In The Assassin's Arms (Daggers 0f Desire Book 1)

by Katherine Hastings

  “I saw it first!” She laughed and kept tickling him without mercy. “Say it! Say I saw it first!”

  “I give! I give! You saw it first!”

  She stopped tickling him and looked down, her laughter dissipating as she caught his sparkling eyes. They softened for a moment as he caught his breath, his gaze now pleading with her. His hand moved to her face. His fingers stroked across her cheek. She felt her heart speed up at the thought of tasting him again. Her eyes held his for a moment, flashes of passion and lovemaking filling her mind. She leaned forward, her lips pulling her toward him, commanding her to obey.

  John slipped his hand behind her head and pulled her mouth down to meet his. She let her tongue explore his mouth while his hands twisted in her hair. Her hips rocked above him as bottled up passion poured out of her. She gasped as he sat up, pulling her into his lap, wrapping her legs around his waist.

  His hands moved to her lower back as he pressed her deeper into him. Charlie moaned into his mouth. He tugged on her lip, the piercing pain twisting with exquisite pleasure. His lips wandered down from hers, laying kisses along her neck as she writhed above him.

  “Charlotte.” He sighed as his lips traced her collarbone.

  Charlie froze. Charlotte. The name sent a shiver up her spine. Charlotte was weak. Charlotte felt pain. Charlotte was dead. Charlie pushed herself off of John without a word.

  “What happened? What did I do wrong?” he asked as she sat down next to him.

  “Nothing. I just... I can’t do this.”

  “Can’t what, be vulnerable? Feel? Care? Which one?”

  “All of them.” The weight of her own admission surprised her. “I’m sorry, John. I can’t.”

  “I’m sorry too, Charlie. That’s no way to live.” He rolled over and turned away from her.

  “I know,” she whispered as she stared at his rigid back. Her fingers itched to reach out to him, but she didn’t. Tonight, pride overruled passion. Charlie lay there, listening to his breathing, while a single tear slipped down her face.

  CHAPTER NINE

  JOHN WOKE UP BEFORE Charlie. He sat and watched her for a while. Even in sleep, she looked angry. She looked like someone who carried the weight of the world on her shoulders. Sadness tugged at his heart when he looked at her. The girl he had known overflowed with life and laughter. It was as if someone had taken a snuffer and extinguished her internal light.

  “Are you staring at me?” she asked, without opening an eye.

  “Would it be weird if I was?” John asked, embarrassed to have gotten caught red-handed indulging himself.

  “Yes.”

  “Then no. I was watching the weird, green bug by your head.”

  Charlie sat up and looked at the ground around her. “There is no bug.”

  “There could have been. You scared it off.”

  “I hate bugs.”

  “You’re scared of something? You are human!” he said, pointing a finger at her.

  “I didn’t say I was scared of them. Just that I hate them. They are disgusting little creatures.”

  “I stand corrected.”

  “What’s our plan today?” she asked as she stood and stretched. John stared, admiring the lines of her womanly body.

  “We ride for my home. We need answers. I need to speak to my father. We need to get these assassins called off.”

  “It’s not like they’re a threat to us. We seem to make quick work of them.” She smiled smugly.

  “Well, better to get this resolved without killing every member of the Order until no one’s left but me and my father.”

  “I happen to like killing members of the Order.”

  “Well, I don’t. They are misguided, and we need to find out why... and who sent them.”

  “Very well. Let’s change and we can ride. This dress is horribly uncomfortable and not practical.”

  “I rather like it.” John dropped his gaze to her breasts and imagined tugging the bodice down until they escaped their silken prison.

  “I bet you do. Show’s over. Now turn around while I change.”

  John shrugged and walked over to Duke. He glanced back over his shoulder while she pulled her other outfit out of her saddle bag.

  “Do you need help getting out of that dress?” he teased.

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Now turn around.” She flashed him a disapproving look.

  He sighed and did as she asked. The reflection in the stream gave him a mirrored reflection as she dropped her dress and stood naked. The ripples in the water obscured the details, but the overall effect left him stirring for her once again.

  “When are you gonna give this up, John?” he mumbled to himself. Duke twitched an ear and went back to grazing. She will be the death of me, he thought as a gust of wind increased the ripples and washed away her reflection. “Go figure. I can’t catch a break even in my fantasies.”

  John changed himself while she dressed, relieved to be out of those stuffy clothes and back in the custom cloak and clothing more befitting an assassin. Feeling his weapons slide back into their sheaths gave him a sense of power their presence always evoked.

  “I’m ready,” she said.

  He turned around to see her back in her cloak and leather, looking formidable.

  “Let’s ride,” he said, checking his girth.

  Without another word, they mounted up and headed south to Brighton. They crossed fields and valleys, streams and towns until they found themselves astride their horses, peering down at the outline of his family’s estate.

  “What’s our plan?” she asked.

  “I think you should stay here. Let me sneak in and talk to my father. Once I have everything settled, I’ll come back and get you.”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “No. It will be faster if I go alone. Not to mention, if I get caught, they won’t execute me, but if you get caught...”

  “So I’m just supposed to sit here and wait. How do I know you won’t go turn me in? Betray me after everything we’ve been through?”

