Summary:It's been years since Agnarr met his wyrd on the Green Island. Years since he left Charis, his former trell and medicine woman, with her new husband in her new village. Even though he lost her, he cannot help but feel his destiny lies with her people of Éire, so he returns with his final raiding party. Once there, a chance encounter strikes him speechless and without his memory, alone in a foreign land. He is taken to Aislinn, a physician who is serving in Bangor Monastery. Born in Ragor, the village Agnarr destroyed when she was a child, she is now the adopted daughter of Charis and Cowan, and has herself trained in healing. Drawn to her tall, blond patient in a way that she never has been to a man before, she is horrified and angry to find that he is the one responsible for the loss of her home. These are turbulent times in Éire, and there are volatile tempers all around. Still, Agnarr Halvardson would stay on the island, wed, and sire sons to live in strength and plenty in his adopted home. He wants Aislinn to be his wife and the mother of his children, but she won't marry without love. He worships Thor and Odin; she worships Jesu the Christ. Can two from such opposing backgrounds find happiness with one another? Might they even find a love that will change both their worlds?
Excerpt:At length, her body eased into his, which pleased him. Her cloak and his shirt separated his skin from hers from her neck to mid-thigh. Her bare legs drew his gaze, but he shut his eyes and tilted his head back. By the gods, he had to think. Her illness had pervaded his every thought since she had dropped her bread that morning. They had to get back to her village. He had to figure out how to trade for land so he could farm. He swore under his breath. He should have claimed a share of the bounty from Tuirgeis to give him something to trade. Still, he would try. The berserker would know what to do. As the son of a king, he might be able to help. He could build a langhús of his own. And find a víf. One of the Islander women. He would first have to have the house to bring her to, since he no longer had his own in Balestrand. A gift for the bride night would also have to be secured. And crops. And sheep. This land had many sheep, as he well knew. It rankled more than a little to be in a subservient position, though. He could simply overtake a farm . . . In his arms, the healer shuddered. A cold, clammy sensation slid over his skin. Had she sensed the direction his thoughts were taking? These were her people, after all. No, he should not plan on gaining land by warfare. But chance? Maybe. If Thor was pleased with him, the god himself might make it happen. Yes. More at ease on that score, Agnarr felt his eyes grow heavy. The fire burned low, so he leaned as far as he could, grabbing a branch to throw into it. Sparks flew and he shielded Aislinn’s bare skin with his arm, getting a couple of tiny burns for his trouble. It was of no matter. She was another thing altogether. As his eyes slid shut, his mind found the woman he wanted as his own on the Green Island. She had braids as black as obsidian, eyes as blue as the deepest, purest lake of Nordweg, a form as entrancing as any he had ever seen. Half-dozing with the warmth of Aislinn’s body pressed into his, he noticed too late the intruders into the small camp—and Mjøllnir had been left by the fire when he had removed his shirt.
The first book of this trilogy, Éire's Captive Moon, is available here: