Aurora watched as the other ladies cooed over Megan. She was enjoying Megan’s happiness. She knew her cousin was anxious about her coming marriage. Not all women were as lucky as her to be able to pick the man they would marry.
Megan turned to her and threw her arms around her. “Thank you, Aurora!”
Aurora embraced her, holding her tightly. “It looks lovely.”
“Lady Aurora!”
Aurora turned to see the boy, Adam, racing toward her across the clearing. Her ladies giggled and whispered to each other. Aurora stepped toward the child, approaching him. “What are you doing here?”
Adam was out of breath but beaming with excitement. “You invited me to your picnic!”
“Your sister changed her mind?” Aurora asked hopefully.
Adam dipped his head. “Yes!”
There was something in the way he said it that she didn’t believe. “Adam,” she said softly. “Did she really change her mind?”
His shoulders drooped. “No.” He looked up at her and his brown eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry, Lady Aurora. I should have listened. But I wanted to come with you. I wanted --”
She lay a gentle hand on his shoulder while she glanced at her cousin. “Megan,” she called. “Go and set up the picnic. The ladies will help you.”
Megan turned and led the way into the clearing, her glittering scarf sparkling in the afternoon sun. The ladies followed her; the soldiers followed them at a discreet distance.
Aurora didn’t want the other women to see Adam’s anguish. It wasn’t right. She looked back at Adam. “What you did was wrong, you must know that.”
“Aye,” he said, sniffling, and rubbing his nose.
“Your sister must have had a very important reason for denying your attendance at the picnic.”
He puffed out his lower lip. “She wanted to go home.”
“Then you should have listened to her.”
Adam bobbed his head and his brow furrowed. “She’s mad at me now,” he whispered. “She probably never wants to see me again.”
Aurora dropped to her knees before Adam, placing her hands on his shoulders. “That’s not true. She loves you. She only wants what’s best for you. Imagine how hard it must be on her. To take all that responsibility for you, and for her, on her own shoulders.”
“I try to help her.” Adam looked down at the ground.
“I know you do.” She pulled Adam into her embrace, hugging him tightly. Poor child. He and his sister were arguing, and she wished she could do something to help the both of them, but Justina seemed not to want her help.
Suddenly, a large group of birds exploded from the trees on the other side of the clearing. Aurora turned her head. They rose like a black blanket into the sky. Silence settled across the clearing. The guards and the ladies all paused and looked toward the birds.
One of the guards said something and motioned back toward the forest. No one moved at first.
Aurora rose slowly to her feet. Unease spread through her like a drip of water. The silence that spread through the clearing was eerie.
One of her ladies, Lady Elaine, took one step back toward the forest.
Horses exploded through the trees, racing across the clearing toward them. The men on the horses were screaming, swords raised in the air, reflecting sunlight in their polished silver. Their long hair rippled behind them, their bodies covered with animal pelts.
Hungars!
The guards drew their swords, but Aurora knew they would be no match for the men on horses. Some of her ladies screamed; all of them turned and ran toward the forest, leaving the picnic blankets and most of the baskets on the ground. Lady Cathleen still carried one of the baskets as she ran toward the forest.
Aurora took a step toward them, her arms outstretched. Terror mingled with fear inside of her. The horses were going to reach them before they made it to the forest. Panic tightened in her chest. She signaled them to hurry with frantic waves of her arm. These women were her responsibility. Her friends. Her cousin. “Hurry!”
The horses charged across the clearing. One of her guards raced forward to intercept the intruders, his sword held high.
The man on horseback barely slowed as he slashed his sword across the guard’s throat. The guard spun in a circle, a plume of red spurting from his wound as he toppled to the ground.
Aurora gasped. The scene played out horrifically. She was stunned into immobility at the brutality.
The guards positioned themselves to protect the fleeing women as the horses thundered down on them.
Shouts of excitement from the Hungars mingled with the screams of Aurora’s ladies.
“Lady Aurora,” Adam whispered, slipping his hand into hers.
