Page 15 of The Shipwreck (The Warrior Maids of Rivenloch)

Before she even opened her eyes the following morning, Avril could hear them in the next room—Brandr murmuring, Kimbery giggling. It was a pleasant sound, a sound that reminded her of what it was like to have a real family. Her lips curved up as foolish, sentimental tears brimmed in her eyes.

She’d told herself she didn’t need family. Her parents were dead. Her brothers had betrayed her. And there was little hope of her finding a husband, since she had nothing to offer. She’d convinced herself that Kimbery was family enough.

But the truth was Avril was terribly lonely.

Most days, she kept herself too busy to notice. Her mind she occupied with survival. Her heart she occupied with Kimbery.

Still, regret occasionally crept in, and she grieved for the person she used to be—the young woman who was meant to reign over a noble keep, marry a strong warrior, and have a dozen beautiful children.

Most of the time that regret manifested as a righteous thirst for justice and a determination to get back what belonged to her.

But sometimes, like this morn, a melancholy pining welled up in her, and she ached for what she couldn’t have.

She definitely couldn’t have Brandr. There was no question about that. He might have felt right in her arms. His kiss might have been sweet and tempting. His hands might have touched her with the deceptive devotion of a lover. But he was her enemy.

Barbarians like him had invaded her land for decades now. They’d razed her villages, stolen her coin, slaughtered her people. One of them had killed her father and raped her. They were brutal, ruthless savages, and they were beyond reason.

Why then was it so impossible to imagine the whispering Viking in the next room wielding an axe and charging unarmed Pictish children?

Kimbery giggled again, and this time she was joined by the Northman. His laugh was deep and warm, and it sent delicious shivers along Avril’s arms.

She swallowed hard and opened her eyes to stare at the ceiling.

What in God’s name was she going to do with Brandr?

She couldn’t turn him in. She didn’t have the heart to deliver him into the hands of an angry mob. Hell, she’d already proven that—hiding him from the man who’d come yesterday.

But she couldn’t let him go either. If anything happened to her neighbors because she’d set a Viking loose, she’d never be able to live with herself.

And she couldn’t keep him tied up forever. She might be a formidable foe, but she wasn’t inhumane.

In the midst of agonizing over what to do with the Northman, she heard Kimbery’s giggles interrupted abruptly by a low thud, a silent pause, and then a thin wail.

Avril’s heart stopped. Fearing the worst, she thrashed to get free of the tangle of sheets. Cursing her own clumsiness as Kimbery’s voice rose to a piercing cry, Avril tripped beside the bed, landing on one knee, her foot still caught in the linens.

What had he done to her? What had that damned Viking done to her little girl?

Fear sucked her mouth dry. It seemed to take forever before she finally managed to get free of the bedclothes and shot to her feet.

She’d kill him! She’d kill the bastard for making her daughter cry.

Desperate to reach Kimbery, she rushed forward, tripping over Kimbery’s cloth doll on the floor and catching herself as she slammed against the bedchamber wall.

At last stumbling through the doorway, she froze at the sight, her eyes wide.

Kimbery was sobbing on Brandr’s shoulder, and his head was inclined toward hers as he murmured soothing words against her hair.

The protective mother in Avril wanted to snatch Kimbery away at once.

But before she had a chance to move, Brandr met her gaze over Kimbery’s head, and she instantly saw the truth in his compassionate eyes. He hadn’t hurt Kimbery. She’d hurt herself. And she’d run to him for comfort.

Avril didn’t know what to think. Kimbery had been far too trusting of the Northman, sharing her doll with him, drawing pictures of him, listening to his stories, calling him Da. And yet sometimes children had an instinct for people. Sometimes they could tell who was good and who was bad.

She stood at the doorway, watching them in tense silence.

Kimbery’s sobbing subsided to sniffles, and she lifted her head to look at Brandr. “Is it bleeding?”

He narrowed his eyes, studying her brow. “A bit.”

Kimbery touched the place and drew her fingers away, whimpering at the sight of the blood on her fingertips.

“It should make a fine scar,” he assured her. “All great warriors have battle scars.”

She stopped crying. “They do?”

“Aye.”

“Do you have a scar?”

“Oh, aye, lots of them.”

“Where?”

“There’s one here, under my chin.” He lifted his chin for her to see, though it was covered with stubble. Then he lowered his head. “And I have one on my forehead, like you.”

“Did you run into a table, too?”

“Nay.” He tried to scowl, but his eyes were twinkling. “That’s where Thor struck me with a bolt of lightning.”

“Really?”

His frown melted into a smile. “Nay, not really. My brother caught my brow with an axe.”

“Is your brother evil like my mama’s brothers?”

Avril’s breath caught.

“Nay,” he said. “It was an accident. We were sparring.”

After a thoughtful moment, Kimbery rose to press a kiss to his brow. Avril’s jaw dropped. “Mama says this will make it all better. Now you give mine a kiss.”

Before Avril could gasp out a word, Kimbery leaned her head toward Brandr’s lips, giving him no choice but to repay the gesture.

When Kimbery pulled away, she cocked her head and touched a finger to his temple, where Avril had clubbed him with the driftwood. “Is that a battle scar?”

A hint of a smile threatened at the corner of his lips. “Aye.”

“My mama has a battle scar.”

Avril nearly choked.

