Her Reaper's Arms (12 page)

large black woman said with a sniff. “Well, don’t just stand there. Get on in here!” She

hobbled back to give them room to pass her.

“Sorry,” Bevyn mumbled as he tried to smile at the dark face, but the widow just

glared at him. He felt like a little boy again.

“The breakfast was delicious, Miss Cornelia,” Lea said.

“Uh-huh,” Cornelia agreed, closing the door. She folded a pair of huge arms over a

very impressive chest and just looked at them.

Bevyn cleared his throat. “We’d like to take you up on the offer of the room,” he

said.

“Uh-huh,” came the reply.

The Reaper exchanged a look with his lady. “I’ll be glad to pay you for—”

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Her Reaper’s Arms

Cornelia snorted. “Son, you won’t do nothin’ of the sort. Don’t want no money for

the offer. I ain’t running no bed and breakfast here.” She sniffed. “You’ll earn your

keep.”

“Ah, well, now, I don’t…” Bevyn began, his eyebrows drawn sharply together.

“What is it you would have us do, Miss Cornelia?” Lea cut him off, giving him a

warning look.

“Done done it so far as I’m concerned,” Cornelia said.

Bevyn just stared at her. “I beg your pardon?”

Cornelia arched a nearly non-existent eyebrow. “You went and took this little girl

here as your lady and that’s all the payment I need.” She smiled to reveal two missing

front teeth. “Now, who wants some egg pie?”

Half an hour later, Bevyn was shifting uncomfortably on the chair in the kitchen,

wishing he were anywhere else. He had already downed four glasses of water but the

sugar overload that was rushing through his system wasn’t abating and he gave

another nasty look to the empty pie plate that sat on the counter.

“One dozen eggs, two cups of sugar, two cups sweet cream, one teaspoon each of

vanilla and nutmeg…”

He tried not to listen to Cornelia giving Lea the recipe for the ultra-sweet pie that

had turned his cock into a living nightmare between his legs. There was no way he

could stand up without the women seeing the evidence so he just sat there—sweating

and silently cursing his Reaper’s need for sweet food, holding the tablecloth close to his

stomach to hide himself.

“Son, what ails you?”

Bevyn jerked, his eyes going guiltily from the pie plate to Cornelia.

“You want another piece of pie, just ask for it,” the black woman said. “I got

another one in the icebox and—”

“No!” Bevyn stated emphatically. “No more sugar!”

Lea’s face turned bright red and her gaze snapped to the pie plate. Both she and

Cornelia had had small slices of the heavenly concoction but her Reaper had practically

inhaled the rest of it, gobbling it up as though there were no tomorrow. “Oh,” she

whispered.

“You got the diabetes or somethin’, son?” Cornelia demanded.

Bevyn gave Lea a pleading look.

“Why don’t we go into the parlor, Miss Cornelia,” Lea said, hooking her arm

through the older woman’s.

“What for?” Cornelia asked.

“He’s…the pie…well…” Lea shrugged. “Sugar does things to him.”

“Wench!” Bevyn hissed.

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Charlotte Boyett-Compo

Cornelia looked from one red face to the other then nodded. “Uh-huh,” she said.

“Guess I won’t be offering him none of my homemade lemonade then. It’s got two cups

of sugar in it too.”

“Best not,” Lea agreed.

“Humph,” Cornelia commented, and ushered Lea out of the kitchen with a lastminute order for the Reaper to get matters in hand then come join them.

Long after the two women had left him, Bevyn sat where he was, gritting his teeth

and willing his cock to behave—which it didn’t feel inclined to do. It stayed hard and

full and burning, so aroused he could feel every breath he took pressing against his

crotch. He was acutely embarrassed then confused, then annoyed and finally amused.

This was a situation he’d never run up against before and although it was nothing to

report back to the Citadel, he would bet his last pay credit that his fellow Reapers

would find it comical.

Not that he’d met any of his kind except for the Prime—Arawn Gehdrin—and he

was in awe of that man. He could imagine Gehdrin giving him a scowl for letting such a

thing happen.

