It was the silver the Saxons would pay to keep Norse marauders from their shores.

It was the price for a half-Irish beauty to keep the murderer of her father and mother at bay, to keep the powerful magic of her forebears from overwhelming her, to keep her stirrings of womanhood in check.

It was all that one mighty Viking would give to remain a man, to be whole, to retain the respect of the jarls and the might of his sword arm.

It was...Danegeld.

And in England's Dark Ages, it was sometimes all that stood between what a person was and what he should be. And it was the only thing in the way of true love.