Page 7 of The Shipwreck
The woman spoke between clenched teeth.“Once and for all, Kimbery, he isnot—”
“Your mother’s right,” Brandr interjected.“I’m not your da.I’m a bad man, averybad man, and you should stay away.”
Avril’s jaw dropped.Damn the Viking!He did speak her language, which meant he could understand her perfectly well.“You!”she spat in annoyance, at a loss for words.“You…stop speaking to my daughter.”
He did.But his compliance didn’t keep her from feeling suddenly threatened.She didn’t know why.After all, he was bound, injured, and at her mercy.Still, that he’d been able to deceive her troubled her greatly.And the fact he was warning Kimbery away didn’t fit with her assessment of him as a depraved killer.His manner—part devious, part disarming—was definitely unnerving.And she hated to be unnerved.
“Kimmie,” she said over her shoulder, “go to bed.”
“But I’m not sleepy.”
“Go to bed.Now.”
Kimbery stuck out her bottom lip, and then flounced off the stool and stomped off, whimpering under her breath.
Avril took a moment to compose herself, and then turned to him, crossing her arms over her chest.“I want some answers, and I want them—”
“Twenty.”
“What?”
“Twenty.”At her furrowed brow, he added, “You asked how many men were aboard my ship.”
She swallowed hard.The berserkers had had at least twice that number.Still, twenty was nineteen more men than she could handle at the moment.
“Where were you headed?”
He shrugged.
“You don’t know?”That she didn’t believe.The Northmen were notoriously good navigators.
“I didn’t care.”
His words chilled her.But she supposed she should have expected as much.Barbarians like him scoured the seas, wreaking havoc wherever they landed, unmindful of the devastation they left behind, the people they killed, the lives they destroyed.
“I’d wager you care now,” she said with grim threat.“You made a grave error, Viking, landing on my shore.”
The doubtful arch of his brow was admittedly subtle.But Avril recognized scorn when she saw it.Men had always questioned her strength, her judgment, and her skill with a blade.At one time, it had infuriated her.Five years ago, she might have succumbed to the impulse to draw her sword to show him just how capable she was.
But she’d learned to rein in her temper.The last time she’d drawn a blade impulsively, she’d wound up at the mercy of a berserker.She wouldn’t let it happen again.Besides, what satisfaction could be derived from turning a sword on a helpless captive?
He was staring at her again with his penetrating eyes.She didn’t think she’d ever seen eyes so blue—as blue as a summer sky, nay, a robin’s egg.Rattled, she turned aside to add another log to the fire.
“I think your arm is broken,” she mumbled.Why she’d told him that, she didn’t know.After all, it didn’t matter.She wasn’t about to fix it for him.
“It’s a wonder my head isn’t broken,” he said with a humorless smirk.
She blushed at the reminder of her unchivalrous blow and picked up the poker again, eager to change the subject.“How is it you know my language?”
“I learned it from a Pict slave.”
She clenched her teeth.A slave?She jabbed at the glowing coals, but refused to rise to the bait.Maybe she should turnhiminto a slave.
As if he’d read her mind, he asked, “What do you intend to do with me?”
She’d been asking herself that same question all morning.For the moment, she’d hold him hostage.If any of his men turned up alive, she might be able to bargain for her safety with his life.But she wasn’t sure there were survivors.Even if there were, there was no telling whether he was of any value to them.The Northmen didn’t seem to have the same regard for life as her people did.
“I haven’t decided yet,” she said.
