Demon Angel

by Meljean Brook

  “We spoke of the barons’ rebellion,” he said slowly, certain it was true but unable to remember her position aside from the demure support of her husband. Pleasantries, such as I am certain my lord will prevail and I trust my lord will do what is right had fallen from her lips many a time, with no indication that she possessed a real understanding of the rebellion. At the time, he had found her unquestioning support a sign of true love and devotion; now he wondered if she had simply been so young the situation had bewildered her, and his own youth had hidden her lack of understanding.

  “And what did you say of the barons’ rebellion?” Lilith did not seem interested in his answer; she pushed her food around with her fingers, and Hugh noted absently that aside from a few tiny bites, she had not consumed much at all. Hardly enough to maintain her bulk. Perhaps she was a woman who had meals sent to her later, when no one could observe her gluttony.

  But no, that did not fit. He could not imagine her hiding any sin. She flaunted her faults.

  He might as well flaunt his. In a low voice, he said, “I thought they should have dragged Lackland to a platform and hanged him.”

  Her head jerked up, and she stared at him in surprise. “You said such to her?”

  “Nay.” He glanced up at the dais, where Lady Isabel sat next to her husband, smiling sweetly at him. D’Aulnoy appeared utterly enraptured by his young bride. “But his tyranny should have been halted with more than a document that he had no intention of honoring.”

  “He was forced into signing,” Lilith said. “By barons who had only their own interests at heart.”

  “Better the interests of many be served than the selfishness of one. His wars would have taken all, from all.”

  Lilith lifted a shoulder. “He was king. The barons’ duty was to serve him.” She slid a sliver of capon into her mouth.

  “He was king. His duty was to serve and protect his subjects.”

  Licking a trail of almond milk from her bottom lip, she raised an eyebrow, her expression one of obvious doubt. “So, if a ruler is selfish his subjects may remove him from his throne?”

  “Aye,” he said. “And if there is no other course to remove a tyrant, then what other option but death?”

  She smiled. “You are bloodthirsty, demanding the head of a king whose offenses are not truly terrible. I think you must carry the opinions of your liege, for were you older, you would know what Lackland did was not truly tyranny.”

  He flushed. Had he not thought the same thing of Lady Isabel a moment ago—that she was too young for understanding? True, the countess was a woman and should not have a head for such things, but he was only two years her senior.

  “And who determines his selfishness? Those who benefit from his removal?” She waved a hand at the dais. “A boy rules now,” she continued. “There can be no more selfish creature than a child. And he is hardly competent but for those around him . . . who happened to advise the return of Essex’s holdings. Do you approve of his leadership because you benefit from it as well?”

  His color deepened. Did she twist his words to suggest that he would execute a boy king? That his acceptance of an incompetent ruler was only because he’d been able to return to Fordham Castle? “If a ruler is just, whether it be due to advisors or no, then all benefit, and his removal will not be necessary or called for.”

  Her laugh took on a brittle edge, as if echoing against something hard and hollow within her. “The Morningstar and his followers are a primary example contrary to that statement, I think.”

  “That was their evil, not His,” he said.

  “Ah, but who created them?” She pushed her trencher forward. Her dark gaze seemed lit with inner fire. “He must have known what would happen and allowed it. Is the evil theirs, or His? Why give the individual free will, then punish them for the wrong decisions, when He must know the wrong decisions will be made? Is everything a test?” Lilith’s eyelids lowered. “We all fail.”

  Hugh stared at her, his stomach twisting into a knot at such blasphemy. “The mother who has lost her babe asks the same question. Why allow such a thing to happen, and innocence to be lost? ’Tis not a new question, but one we do not need to ask. If He planned it, it must be right. There are many questions I could ask, many laments: why was I not born into a noble family, but a foundling? Why are those without honor or piety rewarded now? I don’t question, but accept what I’ve been given and make the best of it, and trust that we receive our due in time.”

