Her Reaper's Arms Charlotte Boyett-Compo (rainbow fish read aloud TXT) 📖

muscular build of Bevyn Coure.

“Now that is one fine specimen,” another woman whispered.

Despite the vicious scars that covered his upper torso, the Reaper had the body

build every man there envied and every woman wanted to run her hands over. His

abdominal muscles were sharply etched, the pectorals and biceps bulging, his shoulders

broad and waist lean. There wasn’t a spare ounce of fat on him.

No one else noticed the change in the air as he swept a hand over the lower part of

his body, so none of them noticed the disappearance of his tight uniform leather pants

and the sudden appearance of black denim that was a looser fit. Lea however, had not

missed that handy little trick, and when he glanced at her and winked, she knew he had

meant for her to be a witness to his unique power. Looking down at the dress he had

created for her, she sighed. Life with her Reaper was going to be anything but boring.

Long into the afternoon, she sat with the other women who had brought their

sewing and mending, their peas to be shelled, their corn to be shucked, and gossiped as

the men raised the skeleton of the Reaper’s house. She kept an eye on Bevyn as he toiled

alongside the other men—accepted, teased and insulted the same as every other man

there. She could see the happiness flitting across his sweaty face as he pounded a

hammer or jerked a saw blade back and forth over the timbers. His upper torso

glistened with sweat as he worked, straining to lift weights the other men could not.

“You are one lucky woman, Lea Walsh,” May Bundy, Nate’s wife, said. “There ain’t

a woman alive what wouldn’t want that tall drink of water between her sheets.”

The other women nodded, not a one of them looking with anything other than lust

at the Reaper, and that didn’t surprised Lea. Where before the people of Orson were

terrified of their assigned Reaper’s erratic appearances, they had now gladly accepted

them and taken him in as one of their own.

“You gonna marry him, Lea?” Angie Carmichael inquired. “Father Tony will be

coming through week after next.”

Lea shook her head. “We’re going to the Citadel next week,” she said as she

snapped beans, “so we won’t be here for the priest’s arrival.”

“Lucky you,” someone said. “Gonna take the train?”

“Aye,” Lea said, squirming in her stiff ladder-back chair.

“Now that will be a trip and a half,” May said. “I’ve heard tell that’s some place to

see.” She lowered her voice. “Not that anyone around here’s ever been invited to the

High Lords’ keep.”

“You make note of everything so’s you can tell us about it, Lea,” Angie said

wistfully.

Though she had never been equated with the other women of the White Horse—

none of whom had been invited to help with the workers’ noontime meal—Lea had not

been extended the same courtesies as the other women of Orson. Whereas before she’d

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Her Reaper’s Arms

been merely tolerated, yet ignored, for the most part she—like her Reaper—had finally

become a part of the community. Whereas before people would nod stiffly at her but

not go out of their way to speak to her, she was being included in the other women’s

activities. All of a sudden she had garnered respectability.

“Guess he wants to take you to meet the Shadowlords,” May said. “Gotta get their

approval for the Joining, I guess.”

Lea felt a twinge of worry. What was going to happen when they came back from

the Citadel and still did not marry? Would the women think less of her? Pity her? Look

down on her for living in sin with the Reaper?

“Do Reapers get married?” Angie asked, and all eyes turned to Lea.

She looked up at the other women. “I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. “We

haven’t discussed it.”

“Better get a ring on that man, dearie,” May suggested. “Can’t hold ’em if you don’t

have that band of gold ’round their finger to remind ’em who they belong to.”

“That don’t always hold a man,” Virgie Watson proclaimed. “Many a man’s strayed

what got a ring ’round his finger.”

“Aye but not a one what’s got a ring through his nose!” someone else stated, and all

the women laughed including Lea.

“Well, I don’t think Lea’s got nothing to worry about,” Cornelia put in. “Reapers

ain’t gonna stray from their mates. We all know that.”

“Still, you’d do well to have the words spoken over you, girl,” May declared, and

all the other women save for Cornelia and Lea nodded in agreement.

Bevyn had been listening on and off to the women’s conversation, curious to know

how they were treating his lady. Though their voices were soft and low, he had no

trouble listening in with his keen hearing, even if none of the other men could. The

issue with the Joining would have to be dealt with if only to make gods-be-damned

sure Lea was treated with the respect she deserved as his mate.

As he hammered, he realized he was not opposed to the Joining. Although he

didn’t need words spoken over them by a man of the cloth or a piece of a paper

stamped with the territorial seal to tell him Lea was his, such things meant a lot to the

civilian population. He would need to have a serious discussion with Lea about

marriage.

“Rider coming,” he heard a man say, and turned to look where some of the others

were staring.

A cloud of dust was streaking up behind a horse that was coming at top speed, its

rider whipping the reins back and forth to hasten the speed of the beast.

“Looks like Jed Halsey,” Buford said. He glanced at Bevyn. “Lives over to Lawler,

that little hole in the road on the way to Beverton.”

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Bevyn nodded and hooked the claw of his hammer over a two-by-four and hopped

down from the scaffolding where he’d been standing. Reaching into his back pocket, he

pulled out a dark blue bandana and wiped it over his face.

“Looks like trouble to me,” Ned Bundy put in.

The men all stopped what they were doing, waiting for the rider to reach them.

Halsey saw them and directed his mount to where they were all assembled. He jumped

off the steed, his