WesternWind 4 - Tears of the Reaper (12 page)

Owen looked in the direction the man indicated then shoved him away. With his hands balled into fists, he started toward the high elder’s dwelling.

“If you have regard for Lord Owen,” Elder Barrow told Glyn and Iden, “you will stop him from interfering in this. The woman has been given charbaa veih’n agglish. She has brought disgrace to her father’s house. For Lord Owen to saddle himself with such a one as her…”

Ignoring Elder Barrow, Glyn questioned the high elder. “Did you beat her?”

The high elder lifted his chin. “She was punished in accordance with…”

“Then you’d better hope we can keep Tohre from taking his laser whip to your worthless ass,” Glyn warned. “Iden, get Owen’s horse and bring it to the bastard’s house.”

“You aren’t going to rid us of the creatures preying upon us?” Elder Barrow asked, his eyes beseeching.

It was Iden who answered for Glyn was walking toward the high elder’s cottage at a brisk place. “We were given orders by the Shadowlords to eradicate the Drochtáirs and that is what we will do. Consider yourself lucky if that is all that we do!” Turning his back, he strode purposefully toward the stable where his, Glyn’s and Owen’s horses were lodged.

Owen didn’t bother knocking at the high elder’s house. He simply lifted his foot and kicked the door in. He heard a shriek as he entered, saw a young woman pressed against the wall as though she’d been papered there and bellowed at her to tell him where the root cellar was. When she didn’t immediately answer, he took a menacing step toward her and she lifted a hand to jab at a door under the stairs.

Jerking the door open, the Reaper was infuriated to find himself facing pitch blackness. He spun around, spied a kerosene lamp and snatched it up, carrying it with him down the steep wooden steps.

“Rachel?” he called out, for the place into which he descended was vast, leaping with shadows cast by the lamp. The root cellar no doubt occupied the entire area beneath the high elder’s house.

Spying what looked to be a large jail cell, he stared at it for some time, coming to the realization that it was meant to be a containment cell for him. He snarled like a cornered animal and called Rachel’s name again.

The sound of heavy footsteps thumping down the steps made the Reaper turn, his hand on the butt of his six-shooter.

“It’s me,” he heard Glyn Kullen say, lashing out with his boot at a rat that scampered away into the deeper shadows.

Owen cast Glyn a glancing look then continued on deeper into the root cellar. It was freezing cold below ground and the air smelled of rat droppings and decay.

“Rachel?” Owen shouted.

It was Glyn who found her, spying the paleness of her skin in the flickering light cast from the lamp. He reached out to grip Owen’s shoulder. “Over there,” he said.

Owen turned to where Glyn pointed and froze, dragging in a harsh gulp of air when he saw her.

Her wrists were chained to a support beam upon which she was hanging, her forehead pressed to the wood. The back of her black gown had been rent from neckline to waist, her upper body laid bare. Livid red stripes crisscrossed her flesh in broad slashes that still oozed blood. Her long blonde hair had been shorn close to her head, the scalp showing in places.

“Oh my god,” Owen whispered, and the lamp in his hand jiggled.

“Give me the light,” Glyn ordered, reaching for the lamp.

Pain gathered in Owen’s eyes as he moved toward her as though his feet were encased in quicksand and every step took enormous strength to make. She was so still, he feared she was dead. In the low light he could not see her breathing. As he hunkered down beside her, putting a gentle hand to her cheek, he was relieved to feel the warmth of her body.

“Is she…?” Glyn asked.

“Get those damned shackles off her,” Owen said. He didn’t know where else to touch her, afraid to hurt her, his hand hovering at her shoulder.

Glyn set the lamp on a wooden ledge that ran between two supports. “How am I supposed to do that, Tohre?” he asked. “I don’t see the keys.”

The shackles’ chains were attached to a thick stanchion that was in turn embedded into the six by six timber.

“Take them off her!” Owen bellowed, his eyes flashing at Glyn.

“Gow dt’assh!” Glyn yelled back, telling him to take it easy in the old language.

