Boyett-Compo, Charlotte - WesternWind 01 - Wynd River (6 page)

“And lightning wouldn’t burn you?” she challenged.

“It might, but I’m not afraid of it.”

She looked out the window where a streak of white light had raced across the sky. “I don’t want to be

left alone here,” she said quietly.

“You think the Jakotai would venture this close into town?” he asked.

“Some do,” she said. “Back in Dyersville there was a brave who hung around the jail. He—”

“I saw him and I could smell the booze on him when I passed. He’s about as useless as a brave as I

would be in a knitting contest.”

Aingeal chewed on her bottom lip, glancing once more to the onslaught battering the tin roof overhead.

She reached out to lay her hand on his forearm. “Please let me go with you. If I stay here, Otaktay will

find me. I know he will.”

Cynyr held her gaze for a moment, seeing the fear clouding her gray eyes. She was terrified of the man

tracking her and that terror could lead him straight to her.

“We’ll have to get you some foul weather gear if you’re going with me,” he acknowledged, liking the feel

of her hand on his arm. He could feel the heat of it through his silk shirt and it sent spirals of warmth

pooling through his groin.

Her eyes lit up. “You’ll take me with you? You won’t leave me here?”

“And I’ll have to get you your own horse,” he said. “You’re too much of a distraction sitting in front of

me.”

She grinned. “Can’t keep your hands off me, eh, Cyn?”

“Do you want me to?” he asked in a soft, menacing voice.

Aingeal felt a tremor of desire spiraling through her lower body and slowly shook her head. “Never,” she

said. “Not ever.”

“That’s good because now that we’ve mated, I have no intention of ever letting you get away from me,”

he said. “You are mine and mine you will stay.”

Something delicious undulated through Aingeal at his words. She savored both the tone and the words

themselves, for the way he had said them and the look in his eyes made her feel wanted and treasured.

Cynyr looked around and caught the waitress’s eye and motioned her over. She came so quickly, she

nearly stumbled in her haste to reach him.

“Aye,
mo tiarna
?” she said with a gulp.

“Who owns the best livery in town, Katy?” he asked, fishing in his pocket for the money with which to

pay for the meal.

“My nephew Danny,” she said. “You want him to fetch your horse to the stables?”

“No, we’ll be riding out,” he said, and ignored the sigh of relief the older woman heaved. “I need a

mount for my lady and a poncho for her. Can you see to it for us?”

Katy bobbed her head. “Aye,
mo tiarna
,” she agreed, and when he looked away from her, rushed off

to do his bidding.

“What does that mean?” Aingeal asked. “
Mo tiarna
?”

“My lord,” he answered.

“
Mo tiarna
,” she repeated. “I like that. Can I have a Gaelach title of some kind?”

“Bean mo chroi,”he said softly.

“Which means?”

“Woman of my heart.”

Aingeal blushed. “You don’t know me well enough yet to call me that,” she said in a husky voice.

“
An rud a líonas an tsúil líonann sé an croí
,” he responded. “What fills the eye fills the heart.”

Aingeal felt a tremor go down her spine and ached to put her arms around him. His voice was a black

velvet band wrapping gently around her heart, binding her to him, and she did not have any desire to

break free.

He reached out to take her hand and brought her fingers to his lips. “
Tá mo chroí istigh ionat,”
he said,

and when she cocked her head in silent request for the translation, he told her it meant
my heart is within

you
.

She sighed and tears brightened her eyes. Not once in the four years they were married had Donal ever

spoken a single love word to her. Theirs had not been a happy engagement, for their parents had

arranged it and the marriage had been one long fight between them with Aingeal on the receiving end of

her husband’s meaty fists.

“Never,” Cynyr said, “will I lay a hand to you,
mo ghrá.”

“I know you won’t,” she said.

He studied her a moment. “Well, let me correct that. Should it become necessary, I wouldn’t be averse

to applying my hand on your ass if you need it.”

Aingeal raised her chin. “You’d have to catch me first, Reaper, for that’s something I wouldn’t sit still

for.”

