Ripples Through Time

by Christina Courtenay

Genres: Viking Romance

Synopsis

Brimming with romance, adventure and vivid historical detail, Christina Courtenay's gripping dual-time novel travels from the present day to the battles of West Mercia . . .

'Courtenay writes so beautifully, drawing you in to each scene, that time and pages slip by effortlessly' ERIN GREEN
'Whenever I need a break from the 21st Century, I read one of Christina Courtenay's novels' SUE MOORCROFT
'The Queen of Viking Romance' CATHERINE MILLER
__________________________

West Mercia, AD 873
Merewen's settlement is on guard against the threat of the 'Heathen' Norsemen. But for Merewen, the threats are also coming from within, as she her future is cruelly snatched away from her. Eirik, a Norseman, finds himself abandoned and injured after a plunder of Mercian land goes wrong. He thinks his fate is sealed - until an angel, bearing the name Merewen, saves his life.

Hereford, Present Day
Alix moves to her uncle's farm in Hereford, where she hopes to heal her recently broken heart. But something strange is in the air. Every time she touches a crystal pendent - a family heirloom gifted to her - she is haunted by memories of a life she never lived, of a relationship she never had, in a time she never existed in. A Viking hoard was discovered on Noah's farm by his sister and her criminal boyfriend. Hounded by the police, Noah must find the rest of the treasure whilst also deciphering the strange connection he has to Alix - a connection that seems to transcend their reality.

As the echoes of the past seep into the present, lose yourself in the evocative and romantic novels of Christina Courtenay that your favourite authors just can't get enough of:

'I've been looking forward to this book . . . and it far exceeded my hopes and expectations. Romantic, fascinating and gripping, it's one of my favourites of the series' NICOLA CORNICK

'I wonder if I, too, can find a way to travel back in time... If not, reading this book was the next best thing' GILL STEWART

'This epic romance is sure to sweep you off your feet!' TAKE A BREAK

'An absorbing story, fast-paced and vividly imagined' PAMELA HARTSHORNE

'A love story and an adventure, all rolled up inside a huge amount of intricately-detailed, well-researched history. Thoroughly enjoyable' KATHLEEN MCGURL

Release date: November 21, 2025

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 384

Sample

West Mercia, spring AD 873

‘Hurry, you’re wanted in the hall!’

Merewen looked up from the cough mixture she was preparing in the small hut she used for such tasks. Her younger sister, Aelfwynn, had pulled the door open and stuck her head inside, panting slightly. She’d clearly run as fast as she could, and the obvious urgency of her mission made Merewen’s stomach muscles clench.

‘Why? What’s the matter? Has someone hurt themselves?’

As the settlement’s healer, it fell to her to see to any injuries. It would help to know what she’d be dealing with so that she could bring the right supplies.

‘No. Father wants a word, is all.’

‘Oh.’ That still sounded ominous, but Merewen knew it was best not to keep him waiting. If she was in for a scolding, that would only make matters worse. ‘Very well, I’m coming.’

She abandoned the cough mixture and wiped her hands on a cloth before leaving. While walking quickly in the direction of the main building, she made sure her hair was tidy, smoothing down the curly wisps that always seemed to escape despite her best efforts to tame them.

‘What do you think I’ve done this time, Sceadu?’ she whispered to the shaggy hound who had been waiting for her outside the hut. He was a huge, hairy grey beast, the size of a small calf, and her constant shadow and guardian, but he couldn’t protect her from reprimands. He padded along next to her, giving silent support.

For the life of her she couldn’t remember any possible transgressions, but no doubt she’d soon find out what she had done wrong. Her older sister, Burghild, who effectively ran the household since their mother’s passing, was good at blaming Merewen for anything that went awry. The two sisters had never seen eye to eye, and Burghild appeared to delight in making Merewen’s life difficult. And unfortunately, their father, Beorthric, believed his oldest daughter more often than not because she was a very convincing liar.

As she entered the hall, Merewen halted momentarily, taken aback by the sight of her betrothed, Oslac, sitting next to her father. She hadn’t realised he was due to visit today or she would have made more of an effort with her appearance. He was the son and heir of their closest neighbour, and she was set to marry him this summer. It was a good match, and she was excited by the prospect of finally having her own household and escaping her sister’s machinations. It didn’t hurt that Oslac was handsome, with dark hair and hazel eyes. She knew he was admired by all the local women, and she felt very lucky to be the one he had chosen.

