The Angel's Assassin

by Samantha Holt

  Her fingernails met his skin again, clutching at the dark swirling hair of his chest and he wondered vaguely if she was trying to punish him. Her teeth grazed sharply over his lips and he decided that she was, but for all the pain she attempted to administer, it seemed only to provoke him. Lifting her swiftly, she latched her legs around him and Nicholas faltered as Annabel pressed against the aching juncture of his thighs. With a groan, he pushed her into the deep embrasure, resting her bottom on the cold stone.

  As he bit into her neck and shoulder, she surged against him in a frenzied movement, crying out at each touch of their bodies. Becoming impatient, she yanked up her skirts and ground her wet sex against him. With a feral snarl, he wrenched down his braies, not even bothering to remove them entirely, and plunged himself into her.

  The sudden heat shocked him and Annabel gasped as he took her. Grasping her hips, he plunged again, drawing her closer to him. Relentlessly he pounded into her as she punished him with merciless kisses, and he almost wished she would hurt him further, hoping she could hurt him as much as he had her. Clutching at her, he crushed her to him, driving into her until she sobbed his name. As she convulsed around him, he lost himself to her, a hoarse cry escaping his lips as he buried his head in her neck.

  As the world came back into focus, Nicholas became aware of her rigid body still entwined with his. Annabel had dropped her hands to her side as her breathing slowed, but she stayed frozen as he remained inside of her. He inhaled deeply, taking in her scent, knowing that this would be the last time he would ever be so close to her. Never would aught be as difficult as drawing himself away from her. With reluctance, he pulled back, his heart sinking with the realisation of what he had just done.

  Tugging down her skirts, he arranged them around her before pulling up his braies.

  "I have wronged you again, sweet Annabel," he said with regret.

  She curled away from him, drawing her knees to her chest as she avoided his eyes.

  "Redemption shall never be mine now," he murmured to himself.

  A depreciative laugh from Annabel drew his gaze back to her prone form. "Redemption? You speak of redemption? Think you that 'twould ever be within your grasp after a life of such sin?"

  Her words were said with little malice, just a cold sorrow, and they failed to wound him, but the hurt in her gaze cut through him like the steel of a sword.

  "I doubt it not. I have failed in my duty...I have failed you most grievously."

  "What is this duty to speak of? You say you were sent to protect me, yet how could that be? You are a devil in man's clothing, what protection could you possibly offer?"

  "You are not mistaken, Annabel, but be that as it may, I was sent to you. You are an angel on this Earth and 'twas my duty to defend you against the evils of this world. It seems I could not protect you from the evil within myself."

  Annabel considered this for a while. "If you thought me an angel, why did you take my innocence? Was that an act of evil too?"

  "God's blood, nay. Pray believe me when I tell you 'twas not intended as an act of cruelty." He paused, gulping. "I am but a weak man and could not resist you. If I thought you would give it, I would beg your forgiveness, but as impure and as selfish as it is, 'twas an act borne of my love for you."

  She jolted at this, as if he had touched her with more than words, and he waited apprehensively for her response. The selfish, needy part of him longed for her to return his love, aching to hear those words once more. But he knew it could never be - his hell-bound soul could never be joined with hers.

  Tilting her head, she looked at him through her spiked lashes. "How can a man like you know aught of love?"

  "I did not. Not until I met you. Do you not see? You were to be my redemption, Annabel. You were sent to me, as I was to you, to save my soul."

  "You place too much faith in me. I have neither the power nor the capability to save such a blackened soul."

  "I believe your love could have, had I not fallen prey to my desires."

  “You had my love…”

  He fell silent for a moment, the thought of what he had lost fisting at his heart. “And you shall always have mine.”

  Annabel shook her head. “I cannot believe your words, Nicholas. They are just that - only words. But fear not, I have learnt much. You wanted me to learn of trust and I have done so. ‘Tis just a shame I have learnt that lesson too late.”

