Reaper's Revenge (4 page)

The Prime Reaper could see why Cynyr had taken such a shine to the old woman. Moira gave as good as she got and her twinkling eyes made him want to pick her up and squeeze her with affection—a strange proposition for a man such as himself.

“Well?” Moira demanded.

“Well, what?” Arawn threw back at her.

“Wood ain’t gonna chop itself, lad,” Moira said, rolling her eyes.

“How much wood do you need?” the Prime Reaper asked, and could have kicked himself at the whine he heard in his voice.

“Enough to warrant me making you another blueberry pie for supper,” Moira replied, turning around and heading for the door. “No more wood? No more pies for the likes of you.”

Arawn watched the old woman struggling to walk and wished she’d allowed him to heal her, but she’d made it clear that was a task only Cynyr Cree would be permitted to do when he returned.

Sighing, the Prime Reaper jammed his hat down over his forehead and followed Moira at a pace that allowed the old lady her dignity. He kept a step behind her, his hand ready to steady her if needed.

“She’s just your type, ye know,” Moira said, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.

“Aye, so you keep reminding me,” Arawn agreed. He knew all too well to whom the old lady was referring.

“And ye ain’t gettin’ no younger, Arawn Gehdrin.”

“No, ma’am, I’m surely not,” he said, teeth clenched. “And I’m getting older by the minute.”

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Reaper’s Revenge

Moira stopped and peered up at him. “Just how old
are
you, boy?”

Arawn’s amber eyes sparkled. “Older than you by a long sight, Moira McDermott,”

he said, “so you should have some respect for your elders.”

Moira gave a very unladylike snort and continued on her way, deliberately slowing her step so the Reaper could think he was protecting her.

* * * * *

The trill of the whistle pierced the late morning silence that had fallen over Haines City. People had been milling around waiting for the arrival of the train, awaiting Cynyr and Aingeal’s return. At the sound of the locomotive approaching, a general exodus began flowing toward the depot.

“You’d think they were returning monarchs,” Arawn said. The Prime Reaper was leaning against a building, his arms crossed, his black hat cocked down over his amber eyes.

Bevyn couldn’t get over how friendly the townspeople were toward them. He was used to having men step aside, women run and hide whenever he appeared in a town. When they’d landed on the outskirts of Haines City they’d shifted from their eagle forms back to their human shapes and had come walking into town side by side. Expecting the locals to hightail it, they were surprised when people simply stopped what they were doing and watched them. No one had run. Not one man had crossed the street to avoid them.

The sheriff had come out of his office to greet them but there hadn’t been any fear in the man’s curious eyes.

“What can we do for you, my lords?” Sheriff Dan Brewer had inquired.

“Lord Cynyr sent us ahead of him,” Arawn said.

Frowning, the sheriff came a bit closer. “The reason being…?”

“There are two he was afraid might cause your people trouble,” Arawn replied.

“We’re here to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

Two men came forward, neither showing the least bit of apprehension. They tipped their hats to the Reapers and introduced themselves as Brett Samuels and Mick Brady.

“Our Reaper sent them to protect us,” the sheriff informed the men.

“Cynyr takes care of his own, don’t he?” Samuels asked.

Arawn and Bevyn looked at one another. Their reception was not what they’d been expecting. Other men were walking over to them, nodding politely then thanking them when the sheriff explained the Reapers’ presence in town.

“We had a family murdered a couple of days ago,” the sheriff said. “Could have been done by rogues. Me and my posse chased ’em but they just vanished on us.”

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Charlotte Boyett-Compo

“It was a horrible thing,” Samuels injected. “Lost everything they owned to a tornado a while back and then massacred as they were. A real horrible end to some good folk.”

“Was it a white man and a Jakotai?” Arawn asked.

The sheriff nodded. “S’pect so.”

The Prime Reaper took off his hat and armed the sweat from his forehead. “The white man would be Silus Gibbs and the brave is called Otaktay. My guess is the Jakotai has been turned by now.”

“Damn, but ain’t that a kick in the danglies? A Jakotai rogue. That just ain’t right,”

the sheriff complained.

Mick Brady shook his head. “Couldn’t be,” he said. “Cynyr killed him.”

“He shot the wrong man,” Arawn told him.

“Ah hell,” Samuels said. “That gives that red man even more reason to hate Cynyr, don’t you reckon?”