Thoughts of the Prime brought thoughts of the Citadel and then of the

Shadowlords—one in particular, who was going to be more than unhappy with what

Bevyn had done.

“Reapers do not need mates,”
Lord Kheelan had lectured.
“Mates are a liability you men

can not afford.”

Well, he thought as he eased himself more comfortably in the chair, thoughts of the

High Lord very effectively diminishing his erection, he had fucked up royally and

would pay for it, but if he had it to do over again, he knew he’d make the same

decision. Lea was his and he was going to keep her—no matter what he had to do in

order for that to happen.

“Mistakes are paid for in blood, Lord Bevyn,”
Lord Kheelan had once told him.
“In blood

and sweat and pain.”

Aye, he figured he would be shelling out some of that coin once he returned to the

Citadel, and he had a fairly good guess what would happen to him, how he’d be forced

to pay for going against orders. The problem was, he was not willing to leave Lea

behind in Orson, not knowing how long he’d be forced to stay at the Citadel.

“Are you all right now?” Lea asked, peeking her head in the kitchen door.

Bevyn looked up. “I’ve got to report to the Citadel next week,” he told her. “I want

you to come with me.”

Lea came into the kitchen, her eyes worried. “I’m not a good horsewoman, milord.

I…”

“We’ll take the train from Clewiston,” he said.

Her face brightened. “The train? We’ll take the train?”

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Her Reaper’s Arms

“Aye,” he said. “They have sleeping cars and it’s a sight better than camping on the

ground or looking for hotels decent enough to stay in between here and there.”

She came to him and squatted down beside his chair. “I’ve never ridden on a train,”

she said.

He cupped her chin. “You’ll enjoy it, wench,” he said, leaning down to briefly touch

his lips to hers.

Lea glanced down at his lap. “Is everything back to normal?”

He laughed. “As much as it can get back to normal,” he said. He released her and

pushed the chair back, extending his hand to help her up. “We’d best go socialize with

our new landlady before she changes her mind about us staying here.”

“I don’t think we have anything to worry about there,” she said. She slipped her

arm around his waist. “She thinks you’re one delectable white man.”

“Did she say that?” he asked, his eyes twinkling.

“She did, but don’t let it go to your head, son,” Cornelia said as she came into the

kitchen. “Now get gone while I see to supper.”

“Can I help you?” Lea asked.

“No, you most certainly can not,” Cornelia said. “Don’t want no skinny white gals

getting in the way of my serious cooking. Take that boy and go off somewhere before

you get him all worked up again.”

“Come on, Bev,” Lea said, pulling on his arm.

“‘That boy’?” Bevyn repeated as Lea ushered him out the back door and into

Cornelia’s immaculate yard. “Did she really call me a ‘boy’?”

“I don’t think she meant it as an insult, milord,” she was quick to appease him.

“I didn’t take it as one,” he said, looking back at the kitchen door. “It’s just that no

one has ever called me a ‘boy’ before.”

“Even when you were a child?” she asked, leaning into him as they walked.

He turned his head back around, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants.

“Not even then. And no one ever called me ‘son’ either.”

Lea looked up at him. “What did your parents call you?”

Bevyn was staring at the creek to which they were walking for it ran across the far

end of Cornelia’s property, curving back toward the plot of land where he would build

their home.

“I didn’t have any,” he said quietly.

“No parents?” she queried. “What were you? Hatched?”

He glanced down at her. “No parents I knew of,” he corrected.

“Oh I see. You were orphaned,” she said.

“No, I was thrown away,” he said.

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They stopped on a rise that overlooked the shimmering waters of Willow Glen

Creek. Around them were tall cottonwoods and black walnut trees interspersed with

maples and poplars. It was a quiet, peaceful setting and the grass was lush and green.

Lea let go of his arm and sat down, bending her knees to one side, smoothing her

dress over them. He hunkered down beside her and picked up a long blade of grass,

running it through his fingers.