  “Annabel-”

  They were interrupted by the squeak of rusted iron as Godfrey opened the cell. Annabel dashed out of the room, as if desperate to put as much distance between her and the soulless knight as possible.

  He called out to her again but she ignored him as she was led away. The cell door slammed shut and he sank to the floor, his cracked heart stealing all determination from him. He had truly extinguished the bright light that was his Annabel. And how had he soothed her pains? By taking her in such a crude manner! God’s blood, he should never have even touched her in the first place. There was never a more undeserving man than he.

  Would she give into Benedict now? The man had obviously intended to break her spirit and he had surely achieved that. And if he didn’t get his way? Would he resort to killing her anyway? Nicholas realised with sickening clarity that the man was probably power hungry enough to at least try. An accident and some well-paid witnesses to her treachery may well be enough to sway the king.

  The memory of his duty came back to him and he clambered to his feet. He had been charged with protecting her and here he was concerned with his own broken heart. ‘Tis no wonder he had lost Annabel.

  Purpose filled him and he wrapped his fingers around the bars that held him prisoner. Yanking violently on them, he shook them as he roared with frustration. They squealed in protest, dust and rust raining down on him. The bolt holding the gate to the wall slipped slightly but would not give way. It would take more strength than his own, he realised.

  The clatter of mail sounded and Nicholas wondered if someone was coming to kill him, to put him out of his misery. He would gladly let them. But not until he had ensured Annabel’s safety.

  Recognising the man striding towards him, he realised it was Gerard, the knight that had aided their escape.

  The man narrowed his eyes at him, facing him straight on through the bars. “I warned you not to let any harm come to Lady Annabel.”

  “Aye, I know.”

  “Now she is to be branded a traitor and we shall all be at the mercy of Benedict.”

  “Aye.”

  Gerard considered him and Nicholas wondered if Gerard was going to kill him personally. He obviously had great affection for Annabel. He couldn’t blame him.

  “Gerard, do what you will with me, but pray let me do what I can for Annabel. I will gladly slay Benedict. Then you may kill me.”

  “I am not here to kill you.”

  “Aye?”

  “Aye.” Gerard nodded. “But alas I have no key and I cannot gather any men without endangering Lady Annabel.”

  “These pins will give way with enough strength, I am sure of it. I have already weakened them.”

  The knight gave him a big grin, taking delight in the idea of using his brawny strength. His meaty hands wrapped around the bars and Nicholas followed suit. Between them, they shook and strained at the bars, trying to lift them away from the rusted bolts.

  The first one snapped, giving way under their combined strength and twisting the bars to an odd angle. Gerard continued to pull on them while Nicholas threw his weight against it, again and again, bruising most of his body in the process.

  Finally a gap opened up enough so that Nicholas could squeeze out and Gerard handed him a sword as he did so.

  “Have a care not to be seen entering the keep. ‘Twill be easier for you to enter unseen than I.”

  Nicholas eyed the large stature of the man and conceded that much was true. Nicholas would not have allowed Gerard to take the duty of rescuing Annabel anyway.

  The man gave hi
m a serious look. “See her well. Or you shall have me to answer to.”

  Nicholas nodded. “I will. I shall not fail her.”

  Gerard grinned again with some satisfaction, obviously pleased with Nicholas’ response.

  “I will send word to as many men as I can and we shall be ready to take back the keep as soon as we receive word that Lady Annabel is safe.”

  Nicholas watched the large knight leave the dreary confines of the donjon before uttering up a quick prayer. He asked the Lord to keep his sword hand steady and to watch over Annabel. He asked for the chance to complete his duty.

  Reaching inside his boot, he pulled out a red ribbon. Annabel’s ribbon. Kissing it briefly, he tied it around his arm and ascended the steps into the daylight.

  ***

  If her uncle had intended to break her, then surely he had, for she was as broken as a woman could be. Her trust had been shattered along with her heart. How could she believe that he had changed? To think that all the times he had touched her and shown her affection, he had known that he was to kill her. And she, like a fool, had looked at him with such adoration, believing him to be her saviour.

