The Shipwreck (10 page)

Her eager fingers furrowed through his hair, unmindful of his salt-crusted tangles.  She pressed closer, letting her breasts chafe provocatively against his chest.  They were both breathing heavily now, and she could feel her heart beating like the ocean pounding the shore.

She continued to kiss him, in too deep to turn back.  She dared not stop to take a breath, for fear one of them might come to their senses and halt the exhilarating madness.

His soft groan, deep in his throat, was like the purr of a great wild animal, and it sent a frisson of strange current through her, as if he’d called to her.  Lightning coursed through her body and struck at the place she most longed to be touched—that burning ember between her thighs.

He seemed to know instantly what she needed.  His hand found her, even through her skirts, cupping her with a firm precision that made her gasp.  She shivered as he rubbed slowly against her, easing and provoking her at the same time.

She squeezed her eyes tightly.  This was mad.  It was wrong.  And yet it felt so right.  She couldn’t seem to stop.  His body was a strong lodestone, and she was drawn to him like a powerless scrap of iron.

He opened her mouth wider with his, thrusting his tongue inside, devouring her, and she feasted equally on him.  Her nipples stung where they brushed across his chest.  And where his fingers now delved with more intense finesse, she began to swell with longing.

Desire rose like an incoming tide, too swift to escape, and soon she was swept off her feet.  Higher and higher she was carried on a wave of lust, out of control, unsure of her destiny, led by a stranger.  And yet she was helpless to resist.

Brandr was past thought.  Otherwise, he’d never have put himself in this situation.  This was the woman who had knocked him out and tied him up, and what was he doing?  Pleasuring her.

Of course, she wasn’t the only one receiving pleasure.  It had been a long while since he’d enjoyed the attentions of a woman so enthusiastic and forthright, a woman who lustily took what she wanted.  But his body hadn’t forgotten how to respond to such enthusiasm.

He naturally let her have her way.

He let her kiss him like a greedy suckling lamb.  He let her explore his body, run her fingers over his chest and through his hair.  He let her press the supple pillows of her breasts against him.  He let her arch against his hand, begging wordlessly for his touch.

And he answered her onslaught with the instinctive cravings of his love-starved body.

Blood rushed through his veins and roared in his ears as their tongues entwined and their breath mingled.  Even through the layers of linen, the tempting crevice between her legs was impossibly hot, and he ached to plunge there with more than just his fingers.

Indeed, the lusty beast in his trousers was rousing, growing more demanding and frustrated by the moment.  And the fact that satisfaction was so close, yet unattainable, drove him even more mad.

What made him open his eyes, he didn’t know—maybe a warrior’s innate sense of his surroundings.  But the flicker of peripheral movement made him freeze.

The sudden tension in his body instantly alerted her as well.  She stiffened, her lips still clinging to his.

“Mama!” came the little girl’s scolding voice from the doorway.  “I told you a hundred times, don’t go near that bad man!”

Avril’s eyes went wide, and she pulled away in horror, struggling to her feet and stammering.  “I…I…I…”

Since she seemed too tongue-tied to come up with a reasonable explanation, Brandr offered one.  “Your mama fell,” he said, which was true.

“Aye,” Avril choked out, straightening her garments.  “I fell.”

The little girl eyed them uncertainly, and Brandr held his breath, waiting.  Then Kimbery shrugged and skipped off to the kitchen, plopped down on her stool and began chattering to her doll.

The air was heavy with unrequited desire, and the tension between Avril and him was as taut as a drawn bowstring.  He didn’t dare speak or even glance at her for fear of rekindling the volatile spark between them.  It seemed like an eternity before his hunger subsided and he could draw an even breath.

Avril couldn’t look at the Northman.  She pressed her fingertips into her brow, hiding her eyes behind her hands in shame.

What had she done?

Hell, she’d let him kiss her, hold her, touch her.  She’d shown weakness to her enemy, let him gain the upper hand, surrendered to his seduction.  But she couldn’t let him believe that he’d won some victory over her, that she was somehow vulnerable to him.

Making sure Kimbery was occupied and avoiding Brandr’s gaze, she hunkered down to poke at the fire and whispered sharply, “Never do that again.”