“Cyn already has the woman the brave considers his,” Brady replied. “I’d say he don’t like us none either, since we winged him when he came busting through Aingeal’s window.”

“We’ll find the rogues,” Bevyn spoke up. “If not us, then Cynyr will. One way or the other, those two murderers will be put down.”

One of the men gathered around them introduced himself simply as Guthrie. “I own the hotel and you are welcome to free rooms.”

“We pay for what we use,” Arawn said.

“Just like Cynyr,” Samuels said with a grin.

“Damn if you men aren’t a sight better than those other two Reapers what came through here a few years back,” the sheriff said. “They expected the town to wait on

’em hand and foot.”

“Do you recall their names?” Arawn asked. If his men acted in such a way, he wanted to know of it and remedy the situation.

“Kullen was one of them,” Bevyn said. “He mentioned he’d been here a few years back.”

“That sounds right,” the sheriff said. “Don’t recall the other one’s name though.”

He looked at the other men but they shook their heads.

“I’ll ask Miss Moira,” Samuels said. “She’ll remember it.”

“Is that the old crippled lady?” Arawn asked, and was stunned when the men around him burst out laughing.

“Don’t you make the mistake of saying that in her hearing,” Brady warned them.

“She’ll box your ears for sure!”

“And call her old at your peril,” the sheriff joked.

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Reaper’s Revenge

Standing with Arawn as they waited for the train, Bevyn couldn’t stop smiling.

“What’s so amusing, Coure?” Arawn asked.

Bevyn reached up to tip his hat back. “I was just thinking of the first time we met Miss Moira.”

Arawn grunted. “That’s a day I’m not likely to ever forget.”

“So which one of ye is the Prime?”

The querulous voice came at them from behind as Arawn and Bevyn were walking to the Guthrie House. They turned to see a little old woman hobbling toward them, her cane stabbing into the dusty street as she moved.

Both men removed their hats as she approached.

“You must be Miss Moira,” Arawn said. He was staring at the hump on her back that bent her frail body forward at a heartbreaking angle.

“Who the hell else would I be?” she demanded, craning her head to look up at them. “Ain’t but one of the likes of me, lads.”

“Cyn said as much,” Arawn agreed. “I’m Arawn Gehdrin, the Prime.”

“Well, come on with ye,” she said. She turned around so quickly, both men hurried forward, afraid she’d fall.

“Where are we going?” Bevyn asked.

“For supper,” she replied. “From the looks of ye, ye could do with a good homecooked meal.”

“We don’t want to put you out, ma’am,” Arawn said, and was a bit surprised at how fast the old lady could walk.

“Ye ain’t,” she said. “Saves me from having nobody but that good-for-nothing daughter-in-law of mine to sit with while I eat.”

“That would be Annie,” Bevyn said.

The old lady had stopped and cocked her head to look at Coure. “Cynyr told you about that worthless chit?”

“Aingeal did,” Bevyn replied.

Moira narrowed her eyes. “Ye got a mate, don’t ye, boy?”

Bevyn glanced at Arawn. “Aye, Miss Moira. I do.”

She’d swung her head the other way. “What about ye?”

Arawn shook his head. “No, ma’am, I—”

“We’ll remedy that,” Moira announced, and commenced walking again.

“She’s set on foisting Danielle Brewer off on me,” Arawn complained. He straightened up for the train was in sight, its engine slowing down.

“Speaking of the little minx,” Bevyn said, “here she comes.”

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Arawn groaned and unfolded his arms to thrust his hands into the pockets of his leather uniform pants.

“Hey there, Arawn,” the lovely young woman said as she came strolling up to them, twirling the parasol that rested on her shoulder.

“Miss Danielle,” the Prime Reaper acknowledged with a cold tone. Bevyn tipped his hat politely, but the pretty blonde only nodded at him, sweeping her pale blue eyes over him briefly before settling her gaze on the Prime Reaper. Arawn refused to meet the young woman’s gaze although he could feel the heat of it crawling over him.

“It’ll be good to have Cynyr and Aingeal home again,” Danielle said. The Prime Reaper merely grunted, keeping his hawklike stare on the coming train.

“You aren’t planning on going right back to the Citadel now that Cyn’s home, do you?” she asked. “You are going to stay a while and enjoy our hospitality a bit more, aren’t you?”

