My Reaper's Daughter (34 page)

thought perhaps he’d been bitten by a viper or a poisonous insect. What would kill an

ordinary human in the twitch of an eye might only make a Reaper sick as the proverbial

dog.” He shook his head. “We found no marks on him at all. No lumps on his head to

indicate he’d been knocked out. Nothing.”

168

My Reaper’s Daughter

She stroked the hair back from Glyn’s forehead then laid her palm on his flesh.

“He’s cooler now. We should get him out of the water and into bed.” Moving to the foot

of the tub, she lifted the Reaper’s feet as Phelan scooped him out of the water. “Hold

still and I’ll dry him.”

Phelan looked down into the glassy eyes of his teammate as he waited patiently for

the young woman to towel the water from her mate. Glyn’s head was draped over

Phelan’s arm and his wide, blank stare was unnerving.

“Milady, what did the old ones say about how he might be awakened from this

paralyzed state?” he asked when Mystery was finished, and he carried Glyn back to

bed.

“Only the bokor can bring him out of it,” she replied. “How he does that, I’ve no

idea.” She smoothed the covers, the pillow, then stepped back to allow Phelan to gently

place Glyn on the bed and cover him, tucking the sheet and spread carefully around his

chest.

Phelan cocked his head to one side. “I think I hear Kasid.” He moved to the

window. “At least someone is galloping like the hounds of hell are after him or her.”

It was indeed Kasid, and he rushed into the room with his saddlebag, thrusting it at

Mystery. “Aunt Bernice sent leaves and flowers and the like. She said use them first. Put

them in a mug and pour boiling water over them. Let the brew steep for a minute or

two then trickle it down his throat. She says he will instinctively swallow.”

“I hope she’s right,” Phelan mumbled.

“Once the fever is gone, she says he may become delirious. She says feed him some

salt and once the nausea starts, he will begin to throw off whatever has got a hold on

him.”

“Did she say how long that might take?” Mystery queried.

“The fever? Half an hour or less. At least an hour or two of the delirium will follow

and another hour of sickness,” Kasid answered. “She said it depends on how much of

the powder he was given and what other drugs might have been included in the mix.”

“Then you told her we suspect a bokor at work here?” Phelan asked.

Kasid shook his head of thick curls then wiped an arm over his sweaty forehead. “I

did not need to. She knew I was coming and already had everything I needed

prepared.” He nudged his chin toward the saddlebags. “There is willow bark and some

other herbs in there with instructions on how they should be used.”

“News travels fast among the people of color on the plantations,” Mystery said.

“What one knows, they will all know before the day is over.”

“Aye, but how did they find out in the first place?” Phelan asked.

“Mayhap someone saw him on his way here and suspected what had happened to

him,” Kasid replied.

“Or saw the bokor following him and knew what the bastard was about,” Phelan

snapped.

169

Charlotte Boyett-Compo

“I hope the bokor doesn’t take his anger out on Aunt Bernice,” Mystery said. “It is

widely known that they do not like interference with their magic.”

“She didn’t seem worried and there were five men guarding her cabin when I got

there. Not a one of them looked like a man with whom I’d like to tangle,” Kasid

remarked.

“Once you have the tea in him, I think Jaborn and I will ride over to Sagewood and

have a talk with the housekeeper. She might not have done this to him or even had a

hand in it, but I’m wagering she knows who did,” Phelan stated, a muscle grinding in

his taut jaw.

“I hate to suggest this but perhaps we should bind Glyn’s wrists and ankles. I doubt

his lady will be able to handle him if he starts violently thrashing.”

Mystery moaned lightly. “I don’t like the thought of tying him.”

“Kasid is right, milady, and it is for his own welfare as well as yours. A delirious

Reaper is not something you could deal with safely and especially so when we don’t

know how he’s going to react to coming out from under the influence of whatever is

ailing him.”

