The Shipwreck (8 page)

“You promised,” Kimbery reminded her.

“I did promise.  Just let me get…dressed.”  A blush stole up her cheek as she realized she’d rushed out in her nightclothes.  No wonder the Northman was looking at her like that.

She avoided his gaze as she swept past, but she couldn’t avoid hearing the conversation between the Viking and her daughter while she dressed in the next room.

“Do you have a sword?” Kimbery asked.

“I did.”

“What happened to it?”

“I lost it in the sea.”

“Maybe Mama can get you a new one.”

“Kimbery,” Avril warned, “are you talking to that man?”

“Nay,” she lied.  “I’m talking to Maeve.”

Avril heard only whispers after that until she emerged.

“Watch me, Da!” Kimbery cried, leaping about with her wooden sword, battling an unseen enemy.

But the Northman’s eyes were fixed upon Avril as if nothing else existed.

Brandr’s breath caught in his chest.  He’d heard legends about female Pict warriors, but he’d never seen a woman dressed, or rather
un
dressed, in such a manner.  She’d foregone her confining linen underdress and wore only her sleeveless kirtle, which gave her a greater range of motion and revealed the blue design on her shoulder and her sleek-muscled arms.  Riding low on her hips was a leather swordbelt carved with intricate designs.  She’d tucked the kirtle back up under the belt so that it bloused halfway down her thighs, exposing a pair of long, lovely legs that were tucked into short seal-fur boots.

If he’d thought the sight of the woman in her nightclothes was alluring, it didn’t compare to the vision of her dressed for battle.  Perhaps that was the secret of Pict warfare.  What foe could fight such a distracting beauty?

“Watch me!  Watch me!” the little girl was yelling as she leaped about.  It took all of Brandr’s willpower to drag his gaze away from the lass’s breathtaking mother.

“Kimbery, not in the house,” she scolded.

“But I want Da to see me.”

“We’ll leave the door open.”  She gave him a look then that said the door would be open, not so he could watch the little girl, but so
she
could keep an eye on
him
.

Which was fine with him.  After spending the night on a leash with a throbbing broken arm and waking to a stinking sheep nuzzling at his ear, he figured he deserved the reward of watching a woman cavort about half-naked.

What began as a pleasurable pastime quickly turned into torment.  It had been more than a year since Brandr had bedded a woman, and his body responded as eagerly as a starving man seated at a feast.  As the woman flexed and lunged in preparation for sparring, she unknowingly taunted him with her taut, slender arms and her silky thighs.  Her garment clung to her body, hugging every subtle curve.  Each time she twirled to change direction, her skirt flipped up, and he couldn’t help but watch for a glimpse of something more.

She hunkered down beside her daughter, giving her instruction, and his gaze slipped over her rounded knees.  She wrapped her arms around Kimbery, showing her how to hold the sword, and he observed the nuanced play of the muscles of her shoulder.  She stood, planting her feet wide apart, and he admired her shapely calves.

“Can you see me?” Kimbery called out to him.

He gave a guilty start.  “Aye,” he croaked.  The truth was he’d scarcely given her a glance, so transfixed by her mother was he.

“Pay heed, Kimbery,” the woman warned.  “Don’t get distracted.”

The little girl began hacking away at her mother with her wooden sword, and the woman easily defended herself, coming around slowly and carefully with her own steel blade.  He’d never seen a woman wielding a sword before, and her skill surprised him.  He wondered how good she was when she wasn’t checking her blows.

Of course, she was no match for a Viking.  But it was admirable that she was teaching her daughter useful fighting techniques.  It would keep the little girl from becoming easy prey.

He continued to watch as she demonstrated proper shield technique, showed Kimbery how to dodge blows, and the two of them practiced diving to the ground, rolling, and coming up with blades at the ready.

As they sparred, tendrils of the woman’s hair came loose from her long braid.  Her cheeks grew rosy, her skin glowed, and her chest heaved with each exertion.  She reminded him of the women he’d pleasured in his bed when he was a single, virile, carefree young man.  He suddenly longed to snatch away her sword, carry her off, toss up her skirts, and ease his desires upon her battle-warmed body.  And this troubled him deeply.

