Tears of the Reaper Read online

  He hunkered down before her. “Close your eyes,” he said.

  Her forehead crinkled. “Why?”

  “Just close your eyes,” he repeated, taking her hands in his. When she had done as he ordered, he told her to picture what she had always wanted her wedding gown to look like.

  “I’m not good at pretending,” she said.

  “Just try,” he told her, knowing every woman had a good idea of what she wanted to look like on her wedding day. He saw a slight smile flicker over her tearful face.

  It took every last ounce of his energy to delve into her mind and pluck out the image, create it upon her sweet body with such care that it would not hurt her injured back. He even thought to provide the white kid slippers and silk stockings for her feet. When her eyes snapped open and she looked down to see the pretty white gown cascading around the stool of the toilet, her mouth sagged open.

  “Is that better?” he asked, his head spinning from the exertion.

  “Oh Owen,” she said, fresh tears blurring her eyes.

  He got to his feet and helped her up, his calloused hands gripping the lacy sleeves covering her upper arms. He crooked his arm. “Milady?” he inquired.

  Rachel gave him a look that would have felled a lesser man. It went straight to his very soul and when she tucked her arm through his and leaned against him, his heart soared with an emotion he never thought to ever feel again.

  Glyn and Iden were in the other room when Owen escorted his lady from the bathing chamber. He saw their eyes bulge as they took in the beauty on his arm.

  “By the gods, Tohre,” was all Iden could say.

  Father O’Connell cleared his throat. “I would like to hear from her lips that this is something she wants,” he said, flinching as the two Reapers beside him gave him a stony look.

  “It is,” Rachel said quickly. “With all my heart it is.”

  “Milady is not feeling well so I would be obliged if you would make this short and sweet,” Owen said. “I need to get her back to bed.”

  The priest nodded. “If you will join hands, I will begin.”

  The ceremony was indeed short and sweet, and when it came to the speaking of the vows, Glyn had a surprise for his best friend and before Owen could declare himself to Rachel, the Reaper nudged him.

  “I must have made at least a dozen before I found one I was satisfied with,” Glyn said and opened his hand.

  Owen stared at the wide gold band nestled in his friend’s palm then looked up at Glyn. “It’s a claddagh,” he said with awe.

  “Aye, it is, and I hope it fits,” Glyn replied.

  The intricate knotwork gold band with two hands clasping a lace-work heart topped by a crown bejeweled with three sparkling emeralds was nearly as beautiful as the woman who would be wearing it. It glistened from the stray beam of sunlight that came from the window.

  Owen took the ring from Glyn’s hand then slipped his arms around his friend, giving him a hug that surprised the both of them. Clearing their throats, they each stepped back, faces red, then Owen turned to his lady to state his vows. When he had, he slipped the ring upon her finger and added, “I pledge my friendship and my loyalty to you, my Rachel, and I give my heart into your keeping.”

  The kiss that sealed their pledge was sweet and chaste but it was the look shared between the couple that truly sealed the Joining.

  “Congratulations,” Glyn said, shaking his friend’s hand. “Iden and I are going to go find the healer and hire some ladies to look after Rachel while we’re gone. Is that all right with you?”

  Owen nodded, unable to speak.

  “And we’ll pay the good Father here,” Iden said.

  “Thank you, Iden,” Owen struggled to get out.

  Iden shook Owen’s hand and asked if he could kiss the bride.

  “I would be honored, Lord Iden,” Rachel said, and smiled at him and then Glyn as that Reaper gave her a kiss as well. She thanked the Father.

  When the others were gone, Owen looked down at her dress and released a long sigh. “I don’t think I can undo what I did,” he said, “and you need to get back in bed.”

  The door opened and Iden stuck his head in. “We thought you might need to fashion something more comfortable for her.”

  Owen smiled. “A long chemise would be great, Iden,” he said.

  Rachel blinked as the luscious wedding gown disappeared and she felt the soft, sleek cotton chemise settle upon her body. “I will never get used to this,” she whispered.

