The Angel's Assassin

by Samantha Holt

  Wading back to the bank with his catch, Annabel clapped in delight as he thrust it in front of her. An odd sense of pride filled him. He couldn’t even remember a time when he had felt proud of himself. It was not like he had done aught to be proud of in his lifetime.

  Pulling the fish from the spear, he laid it in front of her and she stared at it with some apprehension.

  “Can you gut a fish?” he asked.

  Looking sheepish, she shook her head. “Nay, I am afraid not.”

  “Tis no matter,” he said softly, sensing her discomfort. “I shall show you in a moment.”

  “Oh, will you? I would like that. ‘Tis a rare occasion that anyone lets me do aught for myself.”

  Nicholas could well understand that. She inspired the protective nature of almost everyone she met with her gentle manner and waif like appearance.

  Taking the time to catch another fish, he concluded they were large enough to see them through the next night and he settled beside Annabel to show her how to prepare the fish.

  Annabel was grateful for Nicholas’ time and patience. They were both hungry, yet he showed no frustration when she had revealed her lack of skill with a blade. As she struggled to scale the fish like he had shown her, he positioned himself behind her, his legs surrounding hers, so that her back was flush against his chest. His arms came around her and guided the knife across the fish, flicking the scales over the ground.

  The task was hardly a pleasant one but as his callused hand guided hers to make the cuts, she could hardly contain the excitement she felt to have him so near. While his company caused a yearning ache deep inside, she also realised that she took great pleasure in the quiet companionship they had. His composed and driven nature seemed to balance her more whimsical one, and he treated her with respect instead of the condescending attitude that so many men bestowed upon her.

  His bare legs rubbed against hers through her shift and she sighed, a feeling of utter contentment overtaking her. With the last fish done, she wiped her grimy fingers on her sullied chemise and laid her head back against Nicholas. He stiffened slightly, his unsteady breath brushing over her ear.

  “Annabel,” he whispered warningly.

  She didn’t move, just waited, his deep breathing the only movement between them. She had gone to him before but now she wanted Nicholas to come to her. Slowly, ever so slowly, he dipped his head to her neck, skimming his lips over her skin. It was all she had needed and she tilted her head, allowing him better access. Exhaling raggedly as his tongue darted out to taste her, she reached up to clutch at his hair. It was only when he moved to kiss the arch of her shoulder, did she realise something was missing. Her hand flew to her chest and she patted at it desperately, searching for her mother’s necklace.

  Nicholas straightened, seeing her desperate movements, before curling his arms around her as he realised what she was looking for.

  “Forgive me, Annabel. There was no time. ‘Tis likely it came loose in the fire.”

  She gulped in an effort to restrain her sorrow. She didn’t want to seem ungrateful to Nicholas, who had risked so much to save her, but the loss of her necklace grieved her deeply.

  “Pray do not cry. I will find it for you, I promise.”

  Annabel sniffed, her heart warmed by his impassioned words. If anyone could track it down, it would be Nicholas, but she doubted even he could manage such a feat.

  “Will you tell me why you were running?”

  He remained quiet for a moment, rubbing his hands up and down her arms in a soothing motion.

  “Annabel, do you believe Lord Benedict would ever hurt you?”

  “My uncle? Nay, of course not.” She tried to turn to look at him but he held her in place, his ministrations gradually easing the tension in her body.

  “That fire was no accident. ‘Twas set deliberately and your door had been blocked.”

  She gasped. “That was why I could not escape. But how do you know the fire was deliberate?”

  “I’ve seen fires before but this one was aggressive. It took hold too quickly and I smelled pig fat. ‘Twas likely used to ignite it. I do not think it a coincidence that it was set underneath your room.”

  “But why?”

  “Your uncle’s man, Godfrey, was there. Do you know him?”

  Annabel nodded, a shiver running through her. She had never trusted him. He watched her through constantly narrowed eyes, completely devoid of any sign of humanity.

