Angel's Assassin

by Laurel O'Donnell

  Chapter Three

  A light-haired boy raised a yellow daffodil toward Aurora. She smiled softly at him, touched by the display of affection. Two weeks ago, the boy had been brought to her for stealing apples from a farmer. He had been disobedient and obstinate. She had put him to work around the castle with Mary and there had been a big change in the boy. Now, he helped the farmer with picking the apples in exchange for several apples a day and a night sleeping near the hearth in the castle.

  As she reached for the gift, a sudden flurry of movement drew her attention. A man charged toward her, shoving men and women aside in his frantic dash. He was a fluid movement of muscle. Quick. Determined. Precise. His black eyes locked on her, emotionless and cold. Complete and utter fear swept through her as she remembered other eyes, just as deadly. To her horror, he drew a large sword.

  Aurora recoiled, a scream welling in her throat as the sword flashed in the sunlight. In her mind, she saw the glint of another weapon, a weapon that had heralded her mother’s death. But before she could release her cry, the man plowed into her, sending her tumbling to the dusty ground. She hit the dirt road hard, the air whooshing out of her lungs. Despite the pain bursting up her entire side, she managed to turn her head, expecting to see the sword plummeting toward her stomach. Instead, the dark man held his weapon above her, blocking the striking dagger of another attacker! This second attacker, garbed in a faded green tunic, pushed his dagger tight against the dark man’s sword, intent on reaching her with his jagged blade.

  Cries of confusion and disbelief echoed throughout the square as people scurried to get out of the way.

  The man in the green tunic shifted his eyes to meet Aurora’s. Animosity mixed with panic in his small gray orbs. He pushed forward, desperate to free himself from the large blade blocking his strike.

  Suddenly, with a flick of his wrist, the man clothed in black flung the attacker and his weapon aside, then lunged forward, plunging his blade through the green tunic, driving it deep into the smaller man’s stomach.

  Aurora gasped and covered her mouth at the horrific sight, as if her fingers could stop the terrified cry rising in her throat.

  Complete silence filled the square as the dark man pulled his blade from the attacker’s stomach.

  The man in green fell forward to his knees, clutching at the gaping wound as blood seeped through his fingers.

  Aurora sat up and kicked at the ground, pushing herself away from the attacker as he toppled face first into the dusty road, landing only a few feet from her. Dead. He still clutched the dagger in one hand. His open eyes stared at her with an eerie dark light seeming to come from somewhere deep inside him. They terrified her, but she was even more frightened the man would spring back to life and lunge at her again with his dagger. Blood continued to flow from his body, spilling over the dirt street in small rivulets, snaking toward her. She pushed herself back from the red tendrils of liquid as it collected around the wilted yellow flower she had just been offered.

  Jonathan! She searched the surrounding crowd for the boy and found him staring with wide eyes from behind the legs of the miller. She followed his stare back to the tainted flower and red liquid pooling about it.

  He tried to kill me! Shivers peppered her arms and hysteria threatened to pull her into darkness. Aurora lifted panicked eyes to the tall, dark stranger. He was dressed in black from the leather boots clinging to his muscled calves, to the breeches hugging his powerful thighs, and up to the tunic opening at his neck to give a glimpse of his strong chest. His thick black hair hung to his shoulders in effortless waves. His dark eyes were like onyx. At first glance, they were soulless, as cold and as eerie as the dead man’s lying within an arm’s reach of her. A fleeting niggling of familiarity tugged at the back of her memory. Before her shocked mind could place him, he lifted his hand and held it out to her, palm up.

  She shifted her stare from his strong hand back to his eyes and saw something else in his mysterious orbs, something deep inside calling to her, beckoning. For a moment, she felt as though he was asking for something from her, as though he needed her. Her soul answered with calm assurance, pushing aside her own fear. She raised her trembling fingers toward his, drawn inexplicably to his offered hand.

  “Stand back!” Captain Trane shouted. He appeared in front of her, a large stick in hand. He knocked her outstretched hand aside with his hip, blocking her view of her rescuer.

