England's Assassin

by Samantha Saxon

  “Perhaps you should ask me?” Nicole said, removing the comb from her beautiful black hair.

  “Why would I bother asking you,” he smirked.

  “Because,” she whispered in his ear. “I’m Scorpion.”

  Her hand swung down and Daniel saw a flash of silver before Nicole plunged the makeshift dagger into the Frenchman’s cold heart. His black eyes went wide and she twisted, eliciting a low groan before she pulled the knife from his side, aided by a gush of blood.

  The major fell to his knees, a smile twisting his lips.

  “A woman after my own heart.” Major Rousseau chuckled at his double entendre. “I wish I could live long enough to see if you survived. Guard!” The Frenchman shouted as best he could then fell over, dead.

  Daniel heard the squeak of the outer door and Nicole’s head snapped up. She hid the knife behind her back, blood oozing over the diamond studded hilt which had been fashioned into the shape of an ordinary hair comb.

  Helpless, Daniel watched the half-dressed woman run toward the office door, her long black her flowing after her.

  “Quickly,” Nicole begged, sounding hysterical. “He has killed the major.”

  Boots pounded on the stone corridor and the young guard came into sight. He looked at Major Rousseau’s bloody corpse and then at Daniel still shackled in his prison cell.

  His chestnut brows were pulled down in confusion and he turned to Nicole, saying, “I don’t understand…”

  But then he did, his body went rigid the moment he was illuminated by the pistol Nicole held in her left hand.

  “One sound and I will kill you as I did him, n’est pa?”

  “Oui,” the guard nodded, his eyes darting to his dead superior.

  “You will unlock the cell door and shackles, quickly and quietly.” She cocked the pistol, adding, “If you suddenly move, I will not hesitate to kill you.”

  The young sergeant lifted his ring and inserted the appropriate key in the lock. His hands were shacking and Daniel could see the fear in his pale blue eyes as the sargeant twisted the key to the right and the lock gave with a welcomed click.

  “Excellent, now all you need do is unchain Monsieur Damont and then we will leave you alive and well in this very cell.” Nicole said softly, soothingly, sensing the guard’s panic as he swung the door open into the cell. “Do you understand what I wish you to do?”

  “Oui.” The sergeant said lifting a smaller key.

  “I will gag you.” Nicole bent over and began untying Major Rousseau’s silk cravat with one hand, while holding the pistol in the other. “And we will place you in the shackles so that you will not be blamed for anything that has taken place here.”

  Nicole nodded, speaking as if they were allies. The sergeant lifted the key but hesitated and Daniel could see that the man was weighing his options.

  Nicole saw it too and she responded by rising and looking the young guard in the eye. “Do you know of Major Rousseau’s reputation?”

  The sergeant nodded unsure of where she was going. “Oui.”

  “I just killed him. I stabbed him in the heart with a knife. Do you sincerely believe you have any chance against me with a pistol? Do you really think that threatening your prisoner will somehow save you? If you harm Monsieur Damont, I will kill you. If you don’t comply, I will kill you. My goal is his release,” Nicole shook her head. “There is no need for you to die.”

  She bent down again and pulled the cravat from the major’s neck. “I will gag you and shackle you so that you will not be blamed. You may even tell the soldiers who discover you that Major Rousseau was killed after you were placed in the cell,” Nicole plotted, allies again. “Now, release him.”

  The sergeant followed her logic, seeing that he had no choice and that compliance gave him a better chance of survival. The man unlocked one of Daniel’s wrist and then the other.

  Daniel fell to the floor, his arms long since useless. The pain from the impact with the floor was blinding and he rolled on his right elbow, ignoring the shiny smudges of his blood left by the wounds on his back.

  “Good,” Nicole said, ignoring Daniel and focusing totally on the young guard. “Now lock yourself in the shackles.”

  The man complied and once he was finished Nicole gently stuffed the cravat in his mouth, taking his keys and asking, “Can you breathe?”

  The guard nodded and Nicole tossed the keys into the hall and reached for her cloths.