She frowned as she registered that Burghild was sitting next to him looking smug. Never a good sign. In contrast, Oslac kept his gaze fixed on the floor. That was strange. Normally he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off Merewen. What on earth was going on? She walked over to the group and stopped in front of them.

‘Father? Is there something amiss?’

‘Not as such.’ Beorthric cleared his throat before launching into speech. ‘I merely wished to inform you that I have decided your sister will make a better match for Oslac than you.’ He indicated the now smirking Burghild. ‘As you know, her betrothed was recently killed by the heathens, although why he felt the need to go off and fight them I’ll never know. Be that as it may, she is my eldest child, and whomsoever she marries will inherit this settlement since I have not been blessed with any sons. Oslac will take over his own father’s domains in due course, and as Burghild’s husband he can eventually merge the two properties into a larger one. That will create a very rich holding and increase our families’ standing in the area. So from this moment on, I declare your betrothal to Oslac at an end. He and Burghild will be wed at midsummer.’

Merewen was speechless and simply stared at him for a moment. Her sister’s husband-to-be getting himself killed fighting the so-called Heathen Army that was rampaging around the country had been a blow. Naturally Merewen had felt for Burghild and had wished for her to find happiness with someone else. But not at her own expense. Not with her man.

‘You’re giving my betrothed to Burghild?’ she asked, anger stirring inside her. ‘And what about me? Am I to be palmed off to that old widower with six children instead?’ Godric, a man almost her father’s age, was currently the only other marriage prospect in these parts, as most of the younger men had gone off to fight the heathens and hadn’t come back. At least not yet.

‘Do not be impertinent. I have other plans for you.’ Beorthric scowled at her, although she could see him squirming slightly, as if he was fully aware of the fact that he was hurting her.

‘And what, pray tell, might those be?’ She wasn’t convinced she wanted to hear them, and his next words proved her right.

‘I have it in mind to send you to the nuns at Hreopandune. I have heard they are in need of healers, and you have the necessary skills. Your dowry isn’t large, as I have to provide for your two younger sisters as well, but it should be enough to secure you a place with them. Once there, you can pray daily for the souls of everyone in our family. You might even rise to the rank of abbess one day. They wield a lot of power, or so I’m told, and that could benefit us as well.’

‘You’re banishing me to a monastery?’

Merewen could not believe what she was hearing. That morning she’d had a bright future, but now all her dreams had been dashed in one fell swoop. She was to live a solitary life dedicated to God. No husband, no children, no household to run. It could be viewed as an honour to serve the Lord, but to her it sounded more like a prison sentence. And it was all to benefit her sister, who in Merewen’s opinion did not deserve it.

‘Do not be so dramatic. It is a good life, and you know as well as I do that there is a dearth of young men in these parts. All over the country, in fact, what with the constant fighting. And what’s more, you can help defeat the enemy with prayers.’

She snorted in disbelief. As if prayers had any effect on the Norsemen. Fury made her clench her fists and fix her erstwhile betrothed with a glare. ‘And you are amenable to this change, Oslac? Am I to take it that all the sweet words you’ve been plying me with were a lie? You no longer prefer me over Burghild, as you’ve said time and time again?’

That last sentence made her sister’s superior expression disappear. They both knew that Merewen was the prettier of the two. She wasn’t vain and didn’t consider herself anything special, but poor Burghild had inherited their father’s large nose and prominent chin, an unfortunate combination. Merewen was convinced this was at least partly to blame for the enmity Burghild bore her, but her appearance wasn’t something she could do anything about. And Oslac had told her repeatedly how attractive he found her. How he couldn’t wait to make her his in every way.

She saw him flinch, and he raised his gaze to hers at last. There was guilt and conflicted emotions in the depths of his eyes, but he squared his shoulders and stared back, swallowing hard. ‘You know I meant what I said, um, at the time, but . . . circumstances change. Your father’s arrangements make sense. Had Burghild not already been betrothed, I would have asked for her hand in marriage instead of yours from the beginning.’

A huff of incredulous laughter escaped before she could stop it. ‘Is that so?’ she scoffed. It wasn’t true. He’d mentioned on several occasions that he had always had his eye on Merewen and wanted no one but her. The loathsome liar. ‘Well then, I wish you well and I hope you don’t live to regret your decision. Forgive me if I don’t pray for your future happiness and prosperity. I shall concentrate my efforts solely on the Norsemen.’