  Aurora angled her head so she could see the dark stranger beyond Captain Trane.

  The stranger’s lip curled in a feral snarl and he lifted his weapon.

  Captain Trane half turned to Aurora. “My lady,” he said, offering her a hand. “Are you hurt?”

  Aurora accepted his help, and he pulled her gently up to her feet. “He saved my life,” she said in wonder.

  Captain Trane turned back to the stranger.

  As the stranger shifted his gaze from Captain Trane to her, the contempt burning deep in his eyes seemed to fade and then vanish completely. He lowered his weapon, straightening to his full height. He was a good head taller than Aurora, his shoulders broad and strong. He watched her speculatively.

  Some might consider his black eyes evil and demonic, but Aurora thought they were beautifully unique. They mesmerized her and intrigued her, and also somehow managed to instill peace in her.

  Captain Trane knelt beside the dead man. “Do you know him, m’lady?”

  As Aurora looked down at her would-be assassin, her heart began to pound again and her entire body trembled with fear. He tried to kill her. But why? She had done nothing to harm anyone, had done nothing to make such a vicious enemy. “No,” she whispered.

  The stranger stepped before her, blocking her view of the dead man. He bent down beside Captain Trane and quickly searched the corpse, removing a pouch from beneath the dead man’s green tunic and a long, thin blade from his boot. He tied the pouch at his waist and slid the dagger beneath his leather belt. The stranger used the dead assassin’s green tunic to wipe the blood from his sword. He rose and scanned the area.

  Aurora followed his gaze. Around them, the crowd of villagers grew, whisperings rustling through them. “What is it?” she asked nervously.

  “You should leave now,” he said softly.

  His words, issued with a commanding tone of warning, sent shivers of concern racing down Aurora’s spine. She looked at Captain Trane in confusion.

  Trane, a squat, stocky man with a dour face, stared at the stranger with knit brows. His brown eyes burned with a desire to do the best he could, to protect her. “Here now,” Trane objected to the stranger. “The danger is over. Lady Aurora is safe.”

  “I’ve dealt with his kind before. These assassins sometimes travel in pairs or groups of three, maybe more.” He shook the pouch he took from the dead man and it jangled loudly, clearly full of coin. “If this was just the down payment on Lady Aurora’s head, the full price is likely enough to feed a dozen men for a month.”

  Aurora paled. More assassins?

  Sir Rupert raced up the street toward Aurora, pushing his way through the gathered crowd, his sword drawn. Sir Rupert’s young face turned as bright red as the Acquitaine heraldry on his tunic as he faced his commander. “I’m sorry, Captain.” His breath came in quick gasps. “I was looking to buy Lord Gabriel some fresh cider---”

  Captain Trane continued to scan the square. “Lady Aurora will be returning to the castle.”

  Aurora clenched her hands in a tight knot before her. Farmers and peasants gathered nearby, lifting concerned glances in her direction. She recognized many faces. But some she did not. A shiver coursed through her body. She looked at the dead man again. Am I to end up like Mother? Fear spiraled through her, coiling around her, threatening to steal her calm disposition and leave her the weeping, frightened child of seven years ago. But when she met the stranger’s gaze once again, his dark eyes infused her with a calming peace, banishing any terror. “I thank you for the great deed of bravery you performed h
ere,” she said to him.

  The man gazed at her with dark intensity. It was as if he could not stop staring at her, as if he were confused by something.

  “I would like to reward you.”

  “You should be more concerned with your own safety,” the stranger advised.

  His voice, deep and powerful, resonated through Aurora. “You saved my life,” she stated simply.

  Rupert began to disperse the villagers around them, waving his hands in the air and commanding them to, “Move along.”

  Captain Trane took hold of her arm. “My lady,” he whispered. “We need to return to the castle.” He guided her down the road.

  As the distance between her and the stranger grew, something akin to panic stirred inside Aurora. She broke free of Captain Trane’s hold and returned to the stranger. “You will accompany us?”

