Page 5 of The Shipwreck
He didn’t find out until it was too late.As she started sawing at the kelp bonds around his wrists, she wrenched his broken arm, and the pain was so severe that he blacked out.
When Brandr awoke again, he was bound in a leather collar and leashed tightly by his neck through an iron ring attached to the wall.His sealskin cloak was missing, leaving him sitting in his tunic, trousers, and boots.His bound legs stretched nearly to the hearth, his arms were secured to his sides by a rope around his midsection, and his wrists were tied before him.
Fury surged through his veins.By Thor!He’d come here to conquer, not to be conquered.How could he have wound up a prisoner—the prisoner of a woman?
While his rage simmered, he perused the room through narrowed eyelids.His cloak had been hung on a peg near the fire.And his captors supped at a table across the chamber, unaware that he’d roused.
He could see why the little girl thought he was her father.They shared the same blond hair.The girl was younger than his daughter, but in her dust-colored kirtle and bare feet, she reminded him of Asta.
Though he hated to admit it, the mother was breathtaking.Her hair, an intoxicating color of golden mead and ruby wine combined, hung in thick waves down her back, and her skin was as golden and radiant as flame.Her face was artfully sculpted, with generous lips and finely arched brows, and her snugly-laced, faded blue kirtle revealed pleasing womanly curves.
But this was the same lovely temptress who’d clubbed him, dragged him home, and tied him up like a dog.He wasn’t about to be fooled by her pretty face.
He studied the stone cottage, which was well-kept and welcoming.Its curious furnishings appeared to be made mostly of scavenge from the sea.Odd pieces of driftwood were fitted together to form stools, and candles were set in holders made of mussel shells.A bit of fishing net tacked onto one wall held hair combs carved out of abalone, and on a shelf fashioned out of an oar sat an assortment of clamshell bowls and dishes.A fishing pole and a net were propped against the hearth.But it was what was leaned against the corner that interested him most.
It was a nobleman’s sword, a magnificent blade.Its pommel was set with gems, the grip was wrapped in seasoned leather, and the guard was carved with designs that intersected, weaving complex knots.The sword looked well cared for.The steel was highly polished, the edge keen.He wondered where the man who owned the weapon was.
“Mama,” the little girl said, picking up her clamshell bowl, “my da wants some, too.”
“He’s not your da, Kimmie, and he’s not even…” She ended on a gasp as she glanced his way.
It was too late to feign sleep.
She rose suddenly, knocking over her stool.“Awake.”
“He’s hungry, Mama.”
Brandr swallowed, and his throat clicked.He didn’t feel like eating, but he was as parched as winter tundra.
The little girl started toward him with her bowl, but her mother hauled her back.
“Listen to me,” she said sternly.“He isnotyour da.He’s a bad man, averybad man.Promise me you won’t go near him.”
“But—”
“Promise me, Kimbery.”
Kimbery sighed unhappily and put her bowl back on the table.“I promise.”
A very bad man.Brandr supposed he was that.After all, a good man would never have deserted his wife and children to go a-Viking.
Avril righted her overturned stool.Then she picked up Kimbery and sat her atop it.“You stay here.”
She straightened and took a steadying breath.The Northman looked much more menacing now that he was awake.She’d already decided he was astonishingly handsome, but his fierce frown made him look dangerous as well.She glanced at the hound collar and leash, hoping they’d hold.She’d managed to keep their great wolfhound, Finn, at heel on that leash until he’d died last year.But the man probably outweighed the hound three times over.And she’d seen, once she removed his cloak, that he was all muscle and bone.She shivered at the thought of all that male strength.
Still, if her father had taught her one thing, it was never to show fear to the enemy.So she raised her chin and confronted him with a stern scowl.“You.Can you understand me?”
He glowered at her through the strands of his hair, but didn’t reply.
“Your ship.”She pounded one fist into her palm, then exploded her fingers outward to indicate a crash.“How many men were on board?”
He continued to glare at her.
She counted on her fingers.“How many?”
He could understand her.She knew he could.Hell, even Kimbery could understand what she was asking.But he stubbornly refused to answer.
She narrowed her eyes at him.“Damned Viking,” she sneered, biting out a word he’d surely recognize.
