The Shipwreck (13 page)

Most of the men figured she was bluffing.  Maidens didn’t kill people, especially Northmen who were double their size.  Unintimidated by her threat, Halfdan drew his sword.  And when Ragnarr unfolded his arms, he was holding twin axes.  Disaster loomed.  Brandr had to temper things before the tense standoff erupted into an ugly battle.

“Wait!” he shouted.  Avril might believe she had leverage, but Brandr had seen his brothers and their men at war.  No one opposed them and lived.  It was up to him to prevent a violent altercation.  “Don’t hurt her!”

“Don’t hurt her?” Halfdan echoed in amazement.  “If you hadn’t noticed,
she’s
the one holding a blade to
your
throat.”

“She won’t do it,” Brandr said, hoping he was right.  “She won’t kill me.”

“That’s right,” Ragnarr said, “because
we’ll
kill
her
before she gets the chance.”

“Nay!  She…she saved my life.”  It wasn’t exactly true, but he didn’t know what would have happened to him if she hadn’t dragged him into her cottage.  Probably her neighbor would have found him, killed him, and made a trophy out of him.

“Saved your life?” Halfdan scoffed.  “She doesn’t seem too interested in your life now.”

Brandr sighed.  Halfdan was right, of course.  But if they’d shown up an hour earlier, it would have been a different tale.  He would have told them how she’d set his arm, kept him fed, and protected him from a Viking-hunter.  And he would have been able to explain to Avril that his brothers meant her no harm, that
he
meant her no harm.

Now, he could hardly expect her to trust him.

But maybe, now that his brothers were here, now that he was no longer shipwrecked and alone, now that he had a small army at his disposal…

A brilliant idea took form in his mind, and for the first time in a year, he began to think he might not be cursed after all.

To commit to slaying Brandr if it came to that was the most difficult thing Avril had ever done in her life.  But her precious daughter was at risk.  Nothing was more important than Kimbery—nothing.

“Avril,” Brandr said, “listen to me.  You know you don’t want to kill me in cold blood.  It’s not the honorable thing to do.  And you always do the honorable thing.”

She clamped her lips together.  But though her vision grew watery and a tense knot formed in her throat at what she might be forced to do, she held her ground.  She realized that when it came to her daughter, Kimbery was more important than honor itself.

“Make them put her down,” she said hoarsely, “or I swear I’ll slay you where you stand.”

He seemed to believe her.  “All right.”  He said something to his men.  They argued back and forth.  But in the end, they put away their weapons, muttering in disgust as they did so.

“And Kimmie,” she choked out.  “Give me my daughter.”

“Nay!” Kimmie complained.  The wayward little sprite tucked her lip under her teeth and held tightly to the man’s head.  Kimbery knew she was in trouble for disobeying Avril’s orders and didn’t want to be punished.

But punishment was the last thing on Avril’s mind.  All she wanted was to get Kimbery back, safe and sound.

“I didn’t set foot outside the cottage, Mama,” Kimmie said.  “I didn’t.  The Frost Giants picked me up.”

“Brandr,” Avril demanded, willing her voice to remain steady, “make them put her down.”

He relayed her message.  Despite Kimmie’s protests, the man peeled the little girl’s hands from his forehead and lifted her off of his shoulders.

“Come here, Kimmie,” Avril said, her heart in her throat.

Kimbery reluctantly began to saunter over, and for one tiny instant, Avril lost her focus.  But in that instant and without warning, Brandr used his arm—the arm Avril had splinted for him—and knocked her sword aside, and then used his good hand to wrench it from her grasp.  She was still gasping in dismay when he wrapped his splinted arm around her neck, trapping her against him.

She clawed and kicked at him, but nothing would dislodge the brute’s grip on her.  In desperation, she cried, “Run, Kimmie!  Run!”

Kimbery might be a willful little girl, but she recognized the alarm in Avril’s voice.  Obedient for once, she spun and began tearing across the sand toward home.  The men casually watched her go.

Brandr blew out an annoyed breath.  “All right,” he said, “we’re all going back to the cottage.  Avril, you and I are going to have an
althing. 
Do you remember what that is?”

She wasn’t interested in conversing with him.  All she cared about was keeping the men away from Kimbery.  She twisted violently in his grip.

