I am so super excited about Allison Merritt’s new book!! Here is the scoop:
Her Heart’s Surrender by Allison Merritt
Release Date: Thursday, April 9th
Blurbs:
Taken from her village as a child, Ealasaid has lived under the iron rule of a Viking king for far too long. The only good to come out of her life is her son. As long as the king lives, their freedom and hope for the future seems dismal. Despite her contempt for the king and his bloodline, she’s drawn to Hella Ingvasson, the man who kidnapped her, and the plight he faces when the king dies.
His father’s final demand is that Hella must wed if he’s to claim the throne. What better revenge than to marry the thrall his father hated most? Despite her fears Hella will become like his father, Ealasaid agrees to marry for her son’s sake, but she quickly learns her husband’s battle scarred body provides more pleasure than nightmares.
Word comes that her brothers also survived the raid and have assembled an army. They march toward a Norse settlement with the intention of revenge. Unless she can reach her brothers and convince them not to slaughter the man and people she’s come to love, Hella may become another bloody stain on history’s tapestry.
And at 16 words:
One woman will turn the tide of battle by risking everything for the man she loves.
Guest Post:
Her Heart’s Surrender is a story about a woman who believed she might be something more than a Saxon princess. She thought she was aos si, a changling fairy left with common humans. As it turns out, she was kidnapped by Vikings and made a thrall. In this extended excerpt from the book, Hella, the man who kidnapped her and turned into her one-time lover, offers her the chance to be more than a misplaced Saxon princess. Something much more than a common thrall.
These two were fun to play off of one another. They both have quick tempers, but different backgrounds and life experiences. Hella can be regal, kingly, and Ealasaid can be downright bratty in some moments. She never learned to hold back how she really felt, which earned her the nickname Blade Tongue. While it often got her in trouble, it also endeared her to Hella because he learned how tough she is. I hope you enjoy this look at Hella and Ealasaid’s verbal sparring match.
“You seem troubled, Hella.” His name rolled from her lips smooth as wind through the oaks. “Shall I send for Erik or Bjorn? Company might soothe your nerves.”
Erik would have to be informed of Ingvar’s plan should Hella fail to marry, but he didn’t want to share it yet. “They’ll suggest we drink ourselves blind and let the problem wait for tomorrow. There are not enough tomorrows to prevent my trouble.”
Her lips puckered, a clear sign she wanted to ask. Even Ealasaid had limits to her curiosity.
There wasn’t any harm in telling her. Everyone would learn his plight soon enough. “It’s about my father’s last wish.”
“Ingvar speaks from beyond the death veil.” She quirked an eyebrow. “What does the old king require you to do? Will you unite Northumbria to conquer Byzantium or Spain?”
“No, it’s much more difficult.” He tore the end off the bread and ripped it into little bits. “I must take a wife or lose Solstad.”
Ealasaid stared, then burst into laughter.
“I’m pleased my troubles amuse you.” He smashed his hand on top of the crumbs. “Explain how my misfortune is a cause for laughter.”
She wiped tears from her eyes. “You’ve fought battles others would run from. You grew up in the White Raven’s shadow. You take what you want and leave nothing behind. I find it difficult to see how marriage is a horror you cannot face.”
“Indeed, my sorrows are reason for mirth.” He shoveled scalding soup into his mouth and swallowed. She wouldn’t have dared talk to his father this way, but Ealasaid never held her tongue around him. “Be gone. Instruct another thrall to bring the rest of my courses.”
“You must have dozens of conquests. Surely one would make a suitable wife for the new king of Solstad.” She twirled a pale strand of hair around her finger. “Inga the butcher’s daughter? She’s fair of face and quick to laugh. Or Giera. The daughter of some jarl or the other north of here.”
“You’re not helping. Go on, leave.”
“As you wish, m’lord.” She curtsied then turned for the door. “May the gods resolve your inheritance issues and favor you with a mighty queen and a hundred strong Viking babies born with clubs in their hands.”
“I could order your tongue cut out.” He jabbed the bottom of the bowl with the spoon. The threat held no weight, and she knew it judging by her smirk.
She flipped her hair over her shoulder. “You enjoyed my tongue long ago, m’lord.”
He ached to kiss the mocking grin off her full mouth. From the moment she’d lost her boyish figure and filled out, he’d craved a taste of her. Though she possessed a sharp tongue, he couldn’t deny Ealasaid had grown into a handsome woman, one with enough meat on her bones to keep a man warm at night. She’d served his father’s hall since her capture and had become a capable servant.
