The Angel's Assassin (7 page)

***

Nicholas paced as he waited,
grinding his teeth with frustration. He didn’t like not being able to see her.
He couldn’t say why, but his instincts warred within him, warning him of some
hidden danger to her. Which was ridiculous. The only danger to Annabel was him.

And now she thought
him honourable? God’s blood, how blind she was to the truth of him. He
struggled to comprehend how she could not see the inherent sin that sat in his
soul.

Not that it had
ever weighed on him before. He had followed the path that life had given him,
surviving, and then flourishing, in his role as a mercenary. Flourishing? Aye,
mayhap not but he had gained riches enough.

The door creaked
open and he bit back a sigh of relief before blinking at the sight in front of
him. Annabel’s face was dewy with water and her disturbing eyes arrested him,
surrounded by wet lashes. He snapped back to attention as he realised she was
speaking to him.

“Would you like me
to leave you to wash?”

“Nay.” He strode
past her into the room and shut the door behind him. “I’ll not leave you
alone.”

He was aware his
manner was brusque but he hoped he could prevent her from arguing with him.

“I’ll wait
outside,” she said breathily as he began to unclasp his coif.

Nicholas glared at
her. “You will not.”

Her eyes narrowed
briefly but she relented under his hard gaze, slumping herself down onto the
straw mattress with a humph. “I appreciate that you are trying to do your duty
but surely…”

She trailed off as
his chainmail landed on the floor with a clatter and he began to untie his
gambeson. Her eyes flew wide, clashing with his own hard gaze. Nicolas felt his
pulse kick and he turned abruptly, uncomfortable under her scrutiny.

Even as he tore off
his padded jacket and shirt, he could feel her eyes follow him. Why did she
watch him with such fascination? His body was riddled with scars, each one
telling a tale of survival and a life hard lived. There was little to interest
a woman of Annabel’s delicate nature.

With haste, he went
through his ablutions, his ears picking up Annabel’s soft breaths as he
scrubbed at his chest and torso. He ached to turn and see if her silvered eyes
were still on him but he forced himself to remain facing the wall, even as he
donned his dark shirt. Only when he had laced the collar did he find the
strength to face her once more.

Her eyes were still
attached to him but they held a turbulent quality, the intrinsic trust having
been replaced with something that he couldn’t define. As he reached for his
gambeson, she held up a hand.

“Don’t.”

He paused, even as
his mind fought against the control that she seemed to have over him.

Annabel flushed. “I
mean…will you not be more comfortable without your armour? ‘Tis warm enough
tonight to forgo it, surely?”

Nicholas’ brow
furrowed. Why should she care what he wore? He reached again and still she gave
him cause to stop.

“Pray I have asked
little of you, Nicholas. Will you not do this one thing for me?”

His chest
constricted slightly, the unfamiliar feeling disturbing him enough to submit to
her request.

“As you bid, my
lady.”

She offered him a
wide smile and he shook his head with confusion as he swung his mantle over his
shoulders and he tied his belt, shoving his sword into it.

Opening the door,
Nicholas motioned for her to leave the room. “Let us go to supper.”

Annabel brushed
past him in a haze of soft skin and sweet fragrance and Nicholas felt his
exasperation increase as he followed her out, By God, some mercenary he was. He
could not even argue with a mere woman.

***

Annabel found supper to be a fun
and lively affair, a far cry from her lonesome meal in the convent. The fellow
guests were already getting into the Hocktide spirit and the wine and mead
flowed freely. Annabel had never tried mead before, only used to drinking
watered down ale, but she found that she enjoyed the sweet warmth after her
first timid taste.

Indeed, the only
person not enjoying the festivities was Nicholas, whose gaze remained focused
on his meal as he ate. She was aware she had disconcerted him by asking him not
to wear his hauberk but she had been so struck by the change in his demeanour
without it. Gone was the fearsome warrior and, although he was no less
impressive, he seemed softer and certainly more vulnerable. She suspected his
reticent manner stemmed from this feeling of vulnerability. For Nicholas, his
work defined him and without his armour he was just a man. But it was that man
that sparked her curiosity and she hoped she could work beneath his hard shell
tonight.

With their supper
finished, they strolled outside and followed some of the other guests towards
the centre of the village. A huge fire had been lit near the well, and already
people were dancing and drinking with great relish. Huge casks of drink sat
scattered around and villagers had dragged battered tables and chairs from
their homes. Though the fare was basic, they had obviously spent much time
preparing the dishes which were almost as heavily fragranced with herbs as the
meal that she and Nicholas had just shared.

Some travelling
minstrels had struck up a tune and a few villagers joined in, their inebriated
voices causing Annabel to laugh in delight. Her eyes lit at the sight of such
enjoyment but she was aware of Nicholas standing stiffly to her side.

Heat suffused her cheeks
as the image of his bare torso fluttered through her mind. She had been
unprepared for the pure beauty of him. His coarse appearance belied the smooth
masculine magnificence of his body and Annabel freely admitted that he had
quite an effect on her. Though scattered with dark hair and small scars, his
hard form was truly captivating, each move of his muscular physique drawing her
eye.

A mug of drink was
thrust into her hand by a young village girl, ending her reverie. Already
feeling the warm effects of the mead from supper, Annabel took a large sip
under the disapproving eye of Nicholas. A spark of rebellion lit inside of her
and she eyed him as she took a great gulp, shuddering as the fiery drink
trickled down her throat.

Annabel watched the
dancers with envy as they danced with a freedom that Annabel rarely felt. Her
role as mistress of Alderweald confined her in so many ways. She would not have
it any other way, she conceded. She loved Alderweald, and the people in it, and
they would always be her first priority, no matter how much she wished for the
occasional night of freedom.