  “Aren’t we going to need those keys, lass?”

  Nicole wiggled into her gown, buttoning herself as best as she could. “We’ve no time to sort through keys. Do you have a jacket?”

  “No,” Daniel said, his fingers being pricked by pins and needles.

  “Right, you will just have to concentrate on not bleeding.” She bent down and Daniel draped his arm over her shoulder while Nicole’s hand slid around his waist. “On your feet, McCurren.”

  Daniel staggered to his feet, wondering if his euphoria were the beginning of his own demise. “Get me the hell out of here, Nicole.”

  They stumbled to the small office and Nicole turned him, ordering, “Sit on the desk.”

  She slipped from beneath his arm and Daniel watched her through his heavy pants of exertion as Nicole slid on her pelisse, placing her clever knife in one pocket and concealing Major Rousseau’s pistol in the other.

  “I like your knife,” Daniel grinned, more to himself than to her.

  “I rather thought you would. Now be quiet.” Nicole opened the door and glanced down the hall. “Come on,” she said, dipping beneath his arm once again and pulling him to his clumsy feet.

  They stepped into the hall and Nicole turned to the right as if she knew which direction they were headed. Daniel followed, his mind dimming as he stumbled.

  Her hand tightened on his waist and she pulled him against her, saying, “You must stay awake, Daniel. Can you do that, my love?”

  Daniel heard fear in her voice for the first time, but it was not for herself, but for him.

  “Aye,” he said, hoping it were true.

  They walked for several minutes down the dark corridors which never seemed to end. His breathing was becoming increasingly labored and then they heard the shouts. Soldiers scrambled in the distant corner of his mind and Daniel stopped.

  “They're coming, lass. Go on.”

  Nicole stopped and looked him in the eye, saying with finality, “I’m not leaving you, Daniel,” giving him no room for argument. “This way.”

  She turned to the right, pulling him down a small corridor which dead ended at three ancient wooden doors. Nicole reached in her pocket and pulled out her brass ring of picks and said firmly, “You must not bleed on anything Daniel,” as she slipped from beneath him to unlock the middle door.

  “Right,” Daniel licked his lips, swaying unsteadily as he wondered how one went about not bleeding.

  “And don’t fall,” Nicole whispered and just as they heard the soldier turning in their direction the door opened.

  Unfortunately, the center door led to a small storage cupboard with shelving that made it impossible for one to hide.

  “Their getting closer, Nicole,” Daniel said, truly panicked and wondering how he could protect her. He turned to face the multitude of oncoming guards, adding, “I love you, lass.”

  She yanked on his arm and then a door was closing. He stumbled and Daniel could feel something pressing him to the wall as Nicole breathed, “I love you too,” before the dark room dimmed completely and he slid to the floor, unconscious.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Nicole could see that he had lost awareness, but her only concern now was lowering him quietly to the floor. She pressed harder against his bare chest, bracing her legs as she eased his immense weight down the wall. He landed with a soft thud and Nicole steadied him, trying not to remember that the cold wetness on her hands was Daniel’s blood.

  She heard two soldiers enter their tiny hall and her head snapped round to the unlocke
d door. Franticly, Nicole let go of the injured viscount and turned the brass lock just as a soldier opened what she thought to be the closet door.

  Daniel began to slide to the left, leaving streaks of blood on the white plastered walls. She reached out, catching him just before he hit the stone floor. The door knob rattled and Nicole turned, her heart pounding as she watched the handle twisting to its right.

  “The other doors are locked,” she heard one of the soldiers say and then she heard them running down the hall.

  Nicole breathed her relief deeply and then she looked at Daniel and tears filled her eyes. She reached with a shaky hand to touch is tortured body to assure herself that Daniel was still breathing, still alive.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, knowing it was her fault, knowing that he had endured so much pain to protect her, a woman not worthy of his notice much more his love. “I’m so sorry, Daniel.”

  Nicole removed her pelisse and pressed it to the oozing wounds, comforting herself in the knowledge that he could not feel the sting. Her brows narrowed as she tended his arm, making out the letters E and an R. Her jaw set and Nicole would have killed Evariste Rousseau again had she not already done so.

