Daughters of the Dagger 03 - Amber (2 page)

“I’ll handle him,” said the priest, flicking dust from his robe.

And as Amber turned to go, she heard the voice of Lucifer soft but distinct from behind her.

“Amber … will
… tend to me … not you … you sack of dung.”

Amber froze in her tracks, glad to hear the man’s voice and that
he had not died, but at the same time shocked to hear her name springing from his lips as if he knew her. The devil requested her presence at his side, and just the thought of it made her feel ill. A wave of fear ran through her, and her body stiffened at the idea of serving and applying ministrations to a man who could very well be the devil. She didn’t want to be around him nor around Father Armand. All she wanted was to go back to her chamber and lock herself within and drop to her knees and pray.

She had witnessed something tonight that she didn’t understand, and now she was to be punished and perhaps because of it, never have the chance of taking her final vows.

She turned slowly to look at the man, and when his piercing eyes lifted to meet hers, she felt a fire within her that she’d never felt before. As if a spark was ignited that hadn’t been there earlier. And it made her feel strangely alive inside.

’Twas t
he fires of Hell, she realized. What else could it be? And now the devil himself would be taking control of her actions. The priest’s prayer book slipped from her grip and landed with a thud at her feet. She raised her hand slowly and blessed herself as the man’s gaze burned into her, making her feel as if he’d just violated her thoughts as well as her very soul.

“Aye,” she said, nodding her head hypnotically. “I will tend to your wounds … Lucifer.”
And as she agreed, she felt as if she were surely making a deal with the devil.

Lucifer’s eyes slowly opened as he felt the gentle touch upon his skin. There before him in the light of one nighttime candle next to the bed, was the girl with the big green eyes and full lips that were ripe and ready to be kissed. He’d been dreaming about this beauty all night, and in his dreams he was making love with her and she was screaming out in passion.

His body grew hard just thinking about it, and he was pleased to see that the girl of his dreams was a reality after all.
She didn’t notice he was awake at first, and reached over him, dabbing a wet rag against his far arm, leaving her face very close to his. As she worked, her breasts rubbed up against him and he felt the want inside of him grow.

Then, as if she felt his eyes upon her, she stilled and turned her face toward him. Such soft looking skin, such clear innocent eyes. His body ached for her, as he hadn’t had a woma
n in some time. Lucifer, or Lucas as he preferred to be called, was still in a half-daze from the pain or he might have realized just what he was doing and stopped himself. Too late. He raised his hand around the back of the girl’s head and pulled her closer, his lips locking onto hers firmly in the process. His tongue shot out and pressed between those full luscious lips, and he sampled the sweetest essence of a woman he’d ever tasted in his life.

Her eyes opened wide
in horror and she dropped the rag and pushed away, holding her hands to her chest. Then before he knew what was happening, she reached out and slapped him hard across the face. The sound of skin against skin and the feel of the sting on his cheek led him to believe he’d not only been washed and had his wounds wrapped, but someone had also shaved him.

“How dare you!” Her h
and went to her lips, those gorgeous lips, and he saw her tongue shoot out to lick away his essence, the action about driving him mad. “I am a nun,” she retorted. “And you, sir, are surely the devil as Father Armand has called it.”

“A nun?” It took a moment for him to realize just where he’d seen this green-eyed beauty in the first place. Then his memories of his encounter at the church came creeping back into his brain and he let out a deep sigh.
It had been over four months since he’d been back to St. Ermengild’s and he’d almost forgotten how much he hated the place.

’Twas at the church he first saw her, he remembered
now. While everyone turned away from him in fear, she’d bravely moved forward, wanting to help. He surveyed her long, black gown with sleeves down to her knuckles, and wondered how he could have forgotten this part. It surely wasn’t in his dream.

She wore a scap
ular over her robe for work which covered her shoulders. The long, white woolen strip of cloth with a hole in the middle for her head, hung down the back of her as well as the front. A rectangular piece of cloth was belted around it to keep it in place. And on her head was a white wimple that covered her hair and sides of her face. Over the wimple was a short, white veil instead of the nuns’ normal black one, and he realized she was a novice – or a nun in training to take her vows.

“I’m sorry,” h
e said. “I should have realized that you were dressed in the clothes of a frigid woman.”