She barely felt his tug, hypnotized by the graphic horror playing out before her. The horses trampled the soldiers as if they were nothing more than a row of flowers. Some of the guards fell; one horse reared and toppled to the side with a whinny.
Aurora stepped protectively in front of Adam. “Run,” she whispered to him.
Megan had picked up her blue velvet skirts and was running as fast as she could. She passed Lady Elaine.
One and then another guard fell trying to fight off the barbarians.
One of the horses closed on Lady Elaine. The barbarian leapt from his steed, knocking her to the ground. He stood over her for a moment, a wicked grin on his face. She screamed as he dropped on top of her, ripping at her dress.
Adam tugged on Aurora’s arm. “This way.”
“Run,” Aurora whispered half in prayer, half statement. She watched her cousin run, the fear and desperation creased into the lines of her young face.
The leader’s horse came up behind Megan and he swung his blade, hitting her in the back of the head. She fell, and he rounded his horse on her, sliding from the animal to approach her.
Aurora couldn’t move, paralyzed with agonized fear. Megan! She jerked forward to go to her aid. But something was holding her back, pulling on her arm. Shocked and horrified, she looked down. Adam held her hand, squeezing his small hand tightly into hers.
“We have to leave,” he insisted, tugging her toward the forest.
Aurora looked back at the clearing.
Screams echoed through the clearing, some filled with agony, some terror. One by one her ladies fell.
Some of the guards were locked in combat with the Hungars; the clangs of their weapons mingled with the screams and the sound echoed through the clearing. One of the guards slashed at one of the horse’s legs as it galloped past him and the animal tumbled to the ground, head over heels.
Adam pulled hard on her arm. “Run,” he said urgently.
She hesitated. How could she leave her people? How could she abandon them? How could she...? Damien. Damien! She had to reach him. She had to make sure he knew her people were in danger, that Acquitaine was under attack.
“Run!” Adam called.
Aurora turned. It was too late. A large Hungar stood behind her, his face twisted with hate.
Damien led the Acquitaine soldiers back into the castle, thundering across the drawbridge, through the outer ward and finally to the inner ward. His jaw was clenched, as were his fists. They had ridden hard to the waterfall that Aurora was going to picnic at. But she wasn’t there. There was no sign of the picnic, no basket, no guards, no ladies. No Aurora. He dismounted without acknowledging little Joseph who took his horse’s reins and rushed into the keep. She had to be here. She had to... He burst into the Great Hall.
The servants looked up, startled.
Steward Thomas, a tall man with curly hair, immediately moved toward him.
Damien crossed the hall, calling, “Is she here? Did she come back?”
Steward Thomas stopped approaching and sadly shook his head. “No, m’lord. They have not returned.”
Damien felt despair threatening to drag him into the darkness, but he refused to give up hope. He whirled to find the doorway lined with peasants and nobles alik
e, all staring. Their eyes were blank and lost. He hated them. Looking to him as if he had the answers when he didn’t give a damn about any of them.
Gawyn moved through the crowd and came toward him, but Damien brushed past him. Gawyn put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.
“I’m going to look for her,” Damien growled. He jerked his shoulder away from his brother’s hold. Nothing was going to stop him. He would find her.
Gawyn didn’t let go, tightening his grip on Damien’s shoulder. “Something came for you.”
Damien looked at him. It was the first time he saw the apprehension, hesitation, and sadness in his brother’s eyes. He felt an abyss opening around him and steadied himself. “Show me.”
Gawyn dropped his hand and looked down. He nodded once. “In the Judgement Room.”
Damien didn’t hesitate. He moved out of the hall, past the people who congregated like vultures, waiting. They silently opened a path for him. He walked swiftly down the corridor. His senses heightened, the darkness inside of him shifting, waking. She had kept it at bay. He had always known it was still there, hiding from her light.
