Avril was struck speechless. She lowered the blade from his back as his words sank in. No one had ever said that to her before. She didn’t know how to respond. She’d fantasized about being Brandr’s wife, about making a family with him. She’d never imagined he might already have feelings for her.
She stared in wonder at the enemy she’d discovered only days before on this very shore. His long Viking-blond hair tangled over his wide invader’s shoulders and fell down his broad marauding back. But though he was definitely still a stranger, he no longer seemed a foe.
Now she saw the possibility of a bright future…for Kimbery, for herself, for the shipwrecked Northman. They could make a life together. They could find a place in the world. All she had to do was persuade Brandr of that.
He glanced over his shoulder. Misunderstanding her silence and her lowered weapon, he asked somberly, “Will you let me go now?”
She whipped the point of her blade back up so swiftly it startled him. “Not so fast, Viking.” A thrill of hope suffused her even as her eyes filled with happy tears. One way or another, she’d convince the Northman to stay…even if she had to keep him leashed in her cottage for a year. “I thought you said you weren’t a coward.”
He didn’t answer.
She continued. “You’re a damned Northman! You flex your muscle, rattle your battleaxe, and speak of glorious war. And yet you’d run away from a curse?”
He clenched his fists, but remained silent.
“Well,” she said, “I don’t believe in curses. Do you think you alone are fortune’s foe? I’ve lost everything, too. I’ve had bad times when I wanted to surrender. I’ve had moments of weakness when I wondered why I went on living. But I never gave up. Not once did I let despair get the better of me. Not once did I—“
“Mama!” Kimbery called out suddenly behind her.
Avril started in surprise.
“Kimbery!” she snapped, whipping around to give her daughter the scolding of her life. “I told you to stay at…”
But when she saw Kimmie hadn’t come alone, Avril’s heart plummeted, her knees buckled, and she nearly lost her grip on the sword. Her little girl was riding merrily atop the shoulders of one of dozens of Viking savages that now occupied her beach.
“Look!” Kimbery crowed, oblivious to her horror. “I’m a Frost Giant!”
All of Avril’s warrior instincts told her not to show weakness, not to waver, not to beg. Five years ago, standing over her father’s grave, bruised from a brutal rape, she’d vowed never to cower before a Viking again.
But five years ago, she hadn’t had a daughter she’d die for.
“Nay,” she choked out, “please. Don’t hurt her.” She prayed they could understand her words. Oh, God, she thought, what if they meant to steal Kimbery? What if they sailed away with her to the North? What if Avril never saw her again?
Quaking with fear, she moved her sword away from Brandr and set the weapon gently on the ground. “Take him. Take Brandr. Just give my daughter back to me.”
CHAPTER 11
Brandr wheeled around with his fists raised and his face in a fierce scowl, ready to fight whoever was threatening the women he loved. He lowered his arms immediately when he saw who it was.
“Halfdan?” he asked in disbelief. “Ragnarr?” Relief and joy coursed through him. Behind Avril stood his brothers—whole, healthy, and grinning. By the grace of Odin, they’d come through the storm, untouched, and they were surrounded by their men. “You’re alive!”
There was a rumble of celebration as he rushed forward to catch his brothers in a one-armed embrace.
“What happened to you?” Ragnarr asked, indicating his splinted forearm.
His injury was the least of Brandr’s concerns. “A scratch,” he said with a shrug. “But how did you find me?”
Halfdan frowned. “We followed the wreckage of your ship.”
Brandr nodded. There was a long moment of reflective silence as everyone thought about those who’d been lost. Then Ragnarr cleared his throat and announced, “Your men are no doubt feasting in Valhalla.”
There were cheers of agreement all around.
“But it’s been days,” Brandr said. “The wreckage must have drifted. How did you know to look for me here?”
Halfdan gave him a half-smile. “It might have something to do with the little girl standing in her cottage door, yelling ‘Brandr! Brandr!’ at the top of her lungs.”
