- N. N. Light
Sarah Dahl @sarahdahl13 pulls back the curtain of history to depict the erotic lives of Viking men a
Title Tales of Freya – Sensual Short Stories
Author Sarah Dahl
Genre Historical Fiction, Viking Age, Sensual Romance
A collection of sensual short stories set in the Viking Age
In this collection of adult bedtime stories, Sarah Dahl pulls back the curtain of history to depict the erotic lives of Viking men and women. Amid the stark landscapes of fjords, forests and snowcapped mountain peaks, her characters search for love and passion. Dahl authentically illuminates the sensual side of a world of battle and plunder in an alluring collection perfect for every lover of gritty Viking romance.
A warrior recovering by a river is drawn into an unforeseen skirmish with a beautiful shield maiden. An enslaved Christian monk is entranced by his captors’ pagan allure. A dissatisfied housewife finds that her home holds an unexpected and liberating secret. An injured farmer is captivated by the magic of his irresistible healer ...
In a world of crackling fires and rough landscapes, long winters and bloody raids, the immediacy of life and death ignites undeniable passions. Warriors and monks, healers and housewives – all follow the call of their hearts and bodies to indulge in pleasures that may forever change their lives.
“Vikings meets Last Kingdom with a huge dose of the 'feels'.
“Truly Norse, gritty and authentic” (previous reviews)
Excerpt From “Healer”, one of the stories in the collection “Tales of Freya”:
Magnús stood in the room like a displaced tree, heavy, immobile, staring at the bed with dread.
Audr waved at it. "Do sit. Just sit."
"And then?" He couldn't move.
She held out a hand. "Just take in the smell, feel the softer covers I've put on. Your furs are in there," she pointed at a chest, "because the mara gets tangled up in the hairs. And I placed a rune under your pillow, so you can rest undisturbed. It will protect your sleep."
A number of little sachets sat on the blanket and around his pillow, forming a circle around where his head rested at night. If only it would rest.
"Now that your body is in order, we should tend to the wounds of your mind."
He hesitated, confused by her words and the glitter of her hazel-green eyes. He felt the new fabric underneath him, surprised at the softness and what it did to his skin.
"Does she look like her?" Her tender eyes were smiling, knowing before he had uttered a word. Her hand cupped his cheek, stroked him briefly.
He didn't pull back. "It feels like she's still here. All this pain —"
An insistent whisper, "What was her name?"
Deep down in his back, the arrow's wound started to pulse. He fought the onset of grief — and panic — at his wife's name.
Magnús clenched his fists and closed his eyes, swallowing. "Her name was Ingiborg."
Audr nodded. There was a pause. Then she said, "Lay back."
He found himself stretched out before he knew what had happened. Curling into a ball, he tucked both hands under his chin, the honey-coloured stone safe in his fist. Then he lay frozen, waiting, alert. She had to hear the hammering of his heart.
But Audr didn't come to him, instead she stood humming to herself, holding a parcel above one of the lamps. The flame licked at it with a crackle and hiss, and a thin trail of smoke ascended which the healer fanned to her face and inhaled.
Her singsong swelled and took on a slow rhythm that matched his breathing. His eyelids closed, his hands relaxed. The chant infused his body with calm. All he did was hear and smell the magic unfolding.
Soft, warm hands unfolded his clenched fists. Audr took the stone from him.
His eyes snapped open.
"Shsh, allt er gott. I'll make it that her good spirit lives in here," she held the stone into the flickering light and it glinted coppery and golden, "but her body and mind, including the pain and mortal fear, will go to the grave. You can visit her, converse with her, but once you come in here to rest, you will rest alone, relieved of the burden that was her death."
Paralysed by the glinting stone, he nodded. He so much wanted Audr to be right, to be powerful enough to help him, help them both. Ingiborg deserved to leave and go to the realm of the dead. One day he would follow.
Surprisingly strong fingers unclenched his hands and placed them either side of his torso, holding them. "Close your eyes, Magnús."
His beltless tunic had slipped up, and when Audr leant across him, her long, flowing hair touched his stomach. He flinched at the caress. She looked intently at his face. With her powerful hands on his, and that funny tingle on and inside his belly, his body started to loosen, to relax. He softened under her.
She broke into a wide smile. "This is good. Let the tension go."
He took his time to ponder this as he studied her captivating face, the shining in her eyes and on her cheekbones. He could breathe more freely, felt his muscles flex and his blood pulse hot with new life. He inhaled, taking in as much fresh air — and new life — as he could. Slowly but surely relief defeated the fear.
His hands tightened around hers.
Her face changed. She glanced away, smiling at the glinting sword on the wall as if it was a sign for his newfound strength.
His mouth moistened. He said in a clearer voice, "Look at me."
He tried to withstand the green glitter of her gaze and dropped his voice, smiling, "Takka, thank you, for all you do for me. For us."
"It's easily done for a man like you, Magnús," she replied with the same slow smile.
He took her in, the slight change in her, the way her skin flushed and her lips parted. He kept her hands locked in his. This felt good. The tingling spread out from his stomach and raised the hairs on his arms and chest. With every breath, more strength flooded back into him. It accumulated and became so much that he thought he would be lifted off the bed with joy.
She shifted and pulled her leg onto the bed. Her hands slipped out of his. They hovered over his chest while she dropped her gaze. Her tongue touched her lower lip as she leant back to lift her hair over her shoulders. Her hand stayed on her neck. It was an exquisite neck, enveloped with skin that looked softer than velvet.
There was a new glow around them, adding to the soothing warmth and vibrant scents of the room, and most of all, her. Following a natural pull, Magnús came up and leaned closer. His hand covered the one in her neck. She didn't move or fight him. How he wanted to touch her hair, her skin, her lips —
She had seen it. A brief flicker, then her eyes closed. Her smile was breathless.
He pulled her close, pushed cinnamon strands from her face with fingertips tracing the line of her jaw.
She tasted fresh, so much more human than he had anticipated. Inviting and … familiar. Their kiss grounded him even more, gave him roots, something to hold on to, while her tongue fought his demons, infusing his fibres with new strength. And want. It built fast and pulsed through his every vein. He leaned closer and against her, slowly pushing her backwards; and a very human moan escaped her throat.
Propped on his elbows, he grinned down at her, enjoying the blood pulsing through him. Finally. This heat was new; the cold had left his bones. "You unleash something I thought was buried and lost."
Her face framed by the curls was glowing. "So do it. Kill the last of the ghosts, Magnús."
Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1790461111
Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1790461111
Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07KYWSC7P
Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07KYWSC7P
Also available in Kindle Unlimited/Select.
Sarah Dahl lives on the edge of the rural German Eifel and writes historical fiction (novels and short stories) primarily set in the Viking age. She was an editor in several German publishing houses and managed a translation agency. The magic of writing re-entered her life at UCD Dublin, where she sat in J.R.R. Tolkien’s office every day, while working on the ‘Dictionary of Hiberno-English’. Tolkien’s spirit must have done something to her creative muscles – it sure wasn’t the bland view from his office. She became a full-time writer soon after and still works as an editor, translates, and coaches new authors. She is interested in everyday life in bygone centuries and the human stories that may have occurred behind the hard, historical facts. Her author page is: sarah-dahl.com. You find her newsletter at: https://mailing.sarah-dahl.com.
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