Angel of Death: Book One of the Chosen Chronicles (74 page)

In near hysterics, Jeanie had fled into the halls of the monastery dressed only in her shift. She could not believe what he had threatened, what promise he had broken, and her heart ached in loss at the sight of the Angel replacing the man she loved - the man she had believed loved her.

Tears streamed down her face, blinding her to the astonished expressions of the monks she ran past. Her bare feet slapped against the cold solidness beneath. Jeanie's only desire was to find a way out, to run away from the pain and heart break, and was stopped by falling unknowingly into a monks soothing embrace.

With soft words of consolation he steered her towards an office, his arm comforting around her shoulders. Once the oak door closed, he dismissed the shocked clerk with a wave of his hand and deposited Jeanie in the chair before the large desk.

Still weeping, Jeanie accepted the clean rag without looking up, blew her nose and wiped her face. She regained what little composure she could muster, clutching and twisting the rag. She did not know who the man was, but was grateful for his compassionate silence.

The chair behind the desk grated against stone and she heard him settle into it.

"I am Father Theodore, the Abbot of St. Martin's," he stated, kindly. "If there is anything I or the other Brothers can help with, Miss Stuart, please let me know."

"But I'm no Catholic," replied Jeanie, glumly.

Father Theodore let out an amused huff. "Yet you serve Father Paul and are here with the Angel."

Jeanie's eyes went round and she wondered at how much the Abbot truly knew.

She heard him lean forward, placing his forearms on his desk. "I am known for having two very good ears and a quiet tongue, if that will be of any help."

The complete sincerity of the offer swept Jeanie's breath away and before she knew what she was doing tears fell from her eyes as she related what had just transpired between she and the Angel. When she had finished she sat glumly, tears spent.

Father Theodore stood with a sigh, went to his sideboard and poured an amber coloured drink into a small glass. Returning to his desk, he sat on the corner nearest to the young woman and offered the strong drink into her shaking hands.

"The Angel loves you. Do you believe that?" stated the Abbot.

Jeanie sipped at the brandy, felt its warmth radiate from her belly outward, and nodded, watching the brown liquid slosh in the glass.

"Then you must trust his reasons for wanting you here," offered Father Theodore.

"I do," said Jeanie, weakly, and looked up from her drink. "It's just that I'm afraid."

"Of what?"

New tears surfaced to trickle down her face. "That I'll never see him again. That he thinks I dinna love him."

Realization dawned on the Abbot’s face and he stood, walked to an inner door, opened, and called to the clerk in the other office. "Do you know where the Angel and Mister de Sagres went, Brother Amadieu?"

"I'm sorry, Father," replied the monk, "I do not."

"I do." Jeanie's small voice flitted across the room.

The Abbot turned back to his guest, eyebrows raised.

"
Le Jardin
," answered Jeanie, meekly.

"Brother Amadieu, would you please find Brother Bartholomew," requested the Abbot, frowning as he closed the door.

It had not taken long for Brother Bartholomew to arrive, repeat yet again what had transpired in the Scriptorium last night, and provide Jeanie the information she needed. Once the old monk had left, the Abbot regained his seat behind the desk and gazed thoughtfully at her.

"I cannot presume to tell you what you should do, Miss Stuart," he said, "but I must council you to decide carefully what is the correct course of action. It is clear that the Angel wishes you to be safe for he loves you dearly. You must decide whether or not your love for him will include trust.

"I will have Brother Amadieu escort you back to your room."

Jeanie had walked in silence beside the clerk very much aware she was underdressed, and appreciated the averted gazes from those they past.

Within the corridors no sound issued, save for the shuffling of feet, they moved from one section of the abbey to the other. Jeanie's mind raced, filled with conflicting thoughts and emotions.

Having Father Theodore sit silently, without judgement, as she expressed her anguish and anger alleviated much of the weight that compressed her heart. She could think clearly about the situation for the first time since she woke. Decision made to keep her promise to do whatever she could to help free Father Notus Jeanie closed the door with a muffled thanks to Brother Amadieu and turned to get dressed. The Angel be damned if he was going to stop her from doing her part, and since he was not there to tie her up she was free to follow.

Righteous anger had fuelled her quick steps as she left the property of the Abbey, Brother Bartholomew's directions still firmly stuck in her mind. It was the cold, the dark, and the realization that she had no plan to speak of that wore down the burning fire of her resolve to cooling embers.

Le Jardin
appeared grandly as she stepped into the break of the eight foot high stone wall that outlined the front of the property. The driveway was long and unencumbered by large trees or bushes that could conceal any of the magnificence of the mansion. The foliage that presented itself seemed only to enhance the regal nature of the place.

Halting at the sight, Jeanie thought, for the first time, of turning back. With no plan, the only recourse was to walk up and knock on the door, and that reeked of stupidity. What was she to do? Ask if the Angel and the Nobel were there as if she were a child going to a friends house to play? Frustrated and angry at herself, Jeanie knew she should have listened to the Angel and stayed at the Abbey. It was her hurt pride that had whitewashed her ability to think clearly and made her act rashly, as it usually did.