Why not a capable wife? Many people of the Anglo and Norse lands intertwined their blood. With his father gone, who would stop Hella from taking any wife he pleased? Wouldn’t it be the best revenge to marry the thrall his father hated? To claim in marriage the woman he’d once tried to buy?
“What would you do if you were on the verge of losing your kingdom to your brother?”
Ealasaid hesitated. “I would fight for it. The way I know you will. Erik would be a fine leader, but this is your birthright. Erik is your brother by decree of the old king, not through direct blood. Even Ingvar should not have the power to change it. Marry and marry well. Be happy in spite of his demands.”
“I have no wish to take just any bride.”
“Understandable. How long do you have to choose?”
“Until the next full moon.” It might as well be a day. He’d been consumed in adventure and farming. In all his travels, there were no women he’d considered sharing his life with.
Firelight played on Ealasaid’s features, casting shadows as it flickered. A woman with a backbone as strong as hers would make a fierce queen were she not a thrall. Once the idea latched on, it wouldn’t let go.
She shifted her weight. “I’m sorry for your troubles. I’ll retire now. Birgir is waiting for his supper. I’ll send Ulrika with the rest of your meal.”
“What of you?” He played with the spoon handle, pushing it over the rough table surface.
Another faint smile graced her mouth. “Thank you for the concern, m’lord, but I’ve eaten already.”
She meant to vex him by playing with his words. He drew in a breath and searched for his patience. “I meant what are your plans for the evening?”
“I suppose I’ll mix some herbs. Unless you require something else?”
“A wife.” He bit off the word the way he would a succulent piece of apple. “You are a thrall. I don’t see you have any better prospects than marriage to a Norse king.”
Ealasaid’s mouth gaped, and her eyes widened. “Me?”
“There’s no one here but us.” He tapped his foot beneath the table. “I’m extending an offer. We can join in marriage, which will secure the future for us both. And for your son. I would bestow an earldom on him.”
Buy Links: Three Worlds Press
About the author:
A love of reading inspired Allison Merritt to pursue her dream of becoming an author who writes historical, paranormal and fantasy romances, often combining the sub-genres. She lives in a small town in the Ozark Mountains with her husband and dogs. When she’s not writing or reading, she hikes in national parks and conservation areas.
Allison graduated from College of the Ozarks in Point Lookout, Missouri with a B.A. in mass communications that’s gathering dust after it was determined that she’s better at writing fluff than hard news.
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Excerpt:
“You seem troubled, Hella.” His name rolled from her lips smooth as wind through the oaks. “Shall I send for Erik or Bjorn? Company might soothe your nerves.”
Erik would have to be informed of Ingvar’s plan should Hella fail to marry, but he didn’t want to share it yet. “They’ll suggest we drink ourselves blind and let the problem wait for tomorrow. There are not enough tomorrows to prevent my trouble.”
Her lips puckered, a clear sign she wanted to ask, but there were limits to her curiosity.
There wasn’t any harm in telling her. Everyone would learn his plight soon enough. “It’s about my father’s last wish.”
“Ingvar speaks from beyond the death veil.” She quirked an eyebrow. “What does the old king require you to do? Will you unite Northumbria to conquer Byzantium or Spain?”
“No, it’s much more difficult.” He tore the end off the bread and ripped it into little bits. “I must take a wife or lose Solstad.”
Ealasaid stared, then burst into laughter.
“I’m pleased my troubles amuse you.” He smashed his hand on top of the crumbs. “Explain how my misfortune is a cause for laughter.”
She wiped tears from her eyes. “You’ve fought battles others would run from. You grew up in the White Raven’s shadow. You take what you want and leave nothing behind. I find it difficult to see how marriage is a horror you cannot face.”
“Indeed, my sorrows are reason for mirth.” He shoveled scalding soup into his mouth and swallowed. She wouldn’t have dared talk to his father this way, but Ealasaid had never held her tongue around him. “Be gone. Instruct another thrall to bring the rest of my courses.”
“You must have dozens of conquests. Surely one would make a suitable wife for the new king of Solstad.” She twirled a pale strand of hair around her finger. “Inga the butcher’s daughter? She’s fair of face and quick to laugh. Or Giera. The daughter of some jarl or the other north of here.”
“You’re not helping. Go on, leave.”
“As you wish, m’lord.” She curtsied then turned for the door. “May the gods resolve your inheritance issues and favor you with a mighty queen and a hundred strong Viking babies born with clubs in their hands.”
Dawn Brower holds a Bachelor of Arts in psychology, a Master of Arts in Education, and is currently working on a Master of Arts in Liberal Arts with concentrations in Literature, History, and Sociology. She works as a substitute teacher and enjoys the flexibility it gives her to concentrate on her other endeavors.
Musings by Mandy 