Annabel nodded in sympathy. “Then we have something in common. I am an orphan too.”
Nicholas snorted. They had naught in common, she was a well-born lady and he was a rough knight, who knew naught of sympathy. His stomach curdled at the very thought of someone pitying him. He did not think he even knew how to feel something for another person, but Annabel felt too much, wearing her every emotion openly.
Her startled expression confused him and he realised he had probably offended her with his derision.
“Forgive me, my lady, I am sorry for your loss.”
She considered him seriously, her grey eyes solemn, and for an instant he felt genuinely sorry for upsetting her. The feeling was gone as fast as it arrived and he sighed inwardly in relief.
“And I am sorry for yours.”
“My lady?”
“I am sorry for your loss too, Nicholas. It must have been difficult growing up without a family.”
Nicholas watched Annabel, his curiosity getting the better of him. How was it that she was so open and trusting when she too had experienced the loss of her parents? His childhood had been rough and gruelling, neglected by a godfather who had begrudgingly taken on a quiet young boy. He had spent much of his time starving, doing whatever he could to survive and he had known naught of love or any kind of emotion other than apathy.
He shook his head, not wanting her pity. “I knew no different.”
“Mayhap not, but everyone should experience love at least once.”
He shrugged. “‘Tis of no import. Perchance your parents loved you very much, my lady?”
She nodded sadly. “Aye, that they did. I am not unaware that they doted on me and many think of me as spoilt, but how can loving someone been seen as spoiling them?”
Nicholas remained silent, not feeling as if he could comment on emotions such as love.
“Although I frustrated my father to no end,” she continued. “He wanted to see me taken care of but he believed I would never find a husband that lived up to my ideals. My notions of life were too hopeful for his tastes, I fear.”
Nicholas had speculated as to how a woman like Annabel was yet unmarried. She was beautiful and accomplished. Were all the men in Kent fools? If she was too demanding as to what traits her betrothed should have then that may explain the lack of a husband.
“You have yet to find a husband that fulfils these ideals then, my lady?” he asked with a spiteful tinge to his voice, attempting to put some distance between them.
Annabel laughed lightly, not noticing or ignoring his tone as her cheeks flamed. “Nay, it pains me to say I have not had the opportunity to see if anyone measures up to my expectations.”
Nicholas’ brow creased in confusion, causing her to laugh again.
“I have had no requests for my hand, Nicholas.”
His brows darted up. There was no way it was possible for such a lady not to have received a single betrothal request. Then it occurred to him, as her guardian, her uncle likely controlled these matters, so any man wishing for Annabel’s hand would have to petition him. If Lord Benedict wanted Alderweald Castle he would have little chance of gaining it if Annabel took a husband.
“You need not appear surprised, Nicholas. Mayhap I am too plain and idealistic. But ‘tis no matter, I am well enough on my own.”
“Plain?” Nicholas choked. “My lady, you are a fine beauty. ‘Twould take a fool to think otherwise.”
He struggled to believe that Annabel thought herself plain. Her gentle beauty would pull at most men’s hearts and he had to admit, albeit reluctantly, it had even struck a chord in his own dead one.
“Do you try to appeal to my vanity?” she asked teasingly.
“Nay, I do not think it possible. I speak merely the truth.”
Annabel tilted her head as she pondered his words. “I thank you, good sir, I shall not preen and simper under your compliments as I fear you would not appreciate it, but your words are valued no less.”
He nodded briefly, grateful the exchange had ended. His mouth had seemed to run away with him, his sense of control slowly slipping beyond his grasp, and it made him tremendously uncomfortable. How long had they been running? A mere two nights. And already he had revealed more to her than any other person alive. Still, that would be resolved soon enough, he surmised morbidly.
“You should sleep now, my lady.”
Disappointment flickered over her face in the firelight and Nicholas wondered what he had done wrong. Women were not exactly his strong point but in truth people generally confused him. They were so governed by their emotions. Love…hate…he didn’t understand any of it.