Damien threw the door open and entered. The room was empty and dark; only two torches flickered in the breeze from the doorway. He scanned the room. But there was nothing there. Nothing except for the chair Aurora sat in to give sentence. “Where?” he began, but then his gaze caught on something. Something golden and glittering. Every nerve froze. Every sense stopped functioning. No. He moved toward it like a statue, numb, cold, stiff. It lay on the chair where she had sat.
He stopped before the chair, staring. A bloody braid of golden sunshine wrapped in a sparkling scarf.
He was afraid to move. Afraid it might be real. He wanted so badly to blink and have it disappear. Her hair. He remembered seeing her that very morning with her hair braided. And the scarf. Maybe it wasn’t the scarf. He reached out to touch it. His fingers brushed the material and it shifted. The sparkles reminded him of her eyes. That was why he had purchased it. Now, the glimmers were muted with smears of red. He pulled his fingers back to see the stain on his skin.
Her blood.
“Damien,” Gawyn called softly from behind him. “It might not be hers.” But his voice lacked conviction.
He knew the truth. Damien knew the truth. Tears blurred his vision. “Out,” he said so softly that his voice barely escaped his lips. His life. His love. Aurora.
“Damien,” Gawyn said more firmly. “You are Lord of Acquitaine. The people will look to you now. They --”
The darkness seized him, and he whirled on Gawyn. “GET OUT!” he hollered.
Gawyn stood immobile. Finally, he nodded and bowed slightly before retreating. He closed the door, sealing Damien in the tomb of death and darkness. Damien turned back to the braid. Complete and utter anguish swept over him in a wave of despair. His fists clenched. He didn’t want to touch her hair. He didn’t want to remember her this way. Had they tortured her? Raped her? In that brief second, it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was that she was gone. And all that was left for him was darkness.
He dropped to his knees before the judgement chair. His chin fell to his chest. He couldn’t protect her. He had failed. His gaze shifted to the braid in the chair. It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t be. She was everything to him. She was his life. She was his light. He felt himself swirling, falling into the dark, hopeless abyss. He threw his head back and a savage, anguished cry tore from the very depths of his soul.
Chapter 11
Justina worked her way through the forest, stepping over roots, ducking under branches. Her heart pounded in fear and dread. She had to find Adam. She wouldn’t leave without him. She moved through some brush on the forest floor. The sunlight shone down between the leaves of the trees and Justina spotted a patch of white in the growth on the ground and paused. She carefully made her way toward it. The closer she came, the more she realized it wasn’t Adam.
The white dress was long. A woman’s form. Blonde hair. Not Adam. She almost moved away, but recognized Aurora’s face. Shocked, horrified, she stared down at the Lady of Acquitaine. If they had killed her, what had become of her brother? She almost spun away to look for Adam, but a groan and then movement stalled Justina’s motion.
Aurora rolled over, placing a hand to her head where a line of blood was trickling from a cut.
Justina dropped to her knees at her side, grabbing Aurora’s shoulders and helping her to sit up.
Aurora winced in pain and looked at Justina with a dazed expression.
“Where’s Adam?” Justina asked, her fingers digging into Aurora’s shoulders.
Slowly, as reality returned, a fearful look entered Aurora’s stare. She looked about. “Run,” she said softly.
Justina released her, spinning to searching about them. Then, she leaned in close to her. “Where. Is. Adam?”
Aurora wobbled for a moment, then steadied herself with a hand to the ground. She shook her head. “He was here... and then...”
Justina shot to her feet and took a step toward the clearing.
Aurora seized her arm. “The Hungars killed everyone.”
Justina tore her arm free. “He’s my brother,” she snarled with anguish and anger. She ran toward the clearing.
Aurora climbed to her feet unsteadily, but Justina didn’t pause. She didn’t care about the Hungars. She didn’t care about Aurora. She had to find Adam. Her heart beat madly, desperately, fearfully. He had to be all right. He just had to. How could she have let him go on this picnic? She should have found him and dragged him back with her. He was her responsibility. He was the last of her family. He was... everything to her.
