Her Reaper's Arms (21 page)

back of the swing, one bare foot braced on the seat as he idly pushed at the floor with

his other.

“I’ve never seen a man what likes to go barefoot as much as you,” Cornelia said as

she sat down in her rocker and lit the only pipe she enjoyed after a hard day’s work.

“Why is that, milord?”

Penthe sat in the other rocker, though the chair was motionless beneath her. She

frowned when the black woman lit the pipe. “Such things are not good for your lungs,”

she commented.

“Ain’t good for me, I know,” Cornelia said, taking a deep draw on the tobacco, “but

it’s good to me, girl.” She turned back to Bevyn. “You gonna tell me why you don’t like

to keep your boots on, son?”

Bevyn’s right hand was sliding up and down the swing’s chain. “I guess because

one of the punishments I had as a novice was to have my feet bound so I couldn’t walk.

I hated it because I was forced to crawl on my knees—which was the whole purpose of

a punishment meant to humble the wrongdoer.”

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“Did it hurt?” Lea asked. She had her right hand resting on his thigh and was

enjoying the feel of the hard muscles bunching as he pushed the swing.

“Aye, it hurt,” Bevyn said. “Most of the time now I can’t even stand to have on

socks because of it.”

“When I was a novitiate in the Order of the Blackwinds, one of the rites of initiation

was to have the bottoms of your bare feet struck with bamboo rods until they bled,”

Penthe said.

“The purpose being…?” Cornelia asked as she puffed away, clouds of fragrant

smoke billowing above her.

“It was threefold actually,” Penthe said. “The first was to see how much pain a

novitiate could take before showing it. The second was to see how well she handled that

pain and the third was to remind you to be very careful where you tread.” She

scratched her cheek. “If the novitiate cried out, if one tear fell, she was cast out of the

Order in disgrace.”

“I take it you didn’t cry,” Lea said.

“I never cry, wench,” Penthe said with a snort.

A cool breeze shot through the porch a moment before lightning streaked across the

night sky followed a few seconds later by a low rumble of thunder.

“Well now, that’s a right beautiful sound and we sure do need rain something

fierce,” Cornelia said. “Can’t work on your roof in the rain though.”

“No, I suppose we can’t” Bevyn replied. “I was hoping to get a lot done before we

have to leave.”

“When is it we’ll be going to the Citadel?” Penthe asked.

Lea pursed her lips. She was very unhappy with the tall woman accompanying

them—and for more reasons than having to share her unwanted companionship.

Hearing the woman using the word
we
just made Lea that much angrier.

“Three days,” Bevyn answered. “I’d hoped to have the house framed before I left so

Nate and his crew could have it finished inside before we got back.”

“How long you reckon on being gone?” Cornelia asked.

“At least two weeks,” Bevyn said. “Maybe longer.”

“I may stay there,” Penthe suggested.

“With any luck at all you will,” Lea mumbled under her breath.

Bevyn heard his lady and nudged her with his thigh. When she glanced at him, he

winked at her.

“How many Reapers are there at that place?” Cornelia asked.

“There are seven of us but the only one who pretty much uses the Citadel as his

base is our Prime—Arawn Gehdrin,” Bevyn answered. “The others are out in their

territories much of the time. We’re only called in for important matters or to be

punished.”

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“Is that why you are going there?” Penthe asked. “To have your hands slapped for

something you did wrong, Reaper?”

“That’s none of your business,” Lea snapped.

Penthe grinned. “Never mind, Reaper. I have my answer.”

Bevyn was tired and his body was aching from all the climbing about the rafters.

He leaned against Lea and told her he would be sleeping in the stable that night.

“What are you talking about?” Lea gasped. “Why would you be sleeping in the

stable when you have a perfectly good room here?”

“Penthe needs a room, Lea,” Cornelia said, “so your man offered his. He’s taking

himself to the stable.”

“I don’t need a room,” Penthe said. “The stable would be just as good for me.”

“Aye, but I called it first,” Bevyn said. “And since Miss Cornelia won’t let us

cohabit in her house…”

“I’ll be sleeping with you in the stable,” Lea stated.