Brandr had to smile at that. Kimbery perched happily atop ferocious Axlan’s shoulders as if he were her favorite uncle.
“So tell me,” Ragnarr asked, crossing his arms and cocking a brow toward Avril, “how did my big warrior brother end up at the pointed end of a Pictish wench’s sword?”
Brandr was so grateful to see his brothers that he didn’t mind the taunt. There would be time to salvage his pride later. But when he looked back at Avril, he saw she’d gone white with fear. She didn’t understand their language. She didn’t know who they were or what they intended. And her gaze was fixed on Kimbery.
He switched back to Pictish. “Avril, it’s all right. They won’t hurt you.”
Of course, he knew she had no reason to trust him. He’d manipulated her. He’d betrayed her. He’d abandoned her.
“Please, Brandr,” she said almost inaudibly. “Please don’t take her. Don’t take Kimbery.”
He furrowed his brows. He wouldn’t dream of taking a child from her mother. None of his men would. That she could even think him capable of such cruelty made him want to strangle the berserkers who’d so badly damaged her.
But as he looked at her, a spark of desperate courage flashed in her eyes, and before he could see what she intended, she dove for her blade. In an instant, she swept up the weapon and trained the point at his throat.
“Put her down!” she yelled at the men. “Put her down right now!”
“Nay!” Kimmie wailed in protest.
“Put her down, or I’ll cut his throat!”
Brandr froze. He probably could have knocked aside the sword with a swing of his splinted arm, but it was risky. He knew better than to come between a mother and her child.
“Avril,” he said, “they mean her no—“
“Quiet!” she barked.
“Woman,” Halfdan said in broken Pictish, “you are one. We are many. Put down your sword.”
Avril was trembling, but her blade didn’t waver an inch. “Nay.”
Ragnarr frowned. “Nay?”
“Nay,” she said. “Put her down, or I’ll kill him.”
Brandr tensed as several of the men clapped hands on their weapons in challenge.
“I mean it,” she bit out. “Put her down, get back on your ship, and sail away from here, or I swear I’ll cut his throat.”
Most of the men figured she was bluffing. Maidens didn’t kill people, especially Northmen who were double their size. Unintimidated by her threat, Halfdan drew his sword. And when Ragnarr unfolded his arms, he was holding twin axes. Disaster loomed. Brandr had to temper things before the tense standoff erupted into an ugly battle.
“Wait!” he shouted. Avril might believe she had leverage, but Brandr had seen his brothers and their men at war. No one opposed them and lived. It was up to him to prevent a violent altercation. “Don’t hurt her!”
“Don’t hurt her?” Halfdan echoed in amazement. “If you hadn’t noticed, she’s the one holding a blade to your throat.”
“She won’t do it,” Brandr said, hoping he was right. “She won’t kill me.”
“That’s right,” Ragnarr said, “because we’ll kill her before she gets the chance.”
“Nay! She…she saved my life.” It wasn’t exactly true, but he didn’t know what would have happened to him if she hadn’t dragged him into her cottage. Probably her neighbor would have found him, killed him, and made a trophy out of him.
“Saved your life?” Halfdan scoffed. “She doesn’t seem too interested in your life now.”
Brandr sigh
ed. Halfdan was right, of course. But if they’d shown up an hour earlier, it would have been a different tale. He would have told them how she’d set his arm, kept him fed, and protected him from a Viking-hunter. And he would have been able to explain to Avril that his brothers meant her no harm, that he meant her no harm.
Now, he could hardly expect her to trust him.
But maybe, now that his brothers were here, now that he was no longer shipwrecked and alone, now that he had a small army at his disposal…
A brilliant idea took form in his mind, and for the first time in a year, he began to think he might not be cursed after all.
To commit to slaying Brandr if it came to that was the most difficult thing Avril had ever done in her life. But her precious daughter was at risk. Nothing was more important than Kimbery—nothing.