He ignored her struggles.  “You and I are going to talk things over,” he explained.  “Together.  Civilly.”

With unflappable calm, he began to haul her, kicking and screaming, along the shore and back to the cottage, with his men in tow.  By the time they arrived, she was hoarse and exhausted, but at least she had the satisfaction of knowing she’d put up a fight.  She’d been no victim this time.  She’d done everything she could to protect herself and her daughter.

“Kimmie!” Brandr called.

“Nay!” Avril yelled.

“Kimmie, come out!”

Kimbery popped her head out of the door.

“Nay!” Avril shrieked.  “Stay there.”

“She’ll come to no harm, I promise,” Brandr told her.  “The men will watch over her.”

He spoke as if she had a choice.  The truth was she was at their mercy.  Yet, when she thought about it, Brandr’s men had done Kimmie no harm thus far.  They could have kidnapped her when they first discovered her.  They could have leveraged her life for Brandr’s.  But they hadn’t.

She swallowed hard.  “If they lay a finger on her…”

“They won’t.  I swear it.  She’ll be safe.”  One side of his mouth curved up.  “She likes them.  She thinks they’re Frost Giants.”

His smile of encouragement did little to assuage her fears.  And to her dismay, Kimbery ran eagerly toward the man who’d hefted her on his shoulders, wrapping her arms fondly around his knees.  With an uneasy spirit and against her better judgment, Avril let Brandr steer her into the cottage.

The instant he closed the door behind them, he let her go.  She staggered a step and wheeled on him, ready to fight with her bare hands, if need be.

“Sheathe your claws, kitten,” he said.  “I only want to talk.”

She scowled at him, and then, realizing her fists were no match for a sword, lowered her hands.

“I have an idea,” he told her, beginning to pace pensively before the hearth.

She touched her scraped throat, rubbed raw from struggling against his splinted arm.  “An idea.”  She couldn’t imagine what he meant.

“My brothers and I came to your land, not to invade, but to settle,” he said, gesturing with her sword.  “All we want is a place to stay.  A home.  Land.”

She scowled, only half-listening, wondering if there was any way she could wrest her sword from his grip.  She ground out, “I don’t think you’ll all fit in my cottage, if that’s your idea.”

He gave her an indulgent chuckle, and then continued.  “Nay, I have a far better plan.”  He stopped pacing and arched a brow at her.  “How far away is Rivenloch?”

She blinked.  “Rivenloch?”  What was he thinking?

He smiled at her.  It was wicked smile, a scheming smile.

She opened her mouth to speak and then closed it again, once, twice.  Could he possibly be considering what she
thought
he was considering?

“I have an army of Northmen,” he said.  “Enough to take back a castle wrongfully seized from its true heir.”

For a moment, she was stunned.  But as she looked into his glittering blue eyes, a thrill of hope shot through her.  “Are you serious?”

“I am.”  His face was grim now, and he suddenly looked every inch a coldhearted, bloodthirsty Viking.  “Are you?”

Avril stared at him in wide-eyed wonder.  Mere moments ago, she’d been sure her life was over.  Now it seemed full of promise beyond her wildest dreams.

Brandr flipped her sword over in his hand and offered it to her, jeweled hilt first.  She stared down at it, knowing the final decision was in her hands.  He wasn’t just offering her a weapon.  He was offering her his sword arm.  He was offering her the might of his men.  He was offering her her legacy.

Unable to find words to convey her gratitude, she silently took the sword from him.  As she gazed down at the glowing gems of the hilt, they winked up at her, as if eager for battle.  But after a moment, she propped the weapon against the wall.

There would be time to make war later.

Now, she wanted to make love.

B
randr knew Avril would be pleased with his offer.  He didn’t realize just how pleased.  Nor did he anticipate how she’d choose to express her pleasure…until she nudged him backward through the doorway of her bedchamber, covering his face with eager kisses.

He shivered as she ran her hands under his shirt and over his chest, and then gasped in pleased surprise as she shoved him back onto the bed.  She climbed atop him, lifting his shirt to press her warm lips to his bare flesh.  These Pictish women were uncommonly aggressive, he decided.  But he definitely could get used to that.