As Annabel settled herself in her mantle Nicholas rubbed a hand across his brow, watching her surreptitiously beneath it. She curled up, tucking her gentle hands beneath her head and glancing up at him with a shy smile before closing her eyes.
Once he was assured he would not be subject to any more of her disconcerting scrutiny, he relaxed a little, throwing one arm across his knee and dropping his head slightly. He wouldn’t sleep. The forests were too dangerous for that but he was used to functioning with little rest, moving from job to job.
Even as a boy he had taken to wandering off for days on end. His guardian had paid little interest to his whereabouts, more often than not grateful to be rid of such a solemn child. It reached the point where his godfather would be angry if he came across him and Nicholas spent more and more time away from home, fending for himself until such a time came that he could be fostered to another family to learn the ways of a knight.
As a child he had pondered as to why his parent’s would leave him in the custody of such an uncaring man, but he knew virtually naught of his mother and father so mayhap they were no different. Nicholas scowled into the glow of the flames. Such thoughts rarely occurred to him as an adult and, with a look to his slumbering charge, he realised that it was Annabel who was the source of his reflections.
He tried to resist glances to her as she slumbered but his eyes were relentlessly drawn towards her. She fidgeted constantly and he kept expecting her to awaken, but she remained asleep, small mewling noises escaping her lips and making him jump in the silence of the night. Her graceless manner of sleeping would have amused him, if he had been capable of taking enjoyment in such things. Her mouth dropped open and he shook his head. How did she still manage to look so exquisite when anyone else would have looked a fool?
His thoughts became more jumbled as he fought the urge to sleep and images of Annabel haunted his mind. Warm and willing in his arms, laughing and joyful. Then, as he pulled himself back out, the nature of his duty would return to him and the images would be replaced with more morbid ones. He clenched his jaw. It seemed a shame that such a bright light should be snuffed out by his own hand. But why should he care? Before long she would be one more nameless, faceless person in his mind and he would be doing her a favour. Light and laughter had no place in this world.
Annabel grumbled slightly as she tossed from one side to the other and he stared at her grimly. It would be painless, he decided. If he could do but one thing for her, then he would make it easy. And for him. For he did not want to see the trust in her eyes shattered as she recognised his betrayal of her.
Chapter 3
A stabbing ache in her back and the invasive light of day woke Annabel, and she groaned as she pried her lids open. Biting back an unladylike curse, she struggled up to sitting and rubbed at her bleary eyes. She had never slept in the woods before and she certainly didn’t enjoy it. More used to a soft straw mattress, every twig and stone seemed to jab into her and her body ached everywhere. As she stretched and absently ran a hand through her tangled hair, a shudder trekked down her spine and she turned her head to see Nicholas watching her with a slight frown. As her eyes locked onto his, she felt a flush rise in her cheeks but he revealed no embarrassment at being caught out and she turned away quickly before he noticed her blush.
What an uncommon man he was! Annabel had
to admit he fascinated her, and not just because of his handsome face. There was something in his eyes that made her stomach flip. While his face betrayed little or no emotion, something raw and untenable seemed to hang in that dark gaze.
She suspected his closed down manner was due to his lonely childhood. Aye, he’d told her little except that he was orphaned at a young age, but she could tell there was pain there. No matter how deep he had buried it. So deep that even he wasn’t aware of it.
Annabel felt foolish, when she’d recognised that hurt, for trying to compare them. Her parents had died within months of one another - her father seemed to give up after her mother died of illness - but she had eighteen summers of love and wonderful memories to sustain her. How would she have differed had she not known such love?