“You wouldn’t be able to sit at all if I ever needed to spank your ass,” he stated.

“Big, bad Reaper,” she said, and took the remaining piece of toast, spreading the last of the peaches

upon it. She took a healthy bite and chewed, grinning at him as she did.

“Wench, you are going to give me problems from time to time, aren’t you?” he asked, his eyes soft and

loving as he looked at her.

“I’ll keep you on your toes,” she agreed.

“I’ve no doubt of that,” he said as he wiped his lips on his napkin. “Are you finished or do you need

another feedbag to calm that fierce appetite of yours?”

“Well, now that you mention it,” she said, a faint red tinge forming on her cheeks. “I could eat a bit more

bacon.”

He delved lightly into her mind as he remembered her hunger from the night before. It had been a few

days before that since she had eaten, and only then her meal had been a few wormy apples and a

blueberry pie she’d swiped from a farm wife’s windowsill.

“How about another couple of eggs to wash down the bacon?” he asked.

Aingeal’s smile lit the storm-darkened room. “I think I could find a place for maybe four eggs,” she

replied.

Shaking his head as he got up, he delved into his pocket and produced a couple of golden coins—more

than enough to pay for the meal and then some. “If you don’t watch it, I’ll have to buy a team of oxen to

cart you about,” he joked as he plucked his hat from the coat rack.

She grinned at him, liking the way the sun crinkles around his eyes made him look so much younger and

less stern. Settling back in her chair, she poured another cup of coffee for herself and watched him as he

walked across the room, pushing the door to the kitchen open to ask for more food.

“I’m going to head on down to the livery. When she’s finished, just roll her on down there if you can

budge her,” he told the waitress.

“My nephew has a horse for your lady,” Aingeal heard the older woman say. “And the poncho you

asked for,
mo tiarna
.”

“My thanks to you and yours, Katy O’Hare,” the Reaper said. He barely glanced at Aingeal before

putting on his hat and going out into the onslaught of the storm.

The smell of bacon frying made Aingeal’s mouth water and she got up from the table, taking her cup

with her to the kitchen door. As she drew closer, she could hear the older woman talking.

“Don’t act like none of the Reapers I’ve heard tell of,” Katy was saying. “Got a mean sense of humor,

he does.”

“Make no mistake about it, woman,” a man’s voice said in a severe tone. “If’n he was after you, he’d

not think twice of using that whip of his.”

“Aye, well, you didn’t see the way he looked at that little gal. He was fair to eating her up with them

golden eyes of his,” the older woman said, and then sighed so loudly Aingeal could hear her. “They say

when a Reaper mates, he’s like a wolf and does it for life. The gods help anyone stupid enough to try to

take her away from him.”

Aingeal coughed—letting the couple behind the door know she was nearby. She pushed the door open

and stuck her head in. “Could I have a couple of pieces of toast with my eggs?” she asked.

“By Alel’s tooth, you sure can!” Katy said. She reached for a loaf of bread and sliced off two pieces.

“Anything else you want, dearie?”

“Some company while I eat?” she asked.

Katy exchanged a look with the man Aingeal surmised was her husband. At the man’s careless shrug,

Katy said she’d get herself a cup of coffee and join Aingeal as soon as the bacon finished frying up.

Going to the windows, Aingeal was disheartened to see the rain coming down in sheets. Lightning still

flashed in the distance, although the thunder wasn’t nearly as loud. Storm—the Reaper’s horse—was no

longer tied to the hitching post in front of the eatery.

“Bad day to be out and about,” Katy said as she came in with the tray of Aingeal’s food. She carried it

to the table and waited until her guest was seated before putting the fresh plate in front of Aingeal. “It’s

good to see a young one as skinny as you eating a decent amount of food.”

“It’s good to be able to do so,” Aingeal confessed.

Katy frowned. “He ain’t been feeding you?” she demanded, her eyes narrowed.

“I just met him last evening,” Aingeal said, and risked a glance at the older woman, trying to gauge her

reaction.

Katy’s left eyebrow arched up into the fuzz of her white hair. “Well, I’d say you’ve done right good for

yourself in a short amount of time, wouldn’t you?”

