WesternWind 4 - Tears of the Reaper (25 page)

“I asked the maid to draw you a bath,” Owen said as they climbed the stairs behind the Edward and Glyn. Benjamin had stayed behind to engage in a game of chess with the desk clerk.

“That will be heavenly,” she said, leaning into him.

They bid Glyn and Edward good night and kept walking down to the room to which Glyn had given Owen the key. After he unlocked the door then opened it, he bent to swoop her up in his arms.

“What are you doing?” she said, laughing.

“Taking my woman over the threshold so the beasties won’t be plaguing her,” he said, carrying her inside.

“What beasties?” she asked, her hand toying with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Those you trip over when you know nothing was in your path or hide things from you or cause the cake to fall or…”

“No cake of mine will ever fall, my Owen,” she said.

He stood there holding her, looking down into the remarkable color of her lovely eyes. “Why do you call me that?” he asked gently.

“My Owen?” she asked, and at his nod, she lifted one slender shoulder. “Because that is what you are.”

“But did you hear it somewhere?” A look of pain crossed his face. “Did someone tell you to say it?”

“I dreamt I called you that,” she admitted. “Is that what you mean?”

He feared Morrigunia had whispered the endearment into her susceptible mind but what did it really matter? He was hers just as she was his. He eased his arm from beneath her legs and let her slide down his body.

“I know this isn’t much but I swear to you I’ll build you a home of your own with my own hands just as you want it when we return to Saint Marie,” he said huskily.

The room wasn’t as nice as the one Owen and Rachel had shared in Saint Marie but it was clean and warm and comfortable. The hotelman had gone out of his way to cater to them since he had rented out five rooms—two that adjoined for the Dayton family and their two children. With meals and tips, it had made the man’s month and he could well afford to be generous to them. There was a vase of hothouse flowers on the table by the door.

Rachel placed her palms on his chest for he still had an arm around her back, holding her to him. She looked up into his handsome face. “Will you share my bath with me, my Owen?”

That he knew gods-be-damned well came straight from Morrigunia for there was no way this innocent, naïve woman would ever think of such a thing much less voice the request. His jaw tightened.

“Not from me, Reaper, but from her need for you. You give me far too much credit.” The stern words shot through his mind like quicksilver.

She plucked at a button on his shirt, lowering her gaze, her cheeks blooming with color. “Have I been too bold?” she whispered, and he heard a tremor in her tone.

“No, y chree,” he answered, and crooked a finger under her chin to tilt her face up. “Whatever your wish, it is my honor to fulfill it. All you need do is ask.” His words were low, tender, and yet his eyes blazed with an emotion that almost frightened her.

She nibbled on her lower lip and his groin tightened painfully. He wanted to suck that sweet little flesh between his own teeth and nibble on it. “On our wedding night…” she began, but he lowered his head and claimed her lips in a chaste, lingering kiss. When he released her, he held her gaze.

“Do you remember anything of that night?” he asked.

Her cheeks flamed. “There was blood on the sheets,” she said. “I believe we must have…we…” She swallowed hard. “We must have but I don’t remember it.”

“Neither do I,” he admitted, and at her look of surprise, he shook his head. “My goddess was playing with us, y chree. She does that sometimes.”

“Tell her of your vow to Me!” Morrigunia hissed in his ear so loudly he winced.

“Milord?” she questioned.

“Tell her and get it over with, you dolt!” Morrigunia snapped, flicking a finger against his temple. “Dont start your Joining on a lie!” She flicked him again.

“Stop thumping me!” he sent to Her.

“Owen?” she inquired, sensing his attention was elsewhere.

“We’ll talk after the bath,” he said.

She squeezed him gently through the leather. “I don’t really need a bath.”

“There is something we need to discuss,” he said. “And a bath would help to…”

“Tell me,” she said.

Owen drew in a long breath, searching for something else to tell her other than the vow to Morrigunia. “On our wedding night, when we…” He ran a hand over his face. “After we…”

“After we made love?” she pressed. She absorbed his memories quickly—too quickly for his comfort—and he saw them swirling through her mind.

“Aye,” he said. “Well, we… I mean to say, I…” He swallowed. “I got you pregnant!”

She smiled. “See? We didn’t need a bath for you to tell me that.” She took his hand and pulled him toward the bed. “Now, let’s discuss the matter that was left dangling.”

“Reaper,” Morrigunia growled at him. “Tell her now or I will tell her!”

He knew there was no way past it. He had to tell her so he dug in his heels, refused to go any closer to the bed. “Sweeting, there is something I must tell you.”

“Tell me later,” she said, tugging at his hand.

“No, Rachel,” he said, his face now solemn, his heart pounding in his chest. “I promised no lies and no lies means I need to tell you only truth.”

Her forehead crinkled. She tried to slip into his mind with her fledgling power but his was a closed door, firmly locked against her. For a reason she could not fathom, that frightened her. “Is it about the punishment?”

“Come,” he told her and drew her toward the settee.

Reluctantly she went with him, fear bringing an iron taste to her mouth. When he pulled her down to sit beside him, he covered their joined hands with his free one and turned so he was looking into her eyes.

“I want you to know I love you more than anything in this life,” he said. “I love you with all my heart, my soul, all that I am and I will love you for all time.”

Rachel shivered. “Owen, you are scaring me.”

He took a deep breath. “You died,” he said. “In my arms you were dead and there was nothing on this earth that has ever hurt me more.” He searched her eyes. “I would have done anything to bring you back to me. Nothing I would not have agreed to so you could be whole and unscarred, so the memory of the…of the…”

“Pain,” she said, catching that word as it settled in his thoughts.

