Legends of Medieval Romance: The Complete Angel's Assassin Trilogy

by Laurel O'Donnell

  Time froze. Harold’s eyes widened, filling with the knowledge that Damien was more than capable of following up on his promise. He was a killer. That was what he did. Damien felt Aurora’s gaze on him and hesitated. Would she look at him the same if he easily and swiftly snuffed out the life of one of her guard?

  Turmoil whirled around Damien and he pushed himself off of Harold, backing up two steps.

  Harold sat up, his jaw clenched tight, his cheeks red. He held his sword on the ground, in acquiescence.

  Silence surrounded Damien as he towered above the overconfident knight. He looked up. It was not the gazes of the knights he sought. It was not Helen or Jennifer’s gaze. Had she seen? He sought out Aurora’s stare. Had she seen his true nature? Had she glimpsed the beast?

  When he looked at her, he saw relief and trepidation in her eyes. Her stare did not ease his discomfort. He moved quickly to her side and took her arm, escorting her away from the tilting yard before Harold’s bruised pride rose for retribution.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Aurora tried to make eye contact with Damien the entire way back to the castle. He kept his gaze moving, scanning the surroundings, glaring at the passing villagers who greeted her with warm smiles.

  Churning anger steamed from his skin. His steps were a little too hurried and impatient to be considered anything but the strides of a fuming man. As they entered the inner ward, Aurora paused and turned to him. Her heart broke at the turmoil she read in his stiff stance, his clenched jaw, and his rounded fists. She wished he would let her help him. She wished she could take his pain away.

  Her gaze trailed up his strong arms, over his squared shoulders to his chiseled jaw. Her breath caught in her throat. A line of crimson stretched from his lips down to his chin. “You are hurt,” she gasped.

  “It’s nothing,” Damien insisted, wiping the wet line away with his sleeve.

  Her chest tightened around a great sorrow. “You do not need to prove anything to me,” she whispered.

  Damien’s jaw clenched as he whispered, “I shouldn’t be here.”

  His dark eyes were void of expression and yet Aurora sensed his immense inner conflict. “This is the only place in all of England where you belong.”

  Damien bridled.

  “What I mean to say is that you are more welcomed here than anywhere else.”

  Damien shook his head and looked down at the blood smeared on his black sleeve. “Strange welcome.”

  Aurora touched his arm. “I am sorry,” she admitted.

  His brows furrowed slightly. “For what?”

  “For their treatment of you.”

  “You have no control over how others behave toward me.”

  “They are my people,” Aurora answered. “I am ultimately responsible for their actions.”

  “You are not responsible for their actions. Only they are.”

  “I should have stopped Harold.”

  “You couldn’t have. He wanted to fight me. I am a threat to him,” he stated.

  Her heart ached at his easy acceptance of their treatment. “How could you be a threat to him?” His eyes were the color of the darkest coals in the blacksmith’s shop. There was a hunger in his dark orbs, a predatory stare that fanned a smoldering heat inside her. She looked at his lips, which proved a much greater mistake. Her body responded, igniting with inner flames.

  “He is afraid I can do a better job at being your bodyguard than he could.”

  “And can you?”

  “Undoubtedly.”

  His self-confidence was daunting. His arrogance was unfathomable. Yet, Aurora believed him. And obviously so did her father.

  He took a deep breath. “Are you tired? Do you need to rest?”

  His thoughtful nature was touching. And humbling. And alluring. She was used to being strong for her people, never showing weakness. The denial was instinctual and she shook her head even though fatigue weighed heavy.

  His sharp gaze fell over her body in an appraising sweep, and then moved back to her eyes.

  Aurora grinned. She didn’t need to be strong with him. He was strong enough for them both. “Perhaps a little,” she admitted. “But I have a package to bring Widow Dorothy. After that I can rest.”

  “You can’t have someone else deliver the package?”

  “I have to make sure she is all right. She lives on the edge of Acquitaine. She’s old and it’s hard for her to get around. I’d like to make sure she has what she needs.”

