Page 32 of Kiss of Wrath

“Uh, no! I think I would remember that. But I don’t care if they’re made of bubble gum. No swords, big boy.”

Big boy? Does she mean me? “Sarcasm is not an admirable quality in a woman,” he pointed out.

She breathed deeply, in and out, as if he were trying her patience.

Which caused her small breasts to press against the tightness of her shirt. He noticed that the nipples were prominent under the stretchy material, which compensated for her flat chest, he supposed, though it would take a lot to compensate for that red hair. He would wager his best sword that she was red down below, too.

A shot of lust hit him again, like a sharpshooter’s bullet to his groin. Erotic tingles radiated out from his ballocks to all his extremities.

This had to stop. He shook his head like yon wet, shaggy dog to clear his brain and other body parts.

While his mind had been wandering to places it hadn’t been in centuries, she had been reprimanding the boys, ending with “I want you boys to go in the house and take a shower,” then quickly added, “one at a time. Then, you will go to your bedrooms and do your homework. After dinner, we will decide what to do about your behavior today.”

Once the children were gone, Miranda turned on him. “Darla and I have some questions for you.” Hands on hips, she tapped a foot impatiently, just as Owl Girl—Maggie—had done earlier.

“Darla of the broken window and long-handled brush weapon?”

“Darla of the pistol that she is even now filling with bullets, one of which has your name on it, if we find out you’re a crony of Roger’s. I made her stay inside to wait for us because the mood she’s in, she might just shoot off those fool braids of yours.”

“I thought you liked my braids.”

“Don’t try to distract me.”

“Who is Roger?”

She darted a quick glance at him to see if he was being honest. “The children’s father.”

“I thought he was in prison.”

“You know an awful lot about us. How did you know Roger was in prison?”

“Child chatter.”

“Did they also mention that he is out or about to be released?”

“Yes. Do you know when?”

“No, I’m not sure.”

Another woman, Darla, he presumed from the pistol dangling from one hand, stuck her head out the kitchen door and yelled, “Either you come in here, or I’m coming out there.”

He agreed and followed Miranda into the house, not because he was afraid of the short woman with a ferocious frown, waving a gun, but because it was past time he found out exactly why Mike had sent him here. He observed, with typical male irrelevance, that Darla was shorter, plumper, bigger-breasted, rounder-rumped, with black, not red hair. For his sins, Mordr did not feel one tiny bit of lust.

Suddenly, he noticed a most pleasing fragrance wafting back at him from Miranda. Faintly floral. Familiar. Ah, he recalled now the scent of the flowers Alex had shown him in her garden last summer. As if he cared a whit about flowers! Lilies, they were called. It must be her perfume, he decided.

As they walked through the kitchen, he saw Maggie washing dishes in the sink. She pushed her glasses up her little nose when she saw him. He winked at her, a sign of assurance. Why he did that, he had no idea. She just blinked in acknowledgment, then smiled. And it was a wondrous smile that transformed her plain face.

The little one, Linda, was wiping the now clear table with a wet sponge. She gave him a toothless smile. All he could do in return was nod his head, his heart was racing so fast.

As a result of his distraction, he almost ran into Miranda’s back as she slowed and entered the door of a room off the corridor. Not the formal parlor he’d seen on first entering the house, nor the dining room, which had been converted to a family room with low sofas and a flat-screen TV. He knew all about flat-screen TVs. They had what Vikar called “the biggest, badass, flat-screen TV in the universe” back at the castle in Pennsylvania. This one of course measured about a tenth that one’s size. No, this was a home office, complete with desk, floor-to-ceiling shelves lined with books, a Persian rug, and two armed chairs.

Miranda sat behind the desk, while he and Darla sat in the opposing chairs in front of the desk. He stretched out his long legs and crossed them at the ankles.

Darla, who still had the pistol in hand, barked out, “Are you carrying, buddy?”

He looked pointedly at his open hands.

“You know what I mean,” Darla insisted.