  Benedict must have noted the disenchantment in her eyes as he sneered with pleasure. “Did I give you enough time with your lover to see the truth of it?”

  “Aye, fear not, Uncle. I have seen the truth.”

  “And now you see you have naught worth fighting for, will you concede Alderweald to me?”

  “I will not,” she said impassively.

  Benedict growled, gripping her arm and hauling her to the table. She stumbled along indifferently, not caring that he hurt her in his grasp.

  Shoving a quill into her hands, he pushed her into the chair.

  “Sign it or you shall pay for your disobedience.”

  “I care not. I will not sign away Alderweald.”

  Benedict’s mouth distorted in anger and he pulled back his hand, ready to strike her. Annabel shied away, waiting for the blow to land.

  “By God, you shall not hurt her!” an anguished cry erupted from the bottom of the staircase.

  Benedict withdrew his hand and turned to the voice.

  “Nicholas!” Annabel cried as her uncle stepped aside, no longer obstructing her view.

  Nicholas stood at the far end of the hall, where the spiral stairs entered the Great Hall, a sword in hand. His expression reflected that of a ferocious warrior and, though she could not tell from her seat at the table, she was certain his eyes would be black as night. Elation pitched through her, diminishing the sharp ache of betrayal that had persisted in her chest. Mayhap she was being foolish once more, putting her trust in this man again, but it was her only way out and he had protected her thus far. For all his sins, he had not let her come to harm. The same could not be said for her heart unfortunately.

  Nicholas stalked across the floor, his torn shirt fluttering as a sharp breeze whipped through the hall, causing the fire in the centre of the room to sputter in protest. Upon his arm was her red ribbon and Annabel obtusely wondered how he had managed to bring it with him.

  Her chest drummed in anticipation and fear as her uncle snarled at the approaching man.

  “Godfrey!”

  Godfrey needed little persuasion before stepping up to greet Nicholas, a malicious grin on his face. He practically salivated at the thought of shedding blood and the stark contrast between the two men struck Annabel. Both should be considered evil, yet Nicholas was naught like the depraved Godfrey who took pleasure in inflicting pain whenever he could.

  The two men stood not a swords length apart, assessing each other. Annabel had witnessed both men’s fighting skill before and while she knew Nicholas to be an accomplished warrior, she still feared for him. Godfrey would not fight with honour and his extra height and bulk may well give him the edge.

  Benedict snatched at Annabel’s arm suddenly and she squeaked as he yanked her away from the table, causing her to stumble over the chair. He led her into the corner of the room, by the rear windows, and she shivered as the wind wafted over her. She tried to jerk her arm from his hand as his bony fingers crushed into her but he held firm.

  “You do not wish to get in the way of Godfrey when he is fighting. ‘Tis an impressive sight but he will not care if you are friend or foe when the blood-lust takes hold.”

  “I would rather die by his hand than be marked as a traitor…like you,” she bit back.

  “All in good time, child,” Benedict snickered.

  Her retort was cut short as Nicholas and Godfrey launched themselves at each other, the crash of swords echoing through the empty hall. Annabel held back a cry at the ferocity of it, determined to give Nicholas no reason to become distracted.

  Godfrey stepped forwards with an eruption of blows and Nicolas darted back, rapidly deflecting them as they circled the fire pit. Lunging with both hands on the hilt of his sword, Nicholas brought the blade down with savage power, driving Godfrey’s sword back as it ricocheted off. Nicholas swung at his enemy’s vulnerable side but he jumped back, kicking up embers and ashes from the fire as he went.

  Hot ashes struck Nicholas’ unprotected flesh but it was as if he were oblivious to them, the blaze in his eyes far more blistering than that of the fire. Godfrey took the offensive once more, stabbing for Nicholas’ gut. Nicholas knocked his blade aside and swiftly punched at him, striking Godfrey on the jaw.

