Free Viking Flame: Prequel to Viking Fire by Andrea R. Cooper

Chapter One
     
    Bram, son of Ragnar, gripped the ship’s stern as the Irish waves crashed against the side. His paid passage on this ride, the silver Thor’s amulet his mother gave him before her death, moved him closer to his destiny to a new home. Hopefully, the Norns would show him kindness… for once.
    He strolled onto the deck with his cloak flapping and the sea spraying his face despite his hood. His once a day fresh air from his confines of the Captain’s rooms below to keep hidden. When a raven cawed overhead, the Captain raised his hand to throw a stone-lure at it.
    “No.” Bram gripped the Captain’s hand. “It could be one of Odin’s ravens. And I’d not like to alter my luck by angering a god.” Not that he’d had much luck since Morga died. Ireland—a new start for him–for a new family.
    The Captain shrugged, his long eyebrows furrowing, but lowered the stone.
    Bram hiked his hood down more to conceal his blond hair and hunched his shoulders as the Captain had instructed him. If the other sailors knew he was a Viking, they’d run him through with their swords and toss him overboard. So he’d stayed below deck a majority of the time.
    It was bad enough he’d lost his sword and axe to pay his brother Henrick’s debts. Bram didn’t cower from a fight, but he’d rather avoid it weaponless on a ship full of Irish men in the middle of the sea.
    Once his feet struck land, combat was an entirely different matter.
    Soon he would meet his bride. Rebecca… daughter of a nobleman and subject to Laird Liannon. More importantly, the contract for her came with a small farm and his services to Laird Liannon. It was more than he received for his inheritance as the second of nine brothers. The payment was his sword, or rather his joining the Laird Liannon to fight against any and all foes—Irish or Viking.
    Somehow he’d learn to love this Rebecca. If he negated any part of the contract, marrying an Irish lass or fighting, then he forfeited the land, gold, and titles bestowed upon him from the Laird. Not to mention, the rumors of Liannon. If Bram refused to honor the contract, he might end up a life-long prisoner in the dungeons at best.
    Bram had no doubt though, that he could woo this Rebecca. Often, Morga had told him he could charm a nun into his bed. Morga, an Irish captive, a present from Erick the eldest brother when Bram was fourteen. She was bold and daring. Her brown hair with red highlights glittered in the sunlight. Even though she was a Gaelic thrall, she taught Bram her language.
    Morga. His heart fisted and he blinked back the salt water stinging his eyes as the ship rocked along the waves.
    The Norns be damned! Two months before their wedding, Morga died of a fever. But he should have known that the Norns ruled even the destiny of the gods, no matter how much he’d wanted to carve his own fate, their will prevailed.
    For three years, he’d been empty inside.
    Then the contract from Laird Liannon arrived and he signed it before thinking it through. He thought a wife, land, and a purpose would fill the void. But the closer the ship sailed to Ireland; he hoped this marriage would yield true love again.
    But maybe he would be twice-lucky in this life.
    “The cliffs are too steep here; we’ll sail to O’Neill land.” The Captain smirked. “If you can avoid their detection, the Liannon clan is to the west.”
    “Guess you’re not here to plunder since you’re alone.”
    Bram shook his head. He wanted to live in Morga’s homeland. “Aye. Though my brothers told me Ireland is rich in soil and women. But I promised my love who died from plague that I’d never raid or pillage on her birthplace.” He rocked back on his heels. “England, Wales, and Scotland though—didn’t have my vow.”
    The Captain smacked him on the back. “As long as you leave my country out of your spoils, I don’t care who you fight.”
    “I don’t battle everywhere I go.” Bram rubbed his beard. “Egypt