The Angel's Assassin (5 page)

Annabel was struck
by the tranquil air that surrounded the convent, a far cry from the fear
stricken atmosphere of Alderweald and the quiet tension that their journey
through the forest had created. Watching the back of the nun, she pondered
whether she should have considered joining a convent and giving up the living
at Alderweald to her uncle as he had once suggested.

After offering up
her prayers, Annabel was led to the smaller of the buildings and ushered up the
stairs into a small chamber. She was surprised to be offered such superior
accommodation, for though she was of noble birth, she hardly looked the part,
having arrived on foot, wearing her creased and dirtied bliaut. Mayhap Nicholas
had arranged her accommodation prior to fetching her. It certainly seemed like
something he would do, having already learnt much of his careful, decisive
nature.

“We have no kitchen
in the guest quarters but we shall have a servant bring some food across to
you. We dine before Vespers. You are our only guest at present so you shall
have a peaceful night. The abbess asks that you remain in the guest quarters
until mass.”

Annabel blinked at
the young girl as the words tumbled awkwardly out of her mouth and she
suspected that Margaret had rehearsed her little speech, mayhap unused to
visitors. She gave the girl a smile and was rewarded with a faint one in
return.

“Good day,” the nun
almost whispered before closing the door.

Wrapping her arms
around herself to provide some kind of solace, she studied the small room. It
was basic, with only a straw mattress and tallow candles for comfort. Annabel
had envisaged herself huddled on the floor with pilgrims and travellers so she
was grateful for the seclusion at least, but she felt incredibly lonely.

Resolving not to
feel sorry for herself, Annabel helped herself to the bowl of water that
awaited her on the floor and cleaned herself up as best as she could, before
stepping out of the chamber and taking the stairs down to the small hall. A
fire pit stood beneath the opening in the roof and had been lit. Annabel felt
it a bit of a waste just for her but she appreciated the comfort it brought to
the room. A scarred trestle table sat at one end and Annabel shuddered as her
feelings of solitude compounded while the benches sat empty.

She was used to the
lively atmosphere of Alderweald Castle, which was never empty. In truth, it was
rare Annabel was ever alone and now, with Nicholas gone, she felt entirely out
of sorts. With one more glance around the hall, she decided that her room was
the best place for her and she marched back up the stairs, determined to get
some rest while she could.

***

Sensing someone was
watching her, Annabel dragged her eyes open. Focusing slowly on a pair of worn
shoes, she followed the legs up to see an older woman standing over her. A
servant, Annabel assumed, as she wore peasant clothing. A coif covered her head
so she could not tell the colour of her hair but her eyebrows were greyed and
her face was harshly lined. Age had slackened her jawline so it was hard to
tell what sort of face she had, but her blue eyes sparkled and Annabel imagined
she must have been an attractive woman once.

The woman smiled
down at her. “Forgive me, milady. I did knock but ye didn’t answer. Ye must
have been sleeping heavily.”

Rubbing at her
gritty eyes, Annabel pulled herself up to standing. “Aye, I must have been more
tired than I realised. I intended only to rest before supper.”

She motioned to the
door. “If ye’ll come down to the hall, milady, I’ve set out yer supper.”

“I thank you. Pray
tell, what is your name?”

“Edith, milady.”

Annabel followed
Edith down the stairs and into the hall where she discovered the long table had
been laid with linen. Edith motioned for her to sit and offered her an ewer to wash
her hands with before setting her food in front of her.

Inhaling the smell
of the warm potage, Annabel fidgeted as Edith stood to one side. She felt
foolish eating on her own at a table built for at least eight and she motioned
to the bench opposite.

“Will you not sit
with me, Edith? ‘Tis too quiet here for my liking and I would enjoy the
company.”

Edith hesitated,
wringing her hands in her apron before placing herself precariously onto the
bench.

“Is it normally this
quiet here?” Annabel asked as she tore up the hard bread, dipping it into the
potage in an attempt to soften it. She was famished, so she made light work of
the tough bread.