  “Charlie, really? After all this, you still don’t trust me?”

  “I don’t trust anyone.”

  “I’ve gathered that. But you need to trust me. I need to talk to my father alone, explain who you are, why we are traveling together, and let him know someone has ordered my assassination.”

  “Fine. But hurry. If you aren’t back by tomorrow at noon, I’m leaving.”

  “Fair enough.” He spun Duke around and began his way down the hill.

  “John!” He heard her call out behind him and he turned around to see her sitting atop her mare, her red hair blowing in the wind. “Don’t die.”

  Nodding, he clucked Duke into a canter. He rode to the forest just outside of the estate and slipped down to the ground. “Wait here, friend.” He patted Duke on the neck and slipped into the woods just outside the manor.

  John knew these woods well. He had played in them as a child and trained in them as an adult. The sun dipped below the horizon, and he planned to use the cover of darkness to his advantage. After arriving at the edge of the gardens, he sat quietly while the final rays of sunlight drifted away for the night. When complete darkness fell, he crept through the garden to the kitchen door that Emilie, the chef, often left open.

  It was surreal breaking into his own house. Part of him wanted to just stand up and announce he’d returned; the other part of him remembered the note supposedly penned by his own father, saying to assassinate him. His father was the only one he would trust. John waited for the stable boy to disappear into the barn before leaping across the final opening between him and the kitchen door. He made it undetected.

  He listened for voices inside. They would be upstairs serving dinner now, meaning the kitchen should be empty. Nothing but silence echoed back to him. He pulled the door open with a creak and stepped inside. The kitchen was empty, and he wasted no time heading down the corridor that led to hi
s father’s office. He would wait there for him and finally get the answers he deserved.

  Following one hallway after another, ducking into the shadows to avoid detection, he found himself standing in front of his father’s office, a place he had entered countless times. It felt different now, like encroaching upon enemy territory. An uneasy feeling plagued him as he pulled out his key and clicked the lock open.

  He stepped inside the familiar room. The same tapestries hung on the wall. Paintings of his father and grandfather decorated the stone. Everything was the same, yet it felt... different.

  “John! What are you doing here?”

  The familiar voice startled him. He spun around to see Uncle Thomas standing behind him in the doorway. His uncle closed the door and rushed to pull John into his arms.

  “Thank God, you’re all right. I was beginning to fear the worst.” Uncle Thomas looked him over and pulled him in for another hug.

  “I’m all right. But I don’t understand what is going on. Why are they hunting me? Where is my father? I need to speak to him at once.”

  The look on his uncle’s face caused John’s heart to flutter. “What is it, Uncle Thomas? Tell me.”

  “Come John, sit down.”

  “Uncle Thom—”

  “Sit, John. Please. I’ll tell you everything.”

  John nodded and walked to the chair opposite the leather one his father usually sat in. Uncle Thomas walked around and took a seat in his father’s chair behind the desk.

  “John. Your father. He... he’s dead.”

  It felt as if the air had been sucked out of his lungs. The room spun around him while he sat there in disbelief. The ringing in his ears drowned out the sound of his uncle’s voice. The man’s lips were moving, but John couldn’t understand the words, as negative emotions swirled through his body, stealing all rational sense.

  You’re lying. My father can’t be dead.

  “John? John!” his uncle called, snapping him back to reality... a state of being he refused to even acknowledge. “I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine how you must—”

  “Wh-what happened?” he stammered.

  “He was stabbed, John. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. He was stabbed... with your dagger. Everyone thinks you murdered your own father.”

  If John thought his world had been spinning before that information, he’d been mistaken. The whole building felt like it had been lifted off its foundation, thrown into a tornado of emotions, and spat out in shattered shards of debris. He tried to process his uncle’s words.

  Tried and failed.

  “Me? Why... how... when... I don’t understand.”

  “I know, John. This is so much to take in. I can’t even imagine what you must be feeling right now.”

  “What happened?” John could barely speak.

  “A week after you left, your father was found stabbed to death.”

  John choked down tears as those unbelievable words came out of his uncle’s mouth.

  “Your dagger... The ornamental one your father gave you, it was found next to the body.”

  “My dagger is right here!” He pulled out his dagger and slammed it down in front of his uncle.

  “That is good for me to know! I wondered how they got your dagger. I was worried they had killed you and taken it. Now I know they must have made a replica.”

  “Who would know my dagger well enough to replicate it? And who do you think is framing me?”

  “I don’t know, John. But that’s not all. The Master of the Hounds also reported seeing you and a red-haired woman racing away from the stables that night.”

  John sat, stunned, trying to keep himself from shaking with emotion. “That’s... I was in London! I’m sure I can find someone to testify to that.”

  “I know. I know you didn’t do it. I’m doing everything in my power to find the person who is really responsible and bring them to justice. Once I do, you will be cleared of all charges and we can put this mess behind us.”

  “Why would anyone think I would kill my own father?” That bit of information hurt him the most. He loved his father dearly. He would have given his life in exchange without hesitation. The thought that anyone would think him capable of slaughtering the man was unbearable.