“I’m not frigid, I’m
celibate,” she corrected him, keeping her distance and pushing a stray strand of hair under her headpiece.

“Same thing,” he muttered. “And what a waste
. With those beautiful big green eyes and such luscious lips, sweetie you really shouldn’t be a nun.”

“
I would appreciate it if you kept your inappropriate comments to yourself. And stop referring to my sex.” She fussed with straightening her habit.

“
I said nothing of sex, but now that you mentioned it, the subject has been on my mind lately. I’m sorry, but I enjoyed the kiss and I’d venture to say you did too.”

“I did not,” she said looking away rather
than to meet his gaze, assuring him he was correct in his assumption. “And such conversation is not tolerated, so I’d appreciate you refraining from talking while you are in my care.”

“I knew from the moment I first laid eyes on you in the church tonight –”

“Yesterday,” she corrected him.

“What?”

“You have been asleep for a full day now, and I was starting to wonder if you’d ever wake up.”

“Yesterday?” he asked, moving slightly, causing his side to ache. His hand went to it. “So I’ve been having those dreams for longer than I
thought. No wonder I’m so hard - I mean - having a hard time remembering,” he corrected himself when he saw the scowl on her face. His hand slipped under his bandage and he realized his wound had been sewn up. “Do I have you to thank for sewing me back together?”

“I did what I could,” she said, “but I don’t know how much of a scar it’ll leave. I’ve
only done embroidery and sewn clothes before, never human flesh.”

“Well, one more scar won’t mean a thing to me, so I thank you.” She just looked at him coolly and nodded.
Then she reached out her hands and held them over his wound.

“In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Mary,” she said. “The wound was red, the cut deep, the flesh be sore, but there will be no more blood or pain till the blessed Virgin bears a child again.”

“Now, that, I’d appreciate if you kept to yourself,” he told her.

“I have cleansed your wound with wine and
I’ve rubbed egg whites on it for a soothing balm.”

“What the hell
,” he ground out. “It sounds to me as if you’re praying over a meal. A simple stitching without wasting the wine or eggs would have worked just as well.”

“I am doing as I’ve been instructed,” she said.

“I’m sure you are, as I don’t think anyone would be able to make that up on their own.” His hand went to his jaw, his fingers running over the smooth skin of his chin and under his nose as well. “I see you are skilled with a sharp edge too.”

“That wasn’t me. That was Sister Dulcina, our abbess. She insisted on shaving you
r face, as she said your appearance within the abbey’s walls would not be tolerated. And you have me to thank that she didn’t give you a tonsure as well.”

His ha
nds flew to his head next, feeling the length of his hair still down to his shoulders, and then up to the top of his scalp to make sure he wasn’t shaved bald atop his skull like a monk. The chains dangling from his arms rattled in the process. The old abbess had given him a tonsure once before and she hadn’t been merciful. He never wanted her touching his head again.

“We
ll, thank you for that, my pure little dove. Now what can you do about getting these damned chains off my wrists and neck?”

“Why are they there anyway?” she asked curiously.

“Because Father Armand believes me to be flawed and full of sin, and made me wear these as punishment while on my pilgrimage.”

“
Only nobles are punished with chains on a pilgrimage to point them out to others. So you are a knight perhaps? From a foreign land?”

She was right about the first part
, and Lucas never did understand why the priest had put the chains upon him since he wasn’t a noble. But the priest had convinced him that he’d been living a life of sin since he left the monastery and needed to repent. He hesitated before he answered her question. “Nay, I am not a knight.”

“Well, you seem to travel, so mayhap you
are a knight errant? Out looking for an adventure?”

“Nay,” he answered again.
“And my idea of seeking an adventure is not being clad in chains for four months and wandering the lands on a pilgrimage.”

“A mercenary then?” Her head tilted to one side and her eyes narrowed. She was too damned curious for her own good
and also very smart. He was a mercenary, but didn’t want to tell her.

“What difference does it make?” he asked. “Does
a title truly make a man? Is it by title only that one is judged? Shouldn’t a woman or man devoted to God and the church accept everyone as they are without expecting them to live up to one’s expectations?”

“You sound as if you have something to hide,” she surveyed. “And an axe to
grind as well. So tell me, does your situation have to do with Father Armand? Your words in the church were heated and filled with venom.”

