The Angel's Assassin (6 page)

The weather finally
gave way to a light drizzle and, though the trees protected them from the worst
of it, Annabel could feel the damp begin to seep into her clothes. She shivered
slightly and subtly burrowed back into Nicholas. A slight grunt sounded from
him and she decided the mayhap she had not been as careful as she had hoped.

However, instead of
moving away from her, he pulled his long mantle around them, tucking it
underneath her chin and thrusting his arm out from underneath it to take the
reins once more. Swathed in the dark material and pressed against his
unrelenting chest, Annabel wondered if it was the thick cloth or the knowledge
of his proximity that caused her body to heat.

Nicholas was beginning to
question his reasoning behind purchasing the mount. Telling himself that the
sooner their journey was over the better, he had bartered with a local man for the
steed, spending enough coin so that this job was going to bring little profit.
He had hoped to speed up their journey and end his time with Annabel. He was
becoming increasingly uncomfortable with the odd sensations she caused. A vague
part of him considered that mayhap he wished her to spend these few days in
comfort but he quickly tamped down that notion.

With her bottom
nestling into him and her sweet fragrance washing over him, he realised what a mistake
he had made. His desire for her seemed to be intensifying, yet it was no normal
attraction. Nicholas had never been so preoccupied with a woman or so
intimidated by whatever sway it was that she held over him.

They pushed on
through the forest until the rain eased, Nicholas’ discomfort growing with each
moment. Annabel’s hair tickled at his cheek as he leant over to check on her.
He tried to prevent himself from doing so, telling himself there was no need,
but somehow he could not resist. The sweet softness of her cheeks taunted him
as she tilted her head towards him, murmuring her assurances.

The rain eased and
Nicholas made for the open roads once more, knowing they would make better
time. He hoped to reach an inn he knew of with a fair repute before dusk.
Annabel slept intermittently, her head lolling against his chest and
occasionally slipping to one side, where he would have to push her back upright
for fear of her tumbling off altogether. She would murmur and mumble before
burrowing back into him and Nicholas’ body began to ache with tension as he
attempted to resist her soft body.

The day became hazy
as the sun lowered in the sky and Annabel seemed to become restless from their
long journey, having only stopped briefly for food and drink. Her unique
vibrant energy seemed to simmer within her, no longer subdued by exhaustion.
She stretched languorously, arching her body into him and he bit back a grunt.

“We shall be at the
inn within the hour, my lady. You can take rest then.”

Annabel turned slightly
towards him, meeting his eyes briefly and affording him a long look at her
profile. “I fear I have slept too much this day. All this travelling has had
rather the opposite effect of wearying me and now I feel as if I could walk
miles.”

Nicholas flicked
his eyes away from her creamy skin and stared straight ahead, unsure of how to
respond to her statement.

“Do you travel a
lot, Nicholas?”

“Aye.”

“Do you not find it
a lonesome existence? I suppose you have no land either?”

He stiffened
slightly at this. “I have land.”

And lonesome? Nay,
he did not find it lonesome. Or did he? It had never bothered him before,
drifting from one job to the next, but with Annabel in his arms he struggled to
remember why he lived the life he did.

“Forgive me, I
meant no offense. I presumed a knight like yourself would not wish to encumber
himself with the burdens of land ownership. Is it your family lands?”

“Aye, but I have
not been there for many years.”

 He had not
set foot in his family home in a decade and had intention of ever doing so. As
far as he knew, his godfather had all but installed himself as Lord of the
Manor and he could stay there for all he cared. He felt little attachment to
the place that he could not wait to escape from as a child.

A slim hand reached
out from the dark mantle and wrapped itself carefully around his gloved hand.
He jolted, but remained still, allowing her touch to rest. He stared at the
sight of her diminutive fingers upon his large hand before quickly snapping
back to the horizon. Nicholas couldn’t quite understand why he allowed her
tentative touch to remain, but allow it he did.

“You wish to escape
the memories,” she stated simply.

He scowled, drawing
in a harsh breath, and felt grateful that she had her back to him. How did this
woman see so far into his thoughts? For someone of so few years, she had an
uncanny talent for reading people.
For reading him.
Which begged the
question, how was it that she had not seen him for what he really was?

With a curl of his
lips and a snarl on his tongue, Lord Benedict stormed away from the king’s
castle. He’d be lucky if he could get away with killing the damned wretch now!
The king would not be persuaded that his darling Lady Annabel would turn
traitor. Instead, he had questioned Benedict’s motives and instructed him to
find Annabel and bring her to his side. His carefully concocted plan was
unravelling at the seams. Even with the knowledge that Annabel had all but
handed the rebels her keep, Rufus refused to be swayed. Evidence, he had said. Evidence!
Now it was up to Benedict to get that proof he needed to ensure Alderweald
would be firmly in his grasp.

God’s teeth, he was
a fool. He had let his temper and open disdain for Annabel get the better of
him. If he had only played the role of loving uncle then none of this would
have come to pass. He could have stepped in easily without the faintest hint of
suspicion. But Rufus was a dangerous man to have as an enemy and he dare not
cross him openly. Nay, he would gather his evidence and allow the law of the
land to decide Annabel’s fate.

As for the
assassin? He would have to go. He was one more loose end that he didn’t need.
The man may think his anonymity protected him but he had underestimated
Benedict’s reach. He had enough men in his pocket to see that he would not only
remain nameless but lifeless too.

Motioning to one of
his men-at-arms with a finger, he waited until the man reached his side.

“Where was Godfrey,
when we heard from him last?”

