Authors: Charlotte Boyett-Compo
“I am a Reaper,” she stated.
The High Lord was silent a good long time as he sat there and when he spoke, there was a slight smile on his lips.
“Aye, wench,” he agreed. “You are indeed a Reaper and I believe what you suggest has merit. If your fellow Reapers agree—”
“We do!” Arawn said for them all.
Lord Kheelan inclined his head. “Then I will ask that you gentlemen report to the infirmary and so inform Healer Dresden of this development. Bid him take—” He arched his brow again at Aingeal. “How many do you think?”
“Three,” she said, glancing at Arawn who nodded his agreement.
“That shouldn’t weaken us,” Arawn told her.
“Three it is then,” the High Lord concurred. “One hellion will accompany the team on their mission and two will remain here for safekeeping.”
“Thank you, Lord Kheelan,” Aingeal said, stepping back and saluting him in the fashion she’d seen her husband extend to him.
“Lord Cynyr, Lady Aingeal and Lord Kasid, please remain behind,” Lord Kheelan said. “The rest of you go on to the infirmary. When you have donated the hellions, rest a while then we will begin the briefing for your mission. We’ll meet back here at six and have supper.” He cast Aingeal a look. “If Lady Aingeal agrees, that is.”
Aingeal blushed. “I bow to your authority, milord,” she said contritely. The High Lord snorted and shook his head. “Lords Arawn and Bevyn, bring your ladies to the meal with you,” he said then waved a hand to dismiss them. When the other Reapers had left the room, Lord Kheelan motioned Cynyr, his lady and Jaborn to sit. He waited until Lords Naois and Dunham were once more seated on 29
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the dais alongside him before he sat forward, his hands clasped, and leveled the three Reapers with a no-nonsense stare.
“I know there is bad blood between the two of you,” the High Lord said, looking from Cynyr to Jaborn. “Each of you has sworn to kill the other but that is no longer an option for either of you. Do you understand this?”
Aingeal was sitting between her husband and the Akhkharulian. She could feel the animosity radiating from both of them. Her husband had stiffened and he was sitting with his arms folded. Jaborn was sitting as equally rigid with his hands doubled into fists on his thighs.
“Lord Cynyr?” the Shadowlord probed.
“He is a
balgair
,” Cynyr said, a muscle working in his jaw.
“Was a
balgair
,” Lord Kheelan corrected. “He has taken the Reaper’s Oath.”
“That doesn’t make him a Reaper,” Cynyr stated.
“Lord Kasid, will you uphold the Oath to which you swore?” the High Lord asked.
“An Oath you made to protect your fellow Reapers’ lives as though they were your own?”
Jaborn nodded. “I have so sworn and I stand by my vow.”
“Just as you swore to avenge your brother?” Cynyr snapped. He turned to glare at the other man. “I don’t trust you.”
“What is to say you will not attempt to kill me?” Jaborn threw at Cree. “I don’t trust you either!”
“Lady Aingeal,” Lord Kheelan said, drawing her troubled eyes to him. “Did Lord Kasid harm you in any way while you were a prisoner of the Jakotai?”
She shook her head. “No, but he encouraged Otaktay to beat me on several occasions.”
Cynyr sprang to his feet, his fist drawn back to hit the Akhkharulian but Aingeal jumped up and grabbed his arm. “You son of a bitch!” Cree yelled at Jaborn. “I’ll take your head off for that!”
“You’ll do no such thing!” Lord Kheelan shouted. “Sit your ass down, Cree!”
“He told that fucking brave to beat my woman and you want me to sit down?”
Cynyr bellowed. “You can go to hell and take him with you!”
It was all Aingeal could do to push her husband back, to keep him from physically attacking Jaborn who had also come to his feet, his fists up to meet the threat. One moment the two men were straining toward one another and the next they were literally flying backward through the air, slamming into chairs at the opposite end of the row, sitting as firmly in the seats as though they had been lashed to them with ropes. Snapping her head around, she saw the High Lord standing with his arm pointing straight out in front of him—palm toward the Reapers—his eyes blazing with rage.
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“I told you to sit down!” Lord Kheelan thundered. He shifted his attention to Aingeal. “And that goes for you too, wench!”