  The stranger hesitated. He lifted his head to stare thoughtfully at the horizon. His dark hair shifted slightly in a gentle breeze, brushing his strong jaw. When he again looked at Aurora, his eyes shone hard and distant. He opened his mouth as if to answer, but then remained silent as his gaze swept from her eyes to her lips with a languid stroke. When his stare reached her lips, his brow furrowed and he closed his mouth. He nodded his head.

  Aurora realized she had been holding her breath, worried he would decline. Upon his acceptance, she smiled brightly. “What is your name?” she asked.

  “Damien.”

  “Damien,” she repeated, testing his name on her tongue. She nodded, acceptingly. “You will be welcomed in Acquitaine as a hero.”

  Aurora moved on and did not hear him whisper, “Not by all.”

  Chapter Four

  Damien had been in many luxurious castles in his life, but the opulence of Castle Acquitaine stunned him. Rich, colorful tapestries lined almost every wall, depicting battlefield victories amongst other scenes of triumph and glory. Where the walls were bare, suits of expensive armor stood, filling the gaps as silent, steel sentries. The floor in the corridor was made of individually painted stones laid down in perfect symmetry. Even the sconces on the walls were carved with meticulous detail.

  Damien’s gaze settled on the woman walking before him. Raised from birth in such a wealthy environment, she could be nothing more than a pampered princess. He had met dozens like her at Castle Roke. They lived in luxury, ate in luxury, crapped in luxury. Coddled. Spoiled. Indulgent. And yet…

  The peasants loved this woman. How could they not? Certainly, her appearance was… breathtaking. Even now, Damien found himself captivated by the slight swing of her golden braid, like a coil of precious gold swaying at the whim of the goddess it served. Every strand of her hair was neatly plaited in the braid, not one daring to free itself from the confines. Damien refused to believe her personality matched her beauty. That was not the way of life. There was always a balance. Beautiful people were arrogant and vain. Or evil inside. If the beauty was outside, then malevolence festered within. Especially if they grew up with this kind of wealth. Just as Warin Roke had.

  As Damien followed Aurora through the hallways, every man she passed turned to watch her. Sometimes they greeted her with a humble bow, sometimes with a smile and a gracious “m’lady,” but all their gazes lingered longingly on her as she moved past them. Even the women would go out of their way to greet her. He wondered how many enemies her beauty had made her.

  They entered through an open double door into the expansive Great Hall. Large cathedral ceilings arched far above Damien’s head. Two hearths paralleled each other on opposite ends of the room, one burning low, the other extinguished.

  Damien was so used to finding an escape route out of every room he entered that it was instinctive to linger in the doorway and scan his surroundings. A door stood at the opposite end of the Great Hall, behind the dais. It probably led to the kitchens. Another archway located to his right on a sidewall opened up to a stairway.

  The Great Hall was empty except for one woman crossing the room carrying mugs, and a group of men huddled about a wooden table on the far side of the room, near the warm fire. They looked over a piece of parchment spread out on the table before them.

  Tension raced through Damien’s shoulders, tightening his muscles. His suspicious gaze lingered on the men. Guards. Soldiers. Knights. Alarms sounded in his mind. Every nerve in his body went on alert. Would they recognize him? What was he thinking coming to the castle? Now was not the time to draw attention to himself.

  Aurora’s footsteps quickened as she raced toward the group of men. “Father!”

  The four men looked up. A sudden urge to vacate the stone building gripped Damien, but he remained absolutely still, keeping his expression an impassive mask.

  One man separated from the group and came forward to greet Aurora. Lord Gabriel of Acquitaine towered over his daughter, elegant in his perfectly fitted blue velvet jupon. He commanded obedience with a mere glance of his blue eyes. He smiled through a gray beard that was trimmed to perfection and extended his arms to Aurora.

  Aurora embraced him.

  He kissed the top of her head. “You are back so early,” her father said in a strong, authoritative voice.

  Captain Trane puffed out his chest, cleared his throat and stepped forward. “Lord Gabriel, there was an incident.”

  “Incident?” Lord Gabriel repeated, releasing his daughter, his brow furrowing. “What sort of incident?”

