WyndRiver Sinner

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  Arawn had already said the same thing to Cynyr, but the Reaper nodded politely and thanked the Shadowlord for his advice.

  “Lady Aingeal, it has been a pleasure to meet you,” Lord Kheelan said. “You are a brave and courageous woman and are, indeed, worthy of being a Reaper.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace,” Aingeal responded.

  “But if you will excuse us, there is something of importance we need to say to your husband.” He looked at the other Reapers. “You too may be excused.”

  Aingeal looked at her mate but he only smiled at her. He didn’t seem concerned with whatever the HC had to say privately to him. Hating to leave him alone with the Shadowlords, she would have protested if he had not arched a brow at her, telling her in his unique way to leave.

  When the others had departed and the door closed behind them, Lord Kheelan leaned back in his chair. “Silus Gibbs is not dead,” he reported.

  Cynyr’s forehead crinkled. “I saw him fall into the water, Your Grace.”

  “Aye, but he survived his tumble down the river and is wrecking havoc in the Exasla Territory this time around,” Lord Kheelan said.

  “Apparently he has been looking for you,” Lord Dunham observed.

  “There is also the matter of a Jakotai brave named Otaktay,” the high commissioner added.

  “I killed him.”

  “You killed a Jakotai brave,” Lord Kheelan said. “You did not kill Otaktay.”

  Cynyr ground his teeth. “Do I have permission to dispatch the two of them?”

  “You most certainly do, for the two have banded together and unless I miss my guess the Jakotai will have been turned by now.”

  Such news concerned the Reaper, but he would do his duty as it came to him and swore as much to the High Council.

  “Be careful, Cree,” Lord Kheelan warned. “Those two men are after your hide as well as your woman.”

  That sent a shiver of cold down Cynyr’s back. “I will handle it, Your Grace.”

  When he joined his wife and the other Reapers in the corridor, they all knew something was wrong for Cynyr’s eyes were blazing and his face was set.

  “What did they do to you now?” Aingeal demanded, ready to do battle with the men who were bothering her mate.

  “We’ve got to get back to Haines City as quickly as possible, wench,” he said. “The men I thought I’d killed are still alive.”

  Aingeal slipped past his guard and read the knowledge in his mind. She drew in a breath. Otaktay was alive?

  “Do you need help, Cree?” Arawn inquired.

  “If I do, I’ll send word,” Cynyr replied.

  “If Gibbs finds out where you’re heading, the people of Haines City will be in danger,” Arawn said. “I could go on ahead and stand watch until you get there.”

  Cynyr shook his head. “I appreciate your concern, but this is my fight. There are things I need to teach my lady and now is as good a time for her to learn as any.”

  That didn’t sound all that good to Aingeal’s way of thinking. “We’re not going to take the train back?” she asked.

  “If you’re thinking of teaching her to shape-shift, now isn’t the time,” Arawn said. “Not when she is with child.”

  “Shape-shift?” Aingeal said, her voice a mere squeak.

  Cynyr looked at her and realized what the Prime Reaper said was true. It would not be a good time for her to try changing. He tucked his lower lip between his teeth. “You’re right,” he told Arawn.

  “Let me go on ahead,” Arawn said. “I’ll watch over your people until you arrive.”

  “I’m in between assignments and I’ll go with him,” Bevyn announced. “I’ve never been to Haines.”

  Aingeal’s mate thought about it for a moment and realized he had a great desire to see the townspeople kept safe. He agreed to Arawn’s offer and thanked the two men for making it.

  “Just don’t scare the hell out of them,” Aingeal suggested. “You know how people are with our kind.”

  Cynyr smiled at how she’d labeled herself.

  “I’ll mind my manners, Lady Aingeal,” Arawn assured her. “And I’ll keep Bevyn from curdling the milk, though that’s an extremely difficult thing to accomplish in the best of situations.”

  Aingeal ducked her head, her face flaming at the light reprimand. She dug the toe of her boot into the carpet. “You know what I meant, mo tiarna,” she said.