Reluctantly, Mystery agreed. After she had prepared the tea and the two Reapers

helped her administer the brew to her patient, she stood aside as the two men began

securing their teammate to the bed. Though it hurt her to see them lashing Glyn’s wrists

and ankles to the head and footboards, she understood the wisdom of it. When they

had left her alone with him, she bowed her head and sobbed. Seeing her man so

vulnerable and helpless broke her heart.

* * * * *

Leilani had been expecting the Reapers, and when they arrived at the door of the

main house, she stepped back, fear racing through her.

Phelan Kiel wasted no time in questioning her. “Who took Kullen from your house

the day you drugged him?”

“No one,” she said. “He left on his own.”

He crowded her, glaring down at her with such hatred she felt a trickle of piss

running down her leg.

“Who took him today?”

Leilani’s eyes grew wide. “I don’t know.” She looked from one hard face to the

other. “I swear! I don’t know!”

“If you’re lying to us, bitch, by the goddess, I’ll rip your heart out and eat it before

your eyes!”

The other Reaper’s face was equally enraged and—if anything—even more

dangerous-looking than Lord Kiel’s.

170

My Reaper’s Daughter

“I am not lying!” Leilani said. “He was groggy when he left my cabin but he rode

out alone.”

“Who followed him that day?” the Reaper she knew to be named Jaborn

demanded.

Terror drove straight through Leilani’s soul but she feared these men even more

than she did John Dirk and gave the foreman’s name to them.

“Why?”

“Because he fancies I am his woman,” Leilani said, lifting her chin. “He wanted to

warn the Reaper to stay away from me.”

“This Dirk? He’s the bokor?” Lord Kiel queried.

Leilani’s brows drew together. “Bokor?” she repeated. “No, milord. John Dirk is a

powerful magic-sayer but he could never be a bokor.”

“Why not?”

“Because he is a white man,” she stated.

“Then who is the bokor here at Sagewood?” Lord Kiel asked.

“There is no bokor here. The one you seek is at Burnt Pine.”

The Reapers looked at one another then Lord Jaborn asked the name of the bokor.

“I don’t know,” she replied, and when the men growled at her, she took a step back,

her hands up for protection. “I swear to you, I don’t know who he is! I don’t truck with

the likes of men like him! I cannot give you a name for it is not spoken among the

workers. He is known only as Papa Croisement.” Her knees were shaking so badly, the

front of her gown was quivering.

“Then who would know?”

“What’s going on here?” It was Anthony Simmons who came into the foyer. “I

thought I asked you to leave…”

“Lord Glyn has been attacked and we suspect he has been given drugs that have

rendered him paralyzed,” Phelan explained.

Simmons’ eyebrows shot up. “He’s been turned into a zombie?”

“We did not say that,” Kasid stated, his face hard. “Why would you think it?”

The planter shot a look to his housekeeper. “Well, after the incident with the

supposed love potion…” He shrugged. “It was a logical conclusion.” He turned his full

attention on Leilani. “Have you done something else to Lord Kullen, wench, to punish

him for spurning you?”

“No, sir!” Leilani said. “I’ve not even seen him since he came to fetch the child.”

“We’ll find out who’s behind this and—the gods help him—because when we do,

he will be infinitely sorry he ever dared harm one of us,” Phelan said.

Simmons flinched. “I don’t doubt it for a minute.”

“Where can we find the foreman?”

171

Charlotte Boyett-Compo

“I sent him into Charlestown. He’s most likely still there,” Simmons replied.

“When he comes back, tell him to stay put. We will be back,” Phelan snapped, and

pivoted on his heel, leaving planter and housekeeper staring after the Reapers.

“What have you done?” Leilani whispered, fear making her lips tremble as she

stared at her employer. She looked past him to see John Dirk lounging against the

doorframe.

Anthony Simmons grabbed the young woman’s arm in a punishing grip and

twisted savagely, causing the housekeeper to groan. “Nothing the bastard didn’t

deserve,” he said. “And you’d best keep your mouth shut unless you want to wind up

in the same predicament!”

* * * * *

As Phelan vaulted into the saddle, his amber gaze shifted around the front yard

where workers were busy tending to the immaculate flowerbeds. Though the workers

seemed engrossed in their work, he knew they were surreptitiously watching him and

Kasid.