  But for now her primary concern was getting Daniel warm and getting him medical attention as soon as was possible. She wrapped him in her pelisse as best she could and then searched the small office for any items that would be of use to her.

  The desk was stocked with the usually items one would find in an officer’s desk: parchment, matches, ink and blotter, cheroots, quills, sealing wax, and two bottles of gin. Nicole stuffed several of the items in her pocket and retrieved her knife, cutting two stripes of muslin from the bottom of her underskirt.

  She lit a cheroot with a match and drew the aromatic smoke into her mouth, coughing as she placed it on the desk with the lit end hanging off the battered oak edge.

  “Daniel,” she whispered, not willing to contemplate the possibility that he was dying. “Daniel.” His eyes flickered so Nicole continued to speak to him. “Daniel, darling, we must get out of here. Our transportation is waiting with a warm blanket just outside. Do you think you can stand, mon amour?”

  He nodded slightly, his eyes still closed and Nicole swallowed her tears of relief.

  “We will stand together and you will lean on me. It is not far. Daniel,” she said firmly. “Stand up. Daniel!”

  He responded to her command, rolling over and pushing himself from the floor with his large hands. Nicole slipped beneath him, lifting him the rest of the way, knowing that if she could just get him moving that they did not have far to go.

  She unlocked the door and stretched for the lit cheroot, trying not to burn him as they staggered into the empty corridor. Drops of blood fell steadily from his fingertips dangling over her shoulder, but Nicole ignored the trail that would lead the guards straight to their location.

  “Daniel, I need you to hold this.” Nicole placed the cheroot in his right hand and he glanced down at it.

  She could see confusion in his turquoise eyes, but ever the gentleman Daniel took it saying, “Thank you,” and then placed it between his swollen lips.

  Satisfied that he would hold the cinerary, Nicole lowered her head and continued on the route she had planned, leading them deeper into the ancient depths of Conciergerie. But the guards were getting closer and Daniel was leaning more heavily against her shoulders.

  Something had to be done.

  Nicole stopped and leaned Daniel against the wall as she thought. “Stay here, darling,” she whispered, reaching into her pocket for a bottle of gin.

  Nicole uncorked the glass bottle and stuffed a portion of muslin strip into the clear liquid. She reached up and took the cheroot from his mouth and kissed him on the lips, saying, “I’ll return in just a moment, darling.”

  She ran toward a storage room she had seen down one of the main corridors. Nicole was panting now, reversing her mental map of the prison in her mind.

  She reached the storage area which was merely a darkened corner with sack and barrels of supplies stacked one upon the other. Rushes had been tossed around the room to absorb any of the liquids that might leak during transportation.

  Nicole fell to her knee, shoving the straw to the base of the wooden barrels but she froze when she heard a solitary soldier round the corner and run into the supply area. She ducked behind a barrel and removed her knife from her pocket as the guard stopped, scanning the corridors as he searched for the escaped prisoner.

  The lone guard disappeared around the far corner and Nicole breathed, rising. She hurried a safe distance down the hall and removed the gin bottle from the fold of her expensive gown. The glowing tip of the cheroot was hovering in her right hand when the solitary solider returned.

  Surprised, the guard looked her in the eye as he stood at the other end of the corridor.

  “Don’t!” He held up his hand, panicking as he realized her intentions. “The barrels contain gunpowder.”

  “Then you had better run,” Nicole said, lighting the muslin strip and tossing the bottle of gin into the volatile storage area.

  The soldier’s eyes grew wide as the gin ignited, but Nicole was already running toward Daniel. Right, left, the corridors narrowed and she was almost there. Nicole rounded the last right when the gunpowder exploded throwing her against the wall. Dust and rubble rained down from the ancient ceiling of the forgotten corridors and she coughed, struggling to breath.

