Angel's Assassin (6 page)

“Aye, m’lord,” Trane nodded.

Gabriel took a deep breath. He held out the
letter to him.

Trane’s hand closed around the missive.

For a moment, Gabriel could not release it.
He stared at it, wishing there was another way, praying for another
means to resolve the situation. Finally, he released the letter
into Trane’s hand and fell heavily into a chair near the table.
“Deliver it to Lord Warin Roke.”

T
he longer
Damien remained in his room, the more trapped he felt. He kicked at
the logs on the warm fire. He had learned long ago that dark
shadows and anonymity were safest for him, and yet here he sat, his
anguish exposed in the bright firelight, all because he had been
unable to say no to a woman he was meant to kill. A woman marked
for death.

He rose and moved to the bed, dropping onto
the rich, luxurious bed, probably the richest bed he had ever slept
in, and put his head in his hands. For a fraction of a moment he
let himself imagine walking away from his life of servitude to live
in a castle of comfort. Always warm, always clothed with a full
belly. It would be easy to walk away from his servitude. But Damien
knew Roke would send assassins after him. No one had ever left
Roke’s service and lived more than a few days. Damien wanted to be
free. Not hunted. Not looking over his shoulder for the rest of his
life.

No. He would gain his freedom by
accomplishing his duty. Aurora’s image came to mind and his anguish
diminished. What was it about Aurora? The way she looked at him
soothed the constant anger lurking inside him; her smiles eased the
troubled turbulence of his emotions. She was like no one he had
ever met before. There had to be a reason he was so affected by
her. Those large blue eyes filled his mind. They were eyes that had
the power to send him floating on a sea of tranquility with the
merest glance from them. The soft bow of her lips formed words that
calmed him with their peaceful eloquence. The womanly curves of her
body were so…

Damien shot to his feet and left the room,
fighting back the flow of blood that threatened to cloud his
judgment even further, resolving to depart the castle. His word be
damned. He had to get away from her. She was becoming a distraction
to him, to his mission. She was too damned beautiful.

He moved into the hallway and down the
stairwell to the first floor, all the while staying in the comfort
of the shadows, in the security of obscurity. Suddenly, a scream
echoed down the hallway from just around the corner. His muscles
tensed, his knees dipped slightly, preparing for a fight. He
cautiously peered around the corner.

Aurora stood in the center of the stone
passageway, blindfolded. She wore a glowing smile on her lips as
she reached out before her. A group of children circled her,
keeping out of reach of her searching fingertips. The children
called out to her and scrambled away as she moved toward them.

It took but a moment for Damien to realize
there was no threat. He straightened, his jaw tight with tension,
and forced his pounding heart to still. He watched the scene for a
moment. The laughter, the playfulness of the game was so foreign to
him that he found a certain charm to it. He slowly walked towards
them.

The children’s laughter quieted instantly
and they backed away from his approach. Damien frowned. He had just
destroyed their joy with a mere glimpse of him. He could never be
part of something so innocent. The children recognized him for what
he was. Dangerous. As he advanced, a young boy no older than ten
years retreated from him. His round brown eyes reminded Damien of
another child. A child less fortunate, a child marked for pain and
solitude under Roke’s watchful eye. At Castle Roke, the boys came
in young, about the age of the boy before him, usually bought from
slavery as he had been. They had nothing and no one to interfere
with their training. No one to save them. They were usually wracked
with hunger, thin as arrows, deep distressed frowns permanently
etched on their lips.

The boy who stood in front of Damien was well
fed and happy. His clothing lacked rips or even tattered edges. The
boy he remembered from Castle Roke was nothing like this child. His
clothing, speckled with stains and tears, had been too large for
his malnutritioned body. His eyes were haunted with images of the
terrors he experienced. His innocence had been lost. He had never
been given the chance to smile or laugh. The boy from Castle Roke
had not made it past a week of training. Roke had killed him as an
example to the others, an example to Damien, that failure was not
tolerated.

