As a lover of historical fiction it seemed logical to write a novel in that genre. The Viking's Defiant Bride came about after I read Roy Anderson’s brilliant little book, The Violent Kingdom, found while browsing through a gift shop in Bamburgh. One paragraph and I was hooked. The Viking Invasion of 865 AD became the setting for my own story and provided all the conflict a writer could desire. Along with the invaders came my own imaginary hero, Earl Wulfrum. I could picture him at once, sword in hand, leaping ashore from a sea dragon with his Viking companions. The tale took off from there. Northumbria is a wonderful and atmospheric place so it was no hardship at all to travel around it and do the necessary research. The results were then carefully collated in various local pubs.
Plot summary:
Wulfrum, a warrior of renown, is rewarded by his overlord with lands in England and thus the estate of Ravenswood becomes his. Along with it goes Elgiva, the beautiful Saxon captive whom he marries by force. Their tempestuous relationship is further complicated by the presence of Aylwin, a Saxon lord, who vows to kill Wulfrum and reclaim Elgiva, his former betrothed. Torn between loyalty to her people and the growing attraction she feels toward her husband Elgiva must choose where her future lies.
Praise for The Viking's Defiant Bride
“Fulford’s story of lust and love set in the Dark Ages is reminiscent of Woodiwiss’ The Flame and the Flower. A suspenseful plot, well-developed characters and a passionate romance combine to keep readers engaged from start to finish. The authentic depiction of the historical setting adds to the enjoyment of this...evenly paced story”.
Romantic Times Magazine
Read an extract:
Peering through the gap in the shutters Elgiva stared in horror at the scene of carnage below and murmured a prayer. Everywhere she looked the Viking marauders were pouring in over the walls.
‘God in heaven, can there be so many?’
Giants they seemed, these fierce warriors, cruel with battle thirst, each face alight with lust for blood and conquest. With sword and axe they cut down all who stood in their way, crying out the name of their war god.
‘Odin!’
The cry was repeated from four hundred throats as the Norsemen drove forward fearless into the ranks of their foes. The defenders fought bravely but the sheer weight of numbers pushed them back, step by step, the enemy advancing over the bodies of the slain, remorseless, hacking their way on. As the defenders fell back, Elgiva could see another group of the enemy without the palisade, dragging a huge battering ram into position. It was the trunk of a tree, fresh hewn and drawn on a wheeled timber cradle. Under cover of ox hide shields the marauders rolled the supporting cradle back and forth, building momentum until the end of the trunk crashed against the gate. The stout timbers creaked but held. Elgiva stared in horrified fascination as with each swing the gate shook. Alive to the danger the nearest Saxon defenders rallied to the gate and swarmed to the rampart inside the palisade, raining arrows and rocks on to the men beneath.
For a little while it seemed that they met with success for several of the Vikings fell and the momentum of the great ram was lost. It was a brief respite for in moments reinforcements arrived and other warriors stepped up to take the places of their fallen comrades. The assault on the gate began anew. The timbers shuddered and splintered. Amid the clash of arms and shouts of men a thunderous crack announced the breach, followed by a roar of triumph from the invading horde who poured through the gap like a tide beneath their black raven banner.
Helpless, Elgiva could only watch as the Saxon defence crumbled and her retainers were beaten back towards the great hall. Beside them Aylwin and his men fought on, shoulder to shoulder, returning the enemy blow for blow. Half a dozen more men fell under Aylwin’s sword while all around him the group of defenders grew smaller and more desperate. Redoubling their efforts, hacking and thrusting and parrying, each man determined to sell his life dear. Tireless they seemed, yet one by one they fell. Aylwin fought on, laying about him with a will, his sword smoking and bloody as it rose and fell, slashing and cutting until the bodies were piled before him. And then its edge struck the blade of a huge war axe. The sword shivered and Aylwin was left undefended. He hurled the sundered hilt at the foe in a last act of defiance before the enemy blade cut him down.
Elgiva’s hand flew to her lips stifling her cry and she closed her eyes a moment, forcing back tears. Weakness would not help Aylwin now, or any of the survivors who would depend on her. Striving to regain some measure of self control she turned from the window, sombrely regarding the other occupants of the room. Seeing that stony expression Hilda let out a terrified sob as she cowered, clutching the baby, Pybba, to her breast. The nursemaid was but six and ten years old and plainly terrified. Osgifu stood beside her pale but silent, her arm about the three-year old Ulric who clutched her skirt and bit a trembling lip. Around them the women servants sobbed.
In the hall below were gathered a handful of men left for their defence. Violent banging on the barred doors below announced the invaders’ intent and the great timbers shuddered. Elgiva knew it could only be a matter of time before they broke through for above the din she heard the sinister thunk of axes against timber. A woman screamed. Minutes later the door gave way amid a roar of voices and the clash of weapons as the defenders tried to stem the tide of invaders. Shouts and shrieks filled the hall. More invaders poured in through the shattered doorway. Several made for the stairway in pursuit of plunder. Elgiva heard the heavy footfalls and men's voices. Someone tried the chamber door and found it barred. Then she heard a man's voice.
‘Break it down!’