He barked out an incredulous chuckle, then whispered back, “What—save you from falling into the fire?”

Her lips thinned.  “Kiss me,” she whispered.  “Never kiss me again.”

He scoffed, then whispered, “I believe it was
you
who kissed
me
.”

Her face grew hot at the truth of his words, but she didn’t dare back down.  “An honorable man would never make such…”  The words stuck in her throat as she remembered the glorious sensation of his hand between her legs.  “Such bold advances toward an unwilling woman.”

He murmured, “I don’t recall you being unwilling at all.”

She gasped, casting an anxious glance at Kimbery.

“In fact,” he continued, “I’m collared and bound and chained to the wall.  It isn’t as if I had a choice in the matter.”

It was true, of course.  She’d thrown herself at him.  But he didn’t have to come out and say it.

She felt thoroughly humiliated now.   She’d made a fool of herself, attacking him with the same raw aggression she’d used on her lovers in that shameful period after her rape.  Only this was much worse.  This time she’d forced herself upon a man with no power to resist her.  Hell, she was no better than the berserker who’d violated her.

Was that why she’d thrown herself at Brandr?  Was she somehow seeking revenge upon him for what another of his kind had done to her?

As much as it pained her to admit it, she feared it might be true.  She’d treated the Northman with undeserved disrespect.  She owed him an apology.  Swallowing hard and closing her eyes, she mumbled, “You’re right.  It was dishonorable of me.  I’m sorry.”

After what seemed an interminable length of time, he breathed, “I’m not.”

Their glances collided then.  And in that moment that caught them both off-guard, they were no longer Viking and Pict, no longer prisoner and captor, but man and woman.

What had made Brandr admit the truth about how he felt, he didn’t know.  It was reckless and unwise.  The more emotionally entangled he became with this woman, the harder it would be to betray her and make his escape.

But he couldn’t deny he felt…something…for the fiery Pictish lass.  What troubled him was that it might be something deeper than just physical lust.

Lust he could deal with.  It made sense, after all.  He’d been without a woman for so long, it was only natural his body should respond at the first available opportunity.  But if it were something more…

By Thor, he had to get out of this mess!

Avril, obviously discomfited by his confession, backed away and ushered Kimbery outside, ostensibly to gather cockles, but probably also to get a breath of fresh, sobering air.

While they were gone, Brandr worked at the iron ring, pulling and twisting to try to loosen it from the mortared stone.  The woman might not have turned him in to her neighbor this morn, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t ever.  Even if she relished the idea of having captured a Viking, even if she enjoyed lording it over him as her prisoner, even if she found amusement and pleasure in his arms, eventually she’d tire of it…and him.

He shouldn’t have encouraged her.  True, he was collared and bound and unable to avoid her caresses.  But he could have turned a cold countenance to her.  He could have refused to bend to her seductive will.  He could have clamped his mouth shut and made fists of his hands.

Instead, in an instant of weakness, he’d ignored reason.  He’d let himself be tempted by her feminine desire, allowed himself to drift with her on an erotic sea.  And for one moment, he’d almost believed that they were kindred souls floating there, that they shared a common destination and a deeper destiny.

But he had to ignore such feelings.  It would only make things more difficult when the time came to play the traitor.

He yanked hard at the collar, bruising his throat.  The iron ring wouldn’t budge.  He cursed and slumped back against the wall.  How much longer did he have?  How much longer would it be before Avril decided he was a bad influence on her daughter and a danger to her?  How much longer before she turned him in?

B
efore she even opened her eyes the following morning, Avril could hear them in the next room—Brandr murmuring, Kimbery giggling.  It was a pleasant sound, a sound that reminded her of what it was like to have a real family.  Her lips curved up as foolish, sentimental tears brimmed in her eyes.

She’d told herself she didn’t need family.  Her parents were dead.  Her brothers had betrayed her.  And there was little hope of her finding a husband, since she had nothing to offer.  She’d convinced herself that Kimbery was family enough.

But the truth was Avril was terribly lonely.

Most days, she kept herself too busy to notice.  Her mind she occupied with survival.  Her heart she occupied with Kimbery.