‘Merewen!’ her father barked, but for once his outrage did not scare her, and she paid him no heed.

She turned on her heel and stormed out of the hall, slamming the door behind her. Sceadu was waiting for her outside, and he followed without hesitation as she ran back to her hut. Once inside, she sank down onto the floor and allowed her emotions free rein. For a long time she wept with great big hiccoughing sobs while hugging her dog’s neck. He leaned his head against hers, giving her the occasional lick to show his sympathy.

‘Oh Sceadu, what am I to do? I don’t want to become a nun! And what will happen to you? I doubt they allow animals in the monastery.’ The thought of having to leave him behind made her sob even harder.

Eventually she calmed down and tried to accept her fate. Perhaps God had never meant for her to have a husband and family. He might have intended her for His service all along. She’d have to make the best of it, but until such time as she left this settlement, she would only speak to her father or sister when strictly necessary. And as for that lying toad Oslac, he could rot in hell.

London, April, present day

‘How long do we have to keep sneaking around like this? Can’t we just tell her and get it over with?’

Alix Howell stopped abruptly at the sound of her younger sister’s voice. It was coming from the mud room beyond the kitchen in their parents’ house, and although Autumn was whispering, the words were still perfectly audible.

‘Patience, baby.’ The voice replying belonged to Alix’s fiancé, Sean, and hearing it made her freeze in shock. ‘We have to wait until the mortgage application for the flat has been approved,’ he continued. ‘You know we need Alix to cover the down payment. It’s not like we can afford it ourselves. Once all the paperwork is signed, it won’t matter so much, and I’ll pay her back when I can. Or you can pay her rent so she can go and live somewhere else. I doubt she’ll want to share with us, even though there are two bedrooms.’

A muffled giggle was the answer to that statement. What the hell? The pain of betrayal hit Alix right in the middle of the sternum, knocking all the air out of her. She clutched her stomach and tried to breathe while processing what she’d just heard. Her sister was having an affair with Sean? Since when? No. This couldn’t be true. Alix hadn’t noticed him acting any different recently. There had been quite a few late nights in the office and some outings with his mates that he’d claimed were for boys only, but no other red flags. He’d acted as loving as normal. What a consummate liar! She hadn’t suspected a thing.

And what was this about the down payment? Was he seriously planning to use Alix’s life savings, combined with his own meagre contribution, to obtain a mortgage for the flat they were buying together, then dump her? A flat that apparently she was never going to live in. The utter bastard!

So not happening.

After the week she’d had at work – although she didn’t want to think about that right now – this was the last straw. She marched over to the door that separated the mud room from the kitchen and threw it open.

‘No need to wait. I won’t be signing any of those papers now, or providing any money, so you can go ahead and make your relationship official,’ she announced, pulling off the cheap zirconia ring Sean had bought her instead of a diamond one and throwing it at him. It was supposed to have been temporary until he could afford something better, since they’d needed the money for the flat. So much for that.

‘I wouldn’t have been able to afford the mortgage payments anyway, as I quit my job yesterday,’ she added. She hadn’t had a chance to tell anyone yet, and now it probably didn’t matter. It might even be a blessing in disguise.

Autumn and Sean’s stunned expressions and gaping mouths would have been hilarious if the cause hadn’t been so hurtful. Alix didn’t intend to stick around and wait for them to recover, however. No doubt they’d try and come up with some excuse as to why they were perfect for each other. Judging by previous experience, it would involve a variation on the theme of Alix being too serious or boring, compared to her uber-glamorous sister. Autumn was the ‘fun one’ of the two, according to most of their friends. The one with the natural charm and a gift for socialising and hogging the limelight. Whereas Alix was shy and introverted, more interested in reading than partying.

Being less than a year apart, most people had mistaken them for twins when they were children. They did look fairly similar when in their natural state, but Alix always felt overshadowed by her sister. Autumn was a beautician and knew how to enhance her looks; from chemical hair-straightening and lip fillers to a year-round spray tan and hours spent with a personal trainer each week, nothing was left to chance. And it would seem that Sean preferred this improved version of what the gods had given them.

He was welcome to it.

‘Alix, wait! I can explain! Stop for a minute . . .’