Hands brushed his waist, bringing him back to
the present.

Damien turned to see Aurora standing beside
him, a grin curving her lips. Blindfolded, she couldn’t glimpse the
evil she touched.

“Hmmm,” she thought, her hands traveling
lightly up his stomach to the V in his tunic.

One of the girls giggled.

The memories of the past faded completely
beneath her gentle touch. Damien was rooted to the spot. Surprise
and arousal erupted through him. He felt his manhood stir. He did
not break the contact as her fingertips moved up to his shoulders,
brushing the ends of his hair.

“Could it be -- Lady Helen?”

The children teetered with laughter. A boy
called out in disbelief, “No!”

Aurora’s playful smile grew. It was apparent
she knew he was not Lady Helen. Her searching touch moved to his
gruff chin. “Is it -- Sir Rupert?”

“No!” the chorus echoed.

“No,” Aurora said definitively.

Damien stood motionless beneath her
exploration, his gaze trained on her soft lips. Perfectly bowed and
full. It was not the want of this silly child’s game that held him
still. It was her. It was the touch of Aurora of Acquitaine. Her
fingers were long and slender, bare with the exception of a golden
band on her ring finger, etched with a red rose.

Her touch eased up to his lips and hesitated.
Her smile faded and her fingers continued their blind study across
his lips. Softly. Delicately.

He stared at her mouth. No longer smiling,
her lips were wet as if she had just licked them.

He had never been allowed to play games, at
least not since he and his younger brother, Gawyn, were very young.
But this game… this game he had never played. He studied her lips,
her smooth skin. The subtle scent of roses floated to him, sweet
and fragrant.

She lifted up the blindfold. “Damien,” she
gasped. Her cheeks blazed with a flash of red.

A round of cheers erupted as the game
ended.

Aurora smiled and looked at the children as
she removed the blindfold from her head. When her gaze came back to
him, her smile faltered.

“More!” one of the smaller boys exclaimed,
tugging at her skirt.

Aurora grinned and laid a hand against the
child’s dark hair. She held the blindfold out to Damien. “Would you
care to take a turn?”

Damien looked at the blindfold, then at
Aurora. “I don’t play games.”

Aurora stared at him for a moment.

In her bright blue eyes, Damien wasn’t sure
if he saw disappointment or curiosity.

She stroked the boy’s head and handed him the
blindfold. “I am afraid that is all I have time for now.” A unison
of disappointed voices welled up around her. “But we shall play on
the morrow,” she quickly amended.

The little boy at her skirt looked up at her.
“You said you would play.”

Aurora knelt before the child. “I can hardly
neglect our guest,” she told him patiently. “We will have time
later.”

The boy lowered his head and kicked at an
imaginary pebble before following the rest of the children down the
hall.

Aurora stood and looked at Damien. “I must
apologize for touching you so… inappropriately.” She glanced away
from him to study the floor, but not before he saw a slight smile
curve her lips.

Damien’s senses flared to life, responding to
even the merest glimpse of her smile. She was so damned beautiful.
Damien had liked her dainty fingers on his lips, the scent of her
in his nostrils. It almost made a man forget who he was.

“I must say that something like this has
never happened before. We usually play in the field beyond the
castle. With the current situation, I was advised not to leave the
castle without an escort.”

When she glanced up at him with luminescent
blue eyes that sparkled in the torchlight, Damien was left
breathless.

“I hate to be a burden,” she added.

She could never be a burden, he thought as he
gazed at her. Her eyes were like gems on a portrait of
perfection.

Aurora turned and began to stroll down the
corridor.

Damien walked beside her for a silent moment.
I’m leaving, he thought to tell her. But the words did not come out
of his mouth. Just being with her was intoxicating him into wanting
to remain at the castle. Her presence brought warmth to his cold
soul, a feeling he hadn’t felt since… since he was a very young
child.

“Why did you save me?”

The question caught Damien off guard. She
stared at him with such open confusion he scowled. Did she know?
Had she discovered why he was there?

