“He’d have the right to demand things I don’t want to do. He’d have the law on his
side.”
“Does he know you don’t want the creature?” Cornelia asked.
“I’ve said as much,” Lea answered.
“And he agreed that you didn’t have to have it ’less you wanted it?”
“We haven’t really talked about it, but I won’t ever accept having such a thing
inside me. If I marry him, he’d have the right to insist. I’ll live with him, be his mate, but
I won’t take the Joining vows with him,” Lea declared. She shrugged. “And he hasn’t
asked.”
“If you don’t take his hellion,” Cornelia said, showing she had more than a slight
notion of what was inside the Reaper, “you’ll die long before he does. Reapers mate
only once, girl, and it will be a long, lonely life for him after you’re gone.”
“I know,” Lea said, “but that can’t be helped. I won’t ever marry Bevyn Coure.”
“I can’t ask her to marry me,” Bevyn was saying at that exact moment as he and the
sheriff halted their buckboards so they could tighten down Buford’s load.
“There will be those who’ll look down on her for living with you outside the bonds
of matrimony,” the sheriff warned.
“They’d best not do so and let me know about it,” Bevyn snapped as he jerked on
the tiedown.
“That’s just human nature, milord,” Buford said. “Can’t keep folks from yapping
about what bothers them.” He took off his hat and blotted the sweat from his brow with
his bandana. “Why don’t you want to make an honest woman of the girl?”
Bevyn’s eyes flashed auric fire but he didn’t chastise the older man for his words.
He’d given Buford leave to talk to him as he would his own sons, but the man’s
question still rankled.
“She doesn’t want one of my parasites and if we were married, I might renege on
my promise not to give her one,” he growled.
“Is having one of them things in you so bad?” Buford asked.
“If you’d asked me that when it was first put in, I’d have said ‘aye’, but I’ve had a
long time to adjust it. It takes some getting used to, that’s for sure, but the benefits of the
relationship are such that I have come to accept the negatives like the need for tenerse
and to drink blood, transitioning to a wolf-like state four times a year or so.”
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Her Reaper’s Arms
Buford braced the undersides of his forearms on the wagon bed. “Can I ask what
kind of benefits there are, milord?”
“A long, healthy life for one,” Bevyn answered. He too took off his hat and armed
away the sweat. “Then there’s the strength of ten men, the ability to influence minds, to
speak to the Shadowlords though they’re thousands of miles away, the facility to
rearrange the molecules in the air to fashion clothing.”
Buford had no idea what a molecule was but didn’t want to annoy the Reaper by
asking. “Seems the benefits outweigh the negatives to me,” he commented. “Can’t see
why the girl wouldn’t jump at the chance to have all that.”
“I can’t either,” Bevyn said, “but it seems to frighten her so I’ll leave it like it is.”
They climbed up on their respective buckboards and set the horses into motion. It
was only a few miles more to Orson and the sun was already high, the day becoming a
sweltering distraction.
Lea and Cornelia had been joined by a half dozen other women who had prepared
lunch for the workers readying the building site. His lady was pouring iced tea for a
group of diggers, who were stripped to the waist, when Bevyn drove his wagon onto
the lot. She looked up, smiled at him, but then went on with what she was doing.
“Miss me?” he asked as he came over to her.
“I did,” she said, and was amazed that he would give her a kiss on her cheek in
front of everyone. She saw glances exchanged, for no doubt the others were as
surprised by his public show of affection as she was.
“Got any food left for me and Buford?” he asked.
“It’s just chicken salad sandwiches, veggies and fried sweet potato chips,” she told
him. “Will that be enough?”
“Sounds great to me,” he said. “Let me wash up.” He unbuckled his gun belt and
hung it and his hat on the wagon’s brake then headed for the water pump behind the
mercantile store.
Lea set about preparing him a plate while Cornelia made one up for the sheriff. She
watched him out of the corner of her eye as he splashed water from the big white
enameled basin, washed his hands and then dried them on a big towel. He and Buford
were talking and then the Reaper laughed, drawing everyone’s attention.
“Now that is a content man,” Cornelia observed. “Don’t see that often in one of his
kind.”
Lea watched men and women greet her lover as he came striding toward her. She
saw him smile, nod his head in passing and stop to answer a question put to him by
Nate Bundy—the foreman of the work group. She saw amazement spread over Bundy’s
face when the Reaper slapped him casually on the back before walking away.
After downing five sandwiches and a fresh batch of sweet potato chips, an entire
bowl of tomatoes and several glasses of milk, Lea was shocked to see her man
unbuttoning his shirt and stripping it off.
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Charlotte Boyett-Compo
“Oh my,” she heard one of the women say, and every female eye there gravitated to
the muscular build of Bevyn Coure.
“Now that is one fine specimen,” another woman whispered.