  Nicole looked up and could see Daniel lying on the floor. She had to get to him, knowing that they were mere yards from the small outer door which overlooked the river Seine. She reached into her pocket and staggered passed Daniel with her picks in hands. The smoke billowing down the corridor was becoming thick as she wrestled with the rusty lock.

  She was crying, needing Daniel’s strength to open the door. They were so close. Just on the other side of the door, a small boat was waiting to take Daniel to the ship that would carry him to Honfleur.

  Desperate, Nicole lifted her foot and planted it to the right of the door. She pulled with both hands, leaning back with all of her strength and the door gave with a gritty groan. Nicole wiped her hands on the bodice of her gown and took a firmer grip, pulling again and the door opened.

  Nicole fell backward and she was greeted by a blast of snow. She closed her eyes with relief and then stood, poking her head out the door to glance down the street. It was mercifully empty, but Nicole knew that they would need to cross quickly to the stairs leading down to the river.

  “Daniel.” She patted him on the cheek. “Get up!” His eyes opened at the sound of her harsh tone and he rose on shaky legs. “It is not far,” Nicole said, stepping onto the street.

  She could hear the sounds of confusion at the front of the famed prison as the stunned soldiers learned that they were vulnerable to attack. However, it was her trade, and had been for the past two years, to find vulnerability, to use the assumptions of the powerful men of France against them.

  As she had tonight, but this time Nicole worked not for the crown or her political convictions of right and wrong. Tonight, at Conciergerie, she had used her acquired knowledge to save rather than kill.

  “We must be quick, mon amour,” she whispered, starting across the street.

  Nicole looked up and gave a prayer of thanks for the heavy snowfall that obscured them from view. The only thing to betray their location was their footprints and a crimson trail of blood that was rapidly being covered by the purity of white snow.

  They hurried across the street unseen and started down the stairs, but Daniel slipped on the icy footing. Nicole helped him up, her goal in sight and she said, “See, dearest, the boat is just there,” as she helped him to his feet.

  They managed to get to the waiting dingy and the Dutch sailors helped them aboard.

  “Go” Nicole ordered, settling Daniel against her as the men launched the boat into the Seine.

  Nicole reached for a woolen blanket and covered Dan
iel, knowing that with each stroke of the oar he was that much closer to receiving the attention of the ship physician.

  “Daniel,” she said, her heart seizing when he did not answer. “Daniel!” Nicole touched his cheek, but he did not respond. “Please, hurry,” she said, her words strangled.

  The boat ride to the ship felt an eternity and Nicole was standing before the dingy had fully docked. She jumped out of the vessel barking orders.

  “Retrieve the physician and several blankets. Handle him with care. The poor man has been robbed,” she lied.

  Two men lifted Daniel’s long body and a third came down to help with his bulk as the others were heading up the gangplank. Nicole followed anxiously, knowing that a cabin had been prepared for Monsieur Damont’s impending arrival.

  A cabin boy opened the small door and the sailors gently placed Daniel’s lifeless body atop the wooden bunk. The men left and the physician squeezed passed the last of them, placing a bag atop the small table that had been secured to the wooden wall.

  The doctor, a handsome Dutchman, fair in coloring and clear of mind, looked at Nicole skeptically and said, “I was told that this man had been ambushed.”

  “Oui,” Nicole said evenly, both of them knowing that Daniel’s injuries could not have been acquired in one event.

  “Are there similar wounds on his back?”

  “Oui,” she nodded once.

  The man rubbed his hand over his face and said in choppy French, “He is very bad. These wounds are old but have been treated with--”

  “Salt,” Daniel interrupted, his voice raspy.

  Nicole ran to the table to retrieve a glass of water, ignoring the physician’s pale color and the tears welling in her eyes.

  “Here, mon amour,” she whispered, sitting on the side of the bed and lifting the water to Daniel’s parched lips.

  “First, we must bandage his injuries.” The physician looked over Daniel body in a cursory examination. “The fresh wounds, I can sew with very little scaring. But these,” he pointed to the older of Daniel’s incisions. “The salt,” the Dutchman closed his eyes. “The salt will help to prevent his festering, but I have never seen wounds such as these.”