The love that her parent’s had shared and had devoted to her, had made her determined that she would only ever marry for love. However, embarrassingly enough, what she had told Nicholas had been true. She had received no offers of marriage and she suspected she would probably become an old maid. Annabel attributed it to her odd looks. She knew her blonde hair and grey eyes were a disturbing combination, though she had long since forgotten to care. Annabel had come to the conclusion that if a man loved her enough then he would look past her unusual looks. Nicholas’ stiff words of kindness brought a smile to her face as she contemplated them. Did he really think her a fine beauty?
She continued combing her fingers through her hair, attempting to tidy it as best she could. Her hair was difficult enough to look after normally but without a maid and a comb she had little chance of taming it. Peeking over her shoulder, she saw that Nicholas still watched, unabashedly staring at her as she toyed with her tresses. Did she look so terrible?
He remained in the same spot that he had been in when she fell asleep. Had he sat there all night? She knew it was unlikely he had slept. What little she knew of him told her that he took his duties seriously. Throughout the night, she’d been aware of him there and although she could not claim to have slept well, his company certainly provided a comfort that she doubted she would have drawn from anyone else.
Finally feeling a little more human, she staggered to her feet, her mantle pooling at her feet as it slid off. Hazily, she realised that she was wearing her cloak and as she bent to pick it up she recognised it as Nicholas’. She smiled to herself - so there was a softer side of him. If she could only draw it out.
Picking up the mantle, she handed it to him and he stood abruptly to take it off her, looking slightly annoyed at her having noticed his act of charity.
“Good morrow, Nicholas.”
“My lady.” He dipped his head. “Did you sleep well?”
Hiding a yawn with the back of her hand, she nodded. “Well enough.”
A flicker of amusement revealed itself briefly on his face before being pushed under a scowl, as if he didn’t understand his own mirth.
“Fear not, you shall sleep better tonight. We shall make to a convent that I have knowledge of today. God willing, we should reach it shortly after noon so you can eat and rest.”
Nicholas took a swig from the skin that he clutched in his hand before passing it to her. Annabel took a healthy drink, colouring slightly at the thought of her lips covering the place that his had just been. If he noticed her discomfort, he made no comment and set about kicking at the ashes of the fire, spreading them into the dirt. She assumed he was trying to hide their presence in the woods, though to her it suggested paranoia. Surely anyone could have lit that fire?
With a glance to the skies, he motioned for her to start walking. Feeling filthy and tired, Annabel offered up no resistance, the thought of bed and rest driving her forwards.
***
St Mary’s abbey was small in comparison to the few that Annabel had visited before. A stone wall surrounded it and a gatehouse stood in the centre, just wide enough to let a cart through. Nicholas turned her to face him and pulled her mantle over her head, concealing her unbound hair.
“We shall part until the morrow now, my lady.”
Annabel nodded, trying to ignore the apprehension that seeped through her. Naught could happen to her in a convent but she still hated the thought of not having Nicholas around. She hadn’t realised quite how accustomed to his quiet company she had become until this point.
They had travelled almost companionably through the snaking forest paths and over the empty green fields. His responses were minimal and betrayed little of what he was thinking, but he was respectful and treated her with sincerity, an odd look of interest occasionally flaring in his eyes. When she talked to Nicholas she felt as if he absorbed every word she uttered rather than dismissing them as the inane chatter of a woman. It was rare she met a man whose eyes didn’t glaze over as soon as she opened her mouth, more interested in talk of riches and the spoils of war.
“Where will you be?” she asked him.
“Close by,” Nicholas told her cryptically.
She chuckled slightly at his enigmatic words. She had never known a man so secretive. But it was enough for her, the knowledge of his proximity offering her an odd kind of comfort.
He bowed his head slightly before giving her an inexplicable look. “Rest well, my lady.”
Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and quickly strode away.
“And you, Nicholas,” she uttered to his back.
A diminutive looking nun greeted her quietly at the gate, ushering her inside the walls. She was smaller than Annabel which was unusual, for Annabel was no giant herself. Her white wimple and veil surrounded an unlined face and she surmised that she must be around her own age. The young nun wore a black wool tunic covered with a scapula that reminded Annabel of an apron, and it dragged in the mud as she walked.