Despite the vicious scars that covered his upper torso, the Reaper had the body
build every man there envied and every woman wanted to run her hands over. His
abdominal muscles were sharply etched, the pectorals and biceps bulging, his shoulders
broad and waist lean. There wasn’t a spare ounce of fat on him.
No one else noticed the change in the air as he swept a hand over the lower part of
his body, so none of them noticed the disappearance of his tight uniform leather pants
and the sudden appearance of black denim that was a looser fit. Lea however, had not
missed that handy little trick, and when he glanced at her and winked, she knew he had
meant for her to be a witness to his unique power. Looking down at the dress he had
created for her, she sighed. Life with her Reaper was going to be anything but boring.
Long into the afternoon, she sat with the other women who had brought their
sewing and mending, their peas to be shelled, their corn to be shucked, and gossiped as
the men raised the skeleton of the Reaper’s house. She kept an eye on Bevyn as he toiled
alongside the other men—accepted, teased and insulted the same as every other man
there. She could see the happiness flitting across his sweaty face as he pounded a
hammer or jerked a saw blade back and forth over the timbers. His upper torso
glistened with sweat as he worked, straining to lift weights the other men could not.
“You are one lucky woman, Lea Walsh,” May Bundy, Nate’s wife, said. “There ain’t
a woman alive what wouldn’t want that tall drink of water between her sheets.”
The other women nodded, not a one of them looking with anything other than lust
at
the Reaper, and that didn’t surprised Lea. Where before the people of Orson were
terrified of their assigned Reaper’s erratic appearances, they had now gladly accepted
them and taken him in as one of their own.
“You gonna marry him, Lea?” Angie Carmichael inquired. “Father Tony will be
coming through week after next.”
Lea shook her head. “We’re going to the Citadel next week,” she said as she
snapped beans, “so we won’t be here for the priest’s arrival.”
“Lucky you,” someone said. “Gonna take the train?”
“Aye,” Lea said, squirming in her stiff ladder-back chair.
“Now that will be a trip and a half,” May said. “I’ve heard tell that’s some place to
see.” She lowered her voice. “Not that anyone around here’s ever been invited to the
High Lords’ keep.”
“You make note of everything so’s you can tell us about it, Lea,” Angie said
wistfully.
Though she had never been equated with the other women of the White Horse—
none of whom had been invited to help with the workers’ noontime meal—Lea had not
been extended the same courtesies as the other women of Orson. Whereas before she’d
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Her Reaper’s Arms
been merely tolerated, yet ignored, for the most part she—like her Reaper—had finally
become a part of the community. Whereas before people would nod stiffly at her but
not go out of their way to speak to her, she was being included in the other women’s
activities. All of a sudden she had garnered respectability.
“Guess he wants to take you to meet the Shadowlords,” May said. “Gotta get their
approval for the Joining, I guess.”
Lea felt a twinge of worry. What was going to happen when they came back from
the Citadel and still did not marry? Would the women think less of her? Pity her? Look
down on her for living in sin with the Reaper?
“Do Reapers get married?” Angie asked, and all eyes turned to Lea.
She looked up at the other women. “I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. “We
haven’t discussed it.”
“Better get a ring on that man, dearie,” May suggested. “Can’t hold ’em if you don’t
have that band of gold ’round their finger to remind ’em who they belong to.”
“That don’t always hold a man,” Virgie Watson proclaimed. “Many a man’s strayed
what got a ring ’round his finger.”
“Aye but not a one what’s got a ring through his nose!” someone else stated, and all
the women laughed including Lea.
“Well, I don’t think Lea’s got nothing to worry about,” Cornelia put in. “Reapers
ain’t gonna stray from their mates. We all know that.”
“Still, you’d do well to have the words spoken over you, girl,” May declared, and
all the other women save for Cornelia and Lea nodded in agreement.
Bevyn had been listening on and off to the women’s conversation, curious to know
how they were treating his lady. Though their voices were soft and low, he had no
trouble listening in with his keen hearing, even if none of the other men could. The
issue with the Joining would have to be dealt with if only to make gods-be-damned
sure Lea was treated with the respect she deserved as his mate.
As he hammered, he realized he was not opposed to the Joining. Although he
didn’t need words spoken over them by a man of the cloth or a piece of a paper
stamped with the territorial seal to tell him Lea was his, such things meant a lot to the
civilian population. He would need to have a serious discussion with Lea about
marriage.
“Rider coming,” he heard a man say, and turned to look where some of the others
were staring.
A cloud of dust was streaking up behind a horse that was coming at top speed, its
rider whipping the reins back and forth to hasten the speed of the beast.
“Looks like Jed Halsey,” Buford said. He glanced at Bevyn. “Lives over to Lawler,
that little hole in the road on the way to Beverton.”
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Charlotte Boyett-Compo
Bevyn nodded and hooked the claw of his hammer over a two-by-four and hopped
down from the scaffolding where he’d been standing. Reaching into his back pocket, he
pulled out a dark blue bandana and wiped it over his face.
