Page 12 of The Shipwreck (The Warrior Maids of Rivenloch)

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.