Cornelia nodded as though she’d expected as much. “Best take you some bedding

along, son,” she advised.

Grumbling to herself, Lea got up and stomped into the house.

“Sure wish you two would get hitched,” Cornelia said. “Then there wouldn’t be no

call for any of this.”

“You’re not Joined, Reaper?” Penthe inquired.

“She doesn’t want it,” Bevyn said as he got up and went into the house.

Penthe set her chair to rocking. “Now why do you suppose that is?” she asked.

“Don’t reckon it’s any of your bee’s wax,” Cornelia said with a sniff. “Best to keep

your wondering to yourself, girl.”

With a thick blanket spread over the soft mound of hay and the rain drumming

down on the tin roof overhead, the Reaper and his lady lay with their fingers entwined,

listening to the soft rumble of thunder.

“I love the rain,” Lea told him.

“I’m partial to the wind,” he replied. “I love the sound of it howling through the

eaves.”

“Aye, that is a pleasant sound.”

They said nothing for a few minutes and then Bevyn turned over on his side so he

was looking at her, though she could not see his face in the darkness. A horse neighed,

another answered, and above them the rafters creaked.

“Lea…”

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“I know what you are going to say,” she cut him off. “Please don’t. I don’t like that

woman and I never will. She came here to take you back with her and if she’s ever

given the chance, she’ll do it.”

“She might try,” he said. “Do you really think the goddess would allow me to be

taken?”

Lea thought about that. “No, I suppose She would not.”

“Then don’t concern yourself with the Blackwind. I am fairly sure she will remain

behind at the Citadel when we leave.”

“Why would she?” she queried.

“What is there for her here?”

“You,” she stated.

“Well, she can’t have me,” he declared. “My woman would not allow it.”

“Damned straight she wouldn’t,” Lea stated.

“Besides, I imagine the Shadowlords will insist she stay there and Morrigunia will

more than likely have something to say about it although…” He paused then turned to

his back.

“Although what?” his lady pressed.

“The goddess didn’t make a concerted effort to stop Penthe from following me to

Orson. Something tells me She has plans for the Blackwind.”

“As long as those plans don’t include you, I’m okay with it,” Lea said.

From the dark corner of the stable where She sat perched in midair, Her pale green

iridescent gown streaming around Her, Morrigunia smiled. She liked the feisty little

human girl who had captured Bevyn Coure’s heart and imprisoned his body. Had She

not, Lea would never have been put in the Reaper’s path to begin with.

But as for the Amazeen Blackwind…

The Triune Goddess narrowed her dark green eyes into angry slits. Though She had

no intention of harming the warrioress, neither would She allow the bitch to cause the

Reapers problems…especially not Bevyn. As for the Shadowlords, She could not have

cared less what headaches the Blackwind caused Kheelan and his cronies.

Morning brought rain and the rain would stay on for the two days to follow, so that

by the time the stagecoach in which Bevyn and the two women would ride to Clewiston

arrived at Cornelia’s, the roadways were nothing less than quagmires.

“By the gods, I hope you don’t get bogged down on the way,” Buford told the

Reaper. The sheriff had insisted on having his best deputy drive.

Bevyn was standing at the coach door, his slicker running with raindrops, his hat

pulled low over his face, water falling from the brim. “Take care of Préachán for me?”

he asked as he climbed into the carriage.

“Aye, milord,” Buford acknowledged, and tightly shut the door behind the Reaper.

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Lea and Penthe were already in the coach, sitting on opposite sides, ignoring one

another. It would prove to be a long ride to Clewiston with the window flaps down to

keep out the rain.

“A bad day for traveling, Reaper,” Penthe remarked as he struggled to pull off his

wet slicker with Lea’s help.

“That it is,” Bevyn replied. He folded the slicker and put it under his seat. “Does

your weapon draw lightning to it?”

Penthe had been unhappy that her Dóigra had to be lashed to the top of the

stagecoach and wouldn’t be close at hand. “Not as long as I do not direct it so,” she

answered. She cocked her head to one side. “How did you know it drew lightning?”