Aingeal hurried to the middle seat in which Arawn had sat and quickly lowered her shapely rump. She stared at the Shadowlord with eyes wide as saucers and lips parted.
Cynyr and Jaborn looked like statues as they sat in the chairs. Neither of them was able to move nor speak.
Lord Kheelan took his seat slowly, his face as hard as granite. The two men sitting to either side of him sat as straight as the two Reapers and said not a word as the High Lord adjusted the front of his gray robe, obviously attempting to get his breathing under control. When he was situated, his merciless stare was directed at Aingeal.
“I have spent many a sleepless night trying to decide whether or not to take a woman as my mate. It has been a lonely life for me and one in which I’d like to someone or something share to make that loneliness more bearable. But when I see the mischief, the harm you women can accomplish without even trying, I lean closer and closer to that companion being canine or lupine. The gods save me from the trouble you just unknowingly brewed with one simple statement!”
Aingeal flinched and slumped in her seat. She knew perfectly well to what he was referring and realized she shouldn’t have spoken. The Shadowlord’s next words confirmed that insight.
“Think before you open your mouth, wench,” Lord Kheelan advised. “Aye, ‘tis true what you said but you should have known the reaction of your husband. To him, beating a woman is a sin. To Jaborn, it is a way of life. The men of his world have total dominion over their women. He gave no thought to suggesting the Jakotai make you submissive to him.” The High Lord shifted his stony glower to Jaborn. “Would you have hit this woman?” he demanded, nodding to give the warrior permission to speak.
“Nay, Your Grace. It was not my right to do such a thing with the one responsible for her conduct at hand,” Jaborn stated.
Lord Kheelan sighed audibly. “We will overlook the fact that the Jakotai had no such right either. Both you and he believed he did, but he did not lay a hand to the wench either, did he?”
“Nay, Your Grace,” Jaborn replied.
“Regardless of whether or not you believed Otaktay the rightful owner of Lady Aingeal, would you have beaten her?”
Jaborn’s face drained of color. “Nay, Your Grace!” he was quick to say.
“And why not?”
Striving to move, to turn his head toward the Shadowlord but completely unable to do so, Jaborn simply began to sweat in his agitation. “Because I was afraid of her as a Reaper.”
“Afraid she would attack you?”
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“Aye, Your Grace.”
“And why did that concern you, Lord Kasid?”
“Everyone knows a she-wolf is far more dangerous than the male,” Jaborn said,
“and far less predictable.”
Lord Kheelan nodded as though that was the answer he’d been seeking. “When I hold men in the state in which I hold the two of you, you must understand that it is impossible for those men so entranced to lie,” the High Lord said. “What they say under my control is the gods’ own truth.” He swung his attention to Cynyr. “Is that understood?” Once more he nodded to give permission for the Reaper to speak.
“Aye, Your Grace.”
“Do you understand Lord Kasid meant neither any disrespect nor harm to your lady?”
Cynyr looked as though had it been possible he would have been squirming in his seat, but since only his eyes and mouth had movement, he squinted before he answered. “Aye, Your Grace, but I still don’t trust him.”
“Lord Kasid,” the High Lord called out, “will you protect the mates of your fellow Reapers?”
“Aye, Your Grace, I will!” Jaborn pledged.
“And take the backs of your fellow Reapers in combat or whenever it is needed?”
“Aye, Your Grace!”
“Will you uphold the Reaper’s Oath?”
“I will, Your Grace!”
“Do the both of you understand that I am watching each of you and that should either of you step out of line, I will make you regret it? Nod if you understand.”
Both men nodded.
“Then that is all I need to know,” Lord Kheelan and with a wave of his hand, broke the hold he had over the two Reapers. As both men sagged in their seats, the High Lord leaned forward, piercing them both with a steady glare. “If either of you give me reason to regret letting this situation go, I will bring you both back here and throw the two of you into adjoining containment cells for no less than a six-month term of punishment. Is
that
understood?”
Cynyr’s eyes flared for he knew all too well what it was like to endure punishment in a containment cell. “Understood, Your Grace,” he was quick to say, his voice hoarse with unease.
Although Jaborn had never known such punishment, he too agreed that he understood.
Lord Kheelan settled his dark gaze on Aingeal. “And do you understand that should another incident occur between your husband and Lord Kasid, they will both be remanded to the containment cells together?” he asked.
