strength.”
“What’s an island?”
He frowned. The little girl lived on an island. Didn’t she know that? “Land surrounded by water.”
“Like my house?”
“Aye.”
“Nay,” the woman countered, “it isn’t the same, Kimmie. We only live beside the ocean.”
“You live on an island,” he told her.
“We do not,” the woman said, turning to him with a scowl.
“It’s a large island, to be sure, but—“
“We don’t live on an island.”
He arched a brow in challenge. “Really? How do you know? Have you ever sailed the seas?”
The woman gave him an affronted sniff and turned back to her work, clearly upset by this revelation.
Avril was positive the Viking was wrong. She’d traveled for days—north, south, and west—and never run into the sea. But the marauders of the North sailed great distances. If anyone knew the oceans, it was a Northman. The idea that she might live on an island was disconcerting. The idea that he knew her home better than she did troubled her greatly.
“Then what happened?” Kimmie asked. “Then what?”
“The gods brought out the chain, and they all tried to break it, but none could do it, not even Thor, who said it was so strong that surely only Fenrir could break it. Fenrir was too proud to refuse their challenge. He allowed them to place the chain around his neck on one condition—that one of the gods put his right hand in Fenrir’s mouth while they did so as an act of faith, to prove they didn’t mean to imprison him.”
Kimbery gasped.
“The gods, of course, did mean to imprison him, so no one wanted to put a hand in Fenrir’s mouth. But loyal Tyr stepped bravely forward and placed his hand between the wolf’s sharp teeth. They put the chain around Fenrir’s neck, and Fenrir tried to break it, but the more he lunged, the tighter the chain became. When he found he couldn’t get free, he snapped his jaws in anger and bit off Tyr’s hand.”
“Oh, nay!” Kimbery cried.
Avril turned to address her daughter. “Which is why, Kimmie, we don’t go near dangerous chained beasts.” She lifted a smug brow at him.
He returned a smug brow and replied, “Which is why we shouldn’t keep ‘dangerous beasts’ chained.”
“Did Tyr die?” Kimmie asked.
“Nay, he didn’t die,” the man said. “He became a hero in Asgard because of his bravery.”
“Mama, I want to go to Asgard.”
Avril gave the Viking a long-suffering glower. He smiled in return.
“Kimmie,” she said, “come help me wash the sloke.”
Kimbery skipped over and plopped down on her stool while Avril brought her a bucket of fresh water. The little girl pushed up her sleeves and thrust her arms into the water, stirring vigorously as Avril dumped the chopped seaweed into the bucket.
The Viking’s story had been completely absurd, of course. There was no such place as Asgard, no god with a hammer, no dwarves who forged magical chains. Still, the tale had been entertaining enough, and it had kept Kimmie occupied.
The man had been right about one thing, however. Avril did harbor the fear that Kimbery’s Viking blood might be stirred to life one day, that she would become enthralled by the mysterious world of her Viking father, and that Avril would somehow lose her Pictish daughter to the marauders of the North.
She could feel the Viking’s ice-blue eyes on her as she coaxed the fire to life and added more wood. His attention was quite disturbing. But then there wasn’t much else for him to look at, she supposed. She was tempted to blindfold him, but that seemed unnecessarily cruel. If only he wouldn’t watch her every move...
“That’s good, Kimmie. We’ll put it on to boil now and go milk Caimbeul.”
It could do no harm to leave the Viking alone at this point. He seemed adequately trussed up. They’d be gone only a short while, long enough to milk the ewe and turn her into the