“Should we question them?” Kasid asked.

“No. They aren’t likely to tell us anything but Tony damned sure knows more than

he’s saying. Did you see the color flee his face when I made that threat?”

“Aye.”

Nudging his mount into motion, he shot Jaborn a worried look. “Why do I have this

nagging feeling Glyn’s problems have been caused by his love for Mystery?”

“Perhaps because I have the same feeling, my brother,” Kasid replied.

“Loving a woman can certainly bring a man all kinds of hell, can’t it?” Phelan

growled.

* * * * *

Eanan Tohre sat where the Triune Goddess had left him—in one of the con cells,

awaiting his fate. With his elbows on his knees, his head down, he listened to the sound

of approaching boot heels tapping against the stone floor and drew in a long breath,

releasing it on a wavering exhalation as the cell door opened. Schooling his face into

careful blankness, he raised his head. “Hello, Owen,” he said softly.

“Eanan,” his twin replied.

His gaze traveled quickly over his brother’s tall frame and though he saw no

weapon strapped to Owen’s thigh, he did not miss the tightly clenched fists that were

held stiffly at his twin’s sides.

“If you came to beat the shit out of me, I won’t stop you,” Eanan said, and a fleeting

tug of the right side of his mouth indicated a brief, hesitant smile. “Though I will draw

the line at you trying to kill me.”

172

My Reaper’s Daughter

“A fate you deserve or have you forgotten it was you who killed me?” Owen

questioned in a harsh tone.

“No,” Eanan said, hanging his head once more. “I have not forgotten. I’ve lived

with it every day of my life since.”

For a long time Owen said nothing then he folded his arms over his chest and

leaned against the cell wall. “I won’t ask you why you did it. I know all too well why.

What I’d like to know is if you regret having done it?”

Eanan raised his head. “Aye, Owen. On our mother’s grave and on—”

“Siobhan’s?” Owen growled, amber eyes flashing.

Pain flitted across Eanan’s face. “Aye, as well as Siobhan’s. I regret it more than you

will ever know and although I realize you will never forgive me for what I did—”

“Oh, I forgive you, Eanan,” Owen snapped.

“What?” Eanan whispered. “How could you? I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”

“No, you do not, but my lady asked it of me and for her I would do anything—even

forgive the bastard who took my life, tried to take my woman and who condemned me

to this hellish existence that I am truly grateful he has been forced to share!” Owen

narrowed his intent stare. “I forgive you, Eanan, but I will never forget what you did.”

Having said that, Owen pushed away from the wall and started out the door.

“Owen, wait!” Eanan said, shooting to his feet. He took a hesitant step toward his

twin, a hand out in entreaty.

Owen looked disdainfully at that hand then up into his brother’s eyes. “The

Shadowlords have sent for you. Needless to say they weren’t happy that you served my

sentence for me or that you were even in the Citadel without their knowledge, but

when they learned where I’d been and what I’d been forced to do, I think they believe

you had the easier punishment.”

“I’ve no doubt I did,” Eanan agreed, wincing at the thought of his brother in

Morrigunia’s clutches.

“Follow me and I’ll take you to them,” Owen ordered.

“Will you just wait a minute?” Eanan pleaded.

With a harsh rush of breath, Owen halted. “What?”

Eanan took a steadying breath of his own. “I am sorry for what I did, Owen. I truly

am. Though you may not believe me, I swear to you I mourned you and said a
padjer er

son ny merriu
for you every day since I took your life,” he said, letting his brother know

he had offered up prayers for the dead for Owen.

“You’re right,” Owen said, “I don’t believe you. If you sent up a
padjer er son ny

merriu,
it was for Siobhan
or for your own lost soul, Eanan Tohre
.”

“They were for you, Owen,” Eanan said. “Only for you. I went to the
Thie Baaish
for

Mama and Papa and Siobhan but I prayed for you.”

173

Charlotte Boyett-Compo

Owen thought of his brother prostrating himself at the
Thie Baaish
, the house of