Aingeal could feel her cheeks burning as she slipped her fork into the creamy eggs. “I think he’ll be good

to me.”

“Reapers are rich men,” Katy stated. “Or so I’ve heard.” She eyed the golden coins on the table. “This

one seems generous, don’t he?”

“Aye, he does.”

The two women talked idly of the weather, the coming winter and the need to be safely in a town before

the deluge of snow covered the plains. Aingeal finished everything on her plate and even managed to

down a piece of peach cobbler. She sighed heavily—wishing she could take a long nap—then retrieved

her hat before going to the door to look in the direction Katy was pointing.

“Take the umbrella, dearie,” Katy said. “You can leave it at the livery. I won’t be going out in this muck

today.”

Thanking her hostess, Aingeal went out on the porch, opened the umbrella and headed across the

slippery street where dirty red water was running in streams. Lightly picking her way across the muddy

expanse, she was grateful for the boots Cynyr had fashioned for her.

The livery smelled of hay and horse manure as she ducked inside, scraping her boots on the edge of the

big double door. The Reaper’s horse was just inside the building, chomping on a small mound of hay.

Storm greeted her with a soft nicker so she reached out to pat him. She could see her Reaper and a

young man standing near the back. Cynyr was checking the cinch on a pretty little brown mare. He

looked around as she came toward him.

“I thought this pony would do nicely for you, wench, but maybe we need a palfrey, instead.”

Aingeal rolled her eyes. “Very funny,” she said, and came up to him to stroke the mare’s velvety head.

“She’s beautiful. What’s her name?”

“Whatever you want to call her,” Cynyr replied. He was wearing a long black duster that covered him

from neck to ankle.

“Brownie,” Aingeal said. She kissed the little mare’s nose.

Cynyr snorted. “What a unique name,” he drawled. “Here. Let’s get this on you.” He took a poncho

that was hanging over the mare’s saddle and draped it over Aingeal’s head, settling it into place around

her shoulders.

“Sure is mighty bad weather out there,
mo tiarna
,” the liveryman said. “My aunt would be happy to put

you up until it clears.”

“We appreciate the offer, Danny, but I’ve got business in the Exasla Territory.”

Aingeal saw the liveryman shudder, for everyone knew what kind of business a Reaper was about. She

saw Danny O’Hare’s gaze flick down to the handle of the laser whip before snapping away again.

“Do you need help mounting, wench?” Cynyr asked.

“I think I can manage,” she replied. She lifted her foot, placed it in the stirrup and climbed easily into the

saddle. She took the reins from Cynyr and smiled smugly at him.

The Reaper was power in motion as he swung up on Storm’s back. The black leather duster settled

over the horse’s rump with a flourish then he tugged his hat more snugly on his head, checked to make

sure Aingeal was covered properly and led her out of the livery.

The rain slashed against her as they exited the stables and Aingeal bit her lip. It was going to be a

miserable ride. The wind had turned chill and it was blowing the rain into her face.

“You sure you’re up to this?” Cynyr asked.

“I would rather be with you and be a drowned rat than wait here for Otaktay to find me and slit my

throat,” she said.

The Reaper’s golden eyes flowed scarlet red for a moment as a stitch of lightning lit the sky overhead

but he made no reply to her remark. Instead, he kicked his mount lightly and took off at a trot, expecting

Aingeal to follow.

Most of the buildings were aglow with candlelight as the duo left Briscoe. Aingeal caught a glimpse of

shifting curtains falling to as they passed and knew the inhabitants of the town would breathe easier with

the Reaper gone. News of his presence there would have spread like wildfire despite the foul weather.

For over three hours the two lovers rode in beating rain and bone-chilling wind. The Exasla Territory

was still a day away, and with the ground as sodden as it was, finding a dry place to camp for the night

would be impossible. By noontime, Cynyr had decided to find a hotel room for them. Despite her

poncho, Aingeal was wet and shivering, and although she made no complaint, he knew she was very

uncomfortable.

“We’ll stop in Haines City for the night,” he shouted to her over the din of the storm.