Page 83 of Kiss of Wrath

“We will finish this later,” Mordr promised her as he stepped back and retied the belt to her robe.

“Finish what? The discussion?”

“The time for talk is long over.”

She tilted her head to the side in question. “And the time is now for . . . ?”

“Surrender.”

Fourteen

Sweet surrender . . .

It was a day out of time like no other. Being one thousand, one hundred and ninety-five years old, that was saying a lot.

After some initial fumbling and flooding of the pontoon boat’s motor, Mordr had learned to handle the vessel. He’d spent hours cruising the manmade lake, stopping here and there to set the children up for fishing with the rented equipment. It amused him tremendously to find modern folks fishing for entertainment. In his time, Vikings fished for subsistence and found it to be woefully hard work.

The whole time they were riding on the boat, the song “Pontoon” by some band called by the lackwit name of Little Big Town kept blasting out on the sound system. Something about making waves out on the ocean with a catchy refrain, “Mmmmmmm . . . motorboatin’.” Soon all the children, and Miranda, were singing along.

If Mordr heard the expression “Are we there yet?” in the car or the boat, he was thinking about wrapping that wonderful modern invention over each of their mouths. Duct tape.

Sam was, of course, betting that he would catch the biggest fish, and he did—a bass almost as big as he was, which broke his line. An argument ensued over whether a fish actually had to be brought on board to count. Mordr finally had to intervene and threaten to toss both Sam and Ben overboard if they didn’t behave.

On the other hand, what a joy to watch Linda catch her first fish! Not so joyful was her crushed demeanor when she was made to throw the baby crappie back into the water. She’d wanted to bring it home in a bucket and keep it as a pet.

All of the children had been required to wear life vests, something Ben and Sam protested vehemently, claiming to be expert swimmers. Which they were, all of them, actually, but it was a regulation, and it allowed Mordr the freedom of not having to watch their antics every single minute. Like the time Ben fell overboard trying to loosen his fishing hook from some seaweed. Which, of course, prompted Sam to do the same. Before he knew it, five children were in the water, and Mordr had to stop the boat and go back for them.

Mordr couldn’t recall children being so much trouble when he was growing up. But then, he was probably recalling the past through a different prism. Besides, under no circumstances, would he ever recall those as the proverbial “good old days.”

By late afternoon, they’d boated, fished, ate the food Miranda had packed, swam, boated, and fished some more. Now the boat was anchored in a small cove. He was lying, elbows braced, on a blanket on a grassy knoll, watching Miranda scamper about in the shallow waters playing dodgeball with the children, boys against girls.

Laughing, she finally yielded victory to the boys and said she was getting too old for such energetic play. Walking up toward him, she dried her wet hair with a towel, causing a mass of long, damp waves to spring out, framing her sun-warmed face with its newly emerged scattering of freckles. Her jade-green eyes flashed with pleasure at his blatant perusal of her as she sank down beside him, the same green as the one-piece bathing suit she wore, with two thin straps over the shoulders. (By the by, to a Viking, thin straps were just as appealing as bows.) The garment was high on the hips and low on the breasts, hugging her thin frame, leaving little to the imagination. She probably thought to dampen his ardor by wearing such a modest swim outfit, compared to the bikinis many women wore, but he had news for her. She was more enticing for what she hid.

“This was a wonderful idea,” she said, flopping onto her back, arms extended over her head and eyes closed, letting the still-warm sun bake her skin. Modern folks were strange in that way, always wanting to tan their skins, like leather.

He chuckled then.

“What?” She cracked one eye open.

“There is one practice of modern women that I like. Well, several, but in this case, the shaving of armpits.” He glanced pointedly at hers.

Her eyes were both wide open now, and she arched her brows in question.

“My wife was dark-haired, and, whew! She had a virtual forest hanging from her armpits.”

“Thank you for sharing that.” She closed her eyes again, but a small smile curved her lips. She remained silent for several moments before saying, “Thank you.”

“It was my pleasure.”

“Aside from the fun of being out in the sun and water, it’s such a relief just to be away from all the stress back in Vegas.”

“The danger will still be there when we return.”

“Don’t rain on my parade.”

At first he didn’t understand. These modern phrases! “I promise not to rain, if you promise to be careful.”

She nodded. “How much longer do you think this will go on?”