Page 13 of The Shipwreck (The Warrior Maids of Rivenloch)

Avril 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.”

She pushed open the cottage door, cursing herself for a fool, and froze when she saw the scene before her.

She couldn’t draw breath. Mother of God, she was a fool! While she’d been lying to protect him, the crafty Viking had enticed her daughter onto his lap. Kimbery was sprawled across his thighs like a lovesick pup. Was this the thanks she got for saving Brandr’s worthless hide?

“Mama!” Kimbery cried, jumping up and running to her, hugging her about the thighs. “Da’s telling me…I mean, Brandr’s telling me a story about a giant cow and Frost Giants and the dwarves who hold up the sky!”

“Is that so?” Avril bit out with a shaky smile for her daughter. She clasped Kimbery close in relief, grateful he’d let her go, unharmed, but uncertain why. After all, with Kimbery in his grasp, he could have had her at his mercy and easily bargained for his freedom.

Brandr didn’t seem to notice her confusion. He gave her a fierce frown, scanning her from head to toe. “Are you all right?”

She blinked, even more baffled. “Aye. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Who was outside?” The furrow in his brow deepened, and his fists clenched, as if he meant to use them.

“My neighbor. He came to tell me…” Suddenly the truth struck her. “Were you…?” She narrowed incredulous eyes at him. “You were. You were afraid for me.”

He scowled in irritation, but he couldn’t deny it, and something about that pleased her.

“You know,” she said in amazement, “if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to protect me.”

He scoffed. But after a moment he looked at her quizzically, lowering his shoulders and relaxing his hands. “Wait. Your neighbor?” The corner of his lip lifted in a knowing grin. “And you didn’t tell him about your Viking prize?”

She stiffened.

He chuckled. “You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to protect me.”

It was useless to deny it.

He shook his head. “What a pair we are.”

What a pair indeed, Avril thought. By all rights, they should despise each other.

The war between their people had been going on for more than fifty years.

He was a bloodthirsty Viking, and she was the Pict who’d leashed him.

She’d made the cottage that he’d come to conquer into his prison.

And if they’d met on a field of battle, she would have readily drawn her sword and stabbed him through the heart.

But when she looked at his twinkling blue eyes, his enticing grin, his…formidable body, she found it hard to summon up a good loathing.

“Mama, did you smack his arse?”

Avril started. “Who, the neighbor?” She shook her head. “He wasn’t here to fight. He…came to see how Caimbeul was doing.”

“Oh.”

She and Brandr exchanged glances, and he gave her a subtle nod of thanks, something she wasn’t sure she deserved.

She was making a mistake, not turning him in.

The longer he was here, the more difficult it would become to get rid of him.

Hell, her own daughter was already clambering onto the Viking’s lap as if he were her beloved grandfather.

Kimbery hopped up and down on her toes. “Mama, I want a giant cow!”

Avril eyed the Northman in accusation. What nonsense had he put in Kimbery’s head now?

Brandr reasoned with the little girl. “But how would you milk her? It would take all day. And your hands are too small.”

“You could do it,” Kimbery suggested. “You have big hands.”

Avril bit her lip. He did have big hands…and big feet…and big shoulders…

He chuckled. “I’m not a milkmaid,” he told Kimmie. “I’m a warrior.”

His words suddenly touched a raw nerve in Avril. She wasn’t a milkmaid either. She was supposed to be the lady of a castle. But sometimes the world turned on people, and they had to do what was necessary to go on living.

“You know, not all of us get to choose our fate,” and she said with frost in her voice. “If you’re going to stay here, you’d better get used to tending animals and fishing and mending fences. It’s not an easy thing, surviving in…”

She broke off at his narrowed gaze, realizing what she’d just said— if you’re going to stay here.

What was she thinking? He wasn’t an animal she could tame and tether. He was a wild and dangerous beast who’d surely turn on her the moment he was free.

Still, he could have hurt Kimbery, but he’d chosen not to. Instead he’d told the little girl some fanciful tale about giant cows to keep her quiet and safe from whatever peril lurked outside.

Why? Did he hope to persuade her to let him go? She couldn’t do that. She might not deliver him directly into the hands of a neighbor armed with a spade, but neither would she turn a known marauder loose on her unsuspecting countrymen.

Kimbery waved her wooden blade through the air. “My mama’s a warrior,” she said. “And I’m going to be a warrior, too. When I grow up, we’re going to take back Rivenloch.”

“Kimmie!” Avril’s cheeks warmed. She didn’t need a stranger knowing all about her sordid past. “He’s not interested in—”

“What’s Rivenloch?” he asked.

“It’s Mama’s castle. I’m going to learn how to sword fight, and then we’ll get an army to take the castle back from my evil uncles who—”

“Kimmie, enough! Go take your nap.”

