The Angel's Assassin (12 page)

Soon they came upon
a small settlement, little more than a collection of small huts, and they
discovered they were not far from a large town and that they had crossed the
border into Surrey. They had indeed covered little distance but Nicholas was
grateful to be within an hour’s reach of a town he knew well. He could gather
supplies and mayhap some useful information.

A motherly old lady
offered them a pallet for the night, assuming they were married, and they made
no move to correct her, grateful not to have to sleep outside for another
night.

Clucking around,
the peasant woman, Beatrice, gave them both some broth and rye bread which they
tucked into with pleasure.

Annabel helped the
woman clear away the wood platters and Nicholas watched her, almost enjoying
the sight of such domesticity. The simple hut was only one room and sparsely
furnished with a dirt floor but there was something oddly soothing about
watching Annabel potter around it.

He smirked at
himself and his imaginings, knowing how far out of reach they were. Annabel
aroused not only a desire for her body but a desire for the things that he had
never had before. A home, love, family. How very right Annabel would be in such
a setting, her natural warmth predisposing her to motherhood. He tried to force
his mind onto other things but his eyes constantly tracked her, drawn to her
angelic form with a need so strong that he was struggling to fight it. Nicholas
reminded himself that he was no good for her. Annabel deserved better - far
better - than a man with no soul.

They settled down
on the pallet for the night, falling into the position that now seemed so
familiar. Sleep would claim him quickly, he knew, in spite of the worries that
he had for Annabel’s safety. Somehow, with Annabel in his arms, all his cares
simply seemed to melt away. He could not recall the last time he had slept so
soundly, it was as if she stole all the fear and turmoil from his mind.

Nicholas awoke the next
morning to be greeted with a smile and kiss to his jawline.

“Good morrow.”

He gulped as her
face sat so close that he