Page 8 of The Shipwreck (The Warrior Maids of Rivenloch)

“He was called Fenrir, and he was a vicious, snapping wolf.” Brandr snarled loudly, startling the woman. She gasped and fumbled with her knife, dropping it with a clatter on the table. He smirked, enormously satisfied. “Odin brought him to Asgard, the home of the gods, hoping to tame him.”

“Tame him like Finn?”

“Finn?”

“My dog. He used to let me ride on his back.”

“I see. Nay, Fenrir was too wild to be tamed. Each day, he grew bigger and bigger, more and more ferocious, until only one of the gods had the courage to feed him. That god was Tyr, the god of war, another of Odin’s sons. Tyr was brave and loyal, and every day he’d bring Fenrir his supper.”

“What did Fenrir eat?”

Glancing at the woman, who had gone back to chopping, he was tempted to say “Pictish wenches.” Instead, he told her, “He ate meat—cows and pigs and—”

“Sheep?” the lass asked fearfully. “Did he eat sheep? I have a sheep.”

“Well…nay, I don’t think Fenrir liked the taste of sheep,” he assured her.

“But he had a big appetite, and he grew larger every day until eventually the gods decided he was too big and too dangerous to be roaming around Asgard. They couldn’t kill him, because killing was forbidden in Asgard. So they decided to chain him.”

“Like Mama chained you?”

He smiled grimly. “Exactly.”

The woman stiffened and paused, her knife poised in midair.

He resumed the story. “Thor, the god of thunder and Loki’s brother, said he would forge a strong chain to bind Fenrir with the help of Miolnir.”

“Who’s Miolnir?”

“Miolnir is Thor’s mighty hammer. It looks like the one I wear around my neck.” He lifted his chin to show the little girl the small silver hammer.

Kimbery rose up halfway, as if she planned to walk over to get a closer look.

Like all mothers, the woman apparently had eyes in the back of her head, for she called over her shoulder, “Kimmie, stay where you are!”

“I am!” the little girl insisted, sitting back down.

Brandr continued. “Thor hammered all night on the chain. The next day, because Fenrir wasn’t afraid of the other gods,” he said, narrowing his eyes pointedly at the woman’s back, “he let them slip the chain around his neck.”

“And nobody was allowed to go near him,” Kimbery guessed.

“That’s right. But much to the surprise of the gods, Fenrir made one powerful lunge, broke the chain, and freed himself.”

The little girl gasped in dismay.

The woman, still with her back turned, interrupted the story. “Well, they obviously didn’t use a strong enough chain,” she muttered, resuming her chopping.

“Then what happened?” Kimbery asked.

He smiled slyly. “The gods decided they needed a stronger chain.” He saw the woman’s shoulders rise and fall with an irritated sigh.

“So Thor promised he’d work harder this time and make a chain that could never be broken.

He hammered at his forge for three days and three nights.

When he was done, the chain was so heavy that even mighty Thor could hardly lift it.

This time, Fenrir was not so willing to be bound.

But the gods praised his great strength and assured Fenrir he could easily break that chain as well.

So he finally let them put the chain about his neck. ”

“Did he break it, too?”

“He gave a great shake of his head,” he said, demonstrating, “and a forceful bound, and he broke free of even that chain.”

The woman stabbed her knife into the block with a loud clunk, clearly displeased with the direction the story was taking. But he didn’t care. He had a point to make. No Pictish woman was going to get the best of him, trying to keep him leashed like Fenrir.

“Then what happened?” Kimbery asked.

“Thor was very discouraged, and the gods didn’t know what to do. Finally, Frey, the god of summer, said he would ask the dwarves who lived deep in the earth to forge a chain, for though they were small, they possessed powerful magic. Surely they could make a chain strong enough to hold Fenrir.”

The little girl was enthralled now. She sat with her chin in her hands, leaning forward as far as possible. Her mother had begun chopping another batch of seaweed, but he noticed she was doing so quietly. No doubt she was hanging on his every word as well.