A group of women,
similar in age to her, danced past and noticed the tapping of her feet and
interest in their dancing, so they beckoned to her. Annabel hesitated and then realised
that this could be her one night of freedom. If any good could come of being
turned out of her home, then this was it.

She was about to
join them when she remembered her mother’s necklace, still tucked snugly inside
her bodice. Drawing it out, she handed it to Nicholas, who frowned at the slim
gold chain.

“Will you put this
on for me? I do not wish to lose it. ‘Tis my mothers,” she added.

Sensing his
reluctance, she drew her hair up and waited patiently, not allowing him the
chance to refuse.

His rough touch
startled her, even though she had expected it, as he clumsily hooked the
delicate necklace. It seemed to her that he took longer than necessary and his
fingers danced very briefly over the sensitive skin of her neck.

Annabel faced him,
mayhap hoping to see some sign of what he was thinking, but he remained
expressionless, his mouth drawn into a straight line.

Emboldened by the
mead, she brushed a finger across his mouth and he stared at her incredulously.

“Nicholas, you do
frown overmuch. Has the life of a knight errant jaded you thus that you cannot
even summon a smile?”

He offered up no
answer, just continued to stare at her, and Annabel turned with a slight smile
before joining the dancers.

She danced with
great abandon, relishing the sense of inhibition that filled her. As Annabel
danced, she became aware of a change within Nicholas. She glanced over at him
as she skipped about, following a young girl. He was scowling at her. That in
itself was unusual; normally he regarded her with an impassive expression.
However, it was not the glower that caught her attention, but the change in his
eyes. Their darkened depths took on a new quality. While Annabel didn’t
consider them softer as such, the scintillating ghost of something deeper
smouldered in them and it tugged at her heart.

The feel of his
fingers on her neck haunted her, and the memories of all the other times he had
touched her came flooding back. Though they were only small, meaningless
touches, suddenly they seemed vitally important and her body filled with
awareness.

Becoming breathless
and heated from the exertions and her unbidden thoughts, she danced over to his
side once more. She yearned to understand the sudden change within herself and
to find out if he too was having the same thoughts.

Annabel was flushed with
exhilaration, her eyes dazzling in the torch light. Nicholas could feel his
scowl deepen as his thoughts became more muddled by her presence.

“Do you never
drink, Nicholas?”

“Never,” he told her
bluntly. “And neither do you, my lady.”

She giggled as she
wobbled slightly. “‘Tis true, it is rare indeed that I indulge, but pray, do I
not deserve a little respite?”

“Respite from
what?”

“From my cares.”

“Cares? You have
none.” He was being terse but her close proximity frightened him and part of
him hoped that by throwing up a defence of callousness she would cease to look
at him with such reverence.

She gave him a
tight smile. “Ah, so you think of me as others do - a silly girl with naught to
do with her days but to find new ways to entertain herself. ‘Tis a shame for I
thought you an astute man and far more able to see beneath the surface than
others.”

Although Nicholas
was sure the drink was making her tongue glib, he could see the genuine hurt there.
No doubt she had battled much, becoming the sole heir to a large demesne at
such a tender age, and that she still managed to continue on with such
fortitude was a testament to her strength.

“Forgive me, my
lady. I intended not to imply such. Indeed, I hold you in high esteem. There
are few noble ladies who could bare such trials with as much grace as you do.”

Nicholas realised
that it was true. He thought highly of her - an odd thought, for he usually
paid heed to no-one but himself. He sighed inwardly; life was becoming more and
more complex with this woman around. He tried to push back the thought of how
the problem of Lady Annabel would be overcome - by his hand - but it hovered in
the front of his mind and his chest tightened oddly.

“You’re words are
fine, Nicholas, for someone so rough-mannered, but they have little meaning
behind them. You would do well to work on that.”

His teeth ground
together in restraint, words biting their way through to be heard. Annabel
stumbled against him and his arms came around her as her diminutive figure
pressed into him. He was struck by how small she was. She felt as if she would
snap in his arms if he but squeezed slightly. He had to fight the impulse to
pull her into his embrace.

Her body trembled
under his touch as her face tilted to his, snaring him with her eyes.

“You are a rare
creature and too bewitching for your own good.”

Her mouth quirked.
“Ah, so there we have some words of truth. Keep practicing, Nicholas. I shall
conjure up some feeling from you yet!”

A village girl
danced up to the pair and snatched Annabel’s hand with a grin. Laughing,
Annabel allowed herself to be pulled away, twirling away from Nicholas as he
watched her in bewilderment. She tested him as no other person could, pushing
his carefully laid down boundaries. Her face lit as she danced with the village
ladies, bringing light into the dark night. With her yellow gown and pale hair,
she did indeed look like a rare, mythical creature. After two nights of being
in the forest, her finery was diminished but she still retained an unhindered
air of grace and light.

He scowled as he
watched her - this was getting dangerous. They had many more days of traveling
ahead of them and he was losing his focus. His unfeeling ways were no contrived
tactic, it was just the way he had always been. It had brought him riches and
comforts and he had never questioned such an existence. So why would such an
artless woman create so much tumult inside of him?

Annabel chatted
easily with the peasant women, showing no hint of pretention. His mouth
twitched slightly as they admired her gown and hair and it he could tell she
was brushing aside their compliments. They fingered her necklace and Annabel
made to take it off, likely intending to let them have a look. As she slipped
it into her hand, it became apparent to Nicholas that she meant to let the
women try it on.