  “I believe ‘twas he who started the fire, who tried to kill you. Annabel. I think ‘twas your uncle who ordered it.”

  She stood then, and Nicholas let her, but she could feel his eyes on her as she walked to the water and contemplated all he had told her. Did her uncle really want her dead? He had never been a particularly warm man but he had always come to her aid, even if he did make no secret of the fact that he thought that she should never have inherited. But then why send aid for her? Why not just let the rebels kill her? He was a clever man - that much she knew - so if he really had planned to kill her there would be a reason behind every decision he had made.

  Glancing at Nicholas, she saw naught that could make her doubt his words. She trusted this man with her heart and her life. If he believed someone was trying to harm her, then she had no choice but to believe it herself. Could it really be her uncle? She had already heard his character called into question on their journey, but she could not believe her own blood would want to hurt her. Whoever it was, she trusted Nicholas would keep her safe. Wrapping her arms about herself, she trod carefully over the pebbles as he rose to meet her.

  “What shall we do now?” she asked him.

  “We continue running.” He looked at her grimly. “For now,” he added as she made to protest. “Annabel, I will do my best to see you returned home but I will not if it means your death.”

  She shuddered, the thought of never returning home scaring her almost more than the thought of death. Nicholas brushed a reassuring hand over her hair, absently toying with the strands at her neck.

  “I will look after you.” He looked at her uneasily. “I am…I am wealthy. I can see that you live well, Annabel, whatever happens.”

  Confusion caused her to crease her brow. Was the life of a knight-errant so rewarding? He certainly didn’t behave like a man of wealth. And what was he offering her? He had said naught of marriage, so what did he mean when he said he would look after her? Annabel swiftly realised that all her questioning was futile. Mayhap she was being naïve but she had little choice, her home had been taken by rebels and there was a chance her uncle wanted her dead. Besides, it would only be a matter of time before Nicholas realised what she already had. They were fated to be together.

  ***

  They ate their fish in silence, huddled around the fire. Nicholas still kept his arms around Annabel, worried about her getting cold, but mentally he attempted to distance himself from her. It did not help that she seemed to wear down all of his defences, eating her way into his heart. She was there already, he could feel her with every throb, but somehow Annabel was working deeper, unlocking every emotion that he had yet to experience. The sudden change within drained him. He felt as if he had spent all his years asleep and he was only just now awakening to the world. A world that now seemed to revolve around Annabel.

  He was apprehensive, fearful for her welfare, and he knew he needed to figure out what they should do next. The fire was so out of character from what he knew of Lord Benedict. He was a cautious, shrewd man and he had obviously gone to great lengths to ensure he could get his hands on Alderweald without casting suspicion on himself. No doubt he had already set about casting Annabel in the role of villain in this tale and he wondered if the king had been lured into believing she was aiding the rebel barons. To ensure her long term safety, Nicholas would have to find some kind of proof of Benedict’s machinations.

  They were still headed in the direction of Hampshire and he concluded the best way of finding out what had changed was by vis
iting Benedict’s manor. It was a risky move, to be sure, but a necessary one. He could not decide what their next move should be until he knew what Benedict was planning or he at least had some kind of proof. With his decision made, he turned his attention back to Annabel who was patently still recovering from her ordeal.

  “Annabel, you should rest some more.”

  “Will you rest with me?”

  “Aye.” He intended to refuse but his mouth and body had other ideas.

  They settled down together, wrapped in his mantle. Though he lay rigidly, Annabel pulled his arm about her and her bottom nestled into his thighs. He gritted his teeth in restraint and attempted to focus on his duty to protect her rather than the feel of her soft body next to his and how perfectly she fit into his embrace.

  Her breathing slowed and she fell asleep long before he did. The small sounds she released as she slept and her fidgety manner now seemed so familiar to him, and almost comforting. In the end his exhaustion and her warm body sent him into a deep, satisfying sleep.