Kimbery scampered merrily off into the bedchamber. But the damage was already done. Brandr was staring at her with undisguised interest now. “Evil uncles?”

Though he’d entertained the remote possibility, it hadn’t seriously occurred to Brandr that the woman and her daughter were anything but commoners, outcasts on this lonely shore due to an unfortunate encounter with berserkers.

He perused her thoroughly now, imagining her in the rich garb of a noblewoman. It wasn’t difficult.

“It’s only a tale,” she muttered, “an invention like your giant cows and…and snow ogres.”

“Frost Giants,” he corrected. She wasn’t a very good liar. “And the story of Audhumia is true.”

She crossed her arms and smirked at him. “Really? Dwarves?”

He frowned. “How do you think the sky stays up?”

She shook her head as she propped her sword in the corner.

Though she tried to make light of it, Brandr couldn’t let go of the feeling that there was more than a morsel of truth to her story.

Avril had had ample opportunity to kill him, even the chance to turn him over to someone else to kill.

And yet she hadn’t. She’d had mercy on him—feeding him, sheltering him, tending to his broken arm—when anyone else would have let him suffer.

Though he was her enemy, she’d treated him with respect, wisdom, fairness, and honor.

She seemed to have been raised as he had—with the qualities necessary to inspire followers and command warriors.

It wasn’t hard to imagine she was that woman who’d fought for the jeweled sword, that her four brothers were Kimbery’s evil uncles, and that they’d taken advantage of her misfortune to seize her inheritance from her.

He and Avril must both be cursed by the gods then. He’d lost his family, his men, and his ship. She’d lost her innocence, her birthright, and her land. They were kindred souls. Against his better judgment, he found he wanted to know more about this intrepid woman.

“So in that…story…you told your daughter,” he asked as she stirred the banked embers on the hearth to life with a stick, “where is this Rivenloch?”

She shrugged. “It’s an imaginary place.”

“Your daughter doesn’t seem to think so.”

She arched a slim brow at him. “My daughter thinks she’s a selkie, her sheep talks to her, and you’re her father.”

She had a point. “But you are teaching her to fight with a sword.”

“Aye, so she can protect herself from…” She gave him a fleeting glance, and he was sure she intended to say “Vikings.” Instead she substituted, “Attackers.”

He nodded. “Where did you learn to fight?”

“All Pictish women know how to fight,” she said proudly. “Don’t Viking women know how to fight?”

“There’s no need. They have Viking men to protect them.”

“Indeed?” She gave him a cursory perusal, as if she were sizing up a horse. “And who protects them from the Viking men?”

He scowled when he realized she was serious.

Avril had felt the Northman’s iron grip on her wrist. She’d seen his bulging muscles. He had the shoulders of an ox and was at least a head taller than anyone she knew. What was to keep a man like him from taking what he wanted from a woman?

“The law protects them,” he replied at last, as if it were obvious.

“The law,” she scoffed. “You mean the law that men make and enforce?”

“Men and women.”

She lifted a skeptical brow.

He frowned. “Is it not so here? Do you not have an althing?”

“ Althing ?”

“A meeting of all the villagers.” She waited for him to continue. “A meeting where the rules are made.” At her silence, he added, “By everyone.”

“ All the villagers?” she asked doubtfully.

“Anyone who wishes to attend.”

“Men and women?”

“Of course.”

That gave Avril pause. She gazed wistfully into the fire, wishing it were thus with her people as well.

Her father had understood. He’d believed that women were just as capable as men.

That was why he’d made her his heir. But most men were like her brothers, who thought that a woman’s place was under a man’s boot.

“In my land,” Brandr added softly, “the warrior woman in your story? She would never have lost her castle.”

Avril bit her lip.

He continued. “Anyone who refused her rule would have been sent into exile.”

Her throat tightened. That was how it should have been. Instead, she’d been sent into exile.

He went on. “And she wouldn’t need an army to take back what was rightfully hers.”

Tears of frustration threatened behind her eyes, but she bit them back. She couldn’t think about that. What was past was past. She couldn’t change what had happened. And there was nothing she could do about it now.

Mortified at the thought of crying in front of a Viking, she sniffed sharply, clapped the soot from her hands, and abruptly stood up.

Unfortunately, as she did so, she stepped on the hem of her skirt, which was still partially tucked into her belt.

In the blink of an eye, she tripped and stumbled sideways toward the fire.

How Brandr moved so swiftly, she didn’t know. In one instant, she was falling face-first toward the burning coals, and in the next, he’d caught her with his boot and propelled her back toward him.

As she fell, she reflexively put out her hands. She managed to partially catch herself, though she heard him grunt in pain as she fell against his splinted arm. But that wasn’t the worst of it. She landed with her hands on his chest, her face in his belly, and her breast in his palm.