In Ancient Britain a warrior battles
Rolf is a Viking warrior embroiled in a war against the Celts, determined to have vengeance. On the shores of East Anglia a fateful battle is fought. Rolf and his men kill all the warriors of a Celtic clan and take the women captive.
An undying love is born
Beautiful and proud, Brigid is determined to keep the other women safe; having lost her father in the battle. She draws the attention of the Viking leader. Intrigued by her strength and courage in the face of her enemies, Rolf instinctively knows he has found his soul mate and the Three Fates of Destiny have brought them together.
In Present Day, an artist lives alone
Taking residence in a Cornish lighthouse, Rolf leads a reclusive life with his sole companion, a wolfhound. Seeking a birthday gift for his young niece, he goes to town and meets a young woman in a bookstore. Brigid is looking for a book about a Celtic princess who was captured by a Viking warrior. Drawn together by a mutual fascination for the sea and for all things Viking, each feels they’ve met before, and yet...that’s not possible. Or is it?
A Love that endures
Can Rolf be the man of Brigid’s dreams, the man who haunts her subconscious—and now her waking hours? Can lovers and soul mates bridge lost years in order to find their way back to one another?
Is love truly timeless?
"How is it you speak our language?" Rolf asked. For the first time in many moons he felt like a boy untutored in love and life.
Ignoring his question, she asked another one of her own. "How is it you think it your right to invade our country and kill our menfolk?" She moved a step or two away from the rock face and he noticed she carried a sword with confidence. In his curious fascination with her beauty he hadn't seen the weapon. Unwise in such circumstances. Celts were not to be trusted, be they male or female.
Rolf gripped his axe handle. "Perhaps if your menfolk did not put up a fight we might have learned to live side by side in harmony."
Unflinching, she pressed the blade of her sword into the ground in front of her and, as the cloud lifted further, he could see her expression clearly. A small sound of disgust left lips that were perfectly shaped. In fact, now that he could view her clearly, Rolf wondered if she were a goddess, for she was perfection. Only the gods attained such perfection, surely.
"You think we could ever reach such harmony?" Her beautiful mouth curved into a smirk of disdain. "You kill our men, take our women and children as slaves." The sword was pulled from the ground and held aloft. "We are prepared to die before we allow you to take us as your slaves." As she turned the sword so that its hilt was on the ground, she bent slightly so the blade pointed to her body, right below her breast.
Rolf let out a cry. All she had to do was fall forward and she would be lost to him forever. "No! Stay your hand."
Rolf cursed beneath his breath as his men began to grumble. No doubt they were wondering why he stood discussing the situation with this female instead of taking her and the others who obviously hid in the cave behind her.
As he took a step toward her she bent more, ever closer to the tip of the blade. Would she take her own life? No doubt she would. The Celts were mysterious people, known to have beliefs beyond the understanding of a Viking.
Suddenly the boy kicked Ragnar on the lower leg and freed himself. Rolf guessed Ragnar was also transfixed by the woman; so much that he allowed the boy his freedom. The child ran toward her, screaming, "Brigid!" A string of words followed that Rolf could not understand, but he knew the child pleaded with the woman not to take her own life.
In the instant she turned her attention to the child Rolf pounced, kicked her sword to the ground, and then pulled the woman named Brigid into his arms, her back pressed to his front. Her breasts heaved as she let out a string of words in her Celtic tongue. No doubt willing him to a fate unknown.
"Let me go!" Although she was tall, he stood taller. Rolf had been the largest man in his clan since his father handed over his weapons to him, as his eldest son, while on his death bed. Few men were stronger, and this woman stood no chance of escaping from him, no matter how hard she kicked, scratched, and struggled. All three she did; in fact, she put up a very good fight while abusing him with her tongue.
"Be still, woman, and no harm will befall you." Rolf loosened his hold, but instantly tightened his grip when she made to escape. There would be no escape for her. He intended to keep this prize as his own.
His men laughed and cheered. "Let us now take the other women," one cried, waving his sword above his head.
Rolf pressed his mouth against Brigid's ear. She squirmed away, but relentlessly he held her fast. "Tell your womenfolk to come out willingly and no harm will come to them this night," he said, taking the opportunity to taste her skin before she pulled away, twisting her neck aside. Her scent filled his nostrils. She smelled of bracken, lavender and...female. His body reacted instantly, and she froze like a wild animal that knew it was in the sights of its hunter.