“I am sorry you had to hear that, but it doesn’t concern you, so please stop asking questions.” Lucas liked the girl and wanted to impress her. But by telling her of his hard and twisted life, it was sure to repel her instead. After all, she was almost a nun and would not accept him for who he was or what he’d done. Nay, he’d just keep his past to himself.

“So you sound as if you know Father Armand, so I’d guess you are perhaps from around these parts.” She busied herself with her healing ointments, not looking at him when she spoke.

“You could say that. But then again, it really shouldn’t concern you.”

“I saw a man pass through here not long ago who resembled you. Perhaps I’ve met one of your family since I’ve been in Bowerwood?”

“Qu
it playing games. Don’t you think I know that you probably haven’t set foot outside the monastery since you got here? It doesn’t do you good to lie, as after all, that is not a quality of a nun. Now you will have to confess your lie and receive penance for it. If you have something to say, then be direct.”

“All right, I will.” She wiped her hands and put the rag on the table and then put her hands on her hips. “First of all, I don’t lie. And I leave the abbey
, or monastery as most people seem to call it, once a week to give alms to the poor in the village. I did see a man who reminded me of you, but he was a knight. Therefore, I am sure he could not have been related to you after all, as you are obviously naught but a mercenary who hires out his sword to the highest bidder with no regard to chivalry or honor. I sincerely doubt that you have any morals at all.”

“Well, Sister
, you are more perceptive than I’ve given you credit for. And just to satisfy your burning curiosity, you are correct in everything you’ve said. Now, does that repel you, as I am sure it does?”

“You are not very perceptive if you believe that. After all, if I must remind you, I was the only one who took measures to help you in the church when everyone else was cowering
in the corner. And if it wasn’t for me, you might be dead from the blow on the head Father Armand gave you.”

Lucas rubbed the top of his head, no
ticing the welt from the candleholder still stung, but the swelling had eased. She was right. If she hadn’t accepted him, she never would have tried to help him.

“I am sorry, as I am the one who has judged you pr
ematurely. But you must realize that I am not used to anyone wanting to help me or purposely be near me. Actually, I relish the conversation, as this is the longest I’ve conversed with anyone for in as long as I can remember.”

At one time Lucas had been friends with everyone in the double monastery. But
that was when he was in training to become a monk. When he left to become a mercenary, everyone seemed to shun him. He had a feeling Father Armand was behind their actions.

“So your parents were mean to you then?
” she asked. “Or did they send you away to be fostered and that’s where you’ve experienced this inner pain?”

The girl touched a part inside of him, and he realized she was right. He held a lot of inner pain and that was the cause of all his misery.
No one in the monastery had ever seemed to care enough to ask him questions about himself. He enjoyed the conversation, and mayhap he’d tell her just a little about his life after all.

“I never knew my parents
,” he told her, not wanting to relay the fact he was an orphan abandoned as a baby on the steps of the church.

“Oh,
so they died when you were young then. I’m sorry,” she answered. “I was just curious, I didn’t mean to bring up harsh memories.”

If she only knew how harsh his memories really were.
Nightmares of his past, growing up without the love of a single parent. The turmoil of his present life, and the trials he’d been enduring lately. He no longer looked forward to the future as there was nothing there for him. He was an empty shell living a life of a lie. Never knowing who he was or where he’d came from. He was unwanted and abandoned since the day he’d been born, and because of this, he pushed everyone away from him. He couldn’t take the chance of being hurt any more.

“The only
thing you need to worry about is helping me heal so I can get the hell away from here,” he said, no longer wanting to talk about his pathetic life.

She
turned back to fuss with items on the table, shaking her head, obviously not approving of his language. He wanted to tell her the truth of his past, but since he’d returned from pilgrimage, he wasn’t sure of anything any more.

He no longer knew what was truth and what was a lie.
He’d heard a story from an old woman while on his pilgrimage overseas that she was once passing through Bowerwood years ago. ’Twas a stormy night and she was hiding under a tree until the rain let up when she spied a wagon pull up to the church. A noblewoman got out and laid a bundle atop the church stairs. She’d thought it to be food for the poor until she’d heard the crying of a baby. Then a priest ran out and picked up the baby, and she saw the woman hand him a large pouch that she could tell was filled with coins.