“Looks like trouble to me,” Ned Bundy put in.
The men all stopped what they were doing, waiting for the rider to reach them.
Halsey saw them and directed his mount to where they were all assembled. He jumped
off the steed, his chest heaving as he headed for the sheriff, only to come up short when
he noticed the Reaper in their midst. He went to one knee, his head bowed.
“Don’t do that,” Bevyn snapped. He’d always been uncomfortable with such overt
acts of fealty. “Get up and tell us what’s happened.”
“Milord,” Halsey said, gasping for breath as he scrambled to his feet. “I did not
know you were here.” He swallowed hard. “Rogues, milord. We got three of them.”
“How long have they been there?” the Reaper asked, reaching for his shirt.
“Two days, milord,” Halsey reported. “They have a couple of women with them.”
Bevyn stilled. “Women?” he repeated. “Human women?”
“I think not, milord,” Halsey said with a shake of his head. “I believe them to be
rogues themselves.”
“That can’t be good,” Buford said.
“It isn’t,” Bevyn agreed, waving his hand. “Have they killed any of your people?”
“None so far. They’ve just taken over the entire town,” Halsey said. “I barely
managed to escape. The women culled out the men and had them put in a barn
together.”
“These women,” Bevyn said as he buttoned his shirt and began tucking it into pants
that were suddenly leather instead of denim. “Are they carrying weapons of their own?
Lance-like weapons?”
“Aye, milord,” Halsey replied. “Spears that shoot fire from the tip.”
“Amazeens,” Bevyn mumbled as he swung his gun belt around his waist and
buckled it. “I figured as much.”
“Want us to come with you, milord?” Buford asked.
The Reaper shook his head. “I’ll do better on my own,” Bevyn said. “Station guards
about. Make sure no one leaves town until I get back. Send word to get those living
close to town to come in. Tell Mable I’ll pay for them to have rooms at her place.”
“The townsfolk may take some in,” Cornelia spoke up.
Lea had been following the conversation with growing dread. She knew better than
to voice her reluctance to allow her man to leave for this was his job. This was what he
had been trained to do. It was a part of him. It was his reason for being, but it didn’t
make things any easier for her.
“You will be careful, milord?” she asked in a quiet voice.
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Her Reaper’s Arms
Bevyn looked to her and saw the dread on her lovely face. Before everyone there, he
strode to her, hooked an arm around her waist and drew her to him.
“Aye, milady,” he said. “I will be alert.”
With the townspeople watching, he kissed her long and hard then turned away,
striding purposefully to the stable for his horse.
“Oh lord,” Lea whispered, a trembling hand to her lips.
>
“It is for men to fight and women to wait, girl,” Cornelia said softly. “That’s been
the way of it since time began.”
“But it doesn’t make it any easier,” Lea said, swiping at a tear that ran down her
cheek.
“No,” Cornelia replied. “I know it don’t.”
The livery owner hurried beside Bevyn without being asked. Bevyn sent him over
to Cornelia’s to retrieve his saddlebags since he didn’t know how long he’d be gone and
might need the tenerse inside those bags. By the time Préachán was saddled, the
stableman was back, handing the saddlebags to the Reaper.
“Tell the sheriff to keep an eye on milady,” Bevyn said as he swung atop his mount.
“We’ll all see to her, milord,” the livery owner vowed. “Don’t worry on that
account.”
Nodding his acknowledgement of the promise, Bevyn kicked his horse into motion
and thundered out of town, taking the road to Lawler.
“Lord Kheelan? Talk to me,” Bevyn sent to the Citadel. “Tell me what’s in Lawler.”
He was two miles out of Orson before the High Lord’s voice intruded on his
thoughts.
“You have our apologies, Lord Bevyn. This situation somehow escaped our notice. There are
three rogues and two Amazeen,” Lord Kheelan informed him. “We’ve no idea how the women
warriors got here. This is a first and it should be interesting to find out what the hell they’re
doing here.”
“Who is their leader?”
“A man named Thiess,” the Shadowlord replied. “He looks to be a bad one.”
“Where are they holding up in Lawler?”
There was a slight pause.
“They have made the saloon their base of operations. The younger menfolk are in a barn at
the outskirts of town being guarded by the Amazeen. The older men and male children have been
crowded into the jail. The women and young girls were herded into the church and the doors and
windows were boarded shut. Doesn’t look like the rogues are interested in them.”
“If they’ve mated with the Amazeen, they wouldn’t be interested,” Bevyn stated. “Can you
tell whom they’ve taken Sustenance from?”
“We believe only the younger men.”
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Charlotte Boyett-Compo
Lawler was a thirty-minute ride from Orson and Préachán’s mighty hooves were
eating up the miles. Bevyn was concentrating on bending low over the steed’s neck to
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