Still, regret occasionally crept in, and she grieved for the person she used to be—the young woman who was meant to reign over a noble keep, marry a strong warrior, and have a dozen beautiful children.  Most of the time that regret manifested as a righteous thirst for justice and a determination to get back what belonged to her.  But sometimes, like this morn, a melancholy pining welled up in her, and she ached for what she couldn’t have.

She definitely couldn’t have Brandr.  There was no question about that.  He might have felt right in her arms.  His kiss might have been sweet and tempting.  His hands might have touched her with the deceptive devotion of a lover.  But he was her enemy.

Barbarians like him had invaded her land for decades now.  They’d razed her villages, stolen her coin, slaughtered her people.  One of them had killed her father and raped her.  They were brutal, ruthless savages, and they were beyond reason.

Why then was it so impossible to imagine the whispering Viking in the next room wielding an axe and charging unarmed Pictish children?

Kimbery giggled again, and this time she was joined by the Northman.  His laugh was deep and warm, and it sent delicious shivers along Avril’s arms.

She swallowed hard and opened her eyes to stare at the ceiling.

What in God’s name was she going to do with Brandr?

She couldn’t turn him in.  She didn’t have the heart to deliver him into the hands of an angry mob.  Hell, she’d already proven that—hiding him from the man who’d come yesterday.

But she couldn’t let him go either.  If anything happened to her neighbors because she’d set a Viking loose, she’d never be able to live with herself.

And she couldn’t keep him tied up forever.  She might be a formidable foe, but she wasn’t inhumane.

In the midst of agonizing over what to do with the Northman, she heard Kimbery’s giggles interrupted abruptly by a low thud, a silent pause, and then a thin wail.

Avril’s heart stopped.  Fearing the worst, she thrashed to get free of the tangle of sheets.  Cursing her own clumsiness as Kimbery’s voice rose to a piercing cry, Avril tripped beside the bed, landing on one knee, her foot still caught in the linens.

What had he done to her?  What had that damned Viking done to her little girl?

Fear sucked her mouth dry.  It seemed to take forever before she finally managed to get free of the bedclothes and shot to her feet.

She’d kill him!  She’d kill the bastard for making her daughter cry.

Desperate to reach Kimbery, she rushed forward, tripping over Kimbery’s cloth doll on the floor and catching herself as she slammed against the bedchamber wall.

At last stumbling through the doorway, she froze at the sight, her eyes wide.

Kimbery was sobbing on Brandr’s shoulder, and his head was inclined toward hers as he murmured soothing words against her hair.

The protective mother in Avril wanted to snatch Kimbery away at once.

But before she had a chance to move, Brandr met her gaze over Kimbery’s head, and she instantly saw the truth in his compassionate eyes.  He hadn’t hurt Kimbery.  She’d hurt herself.  And she’d run to him for comfort.

Avril didn’t know what to think.  Kimbery had been far too trusting of the Northman, sharing her doll with him, drawing pictures of him, listening to his stories, calling him Da.  And yet sometimes children had an instinct for people.  Sometimes they could tell who was good and who was bad.

She stood at the doorway, watching them in tense silence.

Kimbery’s sobbing subsided to sniffles, and she lifted her head to look at Brandr.  “Is it bleeding?”

He narrowed his eyes, studying her brow.  “A bit.”

Kimbery touched the place and drew her fingers away, whimpering at the sight of the blood on her fingertips.

“It should make a fine scar,” he assured her.  “All great warriors have battle scars.”

She stopped crying.  “They do?”

“Aye.”

“Do you have a scar?”

“Oh, aye, lots of them.”

“Where?”

“There’s one here, under my chin.”  He lifted his chin for her to see, though it was covered with stubble.  Then he lowered his head.  “And I have one on my forehead, like you.”

“Did you run into a table, too?”

“Nay.”  He tried to scowl, but his eyes were twinkling.  “That’s where Thor struck me with a bolt of lightning.”

“Really?”

His frown melted into a smile.  “Nay, not really.  My brother caught my brow with an axe.”

“Is your brother evil like my mama’s brothers?”