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Aingeal lifted her chin. “I understand, Your Grace.” She got to her feet, her hands at her side. “And do you understand that should you punish my husband for something someone else does, I will be your enemy for life?”
Cynyr groaned, squeezing his eyes closed, biting his tongue to keep from yelling at his lady. He didn’t dare look at either his wife or the Shadowlord.
“Aye, Lady Aingeal, I am very well aware that would happen,” the High Lord said softly. “My advice to you is to caution prudence with your man.”
That said, Lord Kheelan rose and stepped down from the dais, disappearing behind a concealed door through which his fellow Shadowlords followed. Jaborn had been holding his breath and now let it out in a long rush of air. He turned his head and gave Aingeal a look that could only be described as one of admiration. Shadowlords were powerful beings and for one to back down to a woman was unheard of in the Akhkharulian’s world. Surely Lady Aingeal had a great deal of power herself for such a thing to happen.
“Don’t,” the lady said as her husband stood up and started to speak to her. “We’ve no reason to discuss this further.”
Cynyr shook his head. He looked as though he wouldn’t have known what to say to her in the first place. Walking over to her, he held his arm out to her. Aingeal took it then looked around at Jaborn.
“Will you walk with us, milord?” she invited, holding her hand out to him. Though Cynyr stiffened, he said nothing as the Akhkharulian came over to them and proffered Aingeal his arm in much the same way her husband had.
“It would be my pleasure to walk with a warrioress of your caliber, milady,” Jaborn stated.
* * * * *
Lord Naois flopped down on the sofa in the room to which he and his fellow Shadowlords had retired. He shook his head when Lord Dunham offered him a libation from the bar.
“What ails you, Nat?” Lord Kheelan asked as he took a snifter of brandy and walked to the fireplace to look down at the shimmering flames.
“Lady Aingeal,” Lord Naois said.
“She’s something, isn’t she?” Lord Kheelan asked.
“Do you realize it makes you look as though you kowtowed to her?”
Lord Kheelan shrugged, turned away from the fireplace and took a seat on the sofa.
“Perhaps but she meant what she said. If I punish her man, she will hate me for as long as she draws breath.” He grinned, bringing the rim of the snifter up to his lips. “She’s still pissed at me for that other punishment he went through.” He took a sip, pursed his 33
Charlotte Boyett-Compo
lips and then settled his head on the high back of the leather sofa. “But she is willing to let bygones be bygones unless I hurt him again.”
“That puts you at a disadvantage, doesn’t it?” Lord Dunham asked.
“She’ll keep his ass in line,” the High Lord prophesied. “That was my intent in the first place.”
“Ah,” Lord Dunham said, pouring himself a generous amount of brandy. “There was a method to what Nat and I thought was pure madness.”
“Madness like that of a fox,” Lord Naois said. “I should have known.”
While his comrades discussed the Reapers—and in particular the female warrior—
Lord Kheelan lounged with his long legs out in front of him, the snifter resting on his flat belly. Had either of his companions noticed the sadness on his face, they might well have guessed the real reason he had not taken Aingeal Cree to task for daring to threaten him. As it was, he stared into the flames, letting the ache in his heart subside. 34
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Chapter Four
The evening meal had been excellent, the conversation lively, and when the diners had cleared out of the dining room and reassembled in the office to which the guide Giles ushered them, they took comfortable upholstered seats facing a large drawing sitting on a stand at the back wall of the office. When they were settled in, the Shadowlords joined them, two of them taking seats at a long desk that sat to the left of the map.
“I trust no one left the table hungry?” Lord Dunham inquired with a grin as he stood before the map.
“If anyone did, Your Grace, it would have been their own fault,” Arawn replied for them all.
“Afraid I ate far too much,” Lord Naois said, massaging his belly. “I’ll pay for it later.”
“Are we all comfortable?” Lord Dunham asked, and at the chorus of ayes, he asked Giles to lower the lights. He waited until Giles and two helpers had turned the wicks down on the lamps then picked up a pointer and placed it against the drawing. “This is a map of our land.”
Other than the three Shadowlords, no one in the room had ever seen a map of the country. It was a strange experience, letting them know just how vast the land was in which they lived.