  Chapter 7

  Taking custody of Alderweald had been so simple, Lord Benedict could have laughed. And he would have done, had it not been for the fact that he still had no legal right to it and apparently his assassin had seemingly gained a conscience.

  He crumpled the missive that sat in his hand and flung it into the fire pit, hissing in anger. He looked around for Godfrey and then remembered he wasn’t there so he served himself some wine and took a large gulp.

  Strolling up to the solar, he wandered around the large chamber, fingering the fabric of the curtains, the fine wood carvings and the sheets of the bed. It still smelt of her, that silly, insipid niece of his. His lips twisted. That she should have so much and he should have so little was practically sinful. He, who had worked hard all his life to serve king and country, and she, who had done little except smile and charm just about everyone in the county.

  Benedict had found he’d had to evict all the servants. Their loyalties very obviously lay with Lady Annabel, as did the men-at-arms. He was grateful he had brought all his own men. With them interspersed with the Alderweald men, they would not dare raise arms against him.

  Of course, they had all greeted him with open arms. And so they should, with all the help that he had given Annabel this past year, they owed their livelihood to him. As the rebels departed, surrendering to him, the gratitude was boundless, yet he knew they would still not accept his as their master.

  The large one, Gerard his name was, had questioned why Annabel had not accompanied him and he had been forced to concoct a story. Gerard had seemed unconvinced that the knight that had rescued her had actually kidnapped Annabel, but he knew better than to question a lord.

  Benedict clenched his fist. As if a mere knight had questioned him. He spat on the floor, his anger forcing bile up his throat.

  And of course the brave Gerard had volunteered his men to go and find Annabel and bring her back. Aye, he wanted her back now that he could no longer kill her, but he could not risk Gerard finding her and lending his protection. Unfortunately this had triggered suspicion in amongst the men of Alderweald, but his strength in arms would keep it at bay long enough.

  He knew not what Annabel understood of his plans for her but from what Godfrey had told him, it sounded as though the assassin had realised there was a change of plan. How very like Annabel to have convinced a hired killer to protect her.

  Peering out of the window, he admired the bailey and the village. Soon it would all be his. He just needed Annabel back. Once she was back, she was sure to buckle to his will.

  ***

  Travelling on for another two days, Annabel and Nicholas kept to the river’s edge, following it until it thinned out. Both of them were still exhausted so they made slow progress and the river’s meandering path meant they travelled little distance, but until Nicholas knew where they were he was reluctant to leave its course.

  Sleeping by the riverside each night, somehow Annabel persuaded Nicholas to curl up with her. Part of him felt more comfortable knowing that she was safe in his arms, and he found he could rest well in her comforting company, but his need for her strengthened with each touch to her exquisite form.

  He had managed to avoid kissing her again…with difficulty. Though she had not pushed him, he knew she wanted him to. Her hypnotic gaze and plump lips called to him and he spent much of the time simply avoiding looking at her.

  Soon they came upon a small settlement, little more than a collection of small huts, and they discovered they were not far from a large town and that they had crossed the border into Surrey. They had indeed covered little distance but Nicholas was grateful to be within an hour’s reach of a town he knew well. He could gather supplies and mayhap some useful information.

  A motherly old lady offered them a pallet for the night, assuming they were married, and they made no move to correct her, grateful not to have to sleep outside for another night.

  Clucking around, the peasant woman, Beatrice, gave them both some broth and rye bread which they tucked into with pleasure.

  Annabel helped the woman clear away the wood platters and Nicholas watched her, almost enjoying the sight of such domesticity. The simple hut was only one room and sparsely furnished with a dirt floor but there was something oddly soothing about watching Annabel potter around it.

  He smirked at himself and his imaginings, knowing how far out of reach they were. Annabel aroused not only a desire for her body but a desire for the things that he had never had before. A home, love, family. How very right Annabel would be in such a setting, her natural warmth predisposing her to motherhood. He tried to force his mind onto other things but his eyes constantly tracked her, drawn to her angelic form with a need so strong that he was struggling to fight it. Nicholas reminded himself that he was no good for her. Annabel deserved better - far better - than a man with no soul.