“Avril,” Brandr said, “listen to me. You know you don’t want to kill me in cold blood. It’s not the honorable thing to do. And you always do the honorable thing.”
She clamped her lips together. But though her vision grew watery and a tense knot formed in her throat at what she might be forced to do, she held her ground. She realized that when it came to her daughter, Kimbery was more important than honor itself.
“Make them put her down,” she said hoarsely, “or I swear I’ll slay you where you stand.”
He seemed to believe her. “All right.” He said something to his men. They argued back and forth. But in the end, they put away their weapons, muttering in disgust as they did so.
“And Kimmie,” she choked out. “Give me my daughter.”
“Nay!” Kimmie complained. The wayward little sprite tucked her lip under her teeth and held tightly to the man’s head. Kimbery knew she was in trouble for disobeying Avril’s orders and didn’t want to be punished.
But punishment was the last thing on Avril’s mind. All she wanted was to get Kimbery back, safe and sound.
“I didn’t set foot outside the cottage, Mama,” Kimmie said. “I didn’t. The Frost Giants picked me up.”
“Brandr,” Avril demanded, willing her voice to remain steady, “make them put her down.”
He relayed her message. Despite Kimmie’s protests, the man peeled the little girl’s hands from his forehead and lifted her off of his shoulders.
“Come here, Kimmie,” Avril said, her heart in her throat.
Kimbery reluctantly began to saunter over, and for one tiny instant, Avril lost her focus. But in that instant and without warning, Brandr used his arm—the arm Avril had splinted for him—and knocked her sword aside, and then used his good hand to wrench it from her grasp. She was still gasping in dismay when he wrapped his splinted arm around her neck, trapping her against him.
She clawed and kicked at him, but nothing would dislodge the brute’s grip on her. In desperation, she cried, “Run, Kimmie! Run!”
Kimbery might be a willful little girl, but she recognized the alarm in Avril’s voice. Obedient for once, she spun and began tearing across the sand toward home. The men casually watched her go.
Brandr blew out an annoyed breath. “All right,” he said, “we’re all going back to the cottage. Avril, you and I are going to have an althing. Do you remember what that is?”
She wasn’t interested in conversing with him. All she cared about was keeping the men away from Kimbery. She twisted violently in his grip.
He ignored her struggles. “You and I are going to talk things over,” he explained. “Together. Civilly.”
With unflappable calm, he began to haul her, kicking and screaming, along the shore and back to the cottage, with his men in tow. By the time they arrived, she was hoarse and exhausted, but at least she had the satisfaction of knowing she’d put up a fight. She’d been no victim this time. She’d done everything she could to protect herself and her daughter.
“Kimmie!” Brandr called.
“Nay!” Avril yelled.
“Kimmie, come out!”
Kimbery popped her head out of the door.
“Nay!” Avril shrieked. “Stay there.”
“She’ll come to no harm, I promise,” Brandr told her. “The men will watch over her.”
He spoke as if she had a choice. The truth was she was at their mercy. Yet, when she thought about it, Brandr’s men had done Kimmie no harm thus far. They could have kidnapped her when they first discovered her. They could have leveraged her life for Brandr’s. But they hadn’t.
She swallowed hard. “If they lay a finger on her…”
“They won’t. I swear it. She’ll be safe.” One side of his mouth curved up. “She likes them. She thinks they’re Frost Giants.”
His smile of encouragement did little to assuage her fears. And to her dismay, Kimbery ran eagerly toward the man who’d hefted her on his shoulders, wrapping her arms fondly around his knees. With an uneasy spirit and against her better judgment, Avril let Brandr steer her into the cottage.
The instant he closed the door behind them, he let her go. She staggered a step and wheeled on him, ready to fight with her bare hands, if need be.
“Sheathe your claws, kitten,” he said. “I only want to talk.”
She scowled at him, and then, realizing her fists were no match for a sword, lowered her hands.
“I have an idea,” he told her, beginning to pace pensively before the hearth.