  Arawn grinned—something he rarely did—and slapped Cynyr on the back. “I’ll see you at the train station, brother.”

  Motioning the other Reapers ahead of him, the Prime Reaper walked off, speaking to Bevyn in a low voice.

  “Do you think Otaktay will still come after me?” Aingeal asked. There was deep worry on her lovely face.

  “Aye, but you don’t have anything to be concerned about, wench,” Cynyr replied. “I will protect you.”

  “I was so relieved when you told me you’d killed him.” She frowned. “If it wasn’t him, who was it?”

  “Who knows? It might have been a brave out trying to make a name for himself by killing a Reaper.”

  The lovers had no need to return to their quarters so decided to head on to the train station. Their departure wasn’t for an hour but there was nothing they needed to do at the Citadel. Neither of them was looking forward to the uncomfortable ride back to Haines City. Stopping in the dining hall, they ordered sandwiches, a bag of assorted fruit and some hard candy.

  “You’re going to rot your teeth out with that stuff,” Aingeal complained. Her husband was addicted to sweets and every chance he got she’d seen him popping a piece of candy into his mouth. He seemed to have an unending supply of lemon drops in hand everywhere he went.

  Carrying the food with them in a large picnic basket, they walked to the train station, which was only a block from the Citadel. They were surprised to see all the Reapers standing around.

  “What in the world do you have in that basket?” Bevyn asked. His eyes lit up. “You got candy in there?”

  “Not you too!” Aingeal said with a laugh.

  “All Reapers love candy, Lady Aingeal,” Arawn told her. “Must be because of the saltiness of the Sustenance.”

  “Is there candy in the basket?” Bevyn repeated, licking his lips.

  “Aye,” Cynyr said, and set the basket down. “Help yourself.”

  Bevyn rubbed his hands together and he and a couple of the other Reapers hunkered down to take a few pieces. Opening the lid, Bevyn looked up. “You have food in here too,” he said.

  “The eating places at the train stations leave a lot to be desired,” Cynyr said.

  “Aye, but didn’t Lord Kheelan tell you that you’d have your own railroad car and chef?” Bevyn inquired.

  “No,” Cynyr said, surprise sparking in his amber eyes. “Since when?”

  “There’s a car always at our disposal,” Arawn replied.

  “One for our mounts, as well,” Bevyn put it. He had taken several pieces of hard candy and was already crunching down on one of them.

  “It’s that one over there on the side rail,” Arawn said, pointing. “They’ll hook it up as soon as the train gets here from the Pameny Territory. You’ll have privacy but more importantly, there’s an icebox with a daily supply of Sustenance as well as six months’ supply of tenerse.”

  “And you have a bed,” Bevyn said, wagging his eyebrows.

  “Aye, all the comforts of home,” Arawn quipped.

  “A bed,” Aingeal said with a sigh. “Now that I can handle. It was horrible sleeping on the train out here. Those sleeper cars are so danged closed in.”

  “With people all around you,” Cynyr reminded her.

  The lovers smiled at one another. Their trip back to Haines City wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

  The distant sound of a train whistle made them look down the tracks. A white plume of smoke could be seen puffing above the treetops to the north and the clatter of iron wheels echoed.

  “I imagine your
chef is already onboard the car preparing your lunch,” Bevyn said. “If you like, I can dispose of the picnic basket for you.”

  “The man has a hollow leg,” Arawn quipped. “You’d take the Cree’s food, Coure?”

  “They’ve got all they’ll need onboard,” Bevyn defended himself. “There are boxes of candy stocked there for him, Ari, you know that!”

  “You’re welcome to it, Lord Bevyn,” Aingeal said. “At least it won’t go to waste.”

  “Never with Bevyn Coure around, it won’t,” Lord Glyn Kullen said with a snort.

  The clatter of the train was growing closer.

  “Perhaps we’d better get onboard, wench,” Cynyr suggested. Like all Reapers, he was uncomfortable with social amenities and didn’t want to prolong the taking of their farewell.

