Page 74 of The Blue Viking

Ha! Fuming, Maire tried to speak in an undertone, but her words came out harsh and loud. “You had no right, Viking. Who gave you permission to reprimand my child?”

Rurik’s body stiffened, and he inclined his head in surprise. “I thought to do you a favor. You have no husband. The boy needed to be shown now, whilst the misdeed was fresh, that derision is a bad trait for a boy to develop. Dost disagree with that sentiment?”

“You abused my son!”

“I never did!”

“You struck him in anger.”

“I gave him a light tap on the arse with the palm of my hand. He barely felt it.”

“Well… well… who gave you permission to lay a hand on him?”

“I need no permission to do what is right.”

“Begone, Viking! He’s not your son.” The minute the words left her mouth Maire knew she’d made a mistake. Rurik’s head jerked back as if she’d slapped him, and his nostrils flared with barely controlled anger.

Even worse, her clansmen inhaled in one communal gasp. It was one thing to neglect telling a man he had a son, horrible as that might be. It was quite another to actually lie about the fact. How would she ever be able to backtrack from that blatant misstatement?

“I mean… he’s my son. You should have let me manage my own son.”

Rurik’s gaze connected with hers, and she saw both disappointment and fury there. “You’re doing a poor job of it, Maire, if his foul tongue, ofttimes filthy appearance, and now meanness are any indication.”

Oh, Rurik’s words were cruel, cruel daggers to Maire’s soul. And unfair … well, partially unfair. But she could see by the proud jut of his jaw that he would take them back no more than she would hers.

“And I’ll ‘begone’ soon enough, m’lady. That, you can be sure of.”

Maire put her face in her hands and tried to think how best to retract her harsh words. When she glanced up, though, Rurik was gone. And all of her people were looking at her with disapproval. One by one they turned away. Except for Bolthor.

Chortling at some inner mirth, the skald began, “This is the saga of Maire of the Moors.”

Once there was a maiden

Who told a great lie.

Thought she that the truth

No one would e’er buy.

But, alas and alack,

The worst thing about lies,

Is the weaver is oft

Caught in her own alibis.

Then, as an afterthought, Bolthor added some more to his saga:

… And good thing she is not

A Viking man caught in a falsehood,

Because then there would be

Even bigger trouble …

Well, actually, smaller.