  Iden winked then closed the door behind him.

  “Let’s get you in the bed,” Owen said, holding on to her arm.

  Marveling at the magical abilities her new husband and his friends possessed, she barely felt the pain pulling at the muscles of her back as she got into the bed and lay on her side. Owen pulled the covers up and squatted down beside the bed.

  “I don’t know how long we’ll be gone but I’ll make gods-be-damned sure you’re taken good care of, milady.” He threaded his fingers through her short curls.

  “It will grow,” she said, reaching up to cover his hand with hers.

  Owen shrugged “You know what? I rather like it.”

  “You do?”

  “Aye, I really do.”

  They didn’t say anything for a long moment. He just hunkered there with his hand stroking her short curls but at last he knew he had to leave. He had a job to do.

  “You will be careful,” she said, making it a statement rather than a question.

  “I will do my best,” he replied. He didn’t want to make promises he might not be able to keep.

  “I will be here,” she stated.

  Owen leaned forward and pressed his lips gently to hers then got to his feet. He picked up his gun belt and hat, slung his saddlebag over his shoulder, gave her one last longing look and then left while he still could.

  When he got downstairs, a squat man nearly as big around as he was tall was being escorted into the hotel by Iden. The newcomer was introduced as Healer Lagenhorn who grinned cheerily.

  “We will take good care of your lady, milord,” the healer said, pumping Owen’s hand. “It is such an honor for me to do this for you.”

  “Healer Lagenhorn sent Glyn to fetch a couple of the town’s women who have acted as nurses for him in the past,” Iden said.

  “Will they have a problem caring for a Reaper’s mate?” Owen asked, locking gazes with the healer.

  “Merciful Alel, no!” the healer said. “Why would they?”

  “It wasn’t exactly a friendly welcome we received this morning,” Owen stated.

  Iden laughed. “You mean the people standing outside the hotel pointing this way?” he asked. “It seems the good folk of Saint Marie were buzzing with the same kind of good cheer Cynyr found in Haines City. They didn’t want to intrude on us but as soon as they found out we weren’t the surly bastards it’s rumored we are, they warmed right up.”

  “We are proud to finally meet you, Lord Owen,” the healer said. “You are, after all, our Reaper here in Wismin.”

  “I’ll show Healer Lagenhorn up to your room. Perhaps you’d like to take a moment to contact the Citadel and let them know what’s up while the healer sees to your lady,” Iden suggested.

  Owen winced. “Aye, I suppose I should.”

  “Grovel as best you can, Tohre. They like it when you’re humble,” Iden said, slapping him on the back before ushering the healer up the stairs.

  Owen walked outside and was greeted by passersby who tipped their hats to him or women who inclined their heads respectfully. Several children waved at him and he could only stand there on the wooden sidewalk and think he had found the place he would at last make his home just as Cynyr had made Haines City his.

  Tugging the brim of his hat down a bit lower to block out the harsh November sun, he walked around the side of the hotel and into the alley, seeking a place where he could commune with Lord Kheelan in private. Finding such a place behind the general store, he sat d
own on an overturned barrel and closed his eyes.

  “Lord Kheelan?” he asked.

  “I am here, Tohre.”

  Owen knew that tone and greeting didn’t bode well for him. He hung his head. “Ta mee ec yn laye ayd,” he said, pledging himself to the service of the High Council.

  “One month for abusing the drug,” the High Lord declared. “An additional month for Joining without permission. Don’t make it three, Tohre.”

  Owen knew the punishment was coming. He just didn’t know it would be that harsh. Six weeks, aye, but not two full months of being locked in a con cell without tenerse or Sustenance. It would be a brutal chastisement. “Aye, your grace,” he said, knowing full well another month was likely to be tacked on when he went after Rachel’s father.

  “I mean what I say, Tohre,” Lord Kheelan said as he intercepted that stray thought. “And I’m not averse to making it longer if you push us.”

  “Aye, your grace,” Owen acknowledged.

