by Ann Cory
Angel with a Blade
Ann Cory
Blush sensuality level: This is a suggestive romance (love scenes are not graphic).
Using rune stones as her guide, natural healer Rebecca travels to aid those who need her. Armed with her basket of tonics and a sword, she travels to her next destination, Blatsfort, England. At first glance, a handsome gentleman stirs her desires and makes her question the solitary path she has chosen.
But their sweet exchange turns sour when the gentleman is poisoned by men seeking to rob him of his fortune. Unable to deny her growing affections, Rebecca gathers her sword and all her courage, knowing in her heart she was meant to save him.
Ellora’s Cave Publishing
www.ellorascave.com
Angel With a Blade
ISBN 9781419933103
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Angel With a Blade Copyright © 2011 Ann Cory
Edited by Briana St. James
Cover art by Syneca
Electronic book publication April 2011
The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.
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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.
Angel With a Blade
Ann Cory
Chapter One
Rebecca de la Londe cast her rune stones up into the air and watched them fall across her palm. She studied the ornate symbols and looked to the path before her. While she trusted the stones to guide her, she had yet to understand why she’d been chosen for this particular journey.
In the distance she spied the town of Blatsfort and heaved a sigh of relief. The promise of food and lodging lifted her spirits. Two days of travel along a brush-heavy trail had left her battered, bruised and longing for a bath.
A welcome breeze, though too warm for her liking, stole over her, sending her cloak billowing around her ankles. She pushed a loose strand of her honey-colored hair from her face and hoped her purpose would become clear soon.
Glancing to the sky, she noted twilight approaching and started on her way.
At the foot of the hill, the path came to a junction of a well maintained road and she saw a sign with a picture of an inn carved in the knotted pinewood. She winced at the hard cobblestones of the road as her feet left the dirt path. Not far now.
Around the next bend, the inn loomed. While by no means a palace, it promised a bed to rest her weary body and warm food. She’d made a fair amount of coin selling tonics that she created, more than enough for a decent room.
At first glance, the street ahead looked active with people walking and the occasional wagon. She kept to the side street, holding her basket of tonics close to her body. If the bottles jostled too much, it ruined the medicinal effects.
When the way was clear she crossed the street toward the inn and noted a dark-haired man, handsome in his pinstriped trousers and matching long waistcoat. He stood beside the window and peered inside often. A golden pocket watch hung outside his vest and glimmered against the amber brilliance from an old lantern light above him each time he moved. Despite his clothing, the gentleman had a rugged sturdiness to him that was in conflict with the fanciness of his suit. As she considered the muscled terrain of his chest, a throaty sound escaped her lips.
She laid her fingers against her mouth and smiled. Too long had passed since thoughts of intimacy entered her mind. Longer than she cared to acknowledge. She’d tended to herself when the mood struck, often beneath the light of the moon deep in the woods, but it didn’t compare to the true pleasure of flesh against flesh.
Love hadn’t been an emotion afforded to her. Men didn’t understand the devotion to her work or how much she traveled. It hadn’t made sense to form attachments when she never stayed in one place for long, though she did long for change and someday a permanent home. She knew better than to let desires get the better of her. What good was a broken heart when trying to heal others?
Still, something wonderfully wicked about the stranger roused the flames inside. She wondered what he would do if she invited him to spend an evening together. Would he think her foolish or forward? If he was interested it could make for a memorable night. She didn’t see the harm in asking, but she worried her confidence would leave before she reached him.
Instead, Rebecca raised her hand in a cordial gesture. To her dismay, the man didn’t notice.
It was for the best, she decided. As she went to move forward, a wagon drawn by two midnight black horses passed in front of her, sending loose pebbles astray. In annoyance, she tightened her hand around the basket of tonics and took several steps back until the wagon cleared.
When she looked up, the fine-looking stranger had disappeared.
Raumont Scarpitta stood outside Blatsfort Inn taking turns looking out the window and out at the busy road. The night had been unusually warm and he’d fancied a strong drink at the bar where he could lose himself in his thoughts. He was glad to be home after a long and unsuccessful business trip, made worse by the hounding of two men, Edward and Burton, who had masqueraded as friends of his recently deceased father. They had been trying to blackmail him into paying them a large sum of money that they insisted belonged to them, and when that hadn’t worked they had spread rumors that he was unreliable when it came to business, and that being a Scarpitta should tell the owners that. The lies they had told had done just enough damage to have cost him every deal he’d been trying to secure during his trip.