“Tell me,” she encouraged.

He wanted to. He just didn’t know where to start. She seemed to understand he

was marshalling his thoughts for she was quiet, waiting for him to speak, giving him all

the time he needed.

“They found me under a pile of trash in a vacant lot,” he said quietly. “I was only a

few hours old. Whoever the woman was who’d given birth to me sure as hell didn’t

want me and didn’t expect anyone to find me, I guess.”

“Who was it that found you?”

“Two priests from the Brotherhood,” he said. “It was by chance they were passing

by and heard me crying.” He tossed away the blade of grass and sat down beside her,

drawing his knees up into the circle of his arms. “They took me to the monastery to be

raised as a brother.”

“You were a priest?” she asked, surprised.

He nodded. “I took my final vows when I was twenty-eight and was given my first

assignment just after my thirtieth birthday.”

“How old are you now?” she asked.

“A lot older than you,” he said. He was staring at the creek but his eyes were seeing

something other than the light shining on the rippling waters.

Lea sensed he didn’t want to tell her just how old he was. “So did you forsake the

priesthood to become a Reaper?” she asked.

He laughed bitterly. “You must die to become a Reaper, sweeting,” he told her,

“and I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“I would like a fireplace in the kitchen,” she said, and when he turned his head to

her, she nodded. “A big fireplace made of fieldstone and I want the kitchen to be large

enough for a sitting room for when it snows outside.”

“Does it snow
inside
here in Orson?” he asked, lips pursed.

“It has been known to,” she said with a twinkle in her eye at his teasing.

“A big kitchen with a fireplace sounds nice,” he agreed.

“And a big window so we can look out and watch it snow.”

“A big window with mullions,” he added.

“And shutters.”

“Naturally.”

“And nice plush carpeting,” she said wistfully. “Dark green.”

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Her Reaper’s Arms

He turned his back to her and lay down, putting his head in her lap, staring up

through the tall tree branches at the blue sky. “And a copper tub big enough for the

both of us.”

She ran her fingers through his dark hair. “A big porch that wraps all the way

around the house.”

“With a swing in the back for sitting on cool summer evenings,” he amended.

“A tin roof for when it rains.”

“Aye,” he said, and sighed. He crossed his legs at the ankle and threaded his fingers

together over his flat belly. “Everything that will make it a home.”

“Our home,” she said as she gazed across at the land where their house would be

built.

“Our home,” he repeated.

He was quiet for so long after that, Lea did not need to look down to know her

Reaper was asleep. When she lowered her gaze, she smiled, her heart filling to the brim

with her love for the man. His dark lashes were like smutty little crescents over his

tanned cheek and his full lips were slightly parted to reveal the stark whiteness of his

even teeth. To her, he was perfection, the most handsome man she’d ever had the

pleasure of knowing.

Her attention went to the tribal tattoo on his left temple and cheek, and she

wondered how he came by it. If he had not known who his father was, how was it he

had a particular clan’s marking? And at what age had it been applied? Once more she

wondered how old he was, but something told her he would never reveal such

information to her.

Sighing, she stilled her hand on his hair, not wanting to wake him for he looked so

peaceful, so…well…young as he lay there.

It was nearly sunset by the time Bevyn awoke and he was surprised to find himself

on the ground, his head in Lea’s lap. He looked up at her to find her gazing down at

him with a small smile on her lips.

“Hey there, sleepyhead,” she said, tugging gently on his dark curls.

“How long have I been asleep?” he asked.

“At least three hours,” she said. Her legs had gone to sleep along with him.

“Oh man,” he said. “I’ve never done
that
before.”

“What? Falling asleep in the middle of the day?”

“Aye,” he replied. “Reapers don’t sleep all that well. Sleeping so soundly when I’m

with you truly surprises me.”

She smoothed his hair back from his forehead. “Did you know you snore?”

“I do not,” he said indignantly.

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“Shh… Listen!” she said, her eyes sweeping back and forth as though danger were