“Nay, milady,
though we see few ladies such as yerself. ‘Tis normally pilgrims that seek
shelter ‘ere. I think it likely that people are not travelling for fear of
leaving their homes unprotected. We have ‘eard much of the rebel’s plundering
ways.”

“Aye, ‘tis true. My
own home fell to the rebels - I am seeking refuge in Hampshire.”

Edith’s face
softened in sympathy and her rigid posture relaxed. “I’m sorry to ‘ear that,
milady. I have family in ‘ampshire.”

Annabel smiled
between a bite of bread. “Oh, perchance you know of my uncle, Lord Benedict of
Priorsdene?”

The maid gave
Annabel an odd look followed by a tight smile. “Aye, I know of him.”

“You do not care
for him?”

Edith looked
flustered, a rash of colour filling her wrinkled cheeks. “Nay, milady, I mean…”

“‘Tis well enough,
Edith. He is not kindest of men - that much I know - but he has been good to me
this past year.”

“Oh, I do not know
him personally, milady. I have just ‘eard…forgive me, I speak out of turn.”
Edith looked at her lap, folding her hands into her apron.

Annabel was struck
by curiosity. What was it that Edith did not want to tell her? Had something
happened to him during the rebellion? Mayhap the rebels had taken hold of
Priorsdene too.

“Edith, I shall not
scold you for honest words. Pray tell, what have you heard? I should like to
know how things fare in Hampshire.”

Edith chewed on her
lip before meeting Annabel’s beseeching gaze. “We ‘ad some travellers pass
through not two days ago from Priorsdene. ‘Tis said that Lord Benedict has all
but deserted the manor and taken most of the men-at-arms with ‘im. The villagers
fear for their safety.”

Annabel frowned.
Why would he ask her to join him if he was not going to be there?

“Are you sure?”

“Aye, milady. There
is…there is talk of treachery.”

Unable to conceal
her surprise, Annabel gasped. “Surely not!”

“Forgive me, milady.
I did not mean to upset ye.”

Annabel placed a
hand on Edith’s arm, realising that she had pushed the maid to tell her far
more than she wanted. “Nay, I thank you, Edith. I am sure the rumours are
unfounded but I am glad to have been forewarned of them. Mayhap I shall be able
to apprise my uncle of them and ensure his name is not sullied. There must be a
good reason for him to have left Priorsdene,” she said with more certainty than
she felt.

Edith still looked
uncomfortable as she stood and motioned to Annabel’s bowl. “Are ye finished,
milady?”

Annabel
contemplated the empty bowl for a moment with a frown. “Aye, of course.”

Taking the bowl in
hand, Annabel quickly realised that Edith would not be keeping her company for
the eve - mayhap too fearful of more questions. Annabel could not blame her, no
maid liked to be caught gossiping.

“Sleep well,
milady. I shall return in the morrow to help you dress and,” She eyed Annabel’s
long hair with worry, “…do your hair.”

With a grateful smile,
Annabel nodded. “Good night, Edith.”

***

As Annabel sank
appreciatively onto her pallet, her thoughts turned to Nicholas. Where was he
now? Was he sleeping or did he lie awake thinking of her? She shook her head
and tried to dismiss her foolish thoughts but they would not abate. She missed
him. No matter how ridiculous the notion that she should miss such an
introverted man seemed, she could not shake it. His absence left an odd ache
within her.

Edith’s words about
her uncle plagued her as well. Why would he leave Priorsdene at a time like
this? There would have to be good reason for him to leave his villeins at risk.
And treachery? Surely not!

Sleep slowly
claimed her, her exhaustion finally overtaking her overwrought mind, but she
slept poorly, awoken by the bell for Matins and Lauds. She was grateful she did
not have to join the nuns in prayer but it still disturbed her much needed
rest.