“Isn’t that how it pulls power into the laser?” he asked.

The Blackwind arched a brow. “You know more of Amazeen technology than I

would have imagined, Coure. How is that?”

Bevyn tugged the black leather glove from his right hand and held it up, its back to

Penthe.

“Ah, she marked you,” Penthe said. “That I did not know. Is the star on the other

hand as well?”

“Aye.”

Lea reached out to take Bevyn’s hand. She had missed the faint burn mark on his

flesh. “One of those things like she carries did this?” she queried. At her husband’s nod,

she brought his hand to her lips and kissed it.

“How touching,” Penthe said with a smirk.

Bevyn shot the Blackwind an irritated look. “I’ve tried to recharge my laser whip in

the same manner as Kennocha did her Dóigra but I haven’t been able to.”

“It is the glass filament in the head that stores the energy,” Penthe told him.

“That explains it then,” he said.

The hour’s ride to the railhead took longer since the coach and horses were bucking

a fierce headwind. The passengers were being tossed about inside as rain lashed at the

windows, lightning cracked loudly and the wooden wheels rolled into deep ruts.

Bevyn was fidgeting in his seat. He didn’t like being confined—no Reaper did—and

his nerves were raw and on edge.

“How close are you to Transition, Coure?” Penthe asked.

The Reaper frowned. “About a month,” he said, glancing at Lea. He never had any

intention of allowing his lady to see him shapeshift into his wolflike form and didn’t

even like bringing the subject up around her.

“I’ve never seen a Reaper change,” Penthe said. “I imagine it is quite a stirring

sight. I look forward to it.”

“I doubt you will ever be a witness to a Transition, wench,” he mumbled.

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Penthe narrowed her eyes. “What are the chances of my becoming Terra’s first

female Reaper?”

Bevyn grinned nastily. “A Reaper would have to volunteer one of his fledglings and

I doubt that will happen, wench.”

“Even if I swore allegiance to the Shadowlords?” the Blackwind pressed.

“Why would you want something so evil inside you?” Lea asked, horrified at the

notion.

“Evil?” Penthe asked. “You think your man evil, Terran?”

“No, of course not but—”

“Then why do you think any part of him would be evil?” Penthe challenged.

“The thing inside him is immoral. It is vile!” Lea hissed, and snatched her hand

from Bevyn when he would have taken it.

“Aye, well, now I can see why he won’t Join with you, Terran,” Penthe said. “You

fear what makes him the very man you love!”

“That’s enough,” Bevyn said, his face hard.

“He knows I don’t want that thing inside me,” Lea defended herself.

“Then don’t have it, but I would be honored to be the first female Reaper on Terra.

There are others scattered about the megaverse and—”

“There are?” Bevyn interrupted. “Who told you such a thing?”

“I have met one,” Penthe stated. “She is Amazeen. Her name is Kynthia Ancaeus

and she is one of the Cree clan, her hellion having come from a great warrior named

Cainer Cree.”

“That’s a lie,” Bevyn said. “No Amazeen would be given a revenant worm!”

“Ancaeus was,” Penthe declared. “On my honor as a Blackwind, I swear this to

you.”

The Reaper stared at the Amazeen warrioress and she met his eye, never once

looking away until he had gleaned the truth of her statement as she allowed him entry

into her mind.

“Do you believe me now, Coure?” she asked.

“I…” He shook his head. “The High Council needs to hear of this.”

“I will tell them and I will ask to be considered for the honor of receiving a

fledgling,” she said.

“What if your people come after you?” he said. “If you became a Reaper, you

wouldn’t be allowed to return to Amazeen. Surely you must know that.”

Penthe chewed on her lip for a moment then waved a dismissive hand. “It would

not matter. To become a Reaper is an honor no sane woman would deny herself.”

Lea made a rude sound.

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“It’s not likely to happen,” Bevyn said. “But I would have said the same of finding

an Amazeen on Terra to begin with.”