“It took them two days and two nights, but the dwarves fashioned a chain out of the six strongest elements they could find. They used the roots of rocks, the spit of birds, the footsteps of cats, the beards of women, the breath of fish, and the sinew of bears. They presented the chain to the gods, and though it was fine and light, the dwarves assured them the magic chain was unbreakable. Of course, by this time, the gods knew Fenrir was too clever to allow them to bind him a third time. So they invited him to join them on a voyage to a beautiful island, where they would play games together and demonstrate feats of strength.”

“What’s an island?”

He frowned. The little girl lived on an island. Didn’t she know that? “Land surrounded by water.”

“Like my house?”

“Aye.”

“Nay,” the woman countered, “it isn’t the same, Kimmie. We only live beside the ocean.”

“You live on an island,” he told her.

“We do not,” the woman said, turning to him with a scowl.

“It’s a large island, to be sure, but—”

“We don’t live on an island.”

He arched a brow in challenge. “Really? How do you know? Have you ever sailed the seas?”

The woman gave him an affronted sniff and turned back to her work, clearly upset by this revelation.

Avril was positive the Viking was wrong.

She’d traveled for days—north, south, and west—and never run into the sea.

But the marauders of the North sailed great distances.

If anyone knew the oceans, it was a Northman.

The idea that she might live on an island was disconcerting.

The idea that he knew her home better than she did troubled her greatly.

“Then what happened?” Kimmie asked. “Then what?”

“The gods brought out the chain, and they all tried to break it, but none could do it, not even Thor, who said it was so strong that surely only Fenrir could break it. Fenrir was too proud to refuse their challenge. He allowed them to place the chain around his neck on one condition—that one of the gods put his right hand in Fenrir’s mouth while they did so as an act of faith, to prove they didn’t mean to imprison him. ”

Kimbery gasped.

“The gods, of course, did mean to imprison him, so no one wanted to put a hand in Fenrir’s mouth.

But loyal Tyr stepped bravely forward and placed his hand between the wolf’s sharp teeth.

They put the chain around Fenrir’s neck, and Fenrir tried to break it, but the more he lunged, the tighter the chain became.

When he found he couldn’t get free, he snapped his jaws in anger and bit off Tyr’s hand. ”

“Oh, nay!” Kimbery cried.

Avril turned to address her daughter. “Which is why, Kimmie, we don’t go near dangerous chained beasts.” She lifted a smug brow at him.

He returned a smug brow and replied, “Which is why we shouldn’t keep ‘dangerous beasts’ chained.”

“Did Tyr die?” Kimmie asked.

“Nay, he didn’t die,” the man said. “He became a hero in Asgard because of his bravery.”

“Mama, I want to go to Asgard.”

Avril gave the Viking a long-suffering glower. He smiled in return.

“Kimmie,” she said, “come help me wash the sloke.”

Kimbery skipped over and plopped down on her stool while Avril brought her a bucket of fresh water. The little girl pushed up her sleeves and thrust her arms into the water, stirring vigorously as Avril dumped the chopped seaweed into the bucket.

The Viking’s story had been completely absurd, of course. There was no such place as Asgard, no god with a hammer, no dwarves who forged magical chains. Still, the tale had been entertaining enough, and it had kept Kimmie occupied.

The man had been right about one thing, however.

Avril did harbor the fear that Kimbery’s Viking blood might be stirred to life one day, that she would become enthralled by the mysterious world of her Viking father, and that Avril would somehow lose her Pictish daughter to the marauders of the North.

She could feel the Viking’s ice-blue eyes on her as she coaxed the fire to life and added more wood.

His attention was quite disturbing. But then there wasn’t much else for him to look at, she supposed.

She was tempted to blindfold him, but that seemed unnecessarily cruel.

If only he wouldn’t watch her every move…

“That’s good, Kimmie. We’ll put it on to boil now and go milk Caimbeul.”

It could do no harm to leave the Viking alone at this point. He seemed adequately trussed up. They’d be gone only a short while, long enough to milk the ewe and turn her into the pasture.