  “Is there anything else?”

  “Those killed by the Drochtáirs will need to be cremated, your grace. Can you send the drones to…?”

  “I will see to it.”

  “If the Bastion…”

  “I said I would see to it! Do not belabor the point. When you find a grave, call me and the drone will come to handle the incineration. Now find the Drochtáirs then get your ass back to the Citadel before I lose what little patience I have left with you!”

  A piercing shriek shot through Owen’s head and he slammed his hands to his ears, his knees going weak. He knew the debilitating sound had been intentional on the part of the High Lord. Lord Kheelan was angry at him and there was no doubt in Owen’s mind the High Lord would be even more irate once Owen presented himself before the High Council.

  Leaving the alley, Owen joined his teammates in the stable, grateful Glyn had saddled Céierseach for him and making a mental note to repay his fellow Reaper for the new saddle though his head was still hurting from Lord Kheelan’s punishment.

  “I wish we’d had time to bring our own mounts out here. I miss Faoileán, but this one is a good beast. I’ll hate to sell him when we leave,” Iden remarked, admiring the sleek black stallion to which Owen was tying his saddlebag. “Are you going to sell that one, Tohre?”

  “No,” Owen replied. “I’m going to keep him.”

  “It seems strange you’d give both your horses the same name, Owen,” Glyn laughed. “You should at least have given this one a different name.”

  Owen shrugged. “I like the name and it doesn’t matter if they both have it. I’ll do like Cynyr and keep one at the Citadel and leave one here,” he said.

  “So you’ve decided to make this your home base then?” Iden inquired.

  They led their mounts out of the stable, glancing up at the flakes that were beginning to drift down from the heavens. Almost as one, they flashed cold weather gear onto their muscular frames.

  Owen swung into the saddle. “Aye,” he said, easily controlling Céierseach’s prancing. “I believe it will be a good place for us.”

  “Mayhap Glyn and I will find such a place in our territories as you, Cynyr and Arawn have discovered,” Iden commented. “I’m about ready to settle down.”

  “I’m not,” Glyn said with a snort. He stuck his foot in the stirrup and mounted the horse he’d yet to name.

  The snow was coming down a bit harder as the Reapers kicked their mounts into a trot.

  * * * * *

  From the hotel window Rachel watched the three Reapers riding north. All three were dressed in long black leather dusters and with their black hats and black pants as they sat upon their midnight black horses they resembled the centaurs of ancient myth—beast and man merging into one fearsome entity.

  Though the healer had applied a salve when he’d looked in on her briefly, her back was throbbing with pain. She leaned there against the window until she could no longer see her husband and his men. She was weak, her breakfast growing cold, forgotten on the small table across the room. Her mind was teeming with the discovery she had made upon rising.

  Putting a hand to her forehead, she tried to remember what had happened during the night but she could not. She thought she had slept soundly without moving but the evidence suggested otherwise. She turned her head and stared at the bed.

  There was a sound at the door and expecting the hotel maid who had brought her breakfast tray, she paid little attention to it. The girl had said she’d return to take the tray and tidy the room. She was unaccustomed to being waited on and was embarrassed that Owen had left instructions for her to be. Turning back to the window to watch the gently falling snow, she leaned her forehead against the cold glass. It wasn’t until she felt the rush of air behind her that she turned, her eyes going wide as she recognized one of the three men who had entered her room. Before she could open her mouth to scream, the man clapped a cloth with something cloying and pungent permeating it and the light went out of Rachel’s world.

  The leader of the poleen stood guard at the door, making sure no one was coming as the high elder’s daughter was lifted roughly and slung over the third man’s shoulder.

  “Brother Claude,” the man with the cloth called out to the leader. “I believe we should take this with us.” He had thrown the bedcovers aside and was standing there holding the blanket in his meaty hand.

  Claude scowled. “Don’t worry about her getting cold, Brother Gilbert. We need to be gone before they discover she’s missing,” he snapped, thinking his man meant the blanket.

