Her wild spirit made him crave her . . .
Her firebrand—hair blazed as glorious as a sunrise. Her long limbs promised the sweet mysteries of the night. Rhiannon, King Alfred’s favorite niece, was enraged when her uncle sealed an alliance of war by pledging her to Eric, the towering golden-haired prince whose blue eyes penetrated her with a glacial stare. But the more she fought the marriage . . . the man . . . the more she became inflamed by the fire that lay beneath his Viking ice.
His passion pierced her heart . . .
His broad shoulders as hard as the steel of his sword, Eric bowed to no man. The only battle he feared losing was with Rhiannon. For she had reached into the savage recesses of his heart. No campaign on the field, no treason from within, would he fight as fiercely—or with such desire . . . as the war he waged to possess what was his.