  “Then you shall sing with the angels in no time at all,” Lilith said.

  He frowned at her sarcasm. “I don’t pretend to be without flaw. None of us are.”

  “Except, of course, your Lady Isabel.”

  How had the conversation delved into this? He ran his hand through his hair, strove for something lighter. “She snores in her sleep.” She pursed her lips, and he hastily added, “I know because I was guarding her, not because I made a habit of sleeping near her.”

  “She desired otherwise.”

  He shook his head, rejecting her claim.

  “Aye,” Lilith said. “And how could she not? Look at her husband: powerful, but thrice her age and nothing to desire.”

  “He is a good man,” Hugh protested.

  “You think that matters to a girl such as she? In ten years, she will become a powerful woman in her own right. She is not a silly girl, but she is a fanciful one at times. Tell me, Sir Hugh: in the Angevin court, did you hear the songs of the troubadour, the tales of the beautiful maidens and their loyal knights? Don’t you think she spun you into her dreams? What is that popular one? About the knight in the cart who abases himself for love of a married lady? Who saves her by crossing a bridge of swords? Who bleeds when he breaks through the bars of her bedchamber to have her?”

  “Nay,” he managed. “She knows her duty.”

  “Aye, duty. Her mind does, but does her heart?” Her gaze pierced him. “And what of yours? If a tournament were held tomorrow, and she asked you to do your worst and to wear her favor, would you?” Her voice lowered further, and he strained to hear her, though part of him rebelled against her words. “No one would think anything of it; her husband would not fight, for he is too aged, and it would seem natural for her to pick you in his stead. But the two of you would know the significance behind such a choice. If she asked, would you lower yourself before her to prove your devotion, like the knight in the cart? Would you give your life, your good name, and your soul for the adoration of a woman who will never be yours, and who, within ten years, will have lost the innocence you so cherish in her?”

  “My life, my good name—aye,” he breathed, and it was as if she had pulled that exhalation from him. “But not my soul. She would not ask for it.”

  “She asks for it with each longing glance she fails to hide,” Lilith said.

  “And what do you ask? With your wicked words and your suggestions? What is it you want from me?”

  She held his eyes over the rim of her cup. “The same as Isabel.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Even in the dead of night, the castle never quieted; always a noise intruded, from human and animal. Lilith lay between the daughter of the Chelmsford sheriff and Colchester’s youngest sister, staring at the ceiling and counting lines of wood grain until she thought she might go mad from it. She could hear Isabel’s snores, and she grinned into the darkness, thinking of Hugh. The baron’s breathing was low and deep, though an hour ago he had been straining and grunting over Isabel, punctuating his groans with murmurs of love and devotion.

  Love. A human weakness, easily confused with lust. And when it was true and fierce, as Robert’s love for his wife was fierce, its strength was the perfect tool for destruction.

  She should have been taking this opportunity to enter his dreams, as she had the past few weeks, planting suggestions of Isabel’s betrayal. Should have been sending erotic images of the young knight to the countess. Should have sought out Hugh’s mind, suggested ambition and adultery.
r />   But she did not.

  The Chelmsford girl rolled in her sleep, pressing against Lilith’s breasts. With a shove, Lilith pushed her off the pallet, biting her lips against a laugh when she heard the thump. She regretted it when she was forced to close her eyes and feign sleep as the girl crawled back into the bed and snuggled against her side, shivering, and she waited interminably for her to fall back into slumber.

  It was intolerable, having to live among them, pretending to sleep and eat when the food was tasteless, sleep impossible, and dreams far from her. She ached with boredom, reduced to staving it off with petty pleasures. Certainly, it had been relieved for a few moments during supper with Hugh, but now it fell upon her again like a hair shirt, itching and scratching until she thought she might scream from inactivity.

  Finally, unable to bear it a moment longer, she slipped from the bed.

