The Angel's Assassin (17 page)

"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 him 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.