About Prisoner of the Raven
Written by Kirby Crow
81 pages / 33500 words
ISBN: 1-933389-34-6
Available file types - html, lit, pdf, prc
The Viking raiders are the scourge of the Irish coast, and Aleyn’s shipmates have all been slaughtered by Viking raiders, so it stands to reason that he would hate and fear them. Especially their leader, Ranulf, who is enough to strike fear into the hearts of most men.
Ranulf is not exactly the terror he seems, though, going from jailer to lover, confusing Aleyn, confounding him with his feelings for the big Dane. In the end, this historical romance reminds us that war is not the only certainty in life. Love can be just as enduring.
Review
CB Potts, editor of the upcoming anthology Play Ball, writes: Kirby Crow knows her way around a longship. That’s readily apparent, as one discovers in the first few pages of Prisoner of the Raven. What’s also readily apparent is that Kirby Crow is an amazing writer.
In this, the latest installment in the High Ball line, we meet Aleyn, a young Irishman, who has just lost his crewmates and ship to the Viking raiders. Ranulf, leader of the bloodthirsty sea wolves, is hardly pleased to find nothing but wool and grain aboard the ship, but he doesn’t come away from the raid empty-handed. Instead, he takes Aleyn as prize – and bed-mate.
Crow weaves a masterful tale. While Aleyn is definitely in a situation not of his own choosing, he finds himself drawn to Ranulf. Relevatory flashback scenes clue us in to Aleyn’s most secret desires – desires that are being fulfilled by his sworn enemy. As Aleyn learns of pleasure at Ranulf’s hands, Ranulf learns that passion has a price – and that the price is very, very high.
Compelling reading, full of great historic detail, and rich with sub-plots and engaging minor characters, Prisoner of the Raven delivers as promised – and more.
Sample
The jarl stepped closer and took Aleyn’s chin in his gloved hand, turning his head this way and that to see the set of his features. “You have all your teeth?” He did not wait for an answer, but prodded Aleyn’s mouth open with his thumb to peer inside.
Aleyn had a passing thought to bite him, but thought better of it. Every other man on the cog was already dead. He had not known the crew very well, and he had no immediate wish to join them. Best to be smart, stay alive, watch and wait. If they did not kill him right off, perhaps there would be a chance for escape.
The jarl hummed in approval when he saw that Aleyn’s teeth were white and sound. Aleyn pressed his lips together and the Viking took a moment to trace the outline of Aleyn’s mouth with his gloved finger. Supple leather glided warmly over his skin. Aleyn was paralyzed with outrage. He forced himself to attempt to pull away, but was held fast by an iron hand gripping his upper arm.
“This has a sweet shape,” the jarl murmured for his ears alone, his thumb lingering on Aleyn’s lower lip. He ducked his head to look searchingly into Aleyn’s eyes. After another long moment, the Viking nodded to himself as if confirming some inner suspicion, and released him. “How old are you?”
Aleyn rubbed his jaw and scrubbed his hand across his mouth. “Nineteen,” he said through clenched teeth. “I was born under the winter moon.” It was spring now and the ship was laden with a heavy haul of wool from the spring shearing, bound for their far eastern lands, which had poorer grazing country where folks would pay well for such bounty. Aleyn had been looking forward to the long journey and the sight of new things, which he was now sure he would never see.
The jarl gestured for his men to leave and they smirked and laughed and one of them slapped his companion on the back in some private joke. In a moment they had climbed the short ladder and were gone and Aleyn was alone with the hulking Viking.
Although he fervently hoped he was wrong, Aleyn thought he might know what the jarl wanted. His hope of escaping unscathed vanished like a puff of air when the man stepped even closer to him and put his hands on Aleyn’s shoulders. He dragged a hand through the softness of Aleyn’s chestnut hair, and Aleyn flinched when his strands caught on the studs of the jarl’s gloves and tugged painfully.
“You,” he stammered. “What do you want from me?”
The jarl just looked at him, and Aleyn noticed that he was even more handsome when very near, a thought which he quashed quickly.
“My name is Ranulf.”