  The floor was freezing beneath her bare feet, but she paid no attention, focusing on the sounds outside the castle. Mandeville had assigned Hugh to castle guard, and she doubted the seneschal would have given him a cozy spot within the keep or the newly built garrison at the front gate.

  She stepped silently through the hall, avoiding the benches topped with sleeping knights and servants. A couple rutted in the shadows of the spiral stairwell, and she gave them barely a glance as she passed them.

  The curtain wall surrounding the inner bailey still held evidence of John’s siege; though d’Aulnoy had begun repairs and added fortifications, the masonry was patterned with jagged holes and uneven pilings. A half-moon shed pale light across the scene, though she did not need it to illuminate her way. She waited a moment, sniffing the air, until a thread of scent led her to the tower that joined the south and west walls. She climbed the stairs and found Hugh asleep, his back against the parapet, his chin hanging against his chest. His helm lay next to him, and he’d wrapped his arms around himself as if cold mail could warm him.

  He stirred. She had formed no real plan when she’d sought him, and she had but a moment to decide to appear as Marie or Isabel—and though sense and purpose demanded Isabel, her vanity overwhelmed them and she remained Marie.

  Hugh looked up, scrubbing his hands over his face and squinting against the darkness. She knew the moment he saw her. He rose awkwardly to his feet, still half-asleep, his arms and legs at odds with his intention to stand.

  “And this is how you guard your lord and his lady?” she chided, and though her tone was light, he flushed. She sent the heavens an exasperated sigh. “Truly, I don’t care should the walls fall down around them.”

  Hugh smiled drowsily. Tapping his heel against the battered stone, he said, “ ’Tis possible they will.”

  She pretended to examine them. “They would not even hold a man tied.”

  “Is that why you ventured into the cold night?” He gave a short laugh and hunkered down again, as if respect to a lady must only go so far against frigid air, and rubbed his hands together. “Sir William has a much more comfortable alcove than I.”

  “I could warm you.” She caught his hands in hers, held them clasped between her palms. His shivers eased as her heat enveloped him.

  “Aye, my lady,” he said. For a moment she thought he was agreeing to something more, and unfamiliar lust twisted in her belly. “You burn like hellfire, and I fear you would reduce me to ashes.”

  “I do. I would.” She lifted his hand, slipped his forefinger into her mouth. He drew in a sharp breath between his teeth, and she straddled him, seating herself in the cradle created by his raised knees and body. Her skirts settled over his legs like a blanket, her skin radiating heat through her clothes. “Shall we bargain?”

  A low, tortured groan escaped him, rumbling against her chest. “God, no.”

  She laughed but persevered. “I’ll keep you warm.”

  “And I will owe you doubly? A lie and . . . a kindness?”

  Rocking against his arousal with a wicked smile, she said, “ ’Tis not kindness I offer you, but pleasure. Or temptation. Or pain, depending on how you take it.”

  “To me, it would be comfort and warmth only,” he replied, then pulled back to stare at her face as if intrigued. “What would bring comfort to a woman such as you? What would be kind?”

  She stilled. Felt her mask of amusement slip. He must have seen her—desperation? Regret? She dared not name them, even to herself. “Naught you can give.”

  “Who could? Mandeville?—but no, you have already rejected him,” he said with a smile, gently prodding deeper. “The baron, or one like him? To offer you power and riches? Success . . . but in what?”

  “No man or woman,” she said, her eyes on her fingers as they traced his throat. “He who does not cower.”

  He watched her, as if trying to determine whether she spoke truth or merely toyed with him. “The bargain cannot be struck,” he said with regret. “Though I would offer kindness, it seems equality in this exchange is impossible.”

  “And would you take the temptation if I were like Isabel? Beautiful and pure?” Her voice challenged him, sought to call him a liar.

  “If you were like Lady Isabel, you would be married,” he said. “And it would be a betrayal of fealty to my lord and God. Will you betray your liege in return? To whom do you owe loyalty, that it would be equal?”

  She remained silent for a moment. “Do not be kind to me,” she said finally.

