Book Spotlight – Her Celtic Captor by Ashe Barker


As the sister of a powerful Viking chief, Brynhild Freysson is used to giving orders and having them obeyed, which makes it all the more difficult to accept when she suddenly finds herself at the mercy of a Celtic warrior intent on bringing her back to his village whether she likes it or not.

Taranc was a leader of his people before he was taken captive by Viking raiders, and now that he is a free man once more he has no intention of allowing a headstrong Norse woman to slow down his journey home with her stubborn disobedience. When Brynhild refuses to do as she is told, he wastes no time in baring her bottom for a thorough switching, and he makes it quite clear that she can expect even more painful and humiliating punishments if she continues to defy him.

Though her hatred of the Celts runs deep, Taranc’s stern dominance awakens desires in Brynhild that she thought she would never feel again, and when he takes her in his arms and claims her properly it is more pleasurable than she would have thought possible. But though her passion for him grows by the day, can she ever truly love a man whose people are enemies of her own?

Publisher’s Note: Her Celtic Captor is a stand-alone sequel to Her Rogue Viking and Her Dark Viking. It includes spankings and sexual scenes. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book.


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Read Chapter 1 for free


Excerpt #1

Taranc bowed politely to Brynhild. “Lady, ” he murmured as be bent to wind Njal’s line around his pole.

He expected Brynhild to stalk off after her nephew, but she did not. Instead, she remained where she stood, her eyes narrowed in a malevolent glare which remained fixed upon him as he busied himself clearing up his own fishing rod. That task accomplished he attached each of the three landed fish to hooks from Njal’s bag in readiness to hang them from his own belt for the journey back to the slave barn. All set to leave himself, he made to pass the still fuming Norsewoman.

“You will excuse me,” he murmured.


He glanced at her, surprised. “Because I am leaving.”

“I mean, why are you spending time with my nephew. What do you plan to do?”

“Plan? Nothing.” Well, nothing that concerns the boy, at least. “He is lonely, and curious. There is no harm in him. And I mean him no ill.”

“I do not believe you.”

Taranc’s slender patience frayed. “And I do not care what you believe. Good night.”

She moved fast, he would allow her that much. He barely even saw the slender hand which snaked from within the confines of her cloak to land a resounding slap across his cheek, and certainly he had no opportunity to dodge that first blow. Not so the second. As she drew back her hand to strike him again he grabbed her wrist and squeezed, only relaxing his grip marginally when she let out a startled squeal.

“I shall let the first slap go, since you are a woman and no doubt consider yourself provoked. But you shall not raise your hand to me again, lady, lest you wish to find yourself upended across my lap and spanked. Do I make myself clear on this?”

“How dare you? Let go of me! I shall—”

“Do I make myself clear?” His grip remained firm despite her frantic tugging to be free.

At last, with no other choice if she was to be released, Brynhild gave a sharp nod. “Very well, I shall not slap you.”

“Excellent decision. And I shall not spank you. This time. Instead…”

He bent his head, lowered his face to hers. Taranc took in the startled expression, the widening of her kingfisher-blue eyes as his mouth descended to brush across hers. Despite his words of just moments ago he was without doubt inviting another slap and the Viking woman could hardly be blamed for delivering it.

Her mouth was soft under his, her breath warm in the cool evening. She parted her lips as though unable to prevent her artless response and his tongue found the seam of her mouth. She opened fractionally more, and it was enough. He slipped his tongue between her lips and caressed the inner surface of her teeth with the tip.

Her hands were on his shoulders, and she clung to him, her fingers curling into his rough tunic. The sane part of his mind expected a protest, expected her to shive him away, to screech her outrage, to summon her guards but the madness which drove him now ignored all of that.

What am I doing? I don’t even like this haughty, cruel woman.

His cock disagreed. His rampant erection liked her perfectly well and tented his pants in instant recognition of the Norsewoman’s ample charms. He deepened the kiss, tunnelling his fingers through her blonde locks to hold her head still. Brynhild let out a soft moan, followed by a gasp. Now, at last and somewhat belatedly, she stiffened in his arms and sought to be free.


Taranc broke the kiss and released her, his own breath less than steady. Brynhild backed away, her stunned expression one he found he did not entirely care for.