  “Aye, perhaps we should,” Aingeal said, picking up on her mate’s uneasiness. She smiled at Arawn and held out her hand. “See you in Haines City, mo tiarna.”

  Arawn cocked a brow at her willingness to touch him but he took her hand, bringing it to his lips in a courtly manner. “Have a safe journey, Lady Aingeal.”

  Cynyr’s eyes blazed at another man touching his mate, but he forced the jealousy down. Instead, he snapped to attention and saluted his commanding officer.

  “Má throideann túm gi dtriude tú i leith do bhráthar,” Arawn said, returning the salute then offering his hand to his subordinate.

  Cynyr hesitated for only a moment, for Reapers rarely touched one another, but he felt a growing closeness to Arawn Gehdrin that made him cast aside his reluctance. “Thank you, sir,” Cynyr replied said, reaching out to shake Arawn’s hand.

  “What’d he say?” she whispered.

  “If you fight, may you fight for a brother.”

  “Go raibh an choir Ghaoithe I gcónai leat,” the other Reapers said in unison, saluting.

  A lump formed in Cree’s throat as he turned to his fellow Reapers. He nodded to them then quickly turned with his hand to his wife’s back as he escorted her across the tracks and toward the very elegant-looking railroad car on the sidetrack. When he looked back as she was climbing the steps up into the train car, he realized Arawn and Bevyn were no longer among the Reapers.

  “What did the men say to you?” she asked.

  “May the Wind be always at your back,” he answered, watching two large eagles, soaring wingtip to wingtip across the late summer sky. “Go raibh an choir Ghaoithe I gcónai leat,” he bid Arawn and Bevyn.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Harold Warrington was a snotty little man barely five-feet tall with a pencil-thin mustache and a pair of lips so thin they were almost unnoticeable. He was clad in immaculate white britches and shirt with a large apron tied around his very small waist. His hands looked effeminate and he had a habit of making wheezing noises through his nose as he worked. With beady little black eyes set behind wispy eyelashes and a head nearly devoid of hair, he would never be a fevered dream for any woman or man. Add to that a snippy temperament and a very high-pitched nasal voice and it had the makings of a thoroughly disagreeable traveling partner. Harold’s only saving grace was that he could cook, and the delectable dishes he placed before the Reaper and his mate smelled heavenly and looked delicious.

  “As soon as you are finished, I will clear the table,” Harold had stated. “Supper will be served precisely at seven. I retire at nine so if you wish something after that time, you will have to get it yourself!” He sniffed. “Breakfast will be at eight sharp so please be on time.” He shook a finger at Aingeal. “I will abide no tardiness!”

  Cynyr could only stare at the man as he began efficiently clearing away their luncheon dishes as soon as they were through eating. The small man was grunting to himself, speaking in some strange language the Reaper did not understand. He followed Harold’s mincing steps from table to counter several times before deciding he truly detested the little man.

  “He is rather off-putting,” Aingeal agreed as her husband pulled her chair out for her.

  “That’s an understatement,” Cynyr told her.

  The train was chugging along at a good clip as the Reaper and his lady sat down in seats facing one another.

  Harold was talking to himself—carrying on a conversation—and paid no attention to his employers. He was banging pots and pans and dishes as he worked. The din was very disconcerting.

  “Do you think he would mind if we went into the bedroom area and took a nap?” Aingeal inquired. She was sleepy after the delicious fare Harold had set before them and she had eaten much more than she should have.

  “Who gives a damn if he does?” Cynyr snapped as he stood. He held his hand out to his lady and pulled her to her feet.

  The fussy little man paid them no heed as they left the dining area of the private railcar.