This time she caught herself before she could do anything utterly stupid. She would trust in the Angel and believe he would return. Shaking her head, Jeanie turned on her heel to begin the trek back down the road and to the Abbey. She would wait for the Angel. When he returned victorious, she would apologise for doubting and mistrusting him.

Focused and determined, Jeanie did not see the rough hand until it was clamped over her mouth and a strong arm lifted her around the waist until her feet dangled.

Screaming, Jeanie kicked and tried to thrash, memories of her first night in London flashing to mind.

"The Mistress will be well pleased." The deep male voice whispered with the promise of violence if unheeded. His fetid breath tickled her ear, sending shivers down her neck as she felt herself being carried to the villa.

The intoxicating thrill of capturing the Angel dulled as Violet observed the one sided battle turn against her favour. Impotent rage grated her teeth while her eyes grew wide, unable to turn away from the exotic dance of the Angel that felled more and more of her servants. She had never seen the like and her desire to possess him grew with each new fountain of blood.

She had been delighted to see the shocked expression shattering his usual cool countenance when he realized that Robert was not mortal and that the Angel was surrounded with those of her kind and their servants. The unknown was always an igniter of fear and she needed the Angel to fear. It was the first path to possession and oh how she desired that. To have a Chosen completely hers, especially the Angel, Violet shuddered in anticipation and licked her painted lips.

A growl rose unbidden deep in her throat, irritated that Robert had been so stupid as to allow the Angel to decapitate him. The stunned expression on the Angel's face turned to realization and then deadly determination when Robert did not rise. Fury sparked when the Angel shouted to de Sagres to acquire a sword and follow his lead.

The mortals had all fallen and Violet was intelligent enough to know that she and her kind were next.

Nicolas fell, the shocked expression on his face forever frozen on his rolling disembodied head.

Violet retreated up a step, eyes glued to the battle between Gilles and the Angel. A wordless exclamation of triumph exploded from her tense body as Gilles blade sliced across the Angel's right breast. A blackened red line appeared on white flesh suddenly exposed and the Angel grunted in pain. A momentary shock of pleasure ran through Violet only to be squashed as Gilles head came within feet of Nicolas'.

De Sagres dispatched Leroi and Violet took another retreating step. Only a half dozen of her kind kept the Angel and de Sagres busy, meaning she only had moments before she would have to flee.

A muffled sound entered the fray from the front door and Violet smiled, victory singing through her blood.

"If you do not wish to be the cause of Miss Stuart's death," shouted Violet, smiling. "You would be smart to surrender now."

The shocked green gaze from her friend titillated Violet. Gregory had saved them all and though a reward was due to him, Violet would not let him have the girl. Jeanie was hers and Violet wished that it were she who held Jeanie in such an embrace.

Eyes locked on her friend, Violet could not appreciate the stunned expression wash over the Angel as he lowered his weapon. It was when it clattered to the red soaked floor that she turned her attention back upon her catch.

"I will not," shouted de Sagres. He raised his borrowed blade to resume his attack on Dartagnan and was halted by the Angel's white hand around his wrist.

"Please," pleaded the Angel when Jeanie's muffled scream rang through the room.

Violet stood taller, a smug expression on her face. She had won and she would have her way no matter what Corbie told her.

"Gregory, be a dear," she drawled, "take Miss Stuart to my parlour and don't hurt her." Violet's eyes darkened. "She's mine."
  

"Yes ma'am," replied Greg, enthusiastically. Without effort he hoisted Jeanie up the stairs, ignoring her sobs.

Feeling secure, Violet descended down several steps but maintained her distance and her elevated status. The last of her boys ringed the two Chosen with raised blades. "Dartagnan, would you be so kind as to escort de Sagres to the Solar?"

"Over my dead body," growled Fernando, his blood splattered chest heaving.

"Soon enough." Violet waved her hand and a shot rang out. Fernando's body collapsed to the floor, his head wound adding to the red pool beside him.

The Angel stood stock still, his hands tightly clenched. Blood splatter accentuated his pale fury; white wisps of escaped hair clutched his face.

"What do you plan to do to Jeanie?" he demanded.

"Anything I want," purred Violet.

Another shot rang out and the Angel collapsed to the floor beside the Noble.

"Gustav, please take the Angel to my entertainment room and have him properly prepared," ordered Violet. A shiver of anticipation of her heart's desire ran through her and she turned to go upstairs.

She halted at the sight of a dishevelled Marie Therese with smoking duelling pistols. "Well done, Marie Therese," beamed Violet. A smile blossomed on Marie Therese's pallid face. "For this I will reward you whatever you desire."

"I wish only to serve you forever, Mistress," replied Marie Therese.

Violet nodded and ascended the steps. "Prepare yourself, child. You will not live to see the dawn."

"Oh thank you, Mistress," grovelled Marie Therese, clutching the hem of Violet's gown, tears streaming down her face.

Walking past her body servant, Violet beamed. She would rebuild, but first she desired to see her friend.

He was on fire. Every nerve and fibre of his being flamed, licking ribbons of agony from his wrists into a starburst of flares to his fingertips, down his arms, into his shoulders, across his chest and finally, up to throb in time with the pulsating pain that was his head.