She touched her scraped throat, rubbed raw from struggling against his splinted arm. “An idea.” She couldn’t imagine what he meant.
“My brothers and I came to your land, not to invade, but to settle,” he said, gesturing with her sword. “All we want is a place to stay. A home. Land.”
She scowled, only half-listening, wondering if there was any way she could wrest her sword from his grip. She ground out, “I don’t think you’ll all fit in my cottage, if that’s your idea.”
He gave her an indulgent chuckle, and then continued. “Nay, I have a far better plan.” He stopped pacing and arched a brow at her. “How far away is Rivenloch?”
She blinked. “Rivenloch?” What was he thinking?
He smiled at her. It was wicked smile, a scheming smile.
She opened her mouth to speak and then closed it again, once, twice. Could he possibly be considering what she thought he was considering?
“I have an army of Northmen,” he said. “Enough to take back a castle wrongfully seized from its true heir.”
For a moment, she was stunned. But as she looked into his glittering blue eyes, a thrill of hope shot through her. “Are you serious?”
“I am.” His face was grim now, and he suddenly looked every inch a coldhearted, bloodthirsty Viking. “Are you?”
Avril stared at him in wide-eyed wonder. Mere moments ago, she’d been sure her life was over. Now it seemed full of promise beyond her wildest dreams.
Brandr flipped her sword over in his hand and offered it to her, jeweled hilt first. She stared down at it, knowing the final decision was in her hands. He wasn’t just offering her a weapon. He was offering her his sword arm. He was offering her the might of his men. He was offering her her legacy.
Unable to find words to convey her gratitude, she silently took the sword from him. As she gazed down at the glowing gems of the hilt, they winked up at her, as if eager for battle. But after a moment, she propped the weapon against the wall.
There would be time to make war later.
Now, she wanted to make love.
CHAPTER 12
Brandr knew Avril would be pleased with his offer. He didn’t realize just how pleased. Nor did he anticipate how she’d choose to express her pleasure…until she nudged him backward through the doorway of her bedchamber, covering his face with eager kisses.
He shivered as she ran her hands under his shirt and over his chest, and then gasped in pleased surprise as she shoved him back onto the bed. She climbed atop him, lifting his shirt to press her warm lips to his bare flesh. These Pictish women were uncommonly aggressive, he decided. But he definitely could get used to that.
Caught off-guard, he sucked in a quick breath as the blood surged through him. Overcome by an unexpected rush of desire, he squeezed his eyes shut, hardening with astonishing speed at her touch.
She purred with satisfaction as her fingers curved naturally around his firm length, and he echoed the sound with a lusty growl. She slanted her mouth over his, plunging her tongue between his lips, and he instinctively reached up to clasp her face between his hands, deepening the kiss.
Her fingers scrabbled at the ties of his trousers, and he lifted his hips so she could slide them down.
With almost frantic haste, she raised her skirts and positioned herself to take him inside her.
His lust-starved body wanted her. Now. But everything was happening too fast. Though he’d imagined making love to her countless times in the past few days, it had never been like this. He had no time to seduce her, no chance to learn her body—to feast his eyes upon her breasts, to whisper in her ear, to kiss the strange design on her shoulder, to suck gently at her nipples, to part her thighs and fondle the sweet bud that guarded her womanhood.
It was too late to stop now. She seized his wrists and anchored his arms to the bed, forcefully sinking down upon him until he was sheathed to the hilt.
He groaned with pleasure as she had her way with him, riding him like a steed, grinding against his hips with a demanding rhythm that pushed him with reckless speed to the brink of passion.
If it hadn’t been such a long time, if she hadn’t caught him unawares, if he hadn’t been so utterly swept away by his own needs, he would have forced her to slow down. But like a boy trysting for the first time, he was beyond reason and out of control.
Almost before he could draw another breath, the blood began to simmer in his veins. A flash like hot lightning seared his skin. The tide of desire rose in him, raging like a flood, filling him with need, and then bursting free in a quenching rush.
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