  The stone floor was hard and cold beneath him—the harder and colder for having had Lilith’s softness and heat and then losing them. As the ache of arousal slowly subsided, Hugh realized himself a halfwit. What was he, that an eager woman sat upon his lap and he spoke of kindness?

  He would have called her back, but she’d disappeared into the darkness, and he daren’t alert the castle to their activity by making noise or seeking her out.

  Pushing to his feet with a frustrated sigh, he tucked his hands into his underarms and stepped to look over the wall. The bailey was empty, save for outbuildings and—

  A man crossed the distance between keep and wall, and for a moment Hugh thought it was Mandeville, searching for revenge upon Hugh for what he thought had taken place at the ruins. The dread of such a meeting was neatly cut off as the figure came closer and he recognized Georges—and seconds later, a figure swooped down from the top of the keep, landed facing the knight, and folded great, membranous wings.

  The impulse to raise the hue and cry warred with his disbelief, his doubt that he was seeing aright. The creature was no taller than Georges, apart from the wings that rose above its head. It stood with its back to Hugh, and though the wings hid most of its form, he caught brief glimpses of long, dark hair, the elegant curve of feminine hips and waist, and strong, lean legs. Georges did not move to defend himself, and after a moment, in which it seemed he and the creature spoke, it disappeared into the night with a powerful flap of its wings.

  Georges looked up, and Hugh thought his gaze settled directly on him—or perhaps his destination had always been to Hugh’s post—for he continued walking toward the wall.

  He must have been mistaken. He must have been. But try as he might, Hugh could not convince himself an owl or a falcon had deceived him for something else in the darkness. Hugh’s hand settled upon his sword hilt as Georges climbed the wall steps, and he was reminded of the older knight’s stance upon meeting Lilith in the courtyard earlier.

  “I do not see everything clearly,” Hugh said as Georges stepped onto the allure. “But my confusion cannot be blamed on poor vision this time.”

  The moon silvered the older man’s hair and face, lending a marble cast to his features. “Will you skewer me for your confusion?”

  Though Hugh could not remember sliding it from the sheath, he stood with weapon drawn. An ignoble reaction toward one who had mentored him well for two years, perhaps, but he found trust difficult to recall over memory of the creature. “Do you leave me no other choice, I will. If you tell me other than the truth.”

  “Truth is not always a
choice,” Georges said.

  Hugh smiled thinly. “Then I shall choose whether to believe you.”

  He spread his hands wide, palms upturned, but Hugh did not relax his defensive stance. “Aye, I can not force you to believe,” he agreed, irony tingeing his voice. “Nor will most of what I tell you require more belief than you already have.”

  “What of my patience?”

  “Of that, you have an excess.” Frowning, Georges dropped his arms back to his sides. “After Morningstar led his revolt on Heaven, he and his conspirators vowed to complete the fall of mankind.”

  Startled by the shift of tone and subject, Hugh lowered his sword fractionally. “Aye.”

  “Though the seraphim were sent to Earth, to interact with men and protect them against the demons’ manipulations, they could not be as men. Before long, humans began to look upon the seraphim as gods themselves.”

  “Their idolatry incurring His wrath?” Hugh guessed, his mouth twisting. “Surely you don’t think I will believe—”

  “No.” Georges’s voice swelled and took on a melodic cadence. More than a rejection of Hugh’s doubt, it surprised him into—commanded—silence. “Stirring Morningstar’s jealousy. His former brethren worshipped by men? He could not tolerate it. He rose up, better prepared by time and experience of the first battle, and led his demons into a second. With him were the creatures he’d created of Hell and Chaos, hounds born of sin and death and darkness, whose bite proved fatal for the seraphim. The first defense against the demons’ attack failed, and the seraphim protecting Earth fell. The second phalanx from Above arrived quickly enough, but they had to take care—even though Morningstar did not—for a full-scale battle between Heaven and Hell should not take place on Earth.”