Page 29 of Kiss of Wrath

“It’s okay, sweetie,” Miranda soothed Linda. She would have a talk with her and all the other children later about the dangers they faced, being careful not to paint Roger as too much of a villain. He was still their father, after all.

Still, the fact that Roger had discovered her new, private number was chilling. He might have pretended that he was calling to talk to one of his kids, but he was making a point loud and clear. To Miranda. He was out there and coming.

So, it is starting already, Miranda thought as a shiver of dread swept over her. She raised her eyes and noticed the big man staring at her with questions in his startling blue eyes. He knew, or at least sensed, that there was some danger. Then, with a strangeness that was remarkable in this day of strangeness, he nodded to himself and said, “Ahhh, that is why I have been sent here. Some danger is threatening you, is it not?”

She nodded, hesitantly.

“You need not fear, m’lady. I am here to protect you.”

Six

Take this job and love it! . . .

Mordr stood in the backyard on a patch where there was still dry grass, not mud and muck. With a hand on one hip and hose in the other, he was watering down the mudlings, the whole time lecturing them sternly. In the old days, he would have just tossed the errant youthlings in the fjord until they learned their lessons or were clean, or both. Today, this misguided society would deem that child abuse.

At first, the boys had protested and tried to run from him, but once he’d convinced them that he meant business by picking them up by the scruffs of their filthy necks, they stood still and let him hose off the layers of mud that had already started to cake in the hot sun. Even the dog sat at attention, tongue lolling, while Mordr sprayed his fur.

“What are your names?” Mordr growled out. I am going to have a thing or ten to say to Mike next time I see him. Putting me, who has avoided children for centuries, in the midst of not one or two but five of the little ones . . . it is barbaric, that is what it is.

Mordr could swear he heard a voice in his head say, Get over yourself!

“My name is Ben,” said Blue Shirt. “I’m eight, and I’m the oldest boy.”

“Sam,” said Red Shirt. He was identical in appearance to Ben except for a small mole beside his left eye, Mordr made note for future reference. “And don’t pay any attention to Ben. He’s only five minutes older than me.” He elbowed his brother, and his brother elbowed him back.

Mordr narrowed his eyes at the two of them, hosed both their fool heads, and told them, “Behave yourselves lest you raise my ire. I have not been around children for a good while and I am not in the mood for misbehavior.” The two boys, water streaming down their faces from their plastered hair, went back to standing erect, elbows to themselves, for the moment.

Last came the little one . . . the one who resembled his beloved Jomar. Except for the freckles. Jomar hadn’t had freckles, as far as Mordr could recall, although Mordr had rarely been home in the summertime. Too busy a-Viking. So, the sun spots might have popped out then and faded by winter. Even so, the little boyling was very like Jomar in age and height, except for the blond hair. Jomar’s had been black. . . . Oh, please God, let there not be dimples when he smiles so innocently at me.

The little boy hitched up his wet shorts, which hung precariously on his tiny hips, and smiled up at him. Yes, to Mordr’s dismay, there were dimples, but only on one side. One saving grace, at least. “I’m Larry. But you can call me Lar.” He sounded out the nickname to sound like lair, as in bear’s lair.

The dog barked then, and Larry patted its wet fur, which smelled rank. “This is Ruff,” Larry said.

Mordr arched a brow. “Rough? Because he is rough with you children?” Mordr had witnessed on more than one occasion the bodily damage a vicious dog could do, especially to small persons.

They all laughed.

Mordr frowned, seeing no humor in his question.

“Not that kind of rough,” Ben explained. “More like ruff, ruff!”

Ruff flashed Mordr a doggie grin and barked, “Ruff, ruff!”

The boys chimed in and they produced a chorus of “ruffs.”

They are too frivolous, by half. I will go mad if I have to stay here for long.

He turned off the hose and told the children, “We are going to clean up this yard. Sam, roll up the hose. And do not turn the water on again, if you value your life. Larry, pick up all the shoes and socks lying about and put them on a pile by the door. Ben, come with me to see what damage was done by that grill.” He paused, then gave each of them a dark look, “If one of you dares step in that mud again, you will find yourselves hanging from a tree, bare naked, with red bottoms.”

Jaws dropped on three little faces at that picture.

“We don’t have a big enough tree,” Sam pointed out.

“That is irrelevant,” Mordr said.

“Red bottoms? You mean, like Rudolph the Reindeer has a red nose, we’ll have red asses,” Ben had the nerve to say. It was clear to Mordr that this boy was the hersir of this small hird. A ringleader. What he did or said, the others followed. Much like my Kata.

Mordr sighed. No, he could not think of that now. No, no, no!