The Shipwreck

by Glynnis Campbell

  But that kiss…that kiss had turned the key in the door and stirred feelings in her she’d forgotten—feelings of tenderness, affection, and hope. And it was a long while before her restless emotions let her drift off to sleep.

  Brandr wandered all night in the land between waking and sleeping. He wasn’t sure what was real and what he dreamed. But now morning had arrived, and his body couldn’t have felt more substantial to him. His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. His eyes were gummed shut. His hands were numb.

  She’d drugged him. He remembered that much. The mead she’d given him had been laced with something that had sent him into a hallucination-riddled oblivion.

  If only it had left him there…

  Sensing someone near, he cracked open one eyelid. In the dim light, he could see the little blonde girl crouched beside him with an empty chamberpot, studying his face.

  “Kimmie!” her mother shouted, startling the child. “Get away from him!”

  The little girl did as she was told, dropping the chamberpot beside him with a loud clank. Then she crossed her arms importantly over her chest and said something she’d probably heard before from her mother. “If you can’t take good care of your pets, you can’t keep them.”

  “He’s not a—,” she said, snagging the little girl’s hand to drag her back. “I told you, Kimmie, he’s a bad man.”

  Brandr opened both eyes now. Even mussed from slumber, the woman was lovely. Tendrils of hair had pulled loose from her braid and framed her face like seaweed draped artfully on a sandy shore. Beneath her kirtle, her rumpled white underdress was untied at the throat, revealing the subtle curve of her bosom. And her sleep-swollen lips…

  He frowned. A strange memory tugged at his brain. Had he…kissed the woman?

  Her fleeting glance and the guilt in her eyes confirmed his suspicion. He had kissed her. But when? And why?

  Her gaze drifted and settled upon his lap, and suddenly he wondered if he’d done more than just kiss her. Had he taken liberties with her that he couldn’t recall?

  “Kimbery,” she said, continuing to stare with discomfiting boldness, “bring Mama her dagger.”

  His breath caught. Her dagger? What did she mean to do? Surely she wouldn’t...cut anything off of him in front of her daughter. Would she? He tried to ask her what she intended, but his mouth was too dry to speak.

  Once she had the dagger in her hand, she approached him, and he drew his legs back defensively.

  “Listen,” she confided softly so her daughter wouldn’t hear. “I’m going to cut your wrists free. But if you try anything, I swear I’ll plunge this dagger into your throat.”

  He looked down at his hands, resting on his lap. No wonder he couldn’t feel them. The ropes were cutting into his swollen wrists, and the fingers of his left hand were blue.

  “Do you understand?” she said, narrowing flinty eyes at him.

  He nodded.

  She sliced him free, and he bit back a groan of pain as sensation suddenly stabbed into his fingers like a thousand agonizing needles. He felt the blood drain from his face as he fought to stay conscious.

  “Kimmie, bring me a cup of water, please.”

  The little girl hurried to comply. Why the woman was showing him mercy, he didn’t know. Perhaps it was only that she didn’t want his death on her conscience. But he gladly accepted the water as she tipped the cup back for him, coughing as he drank too swiftly.

  Whether she would have actually slit his throat in front of the little girl, he didn’t know, but he wasn’t about to put her to the test.

  “Kimbery,” she called over her shoulder, her blade resting against his neck. “I need you to wait in bed until I call you.”

  “But, Mama, I want to help, too.”

  “Not yet. In a moment.”

  Brandr didn’t like the sound of that. What did the woman want to do that she didn’t want her daughter to see?

  “Promise?” the little girl asked.

  “I promise. Now wait there till I call you.”

  The lass skipped off, and Brandr was left alone with the woman.

  She stared at her blade where it contacted his throat, muttering irritably to herself. “I should just let you go on suffering. God knows you would have shown me no mercy.” She glanced down at his misshapen arm. “If I do this for you,” she said, sighing, “if I put you out of your misery—“

  By Odin, she meant to kill him! His warrior instincts took over, and despite her menacing blade, despite the wrenching pain in his arms, with the last of his strength, he reached up with his good hand and roughly seized her wrist, giving it a sharp flick and sending the dagger clattering across the floor.

  For an instant, their eyes met, and he saw true panic there as he gained the upper hand. But his advantage was short-lived. In the next breath, she drove her free fist forward and punched him hard in the nose.