  “There are rumors that the red-haired woman bewitched you. Rumors you wanted to rule the Order. There are rumors and assumptions, but I know the truth. You would never murder your father. I intend to prove it.”

  “Wait, I was the heir to the Grand Master of the Order of Lions. Who rules it now that my father is gone?”

  “With your suspected treason, the heads of the ten great Houses have taken control until a new Grand Master can be named. It was their decision to order your assassination, and I am powerless to stop it, as much as I have tried. The evidence against you is undeniable. They are planning a ceremony where they will meet here to pay their respects to your father and choose a new Grand Master. We need to clear your name by then so you can assume your birthright. But if we can’t...” His uncle shifted beneath the weight of the words to come, and John wondered what could possibly be worse that hadn’t already been said. “It will likely be me, John. But only until we clear your name. When we do, I will step aside, and you can rise to the position you were born for. I figured I could do the most good for you if I am elected to Grand Master if we can’t clear your name. Then I will have the power to save you. I hope you understand.”

  He nodded. His uncle was right. He was the most logical choice and having someone John trusted in power couldn’t be a bad thing.

  “I’ve tried to convince them to call off the hunt for you and the woman, but to no avail. They threatened to have me removed from the running for favoritism and an inability to put the Order before family. I didn’t want to risk this position and the ways I could use it to help you in the event we can’t clear your name in time. I knew those amateurs wouldn’t be capable of harming you.” His uncle chuckled, puffing out his chest with obvious pride. “I’m the one who taught you how to wield that sword.”

  “What do I do, Uncle?”

  “Go. Hide. Stay out of sight while I sort this out.”

  “What if I turn myself in and explain things, show them my dagger so they know the murder weapon can’t be mine?”

  “They’ll just say you’ve had plenty of time to have a duplicate fashioned.”

  “I’ll just find the innkeepers to come down and testify for me.”

  “They’ll just say you paid them off.”

  “Uncle Thomas, I can’t believe they think I killed my father. I can’t believe my father is dead.”

  His uncle stood up and walked up behind John. He placed his hands on his shoulders and squeezed. “I’m so sorry, my boy. Your father was a good man. The best. I’ve had time to process this, but I forget you have only just found out.”

  John pushed up out of his chair. “Who killed him, Uncle? Who killed my father? And Henry?” he shouted.

  “Keep your voice down, John. No one can know you are here.”

  John huffed and paced the room.

  “I’m not sure, but I have my suspicions.”

  “Who?”

  “When I learn more, I will be sure—”

  “Who?”

  “Alfred. I think it might be Alfred.”

  “Our butler, Alfred? The man who practically raised me? Never.”

  “He was present at both murders. He had intimate knowledge of the Order. I also think he was responsible for the murder of Benjamin Cornewalle all those years ago.”

  “Charlotte’s father?”

  “Yes, you remember?”

  “I remember.” John almost told his uncle about Charlie but decided it was best to keep her name out of this for now.

  “I have more proof, but I need more time to put it together.”

  Voices coming down the hall halted their conversation. Uncle Thomas leaned forward and whispered in John’s ear. “You need to go. I will send for you when I clea
r your name. Be safe, John. Just lay low. I will figure this out.”

  John nodded and listened as the voices approached. He looked to the window where Charlie had made her escape. He made it across the room in several leaps and slipped through the open window, dropping to dangle from the small stone ledge. As John looked around, he found himself impressed that Charlie had scaled the three-story stone wall and now questioned his sanity in doing the same. He began his careful climb down, determined to make it safely to the bottom so Charlie wouldn’t visit his gravesite and tease him that she was a better climber. He was getting down this wall and he was going to find the person who had killed his father and make them pay.

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHARLIE SAT IN THE meadow along the edge of the forest. She plucked another long blade of grass and twisted it between her fingers. John had been gone all night and the sun was peeking up over the horizon. Unable to sleep, she had spent the night watching the stars and trying to fight off the feeling that kept resurfacing. She was missing John.

  Since the day her father died, she had been alone in the world. She had her aunts and uncles to help keep her fed and a modest roof over her head, but she had never been more than a farmhand to them. It had been more than a decade since she had felt love... real, unconditional, protective, and powerful love. With her father’s last breath, he had taken from her all the security and comfort she’d ever known.

  Her father would have done anything for her. He would have slit his own throat without hesitation in order to protect her. She’d longed for that love for years, crying herself to sleep on the pile of straw that was swept into a corner each night for her bed. She’d silenced her sniffles when her aunt would scold her for keeping them up. Finally, she’d suppressed the need for tears at all. It was then that Charlie had accepted her lot in life. She was alone. She would always be alone.

  These past few days with John had chipped away at her armor, a small pinhole letting in the tiniest bit of warmth and light. Fear was not an emotion Charlie was familiar with, but it had crept in as he whittled away at her defenses. She had been alone for so long, she didn’t know any other way. She didn’t think she could ever let him in all the way... let herself trust him. What surprised her more than the fear was the feeling that she wanted to... she wanted to let him in, let her guard down, and let herself feel love again. Yet every time she had the chance, she ran from it. It was an ingrained reaction created from years of practice.