Avril found it difficult to concentrate when the Northman was staring at her.  She didn’t return his stare, but she could feel his eyes upon her.  She’d left the door open for more than one reason.  Aye, she wanted to keep an eye on him—she was fairly sure he’d already made an attempt to escape—but she also wanted him to see that she was no ordinary frail lass.  She could hold her own with a sword.  And he’d have a fight on his hands if he tried to challenge her.  She’d been a victim once.  She didn’t intend to be one again.

“Did you see me, Da?” Kimbery yelled after she’d done a perfect forward roll and lunged forward with her wooden sword.

“Aye,” he called back, “well done.”  But his gaze wasn’t on Kimbery.  He was looking at Avril again with that smoldering heat, like a wolf about to devour a lamb.

She gulped.  No one had ever looked at her with such hunger.  It made her knees weak and warmed her all over.  Curious lightning charged the air, an uncontrollable current born of the strange attraction between them.  It sucked the will from her and made her long to do things against her nature—to go to him, to touch him, to kiss him—which terrified her, because her sword was a useless weapon against her own desire.

But fear turned quickly to self-loathing and then fury.  Troubled by her wayward emotions and reminding herself that he was her enemy, that his kind had murdered her people and ruined her life, she broke off her gaze and shook free with a shudder, trying to focus again on her lesson with Kimbery.

“Mama, I want to spar with Da,” the little girl said, skipping in a circle.

Sweeping her blade sharply through the air, Avril barked, “Don’t call him that!”

Kimbery stopped skipping.  “What should I call him, Mama?”

Avril could think of a dozen names for the Viking, none fit for the ears of a child.  Before she could choose one, he answered.

“Brandr,” he called from the cottage.  “My name is Brandr.”

It was a strong name—a strong name for a strong man.  But she didn’t want to know his name.  Knowing his name made things worse.  He was easy to despise when he was simply a Viking, a Northman, a marauder.  Calling him Brandr made him a man of flesh and blood.

“Can Brandr fight with us, Mama?”

“Nay.”

“Why not?” Kimmie asked.

He answered before she had a chance.  “I wouldn’t want to hurt you, little one.”

Avril smirked at that.  “He’s afraid he might lose.”

Brandr lifted a brow and gave her a cocky smile.  “Not even with a broken arm.”

His grin sent a shiver through her.  She hoped it was a shiver of revulsion.  She feared it was something else, something that made her feel lightheaded and foolhardy, almost crazy enough to free him and let him try…almost.

But she wasn’t a fool.  She couldn’t let him bait her.

“My name’s Kimmie,” Kimbery informed him, holding her sword high over her head. “And Mama’s name is Avril.”

Avril choked.  She didn’t want him to know her name.  The exchange of names suggested an intimacy she didn’t want to encourage.

“Pleased to meet you, Kimmie,” he said with a polite nod. 
Her
name, however, came out on a purr.  “Avril.”

She bristled.  That was exactly why she’d wished to remain nameless.  Already he breathed her name as if they were lovers.  Already it felt like he was insinuating his way under her skin.

“Come on, Kimmie,” she said, shaking off the uneasy shiver that had passed through her.  “Let’s show the Viking what we do to men who think they can hurt us.”

She hoped to impress upon him that the ladies of Rivenloch were not to be trifled with or underestimated.  But she also worried that his shipmates might show up.  So she taught Kimbery some useful defensive ploys in addition to straightforward sword fighting.  She showed her how to use her elbows to jab a belly, her heels to stamp on toes, her teeth to bite fingers, and her fists to punch a man where it hurt most.

So enrapt was she with teaching Kimbery survival skills that she didn’t notice the figure stealing up on the cottage until it was too late.  But the instant she saw the glint of metal, her worst fears were realized.  It could be no one else.  The Northman’s shipmates must have come looking for him.

Without a second glance, she swung Kimbery up and pushed her toward the cottage door.  “Go!”

For once, Kimbery didn’t question her, but rushed inside.

Her Viking prisoner, however, called out, “Is it my men?”

She didn’t answer him.  She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.  Wheeling immediately with her blade drawn and her heart racing, she faced the oncoming threat.

But it wasn’t his men.  It was her neighbor, the one who’d given her the sheep.  She lowered her shoulders in relief.  While she watched the man make his way toward her, she saw that he wielded, not a sword, but a spade.