“Jean siyr myr te!” Owen hissed.

“Don’t tell me to hurry up, Tohre. I can’t…”

Owen sprang to his feet and grabbed the chains holding the shackles in both his hands and pulled, grunting brutally until he’d ripped the iron apart. Before the unconscious woman could drop to the hard-packed ground, Owen had scooped her up in his arms, swinging her around and barging past Glyn.

Glyn Kullen’s mouth dropped open. While Reapers had uncommon strength, such a thing should have been nigh to impossible for Owen to do. The chain links looked to be a good half inch in circumference, two inches in width. They weighed the woman’s arms down to either side of Owen as he moved like a bull toward the stairs.

“Find me the fucking key, Kullen,” Owen growled as he started up the stairs. “If you have to pull it out of her father’s ass, I want it!”

“Nee’m eh ny cailleeym m’annym lesh,” Glyn mumbled as he fell in behind his fellow Reaper. His words translated meant, “I will do it or perish in the attempt”.

The high elder’s maid was still clinging to the wall when Owen brought Rachel up the stairs. He turned and yelled at her to get Rachel a new gown. “Now!” he shouted.

Daphne took off up the stairs to the bedchambers as though she’d been prodded by a sharp stick. Her bare feet thundered on the risers and Owen looked down, noticing for the first time that Rachel was barefoot as well. “And bring her shoes!”

“I think I saw a pair of women’s boots on the front stoop,” Glyn said as he moved past Owen toward the front door. “I don’t think they wear footwear inside.”

Owen didn’t care. He could feel the slickness of Rachel’s blood soaking through the arm of his shirt. He said nothing else to Glyn as his teammate went out the door. He heard Kullen telling Iden to go into the house and help if he was needed.

The maid came running down the stairs with another black gown and a thick coat. She stopped on the bottom riser for Iden had come into the house. Her eyes flared.

“Take that shit from her and bring it here,” Owen said. He carried Rachel into a room where he saw a settee and lay her gently down. His jaw was clenched so tightly white lines had appeared around his mouth. “Tell that bitch to come here.”

Iden looked up at the maid. “You’d best do as he says. He’s been known to tear the heads off people who annoy him.” He reached for what she had in her arms.

Daphne made a little squeaking sound and let go of the gown and coat. She edged sideways away from Iden, trembling violently as she made her way to the settee.

Owen was easing the ripped gown from Rachel’s arms, grateful she wore nothing else beneath the coarse material for him to remove. Her blood was seeping onto the pale beige fabric of the settee and for some reason that gave him a great deal of satisfaction.

Iden took one look at the pale breasts of the woman Owen was undressing and looked away. He came into the room holding the gown in front of him as though it were a shield. “What can I do, Owen?”

“Get me something to wipe away this blood.”

Iden turned away to find the kitchen.

“Help me hold her up,” Owen ordered Daphne, and the girl reluctantly moved to the head of the settee. When Owen gripped Rachel’s arms and lifted her to a sitting position, Daphne groaned for she could see the deep lashes across Rachel’s back but she put her hands where Owen told her and kept Rachel still while he pulled the torn gown down her unconscious body. While the maid braced Rachel’s upper body, Owen eased Rachel’s hips up and tugged the gown completely off. “Ease her down and let’s turn her. Gently, damn it! Gently!”

With Rachel lying on her stomach, the carnage streaked across her back made Owen want to kill something. His hands opened and closed at his sides, his eyes had begun to glow a deep, scarlet red. As Iden came into the room with a bowl of water and a cloth, he knew exactly what was about to happen and dropped the bowl, leapt for the maid.

“Get the hell out of here!” Iden yelled, shoving Daphne toward the door. “Now!”

It happened faster than Iden had ever known a Transition to take hold. One moment Owen Tohre was human and in the blink of an eye he was crouched on all fours, snarling viciously, his fangs bared and his claws scratching deep indentations in the bare floor. He flung his head from side to side then arched his throat and howled. It was an enraged sound that made the hair stand up on the arms of all who heard it.