“I am Sister Margaret. I shall escort you to the chapel to pray and then we shall see you settled in the guest house.”
A modest sized chapel stood in front of her, the arched windows beckoning to prayer givers, and Annabel could see several smaller buildings extending behind it. Two basic looking stone buildings stood to one side and she assumed they must be the guest buildings.
Annabel was struck by the tranquil air that surrounded the convent, a far cry from the fear stricken atmosphere of Alderweald and the quiet tension that their journey through the forest had created. Watching the back of the nun, she pondered whether she should have considered joining a convent and giving up the living at Alderweald to her uncle as he had once suggested.
After offering up her prayers, Annabel was led to the smaller of the buildings and ushered up the stairs into a small chamber. She was surprised to be offered such superior accommodation, for though she was of noble birth, she hardly looked the part, having arrived on foot, wearing her creased and dirtied bliaut. Mayhap Nicholas had arranged her accommodation prior to fetching her. It certainly seemed like something he would do, having already learnt much of his careful, decisive nature.
“We have no kitchen in the guest quarters but we shall have a servant bring some food across to you. We dine before Vespers. You are our only guest at present so you shall have a peaceful night. The abbess asks that you remain in the guest quarters until mass.”
Annabel blinked at the young girl as the words tumbled awkwardly out of her mouth and she suspected that Margaret had rehearsed her little speech, mayhap unused to visitors. She gave the girl a smile and was rewarded with a faint one in return.
“Good day,” the nun almost whispered before closing the door.
Wrapping her arms around herself to provide some kind of solace, she studied the small room. It was basic, with only a straw mattress and tallow candles for comfort. Annabel had envisaged herself huddled on the floor with pilgrims and travellers so she was grateful for the seclusion at least, but she felt incredibly lonely.
Resolving not to feel sorry for herself, Annabel helped herself to the bowl of water that awaited her on the floor and cleaned herself up as best as she could, before steppi
ng out of the chamber and taking the stairs down to the small hall. A fire pit stood beneath the opening in the roof and had been lit. Annabel felt it a bit of a waste just for her but she appreciated the comfort it brought to the room. A scarred trestle table sat at one end and Annabel shuddered as her feelings of solitude compounded while the benches sat empty.
She was used to the lively atmosphere of Alderweald Castle, which was never empty. In truth, it was rare Annabel was ever alone and now, with Nicholas gone, she felt entirely out of sorts. With one more glance around the hall, she decided that her room was the best place for her and she marched back up the stairs, determined to get some rest while she could.
***
Sensing someone was watching her, Annabel dragged her eyes open. Focusing slowly on a pair of worn shoes, she followed the legs up to see an older woman standing over her. A servant, Annabel assumed, as she wore peasant clothing. A coif covered her head so she could not tell the colour of her hair but her eyebrows were greyed and her face was harshly lined. Age had slackened her jawline so it was hard to tell what sort of face she had, but her blue eyes sparkled and Annabel imagined she must have been an attractive woman once.
The woman smiled down at her. “Forgive me, milady. I did knock but ye didn’t answer. Ye must have been sleeping heavily.”
Rubbing at her gritty eyes, Annabel pulled herself up to standing. “Aye, I must have been more tired than I realised. I intended only to rest before supper.”
She motioned to the door. “If ye’ll come down to the hall, milady, I’ve set out yer supper.”
“I thank you. Pray tell, what is your name?”
“Edith, milady.”
Annabel followed Edith down the stairs and into the hall where she discovered the long table had been laid with linen. Edith motioned for her to sit and offered her an ewer to wash her hands with before setting her food in front of her.
Inhaling the smell of the warm potage, Annabel fidgeted as Edith stood to one side. She felt foolish eating on her own at a table built for at least eight and she motioned to the bench opposite.
The Angel's Assassin Page 3