It was difficult enough being a Scarpitta. His father hadn’t always been well-liked as he had made several business deals that had made him considerable profit. When others were not as successful, jealousy and bad feelings led to rumors of indiscretions. Even townsfolk were not immune to the hard feelings aimed toward his family, though the Scarpittas had never been subject to any wrongdoing. Rumors had never bothered him much before, but Edward and Burton were respected by the most prominent townsfolk all over England, thanks to a fair amount of deal making and schemes. He’d tried to explain that he was a good, honest man and that the rumors weren’t true, but people were reluctant to listen.
Tired of dealing with the likes of Edward and Burton, he had returned to Blatsfort, thinking he was safe here. While not everyone thought highly of him, they tolerated him. He’d been wrong to consider Blatsfort safe because no sooner had he gone inside the bar and ordered a whiskey, Edward and Burton had also entered. Unnoticed, he’d ducked low and slipped out the door.
Raumont looked through the window once more to make sure the men couldn’t see him. When he turned back, he caught sight of a most alluring woman he’d never seen before. For a moment his breath stilled. Her loveliness made him want to fall to his knees in surrender, for what he didn’t know.
The longer he stared, the
harder he found it to breathe. Long tendrils of her hair spilled over her shoulders, reminding him of liquid gold. He drank her in, thinking her more refreshing than any wine or bottle of spirits could ever be. It was difficult in the half-light of the lantern to tell whether she saw him or not. He blinked several times to be certain she wasn’t an illusion.
Raumont wondered why she wore a heavy cloak on such a balmy night. Maybe she came to Blatsfort to hide from someone or maybe she was a guardian angel concealing her wings. He chuckled to himself. Likely she’d traveled from somewhere cold.
With little effort, he imagined her naked beneath the moonlight. He thought of her arms outstretched to him as if an invitation to lay with her. His pulse hammered at the thought of brushing his hand along her soft womanly curves. It had been a long time since he’d had the pleasure of a woman’s company.
Raumont shook the thoughts away and studied her face, outlining contoured cheekbones and a heart-shaped mouth. He predicted those lips would taste ever so sweet. With one kiss maybe she could change his luck.
“Scarpitta,” the bartender rasped from inside the bar. “Your whiskey’s up.”
Reluctantly he turned away from the woman and realized his name had been called loud enough for the men to hear.
“Scarpitta,” the barkeep shouted again from the doorway.
“Forget it, I’m good.”
“You’ve paid and I poured. Get in here.”
Not wanting the men to think him a coward, he went inside. As he headed toward the back he saw them, their faces set with identical smirks. Raumont picked up and downed the drink.
He gave a smug look toward the men. They would not get the better of him.
The men looked to one another and smiled with an eeriness that chilled his blood.
Not wishing to have a confrontation, Raumont returned outside. He glanced from one side to the other hoping to see the mysterious woman, but she had vanished.
You old fool, he chided himself. She would never have given him the time of day. A creature of her remarkable beauty would be spoken for.
As he walked toward the stairs, the ground swayed beneath his feet. Sweat beaded above his brow and his tongue felt twice its normal size.
He grabbed hold of the railing with one hand to recover his balance. Whiskey had never affected him in this manner before.
Raumont took out his checkered handkerchief and dotted his face. Somehow he needed to make it home. He struggled down the first step and watched the ground fast approach.
Chapter Two
Rebecca entered the inn and made her way over to the bar. Her nose crinkled. The air smelled of yeast and stale mead. She pushed on through to the back and waited for the barkeep to finish pouring ale for a table of rough-edged men.
The portly man returned and wiped down the counter with a damp cloth. “What can I do you for?”
“I seek a room for the night.”
“Sorry, we’re full for the night.” said the man.
She cocked a brow. “Not a single bed?”
He leaned forward on his elbows and flashed a squalid look that soured her stomach further.
“Not unless you aim to share one.”
Several tall, rough looking men hollered and raised their arms in a half salute with their mugs of ale.
“I’d be happy to share a room with her,” claimed one, followed by several more unflattering offers to bed her.
She winced, disgusted by the proposal.
The bar erupted with laughter. Rebecca went to reach for the sword concealed beneath her cloak, but thought better of it. She was too starved and exhausted to put up much of a fight, even from a bunch of drunkards.
Rebecca returned her attention to the barkeep.
“Am I to gather you don’t have any suitable accommodations for me?”
The man nodded.
“But I have money.”
“So?”
Bored with the banter, she asked, “Might I at least have a drink?”
His vile grin widened. “If you want to drink with the big boys, miss, then you’ll have to drink like one.”
He turned over a glass and filled it to the rim with a dark amber liquid that she guessed to be whiskey. She’d have preferred a pint of ale. Unable to refuse the challenge, she swallowed half the liquid.
The whiskey burned like hell’s fire down her throat, trailing a path of flames to her belly. She gripped the side of the counter as the whiskey continued its assault on her insides. It didn’t help she hadn’t eaten since early morning.
