Viking's Bride of Desire

Winsome cradled his head as he placed warm, loving kisses wherever he wanted. She felt she would faint from the wonderful feelings.

All too soon he lifted his head and looked at her. ”Let us take off this dress,” he whispered huskily.

She struggled feebly in his arms and sat up, her arms across her breasts. “No,” she moaned, “you are not my husband.”

“What has that got to do with it?” He felt bewildered, frustrated and angry. “We do not need to be married to make love.”

“But we do,” she said. “My mother always taught me that. ‘Tis the Beothuk way.”

“The Beothuk way! Whoever heard of them? ‘Tis the Viking way that matters! It matters not what the Beothuk ways are. You have left them behind you. You are with me now!”

“Ja,” said Winsome calmly, keeping her arms crossed. “I am with you, but I had no choice!” She glowered at him. “You stole me away!”