The Shipwreck by Glynnis Campbell

children.  Most of the time that regret manifested as a righteous thirst for justice and a determination to get back what belonged to her.  But sometimes, like this morn, a melancholy pining welled up in her, and she ached for what she couldn’t have.
    She definitely couldn’t have Brandr.  There was no question about that.  He might have felt right in her arms.  His kiss might have been sweet and tempting.  His hands might have touched her with the deceptive devotion of a lover.  But he was her enemy.
    Barbarians like him had invaded her land for decades now.  They’d razed her villages, stolen her coin, slaughtered her people.  One of them had killed her father and raped her.  They were brutal, ruthless savages, and they were beyond reason.
    Why then was it so impossible to imagine the whispering Viking in the next room wielding an axe and charging unarmed Pictish children?
    Kimbery giggled again, and this time she was joined by the Northman.  His laugh was deep and warm, and it sent delicious shivers along Avril’s arms.
    She swallowed hard and opened her eyes to stare at the ceiling.
    What in God’s name was she going to do with Brandr?
    She couldn’t turn him in.  She didn’t have the heart to deliver him into the hands of an angry mob.  Hell, she’d already proven that—hiding him from the man who’d come yesterday.
    But she couldn’t let him go either.  If anything happened to her neighbors because she’d set a Viking loose, she’d never be able to live with herself.
    And she couldn’t keep him tied up forever.  She might be a formidable foe, but she wasn’t inhumane.
    In the midst of agonizing over what to do with the Northman, she heard Kimbery’s giggles interrupted abruptly by a low thud, a silent pause, and then a thin wail.
    Avril’s heart stopped.  Fearing the worst, she thrashed to get free of the tangle of sheets.  Cursing her own clumsiness as Kimbery’s voice rose to a piercing cry, Avril tripped beside the bed, landing on one knee, her foot still caught in the linens.
    What had he done to her?  What had that damned Viking done to her little girl?
    Fear sucked her mouth dry.  It seemed to take forever before she finally managed to get free of the bedclothes and shot to her feet.
    She’d kill him!  She’d kill the bastard for making her daughter cry.
    Desperate to reach Kimbery, she rushed forward, tripping over Kimbery’s cloth doll on the floor and catching herself as she slammed against the bedchamber wall.
    At last stumbling through the doorway, she froze at the sight, her eyes wide.
    Kimbery was sobbing on Brandr’s shoulder, and his head was inclined toward hers as he murmured soothing words against her hair.
    The protective mother in Avril wanted to snatch Kimbery away at once.
    But before she had a chance to move, Brandr met her gaze over Kimbery’s head, and she instantly saw the truth in his compassionate eyes.  He hadn’t hurt Kimbery.  She’d hurt herself.  And she’d run to him for comfort.
    Avril didn’t know what to think.  Kimbery had been far too trusting of the Northman, sharing her doll with him, drawing pictures of him, listening to his stories, calling him Da.  And yet sometimes children had an instinct for people.  Sometimes they could tell who was good and who was bad.
    She stood at the doorway, watching them in tense silence.
    Kimbery’s sobbing subsided to sniffles, and she lifted her head to look at Brandr.  “Is it bleeding?”
    He narrowed his eyes, studying her brow.  “A bit.”
    Kimbery touched the place and drew her fingers away, whimpering at the sight of the blood on her fingertips.
    “It should make a fine scar,” he assured her.  “All great warriors have battle scars.”
    She stopped crying.  “They do?”
    “Aye.”
    “Do you have a scar?”
    “Oh, aye, lots of them.”
    “Where?”
    “There’s one here, under my chin.”  He lifted his chin for her to see, though it was covered with stubble.  Then he