Gunnar swiftly raised his heavy body with the axe gripped firmly and narrowed his eyes. ‘I frighten the little sveinn!’

Bjorn stifled a laugh, ‘just try and get some information out of him, not beat him to a bloody pulp just yet. The lad may know something that will help us.’

Keely’s blue eyes drew back to the door and widened as a massive half naked man with a heavy double-bladed axe charged out of her home yelling some sort of battle cry. His steps were both effortless and menacing as he shortened the distance between them and her fright had frozen her feet to the ground. She could hear the snap of twigs under his booted feet and see the snarl that screwed his nose lifting one side of his mouth. But it was the truly frightening glare from his dark brown eyes that gave Keely the will to move her feet. The basket fell from her arm and she turned to run. Her panic pushed her into the darkness of the trees before she took the time to throw a glance past her shoulder. The thick wool hose that were totally inappropriate and had been the subject of such censure only hours before, now allowed her to run unhampered by billowing skirts. Her wet, soft leather shoes tread lightly across the grass undergrowth and carried her further and further into the forest. She could hear him pursuing her, his steps heavy but gaining on her.

A fallen tree laid in her path, too tall for her to jump and too time consuming to try and climb over, so she turned slightly and ran around the very end. As her path straightened again on the other side, an almighty roar sounded before her pursuer tackled her at the middle. As she hit the ground, her ribs cracked from the combined pressure of the ground and her attacker. Rough hands shoved her fully onto her back, while his legs straddled her hips and pinned her to the ground. The pain in her chest increased as he leaned forward, and settled his thick arm across her chest. Her breathing stopped altogether as he raised a silver dagger to her throat. Whether it was the pain, fear or both, Keely did not know, but she welcomed the oblivion of darkness as she fainted under him.

Gunnar felt the body relax under him, the boy’s head fell limply to the left and his eyes rolled closed. Perhaps the knife was a bit too much, he reflected. It was only as he withdrew the dagger and stabbed it into the earth at their side, that he noticed the valley across the lad’s chest that his arm was causing. A frown creased his forehead and his eyes narrowed, studying the placement of his arm. His arm unwittingly shifted slightly and felt the incline of soft flesh, it moved with him and moulded around the new shape. His dark eyes lifted to the face and he could not find any of the normal signs of male youth. Instead of the makings of a beard, he saw pale, soft unblemished skin, an exquisite heart shaped chin and full, lush lips. Blood flowed forcefully to his groin and his manhood swelled against her taught belly. Gunnar could still not believe what his eyes were seeing, he moved his arm back and cupped the plump breast in his hand, he could feel the nipple peaking under his palm and for the first time in many years, his body was aroused with thoughts and sights alone, not the experienced, knowing caresses and kisses of a trained woman.

Keely groaned as she opened her eyes, her head slowly turned and when her vision cleared, she saw her attacker still sitting across her hips. She could feel his warm, heavy hand on her breast, almost like a loving and tender caress. He was watching her closely through clear, brown eyes - eyes that no longer caused the fear it had moments before. He blinked slowly as if he regretted having to make even that small movement but she could not avert her eyes. She found herself studying him; what she could see of his hair, it was past his shoulders in length but blew out from his helmet in wispy strands. His eyes where so dark at that moment, they were more black than brown and his beard was platted from half way right down to the tips. His hand stopped its gentle squeezing and lifted while he moved his body off hers. The weight was gone but he knelt beside her.

‘Hverr er du?’ He growled, but she did not answer so he tried again in her language, ‘who are you?’ His deep voice struggled to remain soft and slow enough for her to understand. Keely hesitated and chewed the inside of her bottom lip before answering now that she had understood what he had said, each intake of breath causing a tremor of pain.

‘My name is Keely,’ her words were soft, almost a whisper and the large man lent forwards to hear what she spoke.

‘What are you doing here?’ He questioned again.

‘It’s my home,’ with each breath, her chest hurt bringing tears to her wide eyes. They welled up and spilled over the skin like an overflowing water jug.

‘Come,’ the giant commanded, and without using his hands, his strong legs pushed up from the ground, drawing the dagger from the dirt. She gingerly sat and rolled onto her hip. It took all her strength to push up without whimpering. He turned and began to walk away, back into the direction of the hut, but Keely used his turned back to begin running away once again. Not even ten yards further on, he caught her. Instead of tackling her though, a strong arm snaked around her waist to halt her.

‘Come,’ he said again, though this time there was amusement in his voice and his word was not as harsh as before. He did not allow her to slip away again, he merely lifted her off her feet and threw her across his left shoulder. She could have been a sack of flour for all the effort he expended. Her hands tried to find something to hold onto, to stop her body from swinging, but the only thing was the waist band of his breeches and her hands would not grasp there. There was nothing she could do to stop her chest from banging into his back, the pain was overwhelming and it was the last thing she remembered before succumbing to the blackness once again.

Gunnar had no idea that the girl had passed out again until he dumped her unceremoniously onto the dusty floor inside the hut. Instead of landing on her feet, the young girl fell backwards, hard. Her arms splayed out to each side. He looked down, contemplating his next move but was interrupted in his thoughts by Bjorn kicking the chair out as he stood.

‘What did you do to him?’ The Jarl asked, ‘I told you not to kill him.’

‘No you didn’t - you said not to beat him and I did neither but the boy is no boy.’ The berserker answered with a shrug of his shoulders. He bent down and lifted the unconscious form off the floor and strode over to the makeshift pallet on the far side of the hut. More carefully than he could ever remember being, he laid her down and stretched the legs out flat.

‘If it is no boy, then what did you find?’ Bjorn asked curiously. The other men closed in around them, some with an unpleasant gleam to their gaze.

‘When she ran, I did not know. But I found out quick enough when I tackled her.’ Gunnar answered frowning, an unaccustomed nausea heavy in his gut.

‘Did she say anything?’

‘Only her name and that this,’ Gunnar waved around, ‘is her home.’

‘Which begs the question of where is her family and when can we be expecting them?’ Bjorn scratched the wrinkled skin under his bearded chin. No one could answer that so he gave a few quick orders about placing sentries and then the rest sat down to wait patiently for her to wake.

When her eyes fluttered open again, Keely very quickly realised she was lying on her bed. The familiar padded hay sack and thin furs were surprisingly welcome considering that strangers had been here. She rolled over trying to quicken the blood flow through her veins and regain some measure of movement, but stopped when she saw the two large men stand as one. Her eyes were quick to notice the taller one was her captor. Her mouth was dry and she cringed back into the furs.

‘Do not be afraid pige,’ the stranger stepped closer. ‘We will not hurt you.’

‘Yet!’ Her captor growled. He crossed his arms, flashing gold arm rings and massive biceps. Panic seized her and she fought the mind-numbing fear and wished to faint again. Her body shivered and she hugged her arms tighter to her chest, it was already too late to believe they would not hurt her. She could only hope death was quick and that they wouldn't wait too long after taking what they wished. The stories of Viking raids throughout the years told her exactly what was to come.

‘There is no need of that, Gunnar. Be silent!’ The weary man snapped, his eyes never left her face but there was no doubt his words were meant for his companion

‘What do you want from me?’ She whispered. ‘I have nothing of value here.’

‘Only information,’ the man answered, ‘I am Bjorn Gunnlaug, Jarl of Fensalir, what is your name child.’

‘Keely.’

‘Where is your family?’

‘I don’t have one.’

‘Lie!’ Gunnar snarled, his hard, cold eyes watched her closely and Keely could not suppress the