Normally Iden would have left with the girl but he knew the woman on the settee needed treatment. It was too cool in the house even with the blazing fireplace for her to lie there naked. He took a cautious step forward only to have Owen snap at him.

“I must help her, Tohre,” he said. “I must help your mate.”

Belial took another step but the hackles on the back of the wolf facing him rose. He stopped, putting up both hands. “Owen, she is cold. She needs to have that afghan on the back of the settee covering her while I go fetch some more water for her wounds. That’s what you sent me for, remember?”

The wolf swung its head toward the unconscious woman then seemed to shudder. It took a step back from the settee, still baring its fangs at Iden.

Advancing slowly and with care, Iden approached the settee, reaching up to drag the knitted afghan from the settee’s back. Very gently he draped it over Rachel’s legs, tugging it up to her waist.

“I’m going after the water now,” Iden said, backing away, making no quick movements.

A low, dangerous growl came from the wolf but it sat down on its haunches beside the settee, nudging its head against the bare shoulder of the unconscious woman.

Iden took time to heat the water this time on the large wood-burning stove. No one save Glyn was likely to come into the high elder’s house with a Reaper in full Transition. He looked about to gather clean cloths to bathe her back, but he could find nothing to apply to the woman’s wounds.

He stood still and closed his eyes. “Glyn?” he sent.

“Aye?” was the immediate reply.

“I need salve for her wounds. Are the Colony’s men still lurking about?”

There came a snort of humor. “As soon as they heard him howl, they scattered like chaff in the wind,” Glyn told him. “We aren’t going to have any trouble with them. I hinted that the Transition would last at least ’til morning.”

“You’re bad,” Iden said with a chuckle.

“I’ll get what you need from the infirmary,” Glyn said. “The healer had just introduced himself when Tohre let go with that roar of his. I take it he’s pissed.”

“He is more than pissed. He actually snapped at me.”

“I also have the key to those shackles. I won’t tell you what I said to get it.”

Once more in his mind Iden heard Glyn laugh and the connection between them was broken. He picked up a large bowl filled with the warm water, some soap, flung the cloths over his shoulder and went back into the receiving room.

The big black wolf hadn’t moved. His muzzle was resting on Rachel’s upper arm and when Iden came in, it perked up, baring its teeth again.

“I know,” Iden said, taking the warning to heart. “I’m not going to hurt your lady.”

Putting the bowl of water on the floor in front of the wolf, Iden went to his knees on the floor. He unbuttoned the sleeves of his shirt and rolled them up. “Glyn is bringing some salve for her wounds so don’t go all fierce beast on his ass when he comes in the door,” he said, taking one of the cloths and wetting it in the water before lathering it with soap.

The door opened and Glyn came in slowly. He heard the low growl and headed for the sound.

“Did you find out anything more about the Communalists who were killed tonight?” Iden asked in a normal tone of voice as Glyn joined him at the settee.

“Several of the men went back with the survivor to torch the bodies. They’d already cremated the one they had in the infirmary. As far as they know, that’s all of the infected ones. I told them to bring their womenfolk into town from the farms.”

“I bet that went over big,” Iden said, and the wolf growled.

“I reminded them that if the women were attacked and changed, they’d have more bodies to dispose of,” Glyn said. “I also asked where they’d get more women to take care of their needs if that happened.”

“Smart man,” Iden complimented. “Their comfort is more important than those women’s lives.”

“Fools,” Glyn pronounced.

Thankful the woman on the settee was unconscious, Iden worked carefully but methodically to cleanse her wounds as Glyn unlocked the tight bands around her wrists He took the bottle of salve from his pocket and rubbed it on the abrasions circling her soft flesh. He then held the bottle out to Iden who dipped his fingers into the salve and spread the foul-smelling stuff over the deep lacerations.

“That man should be horsewhipped,” Glyn said, a muscle working in his jaw. “What kind of beast does this to his own child?”