  Damien sighed softly. “Rest first. Get your strength. Then bring the package.”

  Alexander stood in the cemetery, looking down at the covered body.

  “Yer lucky he’s not in the ground yet,” the man beside him said. “I was goin’ ta bury him this mornin’, but I got side tracked.”

  Alexander looked at the groundskeeper of the cemetery. He was short and his limbs were as thin as the handle of the wooden shovel he supported himself with. His stained brown tunic was as frayed as the old man’s hair. He stank of ale. Alexander knew exactly what had kept him from his work that morning.

  He looked back at the covered killer, back down at the assassin who had tried to kill Aurora. He squatted beside the corpse. He knew Aurora would have been able to recognize him if he had been the killer of her mother, so he knew this man was not the assassin he was searching for. Still, nothing could be overlooked. He pulled back the blanket covering the man.

  The dead assassin’s hair was lying limply around his head. His skin was gray, his lips blue. He was naked. “Where is his clothing?”

  “He ain’t needin’ ‘em where he’s headed,” the groundskeeper replied, running a hand across his nose.

  “Was anything found on him?” Alexander asked, not holding out hope of finding any clues here. “Where are his belongings?”

  The groundskeeper shrugged. “Ain’t had any when he was brought in.”

  Alexander slid the blanket off of the dead assassin’s body. The killing wound on his stomach was dried an ugly black.

  “Rebecca Fieldmore said she was walking through the town like she does every morn when the assassin jumped lady Aurora. She said it was a terrible sight he tryin’ ta kill her and all.”

  Alexander was barely listening to the man prattle on. His gaze moved over the dead man, looking for a clue, any clue.

  “Rebecca Fieldmore said she saw the man that saved m’lady take a bag and dagger from this cur.”

  Alexander looked up at the groundskeeper. “The man that saved Lady Aurora. You mean her new bodyguard?”

  “Aye.” The man stumbled and fell forward, but caught himself on the shovel’s handle. “Whatcha lookin’ fer?”

  Alexander glanced back at the assassin. “I’m not sure.” He had hoped to find some clue of the assassin’s name or homeland. Instead, it was another dead end. Alexander flipped the cover over the dead assassin’s head.

  The groundskeeper chuckled. “I could show ya somethin’, but you’d have ta dig the hole fer me.”

  Alexander stood. He fingered the handle of his sword. “I could show you something too, you old sot.”

  The man chuckled and shrugged. “Ya could. But you’d never find out if what I know is important or not.”

  Alexander looked into the groundskeeper’s wise crinkled old eyes. No wonder the old coot survived this long. He was smarter than he looked. He had something he could bargain with and he knew it. “Tell me.”

  “Dig the hole first.”

  “I’ll dig half the hole. Then you tell me and if it’s worth it, I’ll finish.”

  The man smiled a toothless grin.

  Alexander took the shovel and began to dig. The old groundskeeper sang a song way off key, obviously quite pleased with himself. He offered Alexander a sip of whatever was in his flask, but Alexander declined. When the hole was half dug, when Alexander was dripping with sweat, the old groundskeeper lifted the blanket. He lifted the dead assassin’s arm so it lay above the corpse’s head.

  Just above his
arm pit, seared into the deceased man’s arm was a mark. A circle with a black X through it. Alexander stared at the symbol.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it,” the groundskeeper whispered.

  Alexander agreed with a nod and dug the other half of the grave.

  Aurora couldn’t rest for very long. There was just too much to do, no matter how tired she was. She strolled down the castle corridor, Damien beside her.

  Servants walked by, greeting her with humble bows. She acknowledged each of them with a nod. She couldn’t quite escape the fact Harold had not listened to her orders. She had been helpless to stop what had happened to Damien. She already told him how terribly sorry she was. That just didn’t seem to be enough. Harold’s attack had been born of jealousy.

  “It’s not your fault,” Damien said softly to her.

  Aurora glanced at him in surprise. He was staring at her with a warm, almost possessive glow. “My fault?” she asked carefully.

