Nothing she did escaped his gaz e.
Not a thing.
Not the way her mouth curved when she spoke.
Not the way her hand lightly touched the surface of everything as they passed by.
Not the way her voice grew husky as she whispered her prayers over meals or before sleeping.
Not a cursed or blessed thing.
Rurik closed his eyes and begged forgiveness from the Almighty. Not the many gods of his ancestors, but from the One who truly ruled the heavens and earth.
For he was a man whose body and soul lusted after a nun.
Praise for Terri Brisbin:
‘A welcome new voice in romance…
you won’t want to miss.’
—bestselling author Susan Wiggs
SURRENDER TO THE HIGHLANDER ‘…a carefully crafted plot spiced with a realistic measure of deadly intrigue and a richly detailed, fascinating medieval setting.’ —Chicago Tribune
‘…a seductive, vivid love story’
—Romance Reviews Today
TAMING THE HIGHLANDER ‘TAMING THE HIGHLANDER is a lively, frolicking tale of life in the highlands; truly a must-read.’ —–Historical Romance Writers
THE COUNTESS BRIDE ‘The author uses a time in history that is fraught with war, deceit and uncertainty to move her characters into love, conflict and danger. Brisbin woos her readers with laughter and tears in this delightful and interesting tale of love.’ —Romantic Times BOOKreviews
Terri Brisbin is wife to one, mother of three, and dental hygienist to hundreds when not living the life of a glamorous romance author. She was born, raised and is still living in the southern New Jersey suburbs. Terri’s love of history led her to write time-travel romances and historical romances set in Scotland and England. Readers are invited to visit her website for more information at www.terribrisbin.com, or contact her at PO Box 41, Berlin, NJ 08009-0041, USA.
Recent novels by the same autho r:
LOVE AT FIRST STEP
(short story in The Christmas Visit)
THE DUMONT BRIDE
THE NORMAN’S BRIDE
THE COUNTESS BRIDE
THE EARL’S SECRET
TAMING THE HIGHLANDER
Look for POSSESSED BY THE HIGHLANDER Coming September 2009
SURRENDER TO THE HIGHLANDER
Terri Brisbin
MILLS & BOON
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This book is dedicated to two groups of women
who have supported me in the last two years
and one special person—
First, the wonderful women in the office
of Dr Linda Graziano in Cherry Hill, New Jersey.
A caring group of professionals, they are also avid
romance readers and have been asking
for Rurik’s story since they first read
TAMING THE HIGHLANDER.
Linda, Patricia, Pat, Helen, Shelley, Deb and Amy—
here he is! Enjoy! (And thanks!)
And to the warm and amazingly helpful women and
avid romance readers in the Stratford, New Jersey,
office of Dr Jerome Pietras. To all of you who helped
me ease through difficult situations and appointments,
many thanks and this one’s for you, too!
And this is for Melissa Endlich, my editor,
who has been a help to me more than she will ever
know over this last year. She understood
and loved Rurik as much as I did.
Saying thank you is not nearly enough.…
Chapter One
Lairig Dubh, Scotland 1356
His sword sang its death song and the sound pulsed through his soul, giving him strength and resolve. Swinging it over his head and aiming its sharpened tip down, Rurik Erengislsson allowed the Viking buried deep within him to rise as he became one, in that instant, with the messenger of death in his grip. Only his control, exerted at the last moment, kept the deathblow from being delivered to the man lying at his feet in the dirt. Raising his face to the sun, he screamed out his battle cry like a berserker of old, loud and long, until it echoed out past the buildings of the yard and even over the walls surrounding the keep of Lairig Dubh.
His opponent judiciously allowed him the moment of triumph and did not move. The sharp tip of the sword held at Connor’s neck was, no doubt, part of what held him motionless, waiting for Rurik to relent. When those watching erupted into cheering, he lifted the sword away and reached down to his vanquished foe, the man he called laird.
“I was beginning to think this was the end,” Connor MacLerie, Laird MacLerie and the Earl of Douran, said under his breath. “There was an expression in your eyes I did not recognize, Rurik.”
The laird brushed the dirt from him and held his hand out for his own weapon, which Rurik had tossed aside during their battle. A boy ran to pick it up and bring it back to Connor.
Rurik cleared his throat and spit in the dirt. “I do not kill those I serve.”
Connor nodded at the gold armbands he now wore. The laird was an observant man. “The sword. The armbands. I suspect they are related to the visitors who stand in my hall and await your arrival there.”
“Visitors?” he asked.
Nodding to another of the lads who stood watching, he leaned over and gave him instructions before handing his blade to the boy. Facing Connor once more, he knew that an attempt at feigning surprise would not be missed and would be considered an insult by the laird, who was also his friend.
“They