Lips curled, she slammed the glass down so hard it nearly broke. The barkeep’s face blurred through the tears that stung her eyes. Much as she wanted to drain the entire contents of the glass, she couldn’t stomach another drop.
Rebecca fished two coins from her pocket and slammed them onto the counter, ignoring the boisterous laughter as she exited the inn.
Again she questioned the validity of the rune stones. Her mother would’ve scolded her for the moment of doubt, but at this point she didn’t think they’d led her in the right direction. What could possibly be found in this hole of a town?
The sounds of the night had grown louder. Across the way, a fistfight broke out and a small crowd gathered. Somehow she’d have to find suitable shelter tonight. Her legs wouldn’t take her much further. She brought the hood of her cloak over her head, careful to tuck in her hair. The less attention she drew, the better. There were too many drunken men wandering around and she didn’t know the area well enough.
As she started toward the steps, she noticed the fine looking man she’d gestured to. He lay in the road on his back, groaning for help. Did her eyes deceive her? Why would no one go to him? She set her basket of tonics down and pushed it underneath the nearby bench with her foot. In the dim light it lay concealed.
Rebecca rushed down the steps to the man’s side and knelt beside him.
“Sir, might I assist you up?”
His face tilted until he met her gaze. Eyes the color of coffee widened. Again the flames blazed in her core.
“How very kind of you, young man,” he said, his words stumbling over one another. “Thank you. I’m not feeling well. It must be the heat.”
Rebecca blinked. Young man? Disappointment flooded her, though she supposed with her hood and cloak concealing her appearance, and in his apparent drunken state, she might be mistaken for a boy. It didn’t seem the appropriate time to correct him.
She grasped his elbow. “If you please, sir, where do you take residence?”
“I have an estate. It’s a considerable distance from here,” he slurred and gestured off into the distance. Rebecca didn’t like the sound of considerable distance but she didn’t have it in her to leave him to walk alone. She’d help him home and be on her way. “Very well, sir. If you’d climb to your feet and lean on me, I’ll direct you home.”
She helped him stand and groaned as his weight against her grew heavy.
Determined, she moved her position to better accommodate him and took it one step at a time.
The walk was tedious and her back threatened to give out many times. When they’d made it out of town the scenery changed. Large houses with sweeping lawns became her view. To her knowledge any one of them could be his.
“Are we getting close, sir?”
The man raised his head and looked from one side of the street to the other.
“We’re close. It’s just over there,” he mumbled and gestured toward a grand estate, half hidden by a collection of trees covered in blossoms.
“Are you certain that is your residence, sir?”
“When we reach the gate, you’ll notice the name Raumont Scarpitta written on a plaque beside it. That is my name.”
They continued in the direction he’d pointed until they reached the wrought iron gate. As he’d claimed, a plaque hung beside it with the very name he’d mentioned in calligraphy.
“We’ve reached the gate, sir. Should I…”
“
It’s unlocked,” he said and thrust his arm out to push it open. “It’s for appearance only.”
They took a few staggered steps forward and she paused long enough to close the gate. Rebecca turned back around and stared in awe. The estate towered over her. She bent her head back and looked up higher and higher. Judging by the number of windows, she guessed the house held twenty rooms or more.
A manicured lawn of rose bushes and magnolias surrounded the large house painted moonbeam white with ebony shutters. Elegant chairs and tables furnished a spacious wraparound porch that looked perfect for an afternoon tea.
It was a palace in her eyes, and Rebecca wondered if Raumont belonged to a royal bloodline. Surely a man with money to afford such a dwelling would be married to a fine woman as well. She considered it wise to continue her act as a boy to keep the gentleman in good graces with his wife. Rebecca might not know the reason for her journey, but she knew it had nothing to do with upsetting the harmony of a marriage.
To the best of her ability, she aided him up the steps to the front door and tried the knob.
“It’s locked, sir,” she said, winded from the strained walk. “Would you happen to have the key on you somewhere?”
The man patted his pockets and then slumped.
Her back screamed in silent pain with the added weight against her.
Through gritted teeth she asked, “Might I help?”
“It’s in the front pocket of my trousers,” he slurred.
Rebecca exhaled and slid her hand inside his pocket, grasping the key in one fluid motion. Her senses awakened at the aroma of cinnamon and black licorice that exuded from him. She considered it an odd combination, but not disagreeable. His chin tilted toward her, his lips too close for her comfort. The emotions she’d garnered from the first sight of him resurfaced. Damn the way her body behaved, the flutters in her stomach and the dampness between her thighs. She blamed it on fatigue from her journey. But he was handsome, his mouth a tempting morsel before her eyes. If she kissed him now he might not remember. A sweet token to remember him by. Something to temper the years of sacrificing her needs for others.