“You… you should not have done that.”

Probably not.

“Why…? I do not understand…”

Neither did he.

“Go! Go Back to the slave barn. Now!”

A decent plan, at last.

Taranc stepped back to execute an exaggerated bow. “Sleep well, Lady Brynhild.”

Excerpt #2

“Your hair is beautiful. It was the first thing I noticed about you.”

She snorted. “The first thing I noticed about you was that you are quite ridiculously tall. And that you lacked the proper respect due to a Viking woman of the Jarl. You were far too ready with your demands.”

“Aye, I daresay. And now you appear to be struggling to exhibit the required degree of deference due the chief of your village. Perhaps I should make more demands of you.”

“What… what do you mean.” She stiffened, her slender shoulders tightening as she tensed.

Taranc released his grip on her hair and laid his palms on the soft skin which covered her clavicles. He drew his hands in towards her neck, thumbs outstretched, then began to trace lazy circles with the pads, right at her hairline. She flinched, and he increased the pressure, seeking out the spot where tension lurked.

“What are you doing?” Her voice was a breathless whisper.

“Making demands. Relax, be still. Enjoy.”

“I cannot. I do not like you to touch me…”

“Liar. I shall not hurt you, and you know it.” He kept up the relentless, sensual pressure, leaning in to kiss the outer shell of her ear as he did so. Brynhild let out a soft gasp, but offered no further objection.

Her taut and rigid body softened under his ministrations. He was not certain she even realised she had done so when she released her tightly folded arms to lay them along the rim of the tub and leaned back into his gentle embrace. He allowed his hands to move, reaching forward, then lower to cup the soft swell of both her breasts. She gasped, her posture tensing again, betraying her disquiet. But she allowed it.

Taranc caressed the lower curves, his thumbs now rubbing across her stiff, pebbling nipples. He longed to take one of the deep pink buds between his teeth but decided to save that pleasure for another occasion. For now, he had her where he wanted her. She accepted his touch, at least this far, his intimate exploration of her body. She was learning to trust him.

He continued to toy with her nipple as he drew his fingertips down the length of her sternum, pausing to explore the hollow of her navel before continuing on to tease the pale blonde curls at the apex of her thighs. He did not suggest she spread her legs for him as he knew what her answer would be. Instead he kissed her neck as he slid his fingers through her soft folds., seeking out the pleasure nub he knew he would find there.

Brynhild almost leapt from the tub when he reached his quarry. He tightened his grip across her chest to hold her in place.

“Relax. Be still. Enjoy.” He repeated his sensual demands.

“What are you doing to me? That feels… wrong. It is not usual to feel so.”

“No, perhaps not until now. It will become usual, I promise.” He continued to draw the tip of his finger across the sensitive nubbin, noting the way it swelled under his touch. Brynhild trembled in his arms, her tension mounting. Undeterred, he continued his assault on her confused, untried senses. He was merciless, his goal clear. As her body spasmed he took the quivering bud between his finger and thumb and squeezed lightly as she shattered in his arms.


More about Ashe Barker

USA Today best-selling author Ashe Barker has been an avid reader of fiction for many years, erotic and other genres. She still loves reading, the hotter the better. But now she has a good excuse for her guilty pleasure – research.

Ashe tends to draw on her own experience to lend colour, detail and realism to her plots and characters. An incident here, a chance remark there, a bizarre event or quirky character, any of these can spark a story idea.

Ashe lives in the North of England, on the edge of the Brontë moors and enjoys the occasional flirtation with pole dancing and drinking Earl Grey tea. When not writing – which is not very often these days – her time is divided between her role as taxi driver for her teenage daughter, and caring for a menagerie of dogs, tortoises.  And a very grumpy cockatiel.  

At the last count Ashe had over forty titles on general release with publishers on both sides of the Atlantic, and several more in the pipeline. She writes M/f, M/M, and occasionally rings the changes with a little M/M/f. Ashe’s books invariably feature BDSM. She writes explicit stories, always hot, but offering far more than just sizzling sex. Ashe likes to read about complex characters, and to lose herself in compelling plots, so that’s what she writes too.

Ashe has a pile of story ideas still to work through, and keeps thinking of new ones at the most unlikely moments, so you can expect to see a lot more from her.


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