“Erik!” Brandr called out suddenly from behind her.  “Gunnarr!”

Her eyes widened.  Shite!  She couldn’t let her neighbor find the Northman.

She whipped her head around and hissed at him.  “Hush!  It’s not your men!”

The last thing she saw before she lunged for the door, slamming it shut, was the perplexed furrow between the Viking’s brows.

Brandr bellowed out a curse.  Unfortunately, he startled the little girl, who now looked as if she might burst into tears.

“Shh, Kimmie.  I’m sorry,” he soothed.  “It’s all right.”

But he wasn’t so sure.  He wished the woman hadn’t slammed the door between them.  If it wasn’t his men out there, who was it?  Thieves?  Murderers?  Though he realized it was completely contrary to reason at the moment—Avril was his enemy, after all—his instinct to protect women rose to the surface, overriding everything else.  Whoever was out there evidently posed a threat to her.  Otherwise, she wouldn’t have pushed Kimbery into the cottage.

He had to do something about it.

Kimbery’s chin was trembling, and the wooden sword drooped in her grasp.  “But Mama…”

“Hush, Kimmie,” he coaxed.  “It’s all right.  Shh.”

“I have to help Mama fight,” she decided, starting for the door.

“Nay!”  She flinched at his sharp voice.  “Nay, sweetheart,” he said more softly.  “Your mama wants you to stay here, to stay quiet.  That’s why she closed the door.”

Yet even as he said the words, he had to wonder at the woman’s judgment.  Why hadn’t she rushed inside as well and barred the door?  What made her think she could handle the threat?  The fool woman was going to get herself killed.

Hell, he thought as he strained against the leather collar, he couldn’t stand the thought of a woman facing danger alone while he sat helpless.  If only he could get loose, he could chase the intruders off.

He glanced at the little girl.  Maybe he
could
get loose.

“Kimmie,” he said, “if you help
me,
I can help your mama.”

She looked skeptically at him.

“I need you to unbuckle my collar.  Do you think you can do that?  Do you think you can—“

“Mama said I’m not supposed to go near you.”

Brandr bit back an oath.  “But she needs my help.  I’m big and strong, and I can fight—“

“
I’m
strong,” she said.  “Mama said so.”

He growled in frustration, frightening the little girl again.  She backed toward the door once more.

His eyes widened.  “Nay, nay, nay, nay, nay.”  He had to keep her inside.  The last thing he needed was to have
both
women out of his sight.  “Kimmie, nay, Kimmie,” he said urgently as her small hand touched the latch.  “Come away from the door.  Please.  I’ll…”  He searched his memory.  What would have convinced his own daughter to stay?  “I’ll tell you another story.”

She hesitated.

“Aye, come sit by the fire, and I’ll tell you a story about…about Muspell, the land of the Fire Giants.”

She pursed her lips.

“And Niflheim, where the Frost Giants live,” he added.

She lifted her brows.

“And Audhumia, the giant cow.”

“Giant cow?”

“Aye.  The giant cow who licked the gods to life.”

She let go of the latch and walked to the hearth, and he heaved a sigh of relief.  He might not be able to rescue Avril, but at least he could keep her daughter safe.

Kimbery sat cross-legged with her sword across her lap, and he began a story he’d told often to his children—the story of the world’s creation.  Meanwhile, he strained to hear what was happening outside, to no avail.  The little girl, fascinated by the tale, edged closer and closer to him.  Eventually, despite her mother’s stern orders, she ended up half-draped across his lap.

A
vril thought she must be mad, covering for the Northman.  Her neighbor said he’d found pieces of a Viking ship.  He’d come to warn her to be watchful, assuring her in manly tones that he was on the hunt for the vermin who belonged to it, hefting up his spade as proof.

She should have turned the Viking over to him then and there.  It certainly would have made her life easier.  Brandr would have been out of her house, away from her daughter, off of her shoulders.

But she couldn’t bear the thought of him being beaten to death with a spade, which was doubtless what her neighbor intended.

So she told the man an outright lie, saying she’d seen no sign of Northmen, but she’d be sure to alert him if she did.  Thanking him for his concern, she smiled stiffly until he was out of sight.

“Brilliant,” she muttered to herself.  “Now I’m harboring an outlaw.”