  This seemed to enrage the larger man, who sweated and grunted with exertion, and he retaliated with several clumsy swipes. Though they had little skill behind them, Nicholas was knocked into the large table and Godfrey succeeded in slicing through Nicholas’ upper arm, prompting a hiss of pain from him and a cry from Annabel as the blood wept into his shirt, darkening the black material further.

  Annabel slapped a hand over her mouth, fearing she had diverted Nicholas’ attention, but the small sound seemed to induce him to fight harder and faster. Godfrey backed away in fear, edging back around the large table until it stood between them.

  With a grunt of effort, Godfrey kicked over the table with his heavy boot and it landed with a thud, kicking up dust and rushes. Narrowly avoiding it, Nicholas jumped back before leaping over the table with a roar, plunging his sword down with swift fury. The blow caught Godfrey in the shoulder, sinking straight through his chainmail and into his chest. He remained upright momentarily and Annabel stared in horror as blood gushed out of the wound, splattering onto the floor.

  Behind her, Benedict cursed before stepping forwards. He unsheathed a dagger from his belt and hastened towards Nicholas’ back as Nicholas kicked down the dying Godfrey, his sword still embedded in his body.

  Realising her uncle’s intentions, a well of fire and anger built within Annabel, unlike aught she had ever experienced before. Her treatment this past year, being patronised and pitied, the trials of the past sennight, her anger at the rebels who tried to take her home, all churned inside of her. Most of all the betrayal of her trust by two men who were meant to love her spurred her on, a red mist coming over her.

  Seizing an iron candlestick, her arm sagged under the weight and she hefted it into both hands. She was tempted to throw it but remembered how that hadn’t worked on Nicholas, so she charged at her uncle as he stormed forwards with his dagger. Nicholas pulled his sword from Godfrey but Annabel knew it would be too late.

  She screamed Nicholas’ name as she swung the candelabra at Benedict’s head, using a strength that she did not know she possessed. It hit him with a clunk, sending a slight mist of blood into the air and he toppled, twisting with the blow. His head slammed into the overturned table leg before rebounding onto the floor.

  The woman in front of him shook with terror and anger, her wide eyes glued to the spectacle in front of her. Lord Benedict lay at their feet, blood pooling behind his head, his sallow eyes open. Behind him, Godfrey groaned in the last throes of death.

  Nicholas had turned just in time to see Annabel launch her attack on Benedict.

  She
had saved him.

  He was astounded. He was meant to be the one saving her, not the other way around.

  She visibly paled and Nicholas saw her legs waver beneath her as she dropped the heavy candelabra with a thud. Quickly coming to her side, he put an arm around her waist, steadying her as he tilted her face to his, checking her for injuries.

  “Are you hurt, angel?”

  She shook her head, gulping as she turned her head away from the scene.

  Nicholas resisted the urge to clutch her tightly to him, even though she looked as if she might collapse at any time. Relief mingled with pure desolation filled his chest. She was safe now and she no longer needed him. He had done his duty and though she may not have succeeded in saving his soul, she had saved his life and he could ask naught more of her.

  “I…I thank you, Nicholas,” her voice wavered. “I know not what would have happened had it not been for your determination.”

  “Sweet one, I think you would have found a way out. It seems I have need of you more than you have need of me.”

  Hurriedly extracting herself from his grip, Nicholas recognised the hurt that still lingered in her hypnotic eyes and he stopped himself from hauling her back into his arms.

  Annabel glanced around him at her uncle’s body. “Is he...?”

  Nicholas nodded grimly.

  Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, sweet Lord. I shall be hung.”

  “You will not, Annabel.”

  She stared up at him with desperation. “Do you not see? The king has already had his ear filled with tales of my treachery. He shall never believe the word of a traitor. My uncle will have died by a traitor’s hand and I shall see death for it.”

  Nicholas grabbed her hand. “Annabel, pray listen. You will not die, I will not allow it.”

  “You? And pray tell what will you do? I cannot skulk into the shadows like a nameless beast as you do.”