Bevyn’s lips twitched and he had to turn away to keep from laughing at the pained look on his leader’s face.

Arawn lifted his head and glared at the young woman. “Why the hell aren’t you folks afraid of us?” he demanded. “Do you have any notion of how dangerous we are, wench?”

“Oh pooh!” Danielle said, waving a dismissive hand. “I’m sure there might be other Reapers who are uncivilized and rough-edged, but no one could say the three of you handsome men could be considered such.”

“We kill people,” Arawn said, coming close to the young woman and glowering at her. “With this!” He laid a hand on the laser whip that hung from his right hip.

“Well, of course,” Danielle agreed. “That’s what you have to do to protect folks like us. Why should we fear you? You are here to keep us safe.”

Gritting his teeth, Arawn spun on his heel and stalked off toward the crush of people crowding the train platform, his shoulders hunched.

“I’m not giving up,” the young woman stated firmly. She turned her face toward Bevyn and lifted her chin. “I’m not.”

“You ever heard the old saying that anything worth having is worth fighting for, Miss Danielle?” Bevyn asked.

She nodded.

“
Dá fhada an lá tagann an tráthnóna
,” Bevyn quoted.

“Which means?”

“However long the day, the evening will come,” he translated the Gaelach. Danielle Brewer thought about that for a moment then grinned. “Aye, Lord Bevyn, that it will!” Flouncing her skirt she hurried off for the train had pulled into the station. 22

Reaper’s Revenge

Bevyn chuckled to himself for the pretty young thing was making a beeline for Arawn, her skirts sashaying around her shapely rump. “The gods help you, Gehdrin, but she’s got you in her sights and you’re done for, man,” Bevyn said. The train came to a full stop and a crew of burly men streamed out of one of the passenger cars and headed for a flatcar piled with rails and crossties. Two men jumped up on the car and began picking up a barrel that took both of them to lift.

“Wonder what the heck’s going on?” Brady asked as he joined Arawn and Bevyn.

“Side rail,” the Prime Reaper stated. “For that next to the last car.”

Those gathered craned their necks to see the fancy private car coupled to the caboose. As soon as Cynyr was seen in the car’s opened doorway, a loud cheer went up.

“They gave him a railroad car,” Brady said after a low whistle. “Ain’t that something?”

“All Reapers have their own railroad car,” Bevyn announced, and caught Arawn frowning at him. He ducked his head.

Cynyr felt self-conscious at the greeting and hesitantly lifted a hand to the crowd. He turned away to offer his hand to Aingeal as she started down the metal steps. The Reaper heard the crowd moving toward him and shrugged his shoulders as though a burden had been placed on the broad width.

“Welcome home!” Sheriff Brewer called out, the first one to reach the Crees. “Sure is good to have you folks back in Haines City.”

Aingeal was smiling, reaching out to hug several of the town’s women who had hurried up to her. She even hugged Mick Brady, and that brought an instant scowl to her husband’s face.

Though no one put out a hand to welcome Cynyr, folks greeted him warmly—

sensing his reluctance to shake hands. Smiles were bestowed upon him as well as friendly words, but they stepped politely aside as he headed toward the depot and the two Reapers waiting there for him.

“I guess I didn’t have to worry about how they were going to take to you showing up here,” Cynyr said as he gained the platform.

“Surprised the hell out of us,” Bevyn told him. “I can see why you’d make the town your home, Cree.”

Arawn nodded at Cynyr though neither man put out a hand to the other. “There’s been trouble,” he said.

Aingeal glanced toward the platform where her husband and his brethren were talking. She could tell by the set of Cynyr’s shoulders that problems had arisen while they were gone. She looked to Brady. “What happened?”

Mick’s smile slowly slipped away. “The Sheenans,” he said. “The farm family who lived on the west edge of town?” At her nod, he told her about the family’s murder. 23

Charlotte Boyett-Compo

“Was it rogues?” she asked. She remembered the family and her first sight of them after the tornado. Cynyr had asked if they needed help but the man of the house had waved him away.

“Aye,” Brady said. “Looks like it was Gibbs and that Jakotai brave from what Arawn says.”

“Arawn, is it?” she countered, and grinned.

Brady shrugged. “He and Bevyn are good folk. They’ve been a help to us and since they arrived, there hasn’t been the first hint of trouble in these parts.”