  “There is blood on the sheets,” Gilbert stated.

  “She was lashed,” Claude reminded him.

  “Not down there she wasn’t,” Gilbert insisted.

  Claude hissed beneath his breath then stomped over to the bed. As soon as he saw the smears of blood where Gilbert pointed, his face turned stony. “Aye,” he said. “Bring the sheet.”

  Going down the back stairs with the unconscious body of Rachel, the poleen were already back across the border by the time the maid came to find the Reaper’s mate missing.

  Chapter Nine

  “What is gained without effort is lost without thought—but what is gained through difficulty is kept with care.”

  Owen jumped as the words spiraled through his mind. He had been staring into the increasing fall of snow covering the roadway back into New Towne and had become mesmerized by the tranquility around him. Whenever he went into battle, he tried to stay as calm as the situation would allow and not dwell on the difficulties that might present themselves. He had been thinking about the Colony and had decided the Communalists would not welcome him and his men this trip although it was certainly to their advantage to cooperate in finding the lair of the Drochtáirs. All he and his fellow Reapers needed was the location of the last farm hit and they would take it from there. There was no need to stay in New Towne any longer than necessary. When those quiet words had startled him, he sat up straight in the saddle and turned to Glyn with a frown.

  “I think She’s fucking with me again,” he said.

  Glyn didn’t need to ask whom he meant. “What’s happening now?”

  “She’s whispering to me,” Owen snapped. “Some stupid shit about gaining and losing stuff.”

  “Gaining and losing what?” Iden inquired.

  “Who the hell knows? I was thinking about how the people of the Colony treated me when I first arrived and how they were when we left,” Owen said. “I guess it was Her way of reminding me to be careful in New Towne.”

  “You gained their favor then you lost it,” Iden prophesied. “I agree. It was a warning.”

  “You just can’t keep friends, can you, Tohre?” Glyn smirked.

  “Aye, well, they either want to ignore me or maim me,” Owen agreed. “There’s no in between it seems.”

  “Must be your pleasant personality,” Iden proclaimed.

  “You over that maiming?” Glyn asked quietly.

  Owen fidgeted in the saddle.
“As over it as I can be until I know for sure the equipment works,” he replied. “It can get hard as rock but I don’t know if it’ll stay that way long enough to do the job.”

  “A bit more information than we needed,” Glyn said, his face turning red.

  “Entirely too much actually,” Iden stated.

  Owen smiled.

  They were entering the compound and were surprised there was no one about until Glyn reminded them it was Sunday and the Communalists would no doubt be having church services. As soon as he said it, singing could be heard coming from the church with its tall steeple and Sign of the Slain One perched on top.

  Deciding not to draw any more animosity than they figured they already had, the Reapers tied their mounts to the hitching post in front of the infirmary and took shelter beneath the porch’s overhang, sitting down on the uncomfortable benches that were positioned to either side of the infirmary’s door.

  “How long you reckon their services last?” Iden asked.

  “A couple of hours I think,” Glyn replied. “I believe I read that in the report Lord Naois gave us.”

  “Three hours,” Owen said. He’d read the report through twice before going down to breakfast that morning and had all but memorized it, wanting to know all he could about Rachel’s beliefs. “They should be out in an hour or less.”

  “And won’t be too happy to see us lounging here,” Glyn surmised.

  “They knew we’d be back,” Owen said. “We wouldn’t leave them to the mercy of the creatures although it wouldn’t bind my bowels if we did.”

  “What a delightful image, Tohre,” Iden mumbled.

  “Do you blame me after what these bastards did to my woman?” Owen challenged.

  “An gno pearsanta no oifigiuil e?” Glyn reminded his friend of one of the Reaper restraints placed on them by the Shadowlords when dealing with civilians and Reapers alike. Translated, it meant, “Is it personal or official?”

  “It is both,” Owen stated. “They made it personal when they hurt my Rachel.”

  “Understood,” Glyn said, “but ná nocht d’fhiacla go bhféadair an greim do bhreith.”