She trudged through the growth on the forest floor, around trees, nearing the clearing. She spotted a dark form in the green of the forest floor ahead of her and her insides clenched in dread. She rushed up to the form, hoping it was a pile of dirt or logs. But as she stood over him, she recognized the brown tunic, the breeches, even the boots with the hole in the heel. He was on his stomach, his arms bent, his hands beneath him, his head turned away from her.
A ragged gasp escaped her as she dropped to her knees beside him. “Adam?” She grabbed his shoulders and eased him onto his back. His eyes were wide and glazed, staring. His mouth was open in a silent cry.
I should have been here, Justina thought. “No,” she whispered in a gasp. Her eyes scanned his small body.
His torso was covered in blood.
Justina lifted her hands to touch him, to somehow heal his wounds. But she didn’t know where to start to make him better. She didn’t know... She straightened, tears blurring her sight. “Get up, Adam,” she commanded, her fingers squeezing his arm. “Get up. I told you not to go.” Adam didn’t rise. He didn’t sit up. He wasn’t listening.
Justina shook her head and dropped her chin to her chest. She felt moisture trail down her cheeks. Her lower lip trembled. “I told you not to...” She grabbed him and pulled him against her, pressing her cheek against his temple. “Adam. Don’t go. I was supposed to take care of you.” She hugged him fiercely, squeezing her eyes shut.
“Another girlie.”
Justina opened her eyes. The world was blurred and unfocused through her tears. She heard someone moving behind her. She didn’t want to let Adam go. Half of her didn’t care if it was a Hungar. Half of her wanted to go with Adam. The other half wanted to kill every Hungar she could find. She released her hold on her brother and pulled her dagger from the strap around her leg. She slowly turned to face him.
A large, compact man with long brown hair and a ragged brown beard stood in the shadows of the trees. He wore the pelt of an animal across his huge shoulders. He looked her up and down and then laughed. “The boy had a little pig poker like that.” He held up his hand. A small, thin line of blood marred his palm. “Even cut me.”
A whirlwind of rage swirled inside Justina. She didn’t want to know what this barbarian had done to Adam. She rose to her feet, holding the
dagger before her. “You did this?”
“I carved him up real good,” the Hungar said with a grin. “Someone should have shown him how to use that poker.”
“He’s just a boy!” Justina hollered.
“A stupid boy. No one cuts me.” He took a step toward her.
Rage, hatred, and an incredible sorrow overwhelmed her.
A thunk sounded from behind the Hungar and his head jerked forward. He grunted with the movement and lifted a hand to his head. He looked at his fingers which were stained with blood. He turned.
Aurora stood behind him holding a thick tree branch. She backed away, holding the branch before her.
He grabbed the branch and tore it from her hands, sending it flying away. Then he hit her with enough force to knock her to the ground.
Justina launched herself at him, jumping on his back. She ran the dagger across his neck, slicing deep. “My father taught me how to use this pig poker,” she whispered into his ear.
He reached for her, but she leapt from his back. He whirled to her, blood gushing down the front of his stained tunic. He stumbled, grasping his throat, before toppling forward like a felled tree.
Justina stood over him, watching as the final throes of death shook his body. She felt a morbid satisfaction watching the life drain from him. It felt better that he was not taking a breath, that he was not wasting air by living.
But it didn’t bring Adam back. Adam. She turned to her brother. He lay on his back; his arms open as if calling to her for a hug. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t go to him. The anger, the hate did not make him rise to his feet. It hadn’t brought him back. She threw back her head, staring through the leaf dotted sky. Anguish consumed her, filling her body. She wanted to scream and shout and... cry. He wasn’t coming back. Nothing could bring him back.
She was supposed to take care of him. Just like her father. She was supposed to take care of them. She should have watched Adam. Helped him. Disgust consumed her. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t take care of Adam and she couldn’t take care of her father. She couldn’t protect them. An anguished cry bubbled in her throat.
Beloved in His Eyes (Angel's Assassin Book 3) Page 9