  The railcar had been divided into separate sections. A corridor ran the entire length of the car on the larboard side. The section directly behind the car to which it was hooked was the kitchen. Off that was a crew room for Harold. Beyond that was the dining room, which would seat eight. Next to the dining room was the sleeping chamber with a large bed, two armoires and two chairs placed in front of the windows. A bathing chamber complete with oversized copper tub with a shower enclosure, a freestanding sink and a porcelain water closet decorated in gold leaf. A small enclosure just to the south of the bathing chamber contained a water boiler fed with wood to provide hot water for the sink and tub and also provided warmth for the car during cold weather. Beyond the enclosure the corridor opened into an observation lounge with four extra-large chairs that were exceedingly comfortable, very plush and actually swiveled from side to side, a novelty both Cynyr and Aingeal found entertaining. A desk and chair sat on one wall beneath glassed-in shelves containing hundreds of bound books. Beyond the lounge was the observation platform that looked out over the rails down which the train had just passed.

  Their sleeping quarters were sumptuous with dark oak paneling on the walls and a thick red floral carpet under foot. The coverlet was done in damask in shades of beige, red and dark green, and the two chairs by the window were a paler shade of green with beige stripes. Two amber glass globe lamps with brass bases sat on marble-topped nightstands to either side of the bed. Tastefully decorated, the room had been designed to be a relaxing haven during travel.

  Aingeal sat down on the edge of the bed and sighed. “Oh, Cynyr, this feels heavenly!” She fell back, her arms outstretched, fanning her arms along the lush damask. “I could get used to this!”

  Cynyr was undoing his tie as he watched her curl up on the bed. She was like a child as she ran her palms over the soft material. When she flipped over to her belly, he waved his hand, divesting her of her Reaper clothing.

  “Oh!” Aingeal cried, finding herself nude. She looked around at her husband. “I wanted a nap, Reaper, not a tumble in the sack!”

  “You can have both,” he said. He began unbuttoning his shirt.

  “Umm,” she said, turning over, putting her hands behind her head and watching him undress. “When are you going to teach me how to rearrange things so I can get you bare-assed like this?”

  He pulled the tails of his shirt from his britches then undid the cuffs. “Not sure I’m going to teach you, wench,” he replied. “You seem altogether too eager to learn.”

  Aingeal’s gaze fired as his hands went to the buttons of his fly. She curled her tongue over her lower lip, her attention on his strong hands as he worked the buttons.

  “You’re ogling me again,” he said. He sat down on the bed and peeled off his shirt, tossing it on one of the brace of chairs by the window.

  “You’re ogable,” she admitted, reaching out to trace a particularly broad scar on his back.

  “I don’t think that’s a word, wench,” he said with a grunt. He tensed as her lips touched his back, her tongue dragging across his flesh. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m healing you,” she said, and continued flicking her tongue across his scars.r />
  He smiled—knowing that wasn’t possible since he’d obtained the wicked scars long before he had become a Reaper—and lifted his foot so he could pull off his boot.

  “You are a gloriously handsome man, mo shearc,” she said as she ran her hands over his muscled back and shoulders. She was on her knees behind him and lowered her head to kiss him on the side of his neck as he removed his other boot.

  “And you are a wickedly persistent woman, mo chroi,” he accused, and he reached up to take her wrists and pull her arms around him.

  “Would you have me any other way?” she whispered, her lips against his ear.

  Cynyr felt a tremor of lust shimmy down his sides as her tongue made tiny little spirals against his ear. Heat was settling in his loins and he could feel his heartbeat accelerating.

  “Are you happy about the baby?” she asked, her cheek resting on his shoulder.

  He pulled her left arm over his head and reached for her, dragging her into his lap. Encircling her in his arms, he nudged the side of her face with his chin until she was looking up at him.

  “I have never been happier about anything, wench,” he said. “The thought of you having my child has filled me with such joy I can not describe it.”

  “You were fairly quiet when I first told you,” she said softly.

  “I knew you were carrying my seed the moment you came into the Containment Cell, Aingeal. I was terrified I would hurt you and I didn’t want you to see me like that. Later, I was so tired from lack of sleep and all the pain I’d undergone, I was unable to express how I felt.” He kissed her cheek. “Now, I can.” Putting his arm under her knees, he lifted her and stood up then turned so he could lay her down on the bed again.

  Before Aingeal could protest him not joining her on the bed, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a gold chain. Dangling from the chain was a charm. He bent over her and hooked the chain around her neck, placing the charm between her breasts.