  They settled down on the pallet for the night, falling into the position that now seemed so familiar. Sleep would claim him quickly, he knew, in spite of the worries that he had for Annabel’s safety. Somehow, with Annabel in his arms, all his cares simply seemed to melt away. He could not recall the last time he had slept so soundly, it was as if she stole all the fear and turmoil from his mind.

  Nicholas awoke the next morning to be greeted with a smile and kiss to his jawline.

  “Good morrow.”

  He gulped as her face sat so close that he would barely need move to lay a kiss upon her sumptuous limps. Noting the old woman shuffling around the room, he sat up abruptly, grateful and yet regretful, that he had not given into temptation.

  After washing in the river, he returned to the cottage to find Beatrice running a comb through Annabel’s hair. Annabel seemed to be enjoying the attention and Nicholas wondered with a pang if her mother used to do it for her. If Annabel grieved for her parent’s she made a good show of hiding it. Nicholas suspected that she did but was too positive to let her grief rule her. It was yet another testament to her strength.

  He watched as Beatrice continued tending to the glistening strands and, as they fluttered through her fingers, he felt an odd yearning to be the one combing through the beautiful tresses.

  Annabel turned and spied him watching her from the doorway and before she could dazzle him with a smile, he scowled and stomped away. Attempting to turn himself to more useful pursuits, he gathered some firewood for the peasant woman, hefting the large bundle with him until he was sure that Annabel would be finished grooming.

  Beatrice greeted him with a toothless smile of gratitude as he laid down the wood. Her hand came about his, wrapping her withered fingers almost painfully into his palm.

  “Thank ye, lad.” She nodded to Annabel. “Ye watch over this one carefully. Yer lady is special.”

  Nicholas nodded solemnly. He didn’t need the old woman to tell him that.

  As they bid her farewell, she watched them both closely through her wizened eyes and he wondered if Beatrice saw what h
e did in Annabel. And if she knew that Annabel was an angel, could she tell that he was the devil?

  ***

  They found a derelict home not far from the town. The walls were crumbling and steadily the forest was claiming it back, great green vines tangling its way through the empty windows. Most of the roof was still intact so Nicholas ushered Annabel in.

  It smelt damp and the walls clung to the cold, moist air. Little evidence of the previous occupants remained, aside from straw and a broken table in one corner. The dark confines of the hut sent a chill through Annabel but Nicholas stood close enough so that she felt reassured.

  “I need to get some food and provisions.”

  Annabel looked at Nicholas in confusion.

  “I cannot risk taking you with me,” he told her. “‘Tis likely Godfrey had tracked our path and would assume that we were to make for Godestone.”

  She hated the thought of him leaving her, but more so was the fear that he could come to harm. Wringing her hands with apprehension, she stared at her feet, trying to hide her fear. “Will it not be dangerous for you?”

  “Nay, I am well used to moving through towns and drawing little attention.”

  Annabel vaguely wondered how anyone could miss Nicholas. His bold stature and dark looks would surely draw anyone’s eye.

  He must have noted her tension as he carefully reached for her hand, drawing it to his mouth and pressing a brief kiss to her knuckles. The need to feel his lips on more than just her knuckles assailed her but as she stepped closer his eyes darkened and he strode swiftly out of the hut.

  Annabel followed, remaining in the doorway as he pulled his sword from its sheath briefly before pressing it back in.

  “I shall not be long. Stay hidden and stay safe.” He darted his own look of apprehension over her before turning and striding off into the gloomy forest.

  Retreating into the shadows of the hut, Annabel tugged his mantle tightly about her, enjoying the fragrance that lingered in the fabric. She had sensed that he was retreating from her, his prior reluctance seeming to remerge.