  CHAPTER 4

  The Viking instantly lost his grip on her, and Avril tumbled back onto her hindquarters, cradling her bruised knuckles. What was wrong with the man? Hadn’t she said she was going to put him out of his misery? The ungrateful wretch!

  He was subdued now, and blood dripped from one nostril. She hadn’t hit him hard enough to break his nose. Indeed, she hadn’t knocked him out, only stunned him. She’d have to work quickly before he took it into his head to fight off her good intentions again.

  She carefully moved his injured arm flat on his lap and pushed up his sleeve to examine it. The bone looked fairly straight, though it was hard to tell from the swelling. She ran her fingertips gently and swiftly along the edges of his forearm to check for breaks.

  Nothing poked through the flesh, so it wasn’t too serious. But halfway between his elbow and his wrist, there was a bulge where the bone had cracked and slipped sideways. She’d have to pull it and put it back into alignment.

  Why she was showing him any kindness, she didn’t know. Maybe it was because he’d lost his wife and children. Maybe it was because he was alone, abandoned, a castaway like her. Maybe it was the way he’d kissed her last night.

  He was coming around again, sniffing back the blood trickling from his nose. She’d have to move fast. Seizing his thick wrist in both her hands, she thrust her foot against the inside of his elbow and pulled hard.

  He bellowed, but he must have understood what she was doing. His right hand was free, and he could have flattened her with one punch. Instead, he pounded the floor with his fist.

  She let go of him then and backed away. She wasn’t sure what black words he spat out, for they were in his own tongue. But the rafters rang with his curses, and Kimbery couldn’t resist the urge to peek around the corner at the great roaring beast.

  “Mama, what are you—“

  “Go!” they shouted simultaneously, and Kimbery disappeared at once.

  The Northman was huffing like a wounded wolf now, and she realized he was just as dangerous. She’d set his arm. And now he might well be able to use it.

  She armed herself with the fireplace poker, ready to jab him at a moment’s notice. But he didn’t seem inclined to aggression. His legs were bound. His upper arms were secure. The leash was still in place. He couldn’t go anywhere.

  “The break should heal properly now, but you’ll need a splint. Move,” she said, showing him the poker, “and I’ll break your other arm.”

  Luckily she had a choice selection of driftwood just outside. Leaving the door open, she ducked out, quickly chose two fairly straight sticks, and brought them in, thinking all the while she must be mad. Mending a Viking invader made as much sense as sewing up a deer she’d shot for supper.

  She rummaged in the small chest at the hearth and found a linen underdress that had grown too small for Kimbery. She ripped it into strips to use for binding. “Do I need to give you opium again to keep you calm?”

  “Nay,” he growled.

  She still didn’t trust him. “Then heed me well, Northman. Make one false move, and I’ll unset your
arm again as fast as I set it.”

  He let her splint his arm, but it proved almost as much an ordeal for her as it was for him. It felt wrong, touching him. His arm looked foreign and forbidding with its massive muscle and sprinkling of light golden hair. His tawny skin was hot beneath her fingers, as if it radiated sunlight, and her own flesh grew warm from the contact. She was close enough to feel his breath, and her pulse quickened as she remembered the pleasant sensation of his lips on hers. The kiss had been so unexpectedly gentle coming from a brutal Northman.

  But she couldn’t afford to be gulled by his tenderness. Besides, he looked anything but tender today. An angry furrow lodged between his brows. The corners of his mouth turned down. And his hands looked enormous and threatening beside hers. A man like him could grasp her neck in one fist and squeeze the life out of her before she could blink.

  Fortunately, he didn’t.

  She managed to tie off the splint and then bound his wrists together again with rope. Satisfied with her work, she backed away, eager to create some distance between her and the man who was disrupting her heartbeat.

  Keeping her hands occupied was easy. There were always plenty of chores to be done. She’d gathered seaweed yesterday to make a soup, and now she stood at the table with her wooden block, chopping the ruffled red strands into small pieces. Keeping her mind occupied, however, was almost impossible, especially when she felt the Viking’s silent gaze on her like the intent stare of a stalking wolf.

  After several unnerving moments, he finally spoke. “No chains can hold me forever, woman.”

  She continued chopping. She worried he was right, but she certainly wasn’t about to let him know that.

  He continued, “Have you not heard the story of Fenrir?”

  She gave him a disinterested sniff.

  Which he ignored. “Fenrir, the fearsome son of Loki. They tried to keep him chained. Shall I tell you what happened?”