“Aye, milady, the pain,” he repeated. “So the memory would not be so intense for you. I would have done anything to completely wipe the memories from your mind but…”

Something evil wriggled down her spine. “What did you do, my Owen?”

He put a hand to her face to cup her cheek. “Morrigunia was the only recourse I had, Rachel. As She once reminded me, there is nothing She can not do. If you were to live, it had to be through Her.”

“And She made me a Reaper,” Rachel said.

“Aye, but at a price,” he said.

That evil slithering along her backbone turned icy cold. “What did She ask of you?”

He closed his eyes for a moment, believing when he told her, there would be no more love shining in her eyes, only disgust.

“Tell her!” came the demand from the goddess.

Opening his eyes, he saw the fear building in Rachel’s gaze. “I am to be Her consort,” he said then looked away. “Her lover. Available at Her command when She wishes.”

Rachel’s eyes widened. “I must share you with her?”

He nodded, flinching at her words.

“For how long?”

He could not look at her. “For as long as She desires.”

Rachel was stunned at the news and as she sat there unable to speak, anger and jealousy rose up like twin serpents to strike at her heart. For the first time in her life she knew hatred and that hatred was aimed at the woman who would demand such a thing of Owen. There was no anger toward Owen, no hurt at knowing he would be required to cheat on his wife, no self-pity, only cold fury at the female who would have a right to the use of his body.

Owen raised his head and when he saw the rage smoldering in Rachel’s eyes, groaned. He had lost her. She was a good woman, a woman unaccustomed to the sordidness of life and…

“This is something over which you have no control,” Rachel said.

“No,” he told her, “but…”

“Then the evil is entirely her own,” she stated. “You have paid a high price for my life, milord, and I will not forget it nor who is responsible for the misery I see on your face.”

“Not that there is anything you can do about it,” a voice cooed in Rachel’s ear, and the young woman knew Owen had not heard that boast.

“You may have forced him into this, but you do not own his heart nor will you ever!” Rachel sent to the goddess, the harshness of her thoughts meant to sting.

Owen sensed something he had not been able to intercept flowing between the two women but when he would have questioned his lady, Rachel put her fingers to his mouth.

“Not now, my Owen,” she said, and reached down to take his hand. She got to her feet and pulled him with her. “We have something more important to do.”

“Rachel…” he began as she tugged him toward the bed.

She stopped and looked up at him, her chin high, her eyes locking with his. “She’ll forever be like a skunk we encounter on the path with its tail lifted in the air. I refuse to just stand here all aquiver and wonder when she’ll release her spray on us. I may not be able to do anything about her demands on you but I can surely give you what she will never be able to!” She pulled hard on his hand.

Owen stumbled along behind her, marveling at the strength she now possessed. Her hand around his was like an iron band and he had glimpsed the steely determination blazing in her pretty eyes.

She turned to him and her hands went to the buckle of his belt. When he would have stopped her, she looked up at him with one fine brow raised in challenge and he dropped his hands to his side.

“You belong to me,” she said as she pulled the belt end from the keeper and peeled the tang back to draw it through the hole. “Only me and no one else.” The belt came free of the buckle and she jerked it none too gently from the leather loops at his waist. “She can own your soul and your allegiance as I suppose is her right but she does not own your heart and she never will.”

“No, She…”

“Shush, my Owen!” she said. “I am speaking here!”

Owen clamped his lips together, amusement making them twitch as she tugged the shirttail from his black uniform pants.

“I am your wife,” she said, and her fingers went to the button at his throat. “I am your mate. She is merely your boss and you must do as she says although most workers do not like or respect their bosses.”

“That’s true enough,” he mumbled, and when she shot him a warning look, he bit his lip to keep from saying more.

Her fingers ran the course of the buttons and then she reached for his cuffs, making quick work of undoing the three buttons that held each cuff closed at his wrist. “I never thought to have a husband, a home of my own.” She glanced up at him. “Children. Now that I have two of those things and the third within reach, I will fight to the death to keep them.”

He stood still as she peeled the shirt from his body and then watched as she folded it neatly then laid it aside. A hastily drawn-in breath was all he was allowed as her hands moved to the clasp at the waistband of his pants and her knuckles grazed his bellybutton.

“I intend to have all that other wives and mothers have had for generations and I intend to enjoy every moment of it.”

His cock leapt each time she undid a button at his fly until he was so hard it sprang free of the opening of its own accord as she peeled the leather away.

“Sit down, my Owen,” she said, “so I can remove your boots.”

With his face red-hot with embarrassment, his cock jutting from his opened pants, he all but crashed onto the edge of the mattress behind him and had to swallow hard as she knelt at his feet to tug off his boots and remove his socks.

“You have uncommonly pretty feet for a man,” she commented as she sat the boots aside neatly and rolled the socks into a tight ball.

Owen could feel the blood racing through his veins as he stared down at her bent head. She was stroking the top of his foot, her fingers trailing along the instep as she caressed him.

“Beautiful feet actually,” she said then stood gracefully. “Most men have such ugly, crooked toes and dirty, jagged nails. Your feet are just right, almost feminine in their softness.” She held out her hand to help him to stand.

He groaned for his cock was poking toward her with such lively intent—the tip glistening with a bead of pre-cum—that he could feel the heat pulsing in his cheeks. He saw her cock her head to one side as though in deep thought.

“Will you teach me how to wave my hand and do away with your clothing, my Owen?” she asked as she looked avidly at his swollen shaft.

“It’s more fun this way,” he said huskily.

She lifted her gaze to his and smiled slowly. “Aye, you’re right. It is.”