Page 10 of The Shipwreck (The Warrior Maids of Rivenloch)

But the horrible memory of the berserker hurling his ax into the child’s back would never be far away from her thoughts. Kimbery’s sobs might tear at her, but at least she was alive to sob.

By the time Avril cleaned up the bath, Kimmie’s crying had subsided to sniffles. “Mama?” she called tentatively from the bedchamber. “Come tell me a story.”

Avril was tempted to tell her a story about vicious invading savages from the North, to cure her of her misplaced affection for their captive. But she supposed that would give the lass nightmares. Instead, she told her the story of the time she defeated all four of her brothers in combat.

From the next room, Brandr listened in rapt fascination.

The woman was telling a grand, typically Pictish tale to her daughter about a warrior wench who’d disguised herself as a man and fought against her own brothers.

It was a good story, like the sagas of his people—full of excitement, adventure, and retribution—and the woman had a pleasant voice, lilting and dramatic.

“The first brother, Eldred,” she told the little girl, “was very arrogant and boastful.”

“Arrogant?” Kimbery asked.

“Like this,” she said, and Brandr heard her striding about the room, probably with her arms crossed and her nose in the air.

“Anyway, Eldred had never been defeated in battle. So when this new warrior challenged him, he accepted, saluting his foe with a cocky flourish of his blade. They began to fight, exchanging blows back and forth.” Brandr could hear her scuffling about and grunting as she recreated the battle with an invisible sword.

“But Eldred was so sure he would win,” she said, “that he started to grow careless. And when he relaxed his guard and wasn’t paying attention, his sister ducked underneath his arm. With the hilt of her sword, she delivered a hard jab to his chin and knocked him flat.”

Kimbery cheered. “What about the other brothers?”

“Grimbol, the second brother, had a nasty temper and was quick to anger. Once he saw Eldred defeated, he immediately drew his sword and rushed in. He meant to slay the warrior who’d dared to humiliate his older brother.”

“What’s humiliate?”

“Make a fool of. She’d made a fool of his brother, and it made him angry. But his rage proved his own undoing. He began to slash haphazardly and—”

“What’s hap-, hap—”

“Haphazardly, in a reckless manner, with poor aim. Most of his blows swished through empty air, and every time he missed, he grew all the more furious. But his sister used his own fury against him. When he lunged at her, she dodged aside and pushed him forward, driving him face-first into the dirt.”

Kimbery clapped her hands. “Then what, Mama?”

“The third brother’s name was Osbern, and he was a cheat. He’d watched the stranger outwit and outfight his brothers, and he wanted his turn. But instead of waiting for a challenge like a man of honor, he attacked his sister while her back was turned.”

Kimbery gasped.

“Oh, she wasn’t surprised. She knew all about Osbern’s trickery and expected such shameful behavior.

She leaped out of the way, and the point of his sword plunged into the mud beside her.

Ignoring all the rules of chivalry, he dove at her, intending to wrest her to the ground, where he could pummel her with his fists, like the dishonorable dog that he was.

But she was light and quick, and she skipped out of his reach.

One clever slice of her sword, and Osbern fell to the sod with his trews around his ankles. ”

Kimbery giggled. “What about the last brother?”

“When it came time to battle Wilfred, her last brother, the warrior woman tossed off her helm and showed her face.” “Why, Mama?”

“Because Wilfred believed that women were made to be the servants of men, and she wanted him to know exactly who was getting the better of him.”

“What did he say when he saw who she was?”

“He called her bad names.”

“What bad names?”

“They’re so bad, I can’t repeat them.”

Brandr smiled at that.

“But the other brothers—Eldred, Grimbol, and Osbern—were as angry as bees when they found out they’d been beaten by their own sister. So they yelled at Wilfred to clout her soundly.”

“Oh, nay, Mama.”

“But try as he might, Wilfred couldn’t lay a hand on her, for she was nimble and strong.

You see, while her brothers had lain lazily about, boasting of their skills, she’d spent long hours practicing.

She eventually managed to smack his arse with the flat of her sword and sent him crashing into his other brothers. ”

Kimbery laughed long and hard. “Smack his arse!”

The woman couldn’t help but laugh along, which made Brandr grin.

“Aye. And when she’d defeated them all, a servant who’d seen the entire battle ran to tell their father. Her father was so proud of her, he gave her a beautiful jeweled sword as a prize, saying that it was she who should rightfully inherit his lands.”

A strange shiver ran up Brandr’s spine. He glanced at the jeweled sword in the corner.

Could the story be true? Pictish women were said to be able to handle a blade.

But could she possibly be the intrepid swordswoman in the story?

Surely not. Surely the tale was a work of imagination.

After all, the heroine of her story had become a landed heiress. This woman lived in a humble hovel.

“Did she live happily ever after, Mama?”

There was a hesitation. “Oh, I’m sure she did.”

“Mama,” Kimbery announced, “I want a sword.”

“You have a sword.”

Brandr raised a brow. The little girl had a sword?

“Not a wooden sword. A real sword,” Kimbery said.

“When you’re older.”

“And I want brothers to fight with,” she added.

“That I can’t promise you.”

“I want to be a warrior just like the lady in the story.”

Her mother chuckled. “You’ll be twice as good as the lady in the story.”

“Mama, can we practice sparring?”

“Tomorrow,” she promised, “but only if you get a good night’s rest.”

After she finished tucking in her daughter, the woman emerged again. Brandr quickly sized her up and decided the story couldn’t be true. She might be able to wield a blade, but no sweet-faced maid could possibly vanquish four seasoned warriors.