She ignored the increasingly anxious pleas from behind her and swore that this was the last time she’d allow Autumn to steal anything that belonged to her. Her sister had been doing it more or less from birth, and mostly getting away with it too. She had been the golden child for as long as Alix could remember. The one who could do no wrong. As soon as she’d been born, Alix had been effectively sidelined. Autumn had been a beautiful, contented baby, by all accounts, whereas Alix had been colicky and difficult. The new baby was able to charm their parents in a way that Alix had never mastered, and later she had lying down to a fine art as well. More times than she cared to count, Alix had been blamed for every misdemeanour, despite any lack of evidence. It was enough that Autumn turned her limpid gaze on their parents and shed a few theatrical tears. They fell for it every time. There was no competing with her. She always got her way.

Well, enough was enough.

Sweeping past their astonished parents, and assorted other relatives who had come over for Sunday lunch, Alix grabbed her handbag and jacket and slammed her way out of the house. Thank goodness she hadn’t completed the flat purchase with Sean yet. She was still sharing a loft apartment with two friends, but that would have to change too. Now that she’d left the job that tied her to the capital, it was time to move somewhere far from London. Anywhere her sister wasn’t living would be fine.

Vindictively, she hoped it would be many years before Sean and Autumn could afford to buy a flat. Her own nest egg would be used to purchase a property that was all hers.



Hreopandune/Repton, Mercia, April/Einmánuðr AD 874

‘Have we not accumulated all the treasure we need by now? We’ve been campaigning for years, and I for one am sick of it!’ Eirik Ormsson glared at his uncle Hastein, but received only a disdainful glance in return.

‘We have nowhere near enough, boy! There is much more plunder to be had in these lands. Why give up so soon? Are you a coward that you don’t wish to fight for more? You wouldn’t want to end up like your father, would you, dying in his bed like an old man?’

The slur on his father’s character stung, but Eirik knew from long acquaintance with his uncle that it was useless to defend him.

‘I’ve amply demonstrated my courage these past twelve years or more,’ he growled. ‘But unlike you, I have no aspirations to live like a king. I’d be perfectly content with a prosperous property of my own to settle in. Preferably before I’m too old or irrevocably maimed.’

Hastein snorted. ‘Want to till the soil like a thrall, do you? Why aim so low when you can just take what you want? No. I say we head west from here and don’t stop until our horses are weighed down with silver and gold.’

Eirik gave up. There was no reasoning with the man at the moment. In theory, he could have headed north by himself with some of Jarl Halfdan Hvitserk’s men when they left in a week or two. They were bound for Northumbria, where Halfdan had promised to allocate lands to those who wished to settle there. The insult to Eirik’s honour did not permit this course of action, however. Hastein was all the family he had now, and Eirik’s loyalty to the man who had taken care of him since his father’s death ran deep.

‘One more summer of plundering, then I’ll persuade him to stop,’ he muttered to himself. Surely even Hastein had some limit as to how much loot he needed in order to live out his days in luxury.

Then again, maybe not. The man’s avarice knew no bounds.

Agitated beyond measure, Eirik left the perimeter of the encampment to walk off his frustration. The thousands-strong force of Norsemen that the Vestrsaxar called the Heathen Army had overwintered at Hreopandune in the heart of the Mercian kingdom after overpowering the former ruler the previous autumn. It had been a stronghold and sacred site of the Mercian royal family for centuries, and contained a church with adjoining mausoleum. This had been filled with the bones of Mercian kings, but Eirik knew some of his comrades had plundered the caskets for treasure and strewn the bones haphazardly around the small crypt. Those bones would never again be pieced together to form a whole skeleton.

Once ensconced at Hreopandune, the warbands had set about fortifying the area, and created a small secure enclosure where their leaders stayed. During the winter, one of them, Halfdan Hvitserk, had had the remains of his brother, Ivar the Boneless, transferred here, and a large grave mound had been constructed to house them. This now dominated the area and signalled Norse power to anyone contemplating it.

‘Ivar was a formidable fighter, by all accounts, taking what he wanted,’ Hastein had told Eirik, implying that this was the kind of man he should aspire to become. Yet Eirik couldn’t find it in himself to want more than a peaceful existence. He’d been part of a warband since the age of eleven. Now he had seen twenty-four winters, and it felt as though he had taken part in enough bloodshed to last for several lifetimes. His uncle had claimed it was necessary to wage war on the inhabitants of this large island, but Eirik was beginning to doubt it was true any longer.