Kimbery continued, “It’s right here.” She pointed to the right side of her chest.

Brandr’s smile blossomed into a full grin. “Really?’

Avril had heard enough. Blushing, she swept into the room. “Kimbery, what happened?”

Kimbery jumped up and ran to her. “Mama, I have a battle scar!”

“Is that so?” She crouched to inspect Kimbery’s brow. There was a red bump and a tiny cut there, so tiny that she’d be surprised if it left any mark at all. Nonetheless, she frowned in concern. “And who were you battling to give you such a scar?”

“Sir…Table!”

“I see.” She ruffled the top of Kimbery’s hair. “And did you give Sir Table battle scars as well?”

Kimbery nodded and then leaned against her and began twining her fingers in Avril’s hair. “Mama, I let Brandr kiss my cut.”

And I let him kiss my lips, Avril thought. But all she said was, “Oh?”

Kimbery added in a loud whisper, “I don’t think he’s a very bad man.”

Avril sighed, and she felt the tension go out of her.

Kimbery was right. He wasn’t a very bad man.

He’d done nothing wrong. In spite of being shipwrecked and captured and tied up, he’d been civil and even kind.

He’d told Kimbery stories, he’d eased away her tears, and been a model father to a little girl who’d never had one.

He’d even saved Avril from falling into the fire.

Avril slowly raised her gaze over Kimbery’s shoulder and looked him squarely in the eye. “Neither do I.”

Brandr should have been relieved. Avril was staring at him with complete trust now. He could tell by her eyes that she had no intention of turning him in. He wouldn’t have to worry about escaping, because she wouldn’t tell anyone he was here. She meant to set him free.

To his surprise, his heart sank. As mad as it was, despite his broken arm, his banged-up nose, and the cursed dog collar around his neck, he’d rather enjoyed the past few days.

Avril was a fascinating woman—spirited and passionate, sensitive yet strong, and her daughter was delightful.

Now that the opportunity for escape was at hand, he wasn’t sure he wanted to leave.

The way she was looking at him made his heart melt.

Ever since he’d lost his wife and children, there had been a deep, hollow abyss in his soul.

Losing his ship and his men had thrown him farther into the chasm and made it seem impossible to ever reach the surface.

But between Avril’s kindhearted honor and Kimbery’s innocent adoration, he’d started to believe that he could climb out of that hole, that he might be capable of caring and loving again.

Kimbery pushed away from her mother suddenly and galloped across the room into the bedchamber, announcing, “Look at me! I’m a Valkyrie!”

Avril looked askance at him, and he lifted one corner of his lip in a sheepish half-smile.

She came to hunker down beside him then, to tell him what he already knew. “I’ve decided I won’t turn you in.”

He waited in silence, not sure he wanted to hear the rest.

She turned in profile to him and lowered her eyes. “My father taught me not to judge a man by the sins of his brothers.” She took a deep breath and let it out on a sigh. “You may have Viking blood in your veins. But you have nothing in common with the man who attacked me.”

He held his breath, like a felon awaiting his sentence.

“I’m not sure what I’m going to do with you yet,” she admitted, “but after all you’ve done for Kimbery…

and for me…” Her glance flickered momentarily to his lips, and he knew she was remembering their kiss.

He was remembering their kiss. He wished she would kiss him again.

She tucked her lower lip under her teeth, then lifted love-soft eyes to his. “I vow I won’t let harm come to you.”

The naked reverence in her beautiful amber eyes took Brandr’s breath away.

No woman had ever regarded him with such forthright fondness or gifted him with such a heartfelt promise.

The way she was looking at him made him feel he could do anything, even crawl out of his dark underworld into the light.

He opened his mouth to blurt something in return—he wasn’t sure what—probably something foolish and maudlin. But Kimbery shot suddenly back through the doorway, and Avril steered her into the kitchen to prepare breakfast.

Part of him felt relief. He’d been racked with guilt all this time, cursing his misplaced affections for Avril as some weakness on his part.

To know that she felt the same way about him—that her feelings went deeper than lust, that she recognized his good heart, and that she genuinely cared about him—lifted his spirits.

But the other part of him, the rational part, realized that there was one thing he feared more than Avril turning him in. And that was Avril trying to keep him safe.

Her trusting gaze filled him with dread. There had been much more than simple mercy in her expression. He’d glimpsed a dangerous combination of affection and determination in her eyes, the same unflinching adoration and steely will that had kept her daughter alive on this barren spit of shore.

The fact was she didn’t want him to leave either. As improbable as it seemed, the two of them—captive and captor, mortal enemies—had somehow done much more than find common ground and an uneasy peace. They’d fallen in love. And now she naively believed she could keep him.

But she couldn’t, not without endangering herself and her daughter. She couldn’t hide him. Anyone with one good eye could see Brandr was a Viking. She’d never be able to explain how he’d arrived here, where he’d come from, how they’d met.

And he knew what would happen after that. Avril would be called a Viking sympathizer, branded a traitor, and probably executed. And Brandr wouldn’t be able to do a damned thing to protect her.

He was cursed. Misfortune befell anyone who got close to him.

As much as his heart ached with the desire to stay, as much as he knew he’d be hurled back into his familiar pit of despair if he left, he knew the only answer was to ignore the bittersweet yearning in his soul, turn his back on her—on both of them, and go.