âYou deserve more than I can give you.â
It was a warning Kadlin wouldnât heed. âYou donât decide what I deserve any more than our fathers decide who I marry. I am in charge of myself.â
Gunnarâs lips had hardened into a determined line, but deep in his eyes lurked the longing of the boy he had been.
It nearly broke her heart, so she softened her voice. âIâve dreamt of the night you would come back to me for a long time. Come â¦â She tugged him gently. âLie down with me.â
She had more than dreamt of it. Gunnar was the only man she had ever thought to spend her life with. He was the one for herâthe only oneâso it seemed entirely natural that this night had finally come.
Iâve always had a soft spot for wounded heroes. Gunnar holds a particularly special place in my heart because his emotional wounds, stemming from his childhood, are almost as severe as his physical wounds. He is not the perfect hero, but he is a very real hero. Heâs a perfect example of how love can touch us all and help us strive to become something better than we were. While I donât envy Kadlin the task put before her, her (almost) unwavering faith in the power of love is the one glimmer of hope that Gunnar needs to become that person.
I am a firm believer that each and every one of us is deserving of love and its power to heal. I hope you enjoy reading about Gunnar and Kadlin and their journey to discover this as much as I enjoyed writing their story.
One Night with the Viking
Harper St. George
HARPER ST GEORGE was raised in rural Alabama and along the tranquil coast of northwest Florida. It was this setting, filled with stories of the old days, that instilled in her a love of history, romance and adventure. At high school she discovered the romance novel, which combined all those elements into one perfect package. She lives in Atlanta, Georgia, with her husband and two young children.
Visit her website: harperstgeorge.com.
For Joseph
Contents
She was the only woman he had ever loved.
The realisation washed over him in a single instant, a tingling chill that started at his fingertips and worked its way up his arms and on to the rest of his body. If heâd seen her even once in the past few years, he might have recognised that love sooner. Or if he had allowed himself to even dream that such a sentiment was possible, he would have attributed it to her. But heâd tried to make himself forget her. It was easier to pretend she didnât exist. If he didnât think about being with her, he wouldnât long for her. If he didnât remember how it felt to hold her, he wouldnât have to face the reality that she wasnât meant to be his. That he would never hold her again and his hands wouldnât ache from the emptiness.
Only Gunnar had never really stopped imagining her face. Every woman heâd ever touched had become her in the black of night.
From his hidden niche in the forest, he watched Kadlin follow the path from her home to the stream, her cheeks pink with the cold and her long-limbed stride graceful and swaying. She leapt a snowdrift and her younger brothers followed suit, both of them squealing and laughing as one of them tripped and fell into the icy snow bank. Her mongrel barked and joined the fray, bouncing in merriment. Gunnar found himself smiling as he quickly stepped back to hide behind