The Heathen Army’s initial intent had been to accumulate enough riches for those taking part to gain status in their homelands. Their backgrounds varied, as the men came from all over the northern lands, as well as Írland, Frisia and elsewhere. The leaders appeared to have a different agenda, however, aiming to take over the various kingdoms here one by one and settle there. So far the East Angles, Northumbrians and Mercians had been defeated. Surely that was enough for the three- or four-thousand-strong force? There would be plenty of land to go around.

But some men, like Hastein, had become used to a life without toil, where all they had to do was grab what they wanted. Who was the lazy one in this scenario? Eirik wondered sourly. He knew the life of a farmer was hard, but it would be more satisfying than taking what others had strived for. More peaceful. And surely more honourable. Also, they had enough silver now to pay an army of people to till the land for them. It wasn’t as though they would become thralls overnight.

With a sigh, he carried on walking. After a while, he reached the place where the greater part of the army was camped, east of Hreopandune, on a hillside overlooking the river. Longships lined the banks nearby, some of them in the process of being repaired or overhauled, causing much noise and bustle. A veritable forest of tents covered the hill itself, grouped together in clusters. Each warband – virtual brotherhoods that stuck together under one leader and were bound by their oaths to him – made up a separate zone of the camp. Their tents had been set up to leave an open space in the centre, where there were trestle tables and a hearth for communal cooking and warmth.

The tents themselves were simple triangular timber frames covered with canvas. This did not afford much in the way of protection from the winter cold, but they were lined with blankets and furs, which helped. Each one slept five or six men, their gear stowed inside, while shields and spears leaned against the outside. In the evenings, the groups would gather round their own fires, sharing the steaming-hot broth or stew that someone’s woman had cooked, drinking ale, telling tall tales or playing board games. Quite often this evolved into fights as men bored with this sedentary existence released their pent-up frustrations. They couldn’t wait for spring, when they’d be off on new adventures.

Eirik passed some of these tent groupings and continued towards the other side of the camp, where traders and craftsmen had set up their booths. Some were warriors during the fighting season and plied a trade during the winter, while others were craftsmen full-time. Eirik himself had learned the trade of a comb-maker to pass the time, but he didn’t have his own stall. Instead, another man – Haldor – sold whatever he made and in return took a small cut of the profit for himself. It was an arrangement that suited them both.

Eirik stopped by Reidulf the silversmith’s booth. The man looked up and smiled when he caught sight of him. ‘Ah, there you are. Your items are all ready for collection.’ He went to rummage in a chest that had been kept locked for safety, and brought out a bundle wrapped in a woollen cloth, which he unrolled and proffered to Eirik. ‘Here, will this do?’

‘Perfect. My thanks!’

The metalworker had taken all the items Eirik had brought him from the previous year’s campaign and melted them down. Some he’d fashioned into thick armbands of various shapes and forms – plain circles, twisted strands or flat surfaces with decorative punchwork – others into small ingots that were easily portable. What had formerly been goblets and platters looted from churches and monasteries were now much more useful items. The kind of wealth Eirik could bring with him anywhere and use as payment if necessary, but also as ornaments to show off his riches.

‘You’ve done brilliant work,’ he commented, threading the bands onto his arms, where they joined a multitude of others from previous seasons. Unlike some of his warrior brothers, he hadn’t squandered his gains on gaming, bets or camp women. He didn’t bother nicking the silver to check for purity, as he trusted Reidulf implicitly. They’d been friends for years now, and he knew the man wouldn’t cheat him like some of the other metalworkers were wont to do.

‘I’m glad you’re pleased.’ Reidulf invited Eirik to sit down on a stool for a chat. ‘I gather you’ll be leaving soon, so I guess I’ll see you in the autumn.’

‘Yes, probably.’ Eirik heaved a sigh and told his friend about the argument with his uncle. ‘I’m beginning to think he’ll never settle anywhere. I’m stuck raiding with him until the day he dies.’

‘Hmm, yes, it does sound like it. I’m sorry. I suppose he’d be furious if you decided to go your own way.’

‘He would see it as the ultimate betrayal. I can’t do that. I owe him for looking after me and my mother when Father died. He could have left us on that stinking island in Frisia, but he didn’t.’

Eirik and his parents had been living on an island not far from Dorestad, the main trading town in Frisia, when his father had died of a sudden illness. Eirik had only hazy memories from that time of a larger-than-life uncle sweeping in to save his mother from having to become a camp follower. Since Hastein didn’t have children of his own, he’d more or less adopted Eirik, spending time each day teaching him battle skills. How could Eirik pos. . .