“I am forever in your debt,” she said
quickly. “Please make no mistake. It is just that… well, you are
not from Acquitaine. You are not one of my people, nor a guard.
What interest could you have whether I lived or died?”

Damien could not answer. What could he tell
her? That she was the reason he had come to Acquitaine? That her
life or death determined his freedom? That he hadn’t meant to save
her as much as stop the assassin from stealing his freedom? In the
end, a partial truth was enough. “How could I do nothing?”

Her lovely brow wrinkled with perplexity.
“But you endangered your life…”

“It happens often,” Damien said softly.

Aurora stared at him in distraught concern.
“What do you do that often endangers your life?”

Damien hesitated for a moment. He certainly
couldn’t tell her the truth. Then, he smiled. “Save ladies from
assassins.”

Aurora returned his smile. “A true hero,” she
said, a note of playfulness in her voice. “And I suppose there is a
lady who needs saving in every town.”

“There is always a lady who needs to be
rescued.”

“I should feel slighted. Here I believed you
had done such a noble deed just for me and I find it is an everyday
task for you.”

“A deed is only noble in the eye of the
beholder.”

“It is,” Aurora agreed. “Then, your deed is
more than noble. It is… treasured.”

Damien stared at her. “I’ve never been
treasured before.”

Aurora looked deeply into his eyes. “A man
with your talents should always be treasured.”

“Killing is not usually seen as a treasured
talent.”

“I was speaking of saving my life.”

Yes. He had saved her life. But for what
purpose? His mission loomed large in the back of his mind. His
freedom waited to be claimed. And yet, he was glad she was alive.
“You’re welcome,” he finally said.

Aurora nodded. “You will have a place of
honor at the evening meal,” Aurora said.

Damien saw the shadow of movement a moment
too late. He shifted his gaze to look for it, but it had vanished
around a corner. Tingles shot across the nape of his neck. He
thought of pursuing the shadow, instinctively knowing what he had
sensed was dangerous, instinctively knowing he had to eliminate the
threat. But then he stopped suddenly and looked at Aurora. She had
not seen it. How could he leave her side and let her be vulnerable
to another attack? Maybe that was the shadow’s intent, to draw him
away. Damn Roke. What game was he playing?

A brown haired woman emerged from a room
ahead of them. She looked left and then right. “Who is that?”
Damien asked.

Aurora looked at the woman. “Marie,” she
answered. “She serves the evening meal.”

Damien watched the serving woman until she
disappeared around the corner, following in the path of the shadowy
shape he had just seen.

Long tables were filled to capacity in the
Great Hall as Damien and Aurora entered for the evening meal.

Damien stiffened as the murmur of
conversations lowered and heads turned to them. Aurora seemed to be
unaffected by the subtle change around them, but Damien had been
trained to notice everything. Hands rose up so conversations could
continue in hushed voices behind these discreet barriers. Bodies
shifted subtly to face them, continuing to turn as they moved
deeper into the vast space.

Damien’s gaze swept the crowded hall. Scents
of venison and rich wine floated in the air. Aurora moved toward a
table, greeting one of the occupants, an elderly woman. Damien
moved with her, her escort, an honored guest. The title was a
mockery of who he really was.

He searched the shadows and corners for the
assassin he knew lurked nearby, letting his gaze take in the
surrounding faces. Some watched him as well. And in their eyes was
no form of welcome. Suspicion. Jealousy. Contempt.

“Damien,” Aurora called and held out a hand
to him.

He moved up beside her and her hand touched
his arm, sending warmth radiating through his body.

“Hannah,” she said, “this is Damien.”

The old woman smiled at him, a gap toothed
grin. Wrinkles lined her eyes as she surveyed him. “The young man
who saved you.”

Aurora nodded.

Damien inclined his head in greeting.

“We are so lucky you were in the village this
morning,” the old woman said, patting his hand. “Saving Aurora. You
are a very brave man.”

Damien nodded, watching as Aurora swept past
him when another woman called out to her from a table length
away.