  “What happened in the field,” he clarified.

  How did he know what she was thinking? She shook her head, scowling.

  “I shouldn’t have let you go.”

  Aurora’s eyebrows rose. “You could not have stopped me.”

  Damien grinned as his gaze swept her face, lingering upon her lips. “I knew Helen and Harold were up to no good. They probably still are.”

  Confusion swirled inside of her as she looked at the ground. “Why do you say that?”

  He looked forward for a long moment. “Harold holds a grudge against me for being selected as your bodyguard. And Helen…” He looked at her. “I saw the two of them talking.”

  Aurora shrugged. “That means nothing. They could have been speaking of the weather or local gossip. They’ve spoken often in the past.”

  “They could have been hatching a plan.”

  “You have a very suspicious nature.”

  “My instincts are good,” Damien said. “They serve me well.”

  “And I as well. Still…” She nodded to a passing knight. “I find it hard to believe they would be capable of hatching such a plot. A plot to hurt someone.”

  Damien grinned, a bit sadly. “If they were to come to you and tell you that is exactly what they were doing, you would still find it hard to believe.”

  Aurora lifted her chin in annoyance. “I would have no choice but to believe them.”

  “And yet when I tell you, you resist.”

  “Unless you have astounding hearing, you did not know exactly what they spoke of.”

  “You will defend your people until the end, won’t you? Like Marie.”

  The barb hit home. It hurt to be reminded of her past mistake. Yet, he was right. He had been right on the mark about Marie. Could he also be so right about Helen and Harold?

  Damien’s look softened. “I see things you miss, Aurora. Because you don’t want to see them. Because you think they’re not there. But every person has a dark nature.”

  Aurora shook her head as she spotted Peter sitting in a corner whittling a piece of wood. He had made a poor decision when he had broken Theodore’s walking stick and now Peter was trying his best to mend his ways. “Perhaps we are all tempted to do wrong. But if we resist those temptations, we become stronger for it.”

  “We don’t all have the will to resist. Sometimes, it is easier to do the wrong thing.”

  Aurora looked at him. “Have you done the wrong thing?”

  A muscle rippled in Damien’s jaw. “Often.”

  “Even if it hurt others?”

  “Even if it hurt others. Surely as ruler of all these lands you’ve done something you’re not proud of. Something that hurt others?”

  “No,” she replied.

  “No?” he echoed, doubtfully.

  Panic rose inside her. “No,” she argued. “I try to be a fair and just ruler.”

  “Someone must disagree with you. They are trying to kill you.”

  She stumbled and then stopped. “I never mean for anyone to be hurt by my actions. Never intentionally.”

  “What happened?”

  She whipped her head up to look at Damien. What would he think of her if he knew the truth? What would he think of her if he knew her mother’s death was her fault? All her fault.

  Chapter Fourteen

  He saw it in her large eyes. The secret she kept from the rest of the world. The little bit of truth that made Aurora just like everyone else. Even she succumbed to evil. “Tell me,” he urged. What could she possibly have done? And in that moment, he had to know. It would make his mission easier. When she hesitated, he reached out to her, brushing her arm with his fingers. “Everyone does something they are not proud of. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “The dark nature you mentioned?”

  Damien knew he should be cautious. He was already dangerously close to revealing too much about his own nature.

  Before he could respond, she asked, “What have you done that you are not proud of?”

  The question caught him off guard and he looked away so she would not see the darkness lurking inside him like a disease. Would she tell him her secret, if he told her his? Is that what prompted her question? Did she want to trade dark secrets? How could he tell her he was an assassin? That he killed people? He couldn’t. Not ever. He could lie. He glanced into her deep blue eyes, ready to tell some fable. He parted his lips. She stared at him with such innocence, such readiness to forgive that a well of sorrow rose in his soul. She wore her goodness like a second skin, a moral shield to ward off evil. His moral shield had been cracked and splintered a long time ago. The lie died before it was given life and he bowed his head. “Don’t be fooled. I am not the man you think I am.”