He smiled as she hooked her arm possessively around his neck and claimed his mouth with hers.  But his smile fell away as her other hand ventured boldly beneath the waist of his trousers.

Caught off-guard, he sucked in a quick breath as the blood surged through him.  Overcome by an unexpected rush of desire, he squeezed his eyes shut, hardening with astonishing speed at her touch.

She purred with satisfaction as her fingers curved naturally around his firm length, and he echoed the sound with a lusty growl.  She slanted her mouth over his, plunging her tongue between his lips, and he instinctively reached up to clasp her face between his hands, deepening the kiss.

Her fingers scrabbled at the ties of his trousers, and he lifted his hips so she could slide them down.

With almost frantic haste, she raised her skirts and positioned herself to take him inside her.

His lust-starved body wanted her.  Now.  But everything was happening too fast.   Though he’d imagined making love to her countless times in the past few days, it had never been like this.  He had no time to seduce her, no chance to learn her body—to feast his eyes upon her breasts, to whisper in her ear, to kiss the strange design on her shoulder, to suck gently at her nipples, to part her thighs and fondle the sweet bud that guarded her womanhood.

It was too late to stop now.  She seized his wrists and anchored his arms to the bed, forcefully sinking down upon him until he was sheathed to the hilt.

He groaned with pleasure as she had her way with him, riding him like a steed, grinding against his hips with a demanding rhythm that pushed him with reckless speed to the brink of passion.

If it hadn’t been such a long time, if she hadn’t caught him unawares, if he hadn’t been so utterly swept away by his own needs, he would have forced her to slow down.  But like a boy trysting for the first time, he was beyond reason and out of control.

Almost before he could draw another breath, the blood began to simmer in his veins.  A flash like hot lightning seared his skin.  The tide of desire rose in him, raging like a flood, filling him with need, and then bursting free in a quenching rush.

With a bellow of ecstasy, he arched up into her welcoming womb, pulsing out waves of molten fire.  He heard her sigh in response, and when he was able to gaze at her from beneath his heavy lids, Brandr glimpsed intoxicating triumph on her face.

He shuddered with the power of his release while she replied with a throaty, pleased chuckle.  And then, unable to formulate coherent thoughts, much less words, he simply lay beneath her, panting like a winded warhorse.

While he caught his breath, she lazily ran her fingers over the bulge of his upper arm.  She bit her lower lip, flushed with longing, and he could see unrequited desire still veiling her eyes.

He wasn’t finished with her.  This hasty coupling had been far too swift and one-sided.  But it had taken the ragged edge off of his lust, and now he’d be able to take his time with the hot-blooded wench.

Avril knew everything was going to be all right now.  She’d won Brandr over, body and soul.  He’d marry her now and give Kimbery a name.  He’d even promised to regain Rivenloch and her rightful place of power.  There was nothing as heady as being in control again.  At last her world would be set to rights and she’d get her command back.

And yet she realized as she continued to gaze down at Brandr’s broad chest, tracing the contours of his muscular arms and shivering at the rasp of his breath upon her skin, she felt less like the lady and commander of a castle and more like a drowsy-eyed cat longing to be pet.

The feeling troubled her.  Her heart beat too fast.  Her reflexes were too slow.  She felt feverish and weak, as if her bones were melting.  And the sensation only grew worse when she felt him begin to swell inside her again.

She knew she should withdraw.  She was too exposed, too fragile, too vulnerable.  If she wasn’t careful, she’d leave herself open to attack.  She might find herself at his mercy, the same way she’d been at the mercy of that berserker.

And yet...

She couldn’t seem to pull away.  Even as her mind screamed at her to flee while she still had the chance, to raise her shield, to guard her heart, as she gazed into his smoldering eyes and felt the impassioned rise and fall of his formidable chest, she was strangely drawn to him.

And when one corner of his mouth lifted in a lazy smile, when he reached up to softly brush her lower lip with the back of his knuckle, when she felt the subtle pulse of his need within her, she knew she was past escape.

Her eyes closed, and her mouth fell open beneath his touch.  A curious warm glow enfolded her, softening her fear and whetting her appetite.  Her fingers tightened on his shoulders, pressing into his supple flesh, as he gently caressed her cheek.