of his Jarl Eirik’s rig, Sven strode between the two ranks of rowers lining the sides of the ship, pausing to tighten down one of the round, iron shields mounted to the outer rails. They planned to venture away from England today into the open sea with a course set to skirt the southerly coast of Iceland and Greenland on their way to the upper islands and peninsulas of the New World. New Dorset lay cradled in its craggy ridges, a haven for the few allowed to enter her glorious golden gates.
Gripping the high dragon’s neck of the prow, Sven squinted through the morning mists beginning to lift. Puffs flitted here and there, damp specters who hovered until the morning sun burnt them away. On quiet mornings, their whispers haunted him. Most times they were distant murmurs. He could rarely make out their words, which was fine with him. The aimless babbling of ghosts drifting into oblivion was far preferable to the occasional vengeful one who sought out Sven to wrangle favors.
“A good morning to you, sailor.” The low musical voice tightened his gut with its haunting, ethereal quality. A sound so soft and fragile should not so easily have cut through the muted wail of the winds and singsong shanty of the sailors rowing behind him.
The woman wavered in and out of transparency as she emerged from the mists, her face framed by a silvery-white waterfall of hair tumbling over her shoulders. Her tresses twinkled and glowed as if powered by tiny lights, partially hiding her pale, fine-boned features. Without warning, she leaped from the water to cling to the lower, wider base of the prow. Her lovely face tipped upward, no more than a foot from his. Her bosom pressed against the carved length of the prow, two perfect orbs barely concealed by a narrow weave of seaweed and shells. A delicate ribcage tapered to a tiny waist, and a long, slender tail with gossamer green and purple scales flipped and swished against the surface of the waters.
The mermaid moved so quickly, Sven could do nothing more than half draw the dagger from his waistband.
“Hold your weapon, Viking,” she implored, raising a porcelain hand. “I did not come to pick a fight.”
“Then what do you want?”
“You,” she breathed.
~VIKINGS SAGA 2~
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ALSO BY JO GRAFFORD
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W ant to read more?
VIKINGS SAGA
Viking For Hire - Book One
Branwyn O’Tyre’s estranged brother summons her for a healing ritual. Fearing he actually plans to arrest her for witchcraft, she drinks a protection potion before he arrives. Eirik, a Viking sea captain pretending slumber in the tavern corner, witnesses Branwyn’s magic and offers her safe passage from Exeter if she will attempt to reverse a curse that plagues him. Unfortunately, every woman who touches him falls madly but falsely in love with him. There’s only one hitch. If she fails, Branwyn’s heart will fall victim to the same madness...forever!
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Viking Born - Book Two
A premature winter and fear of a second mer attack threaten the Vikings' return to their mystical home of New Dorset. While Sven oversees the grueling task of rowing across the icy Atlantic, he is haunted by creatures of the mists. Whispering ghosts and a breathtakingly beautiful mermaid named Willow follow their longship. She claims she did not come to pick another fight with his sailors, however. What she wants this time is—him!
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Intelligent and well ahead of her times, ROSE PAYNE'S world is shattered after a secret