  “You are exactly the man I think you are.”

  Damien scowled at the yearning that sprang forth inside him in answer to her statement. He was shocked and repulsed at the desire to be this man. He pushed the feeling aside. The only thing important to him was his freedom. That was all that mattered. Why couldn’t she see the truth? Why couldn’t she look at him and know he was cold and dangerous? Why did the woman destined to die at his hand have to be the one person who saw him as a good man?

  Jennifer raced down the hallway toward them and Aurora turned to her.

  Damien could not take his eyes from Aurora. Desperation surged within him. He wanted her to look at him and see him as a good man. Yet, he was desperate to make her see how wrong she was. And he wasn’t sure which desperation was greater.

  Aurora slid her hand from Damien’s when Jennifer drew closer. She glanced at Damien once before she turned her full stare to her cousin.

  In that quick glance, Damien was uncertain if it was concern he saw in her eyes or if it was trepidation.

  Aurora nodded her gratitude to Jennifer as her cousin handed her a clump of herbs tied together with a string.

  “Please be careful,” Jennifer whispered. “I love Widow Dorothy, too, but you are more precious to all of us.”

  “I will. I promise. But Dorothy needs these herbs.” She patted Jennifer’s hand. “Don’t worry. Damien is with me.”

  Jennifer looked at Damien and he gave her a slight bow. Jennifer grinned shyly and gave him a small curtsy in return.

  As Jennifer turned away and moved down the hallway, Aurora led Damien to the front doors and left the castle. As soon as they emerged into the sunlight, Damien’s instincts took over. He began to instinctively scan the area. The assassin was here somewhere. Waiting.

  Aurora led him across the bustling courtyard to the stables.

  Damien checked the wooden building before allowing her to enter. When he gave his consent, she swept in like a ray of sunshine bursting through the clouds, and walked to the first stall.

  A large black warhorse pawed the ground upon seeing her. She smiled at him, placed the package of herbs in the saddle pouch on the horse and stroked his nose. “This is Imp,” she introduced.

  Damien stood beside her at the stall.

  Imp
nickered and tossed his head. Aurora patted the side of his neck. “What do you think of my horse?”

  Her horse? By his size, Damien surmised Imp was a warhorse, not suited for a lady. He nodded.

  “I raised Imp from when he was little. His father is my father’s war horse.” She met Damien’s gaze, proclaiming with an upturned chin. “I trained him myself.”

  “He’s a beautiful horse.”

  “I’m glad you think so,” Aurora said. “Because I am giving him to you.”

  “What?”

  “He comes from a fine line and I am sure you will be happy with his --”

  “You are giving him to me?”

  Aurora lifted her eyebrows and nodded her head. “Your reward for saving me. There is no better horse in all my stables than Imp.”

  “But he’s your horse,” Damien said, awed.

  “You will learn to love him as much as I do,” she stated, stroking the horse’s nose.

  Imp nickered again.

  Damien turned to the horse. He was a beautiful stallion. His hindquarters and withers were the same height. The muscles in his shoulders and rear legs were strong and able. He’d never dreamt of having a warhorse. They were reserved for nobility and for knights. Not for assassins.

  “Would you like to ride him?” Aurora asked.

  Shocked, Damien turned to her.

  Her gaze swept his face, a small grin on her perfect lips.

  In an instant, all thought of riding the horse vanished and concern for her well-being replaced his enthusiasm. “Are you well enough to ride with me?”

  Aurora considered his question, but the smile hidden behind her pursed lips never disappeared. “I’m always well enough to ride.”

  Damien narrowed his eyes, suspiciously. What did that mean? She must be a good rider if she trained Imp. But how good? “Ride with me,” he encouraged.

  Aurora nodded. She walked to another stall where a mare was stabled. She took the reins from a post and led the horse to the door. Aurora grabbed the mare’s mane and pulled herself over the horse’s back. She threw her leg over the animal and swiveled her head to look at Damien.