“Not far from the
outskirts of the Weald, milord. He was awaiting instructions at the inn in
Edenbridge.”

“I need a message
sent to him, and quickly. We have little time to waste. Use one of the
messenger pigeons. Tell him we are moving on to Alderweald and to dispose of
the nameless one. Let us see if we cannot evict these rebels ourselves.”

***

They approached the village along
the river, the silver mare following its meandering course with ease. A wooden
bridge allowed them to cross the river and enter into the small village. Signs of
the wooden Saxon walls still remained but no-one had bothered to erect a stone
wall, Edenbridge being only a small settlement with little wealth or power.

There was no keep
here, only a modest manor house, and the peasant’s homes were worn, the wattle
and daub huts in need of repair. In spite of this, a sense of joviality hung in
the air as the villeins scurried from hut to hut, carrying all manner of goods.

Annabel watched
them with curiosity. “What are they doing?”

“‘Tis Hocktide, my
lady.” Nicholas replied with disinterest.

Annabel was
startled by this. She had not realised that Hocktide was already upon them. A
time of celebration and play, Alderweald had always enjoyed this day. The
villeins would take two days from their work and much feasting took place.
Though Annabel was aware traditions varied from place to place, in Alderweald
much fun was had when the village women were bound by the men and offered their
freedom in return for coin. The next day, the same would be done to the men and
their coin given to the parish funds. She wondered how Alderweald was faring
now it was under the hand of the rebels. Her heart ached with sorrow briefly,
allowing a melancholy rarely felt to resonate within her.

Nicholas seemed to
sense her brief drop in spirits and murmured in her ear, causing her to
shudder.

“There shall be
much revelry tonight; mayhap you would like to join in?”

Annabel perked at
the thought. Some time spent dancing and feasting would surely help her regain
her usual positive outlook.

“Aye, I should like
that very much.”

“You shall need to
stay within my sight, my lady.”

Annabel lips
twisted with amusement. “I suppose you shall be watching over me carefully, and
what fun will there to be had then?”

“I shall be. ‘Tis
my job,” he told her perfunctorily.

Annabel laughed,
aware Nicholas didn’t understand the she was teasing, but even as she did so
she felt a great sadness for the knight. How was it that he was unable take
pleasure in aught? Mayhap tonight she could show him the joy that could be
found in life.

The inn now stood
in front of them, standing rather more proudly than the shabby homes that
surrounded it. It was a two storey building with outer stairs leading to what
Annabel assumed was the guest rooms. A large stable indicated that most of the
travellers were wealthy people, likely travelling through to London and
Hampshire. The deep pockets of its guests probably explained why it looked in
better repair than the rest of the village.

Nicholas aided Annabel
down from the mount, his fingers linking briefly with hers. He dropped her hand
quickly before motioning to the oak door that stood open in the base of the
building and handing the reins to a stable hand. The smell of cooked vegetables
and herbs wafted from it and Annabel took a grateful sniff, already dreaming of
tucking into a hot meal.

Nicholas’ leather
covered hand touched her again, this time curling around her elbow, as he led
her through the doorway. Almost possessively, he kept her close as she surveyed
the room.

The fire pit had
been lit, radiating a glow that seemed to seep under her skin, instantly
soothing her. The long tables and benches were rough, but clean, and several
guests were tucking eagerly into supper.

The innkeeper
greeted them genially, his countenance probably stemming from a need to keep
his rich patrons happy. He was a large man with a ruddy face and nose, and
crooked teeth, but Annabel immediately liked him, sensing him to be honest and
hardworking.

Leading them back
out of the dining hall, he escorted them up the stairs and along a hallway that
spanned the length of the building. When they reached the end, he pushed open a
creaking door to reveal their chambers for the night.

Nicholas quickly
dismissed the innkeeper with the slip of a coin into his palm and stepped in
after Annabel, filling the room with his broad shoulders and dark presence.

Annabel looked
warily around the small room. It was pleasant enough, with two plump looking
pallets and already lit candles, but Nicholas’ proximity disturbed her
suddenly. She had never been in an enclosed space with him before and it
heightened her awareness of him, her skin prickling with sensation.

“Is all well, my
lady?”

She turned with a
start to see him staring at her in confusion. What he had to be confused about,
she knew not, but it was not the first time she had seen him watching her with
a perplexed look upon his face.

“Aye…” She bit at
her lip. “Are we to share?”

He nodded. “The
innkeeper believes us to be husband and wife. ‘Twould not do for him to think
otherwise.”

“You are right, of
course.” Still the thought of lying so close to him discomfited her.

“We have spent much
time alone together these past days, my lady. I know ‘tis improper but I cannot
leave you alone.”

“Nay, I suppose you
are right. Besides, you are an honourable enough man, Nicholas.”

He looked to the
floor. “I fear you place too higher judgement on me, my lady. I am no more than
a mercenary, a knight without honour.”

She watched him for
a moment, a slight smile playing on her lips. How odd he was, thinking himself
without honour. She had met few men that treated her with as much respect and
care as he did.

“Well then,
dishonourable knight, pray let me have a moment alone so that I may wash for
supper.”

He bowed his head
briefly, the look of confusion coming over his face once more, before backing
out of the doorway.

As Annabel dipped
her hands into the bowl that had been left for them, scrubbing the grime from
her face and arms, her thoughts turned to Nicholas. As they frequently did, she
admitted to herself. There was something about him that fascinated her. An
innate feeling of comfort entwined with a simmering sense of danger stemmed
from his company. The danger, she suspected, was likely to her heart.