Edith woke her
early for mass and helped her pull on her dirty gown. Annabel grumbled as she
was dressed. Morning never did suit her and she was confident that the Lord
have never intended for people to rise so early. Her spirits rose when Edith
helped her rinse her hair over a bowl and started to pull a comb through it. It
was tangled beyond belief but the maid was gentle and Annabel felt almost
refreshed once her hair was rid of its knots. After their conversation the
night before, Edith was quiet and Annabel knew it was her persistent need for
answers that had been the cause.

Having attended
Mass and broken her fast with some bread, cheese and dried fruit, Annabel was
escorted out of the gate house. A great sense of relief washed over her as she
left the quiet confines of the convent. Sister Margaret bid her a soft goodbye
and carefully closed the gate behind her.

Atop a grey rouncey
awaited Nicholas, looking as expressionless as ever. Annabel could not help but
feel a little flutter of anticipation and pleasure at the sight of him. It was
odd indeed that Annabel had found no companionship in a convent of women yet
felt almost joyous at the sight of such a stern man.

With ease, he
dismounted the large mare and Annabel admired his agility mayhap a little too
openly. She was aware she was probably staring at him with a starry-eyed
expression more suited to a young girl than a grown woman, but she could not
seem to help herself.

“My lady,” he
greeted her with a bow of his head, his eyes fastening onto hers.

Did she just
imagine the glint of pleasure in them?

“Nicholas, ‘tis
good to see you. I feared you may change your mind and leave me here.”

“Did you not rest
well, my lady?”

“Oh, well enough,
but I am ill-suited to such a peaceful way of life I fear. I shall pray that I
never have need to join a convent for I would make a terrible nun!”

Nicholas tilted his
head slightly and looked at her uncertainly. She grinned and shook her head at
him. It amused her how such a great warrior seemed daunted by her mirth.
Peering around him, she took in the steed.

“She is beautiful.
You told me you did not normally ride; may I ask why we are to ride now?”

Nicholas shifted
uncomfortably. “We have far to go my lady, ‘twould not do for you to be
exhausted when we reach Lord Benedict’s.”

“Well, I thank you,
Nicholas.”

He dipped his head
again in acknowledgement before mounting once more. Holding his gloved hand
out, Annabel took it, gasping as he easily pulled her onto the saddle, settling
her across it. His strength surprised her for some unknown reason. She was
thoroughly aware of the muscles that lay hidden beneath his hauberk but to be on
the receiving end of such strength seemed to stir something deep within her.

His arms came
around her, not quite touching but close enough to provide reassurance, and his
chest pressed into her back as he prodded the mare on. A surge of awareness
filtered through her and every part of her body seemed to tingle in response.

They continued up
the muddy road, passing the few cottages that clung onto the walls of the
abbey, until they reached open fields. Annabel welcomed the sight of open land,
unsure of how she would cope being so close to Nicholas in the shadowy confines
of the forests. Briefly she considered that her reaction could be due to the
fact that she had never been this close to another man before, with the
exception of family. However, she quickly dismissed that idea seeing as it was
not only the touch of his body that incited strange reaction within her but his
presence too. She had spoken with many handsome knights and lords before, but
never felt even the slightest bit disconcerted.

Little conversation
took place. It was not easy to converse with the heavy pounding of the mare’s
hooves in her ears, and the jostling gait stole her breath. She forgot how much
work simply riding was. Occasionally Nicholas would enquire after her, his
gruff voice brushing over her ear, and she found that all she could do was nod
meekly.

The rouncey carried
them easily over the gentle hills until the white clouds in the sky began to
converge and darken. Nicholas must have taken note because he directed the
horse towards the oak trees that ran along the top of the sloped meadowland. A
muddy path carved its way through, just wide enough for a single mount.

Hazel trees lined
their route, scattered in amongst the larger oak trees, and intermittently
threatening to scratch and tear at them. Nicholas guided the rouncey slowly
through, gallantly holding aside any branches so that Annabel would emerge
unscathed.