  She refused to look at him. “Nay. I have no wish to hear—”

  “Tell me! Tell me!” Kimmie suddenly cried from the doorway. “I want to hear a story!”

  “Hush!” Avril hissed. “I don’t want you going anywhere near him, Kimbery.”

  “I won’t go near him, Mama. I promise. Please?”

  “Nay. I don’t even want him speaking to you.”

  “But why?” she whined.

  He answered before she could open her mouth. “Your mother is afraid I may turn you into a Viking.”

  “Oh,” Kimmie said.

  Avril let out an exasperated breath, slammed down her knife, and glowered at him. “That’s not true.”

  “But Mama, I’m already half Viking,” she said happily, skipping over to Avril.

  Avril bit the inside of her cheek. She usually tried to forget about that half. Despite Kimbery’s ice blonde hair and periwinkle blue eyes, she thought of her daughter as a sweet little Pict lass.

  “Please, Mama,” she wheedled, tugging on Avril’s skirts, “I’ll be good, I promise.”

  “You’ll be good,” Avril said, picking up her knife and pointing it toward the Northman. “He, however, is not so well-behaved.”

  “What do you expect I’ll do?” he muttered, pointedly twisting his neck in the collar, “Pierce her with my gaze?”

  Avril thought he was doing a fairly good job of that already. She felt the touch of his frosty glare like the stabbing of winter sleet.

  But he was right. For all intents and purposes, he was helpless. He couldn’t harm Kimbery with mere words. Besides, it would be useful to have the wee lass entertained while Avril tended to her chores. She’d heard Viking sagas were notoriously lengthy and convoluted, which would keep Kimmie out from under her feet for a while.

  Still, she couldn’t allow the Northman anywhere near her daughter. He might not be able to escape, but he could do serious damage to a little girl who wandered too close.

  “I won’t hurt her,” he said. “I swear.”

  Surely he didn’t expect her to trust him. A Viking’s oath wasn’t worth shite. “That’s right. You won’t. Because if you lay a finger on her, I’ll carve you up with this knife.”

  “Please, Mama?” Kimbery pursed her lips.

  Avril sighed. She shook her head, still not sure it was a good idea. “You swear on your honor, Kimbery, that you’ll stay where I put you?”

  “On my honor,” she said, clapping a hand to her chest.

  Avril put down her knife and wiped her palms on her apron. She took Kimmie by the hand and walked her to a spot near the hearth, opposite the Viking. “Stay here. And you,” she said, stabbing a finger toward her captive. “Don’t even cast your ‘piercing gaze’ on my daughter or I’ll gouge out your eyes.”

  She didn’t need to tell him that. He wasn’t going to look at her precious Kimbery. His piercing gaze was reserved for the cursed wench who’d clubbed him on the head, dragged him up the beach, tethered him like a rogue hound, and punched him in the nose. He might be telling the tale of Fenrir to her daughter, but his glare and the story were meant for her.

  “Long ago,” he began, staring intently at the woman’s back while she chopped seaweed, “Fenrir, one of Loki’s three sons—“

  “Who’s Loki?” Kimmie asked.

  “Loki is the brother of Thor.”

  “Who’s Thor?”

  “Thor is the son of Odin.”

  “Who’s Odin?”

  Brandr sighed. The little girl apparently knew nothing about her Viking bloodline and history. It was tempting to recite the entire lineage of the gods, an ordeal that could take hours, but his own children had always fallen asleep before he could get past the fifth generation. He settled for telling her, “Odin is a god. They’re all gods. And Loki, the son of Odin and the god of fire, was always causing trouble.”

  “Mama says I’m always causing trouble,” Kimbery told him.

  “Well, not this kind of trouble,” he said. “Loki lied and cheated and tricked the other gods.”

  “He had no honor?”

  “Aye, that’s right. He had no honor. He did, however, have three sons, creatures he’d raised up to be terrible monsters. One was a great serpent.” Brandr hissed like a snake, making the little girl shiver in delighted revulsion. The woman ignored his antics.

  “Odin cast him into the sea, where he grew so fast that his body coiled around the whole world and his tail grew into his mouth.”

  The little girl gasped with wonder. Her mother continued chopping.

  “The second monster Odin imprisoned in Niflheim, a land where the sun never shines and it’s always dark.”

  “I’m not afraid of the dark,” Kimbery boasted.

  “That’s good.”

  “What about the third monster?”

  “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.”