  Damien eyed the men at the table. He did not recognize any of their faces, but the rigidity did not ease from his body.

  Silence stretched through the room as Captain Trane fidgeted beneath his lord’s harsh stare.

  Aurora came to his rescue. “A man attacked me.”

  “Attacked you?!” Outrage widened her father’s eyes.

  “But Damien fought him off. Isn’t that right, Captain Trane?”

  Damien remained calmly positioned at the doorway, ready to slip away into the shadows.

  “Aye,” Captain Trane responded quickly. “He risked his life to save Lady Aurora.”

  “Attacked you?” Lord Gabriel repeated, staring down in bafflement at his daughter. He shook his head, perplexed. “Surely, there is some mistake. No one would harm you.”

  “M’lord,” Trane said tensely, “I was only steps behind her and the assassin came out of the crowd…”

  “Assassin?” Lord Gabriel’s look darkened. His brows furrowed in rage and his jaw tightened. “Who is this assassin who dares try to harm you? Where is this man so that I may stretch him on the rack!”

  Captain Trane glanced at Aurora and then Lord Gabriel. “He is dead, m’lord.”

  Lord Gabriel seemed to relax. “You killed him? Well done. I –”

  “Damien killed him,” Aurora corrected.

  “Damien? Who the devil is this Damien?”

  All eyes shifted to Damien, curious and suspicious. His jaw clenched as apprehension slithered through his entire body. He forced his hand to remain at his side instead of fisting over the pommel of his sword. Would someone recognize him? He silently cursed himself for coming to the castle. He should have stayed in the shadows where he belonged.

  Lord Gabriel scanned Damien from head to toe, assessing, and stepped past Aurora and Captain Trane to walk toward him.

  Damien stood stoically in the huge doorway. He had been unwelcome in so many castles, as ostracized as Death himself. He wasn’t quite sure what to do.

  Lord Gabriel stopped just before him, commanding, “Tell me what happened. How did you save my daughter when my trained men did not?”

  Damien glanced at the group of men staring at him near the table. They were finely dressed in garments of rich silks and velvets befitting the lords of the upper class. Distrust and dislike burned in their gazes. The words came to his lips to tell Lord Gabriel exactly what he thought of his so-called trained men. Then, his gaze caught Aurora’s. Admiration shone in her large blue eyes. Acceptance. She relaxed him and sent warmth flooding through his entire body. “The assassin ca
me out of the shadows,” he replied. Slowly, his restlessness faded and he offered more detail. “The crowd was thick around your daughter. I happened to see the assassin but your men did not.”

  “It was lucky for her you were there.”

  Damien looked at Lord Gabriel. There was a keen, hawk-like glint in Gabriel’s eyes, as if he were sizing up his prey.

  “Father,” Aurora called.

  Lord Gabriel did not take his gaze from Damien, but reached back, searching with his long fingers for his daughter’s hand.

  Aurora moved forward and slipped her hand into her father’s.

  He brought her fingers to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “My daughter means the world to me. I owe you a great debt of gratitude. Is there something you want? Something in my power to give you?”

  Damien looked at Aurora. Her lips were moist as if she had just taken a drink of ale. A kiss. The thought came unbidden. No. A kiss would not accomplish his mission. What an absurd notion. I would like my freedom, he thought. But that is not something for you to give. He remained quiet.

  “Perhaps a new sword and a horse,” Aurora suggested.

  Lord Gabriel nodded his head. “Of course. That will be the least of your reward. You will be treated as a very welcomed guest.”

  Damien gave Lord Gabriel a slight bow. A welcomed guest. He was not used to such a title. He felt a surge of ready acceptance, until he caught a glimpse of the men at the table. They cast one another dubious looks, bridling with envy. Damien grit his teeth. Perhaps Lord Gabriel had welcomed him, but that did not mean the rest of the castle would accept him with the same exuberance.

  “You may stay here at Castle Acquitaine for as long as you like,” Gabriel told him.

  Or until I find the right time to murder your daughter, Damien thought.

  Chapter Five

  Aurora allowed her father to gently take her elbow and lead her away from the others.