Her terms: free her family
His terms: seduction?
Defending her home, Lady Ansithe captures outlaw Viking Moir Mimirson. The prisoner will be the ideal ransom for her father, who’s being held hostage by the Danes. Yet Moir’s flirtatious negotiations exhilarate practical Ansithe as much as they surprise her... Can she be sure that this hardened warrior will work with her and not betray her? And what of his stolen kisses—can she trust those?
Born and raised near San Francisco, California, MICHELLE STYLEScurrently lives near Hadrian’s Wall with her husband and a menagerie of pets in an Edwardian bungalow with a large and somewhat overgrown garden. An avid reader, she became hooked on historical romances after discovering Georgette Heyer, Anya Seton and Victoria Holt. Her website is michellestyles.co.ukand she’s on Twitter and Facebook.
Also by Michelle Styles
Hattie Wilkinson Meets Her Match
An Ideal Husband?
Paying the Viking’s Price
Return of the Viking Warrior
Saved by the Viking Warrior
Taming His Viking Woman
Summer of the Viking
Sold to the Viking Warrior
The Warrior’s Viking Bride
Sent as the Viking’s Bride
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.
A Deal with Her Rebel Viking
Michelle Styles
www.millsandboon.co.uk
ISBN: 978-1-474-08962-3
A DEAL WITH HER REBEL VIKING
© 2019 Michelle Styles
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk
Version: 2020-03-02
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For my niece Elizabeth
Contents
Cover
Back Cover Text
About the Author
Booklist
Title Page
Copyright
Note to Readers
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
Author Note
Extract
About the Publisher
Chapter One
Late June AD 873—Manor of Baelle Heale, Forest of Arden, West Mercia, now modern-day Balsall Common, near Birmingham, England
A late-morning heat haze shimmered on the water meadow, where a cloud of blue butterflies rose in the slight breeze. Peace personified. Ansithe, middle daughter of the ealdorman Wulfgar, whose manor lands included the meadow, breathed in deeply and made a memory before adjusting the quiver of arrows she’d slung over her back.
The water meadow in bloom with yellow, pink and blue wildflowers had to be one of her favourite places in the whole world. No one bothered her here, or complained that she was weaving a cloth of dreams instead of a woolen one. Her eldest sister’s jibe earlier that day about Ansithe’s housekeeping standards and how no one decent would want a widow whose weaving threads always tangled rankled. She had run the household capably before Cynehild and her young son had arrived, fleeing the Mycel Haethen or the Great Heathen Horde of Danes’ inexorable advance in East Mercia. And she did her best thinking outdoors, always had.
Someone had to work out a way to save their father and Cynehild’s beloved husband who had both been taken prisoner. They could be freed, according to the message from the Danish warlord who held them, for a price, gold that they didn’t have. He had sent the severed finger of Cynehild’s husband to back up his demand. If Ansithe could engineer a way to free them, then maybe her father would understand she was indispensable to the smooth running of the estate and any talk of her entering into a new betrothal would cease. One unhappy marriage was enough for a lifetime.
She withdrew an arrow from her quiver, imagining the tree knot was the commander’s head, but the sound of tramping feet made her freeze.
Ansithe retreated to the shade of the great oak which stood at the edge of the meadow. She concentrated on forcing air into her lungs. It would be nothing—a deer if she was lucky, or a wolf if she wasn’t.
She turned slightly. Her heart skipped a beat. The Heathen Horde, here in Baelle Heale rather than where they should be—fifty miles to the east in the conquered lands. Openly. And not skulking in the shadows or keeping to Watling Street, the Roman road which ran a few miles from Baelle Heale.
Ansithe flattened herself against the oak and watched their progress as the group of warriors emerged from the woods. They seemed in no hurry and in no mood to conceal themselves.
The lead warrior, a tall blond man with broad shoulders, put his hands on his hips and examined the water meadow as though he owned it. She admired his chiselled cheekbones, and tapered waist for a long heartbeat until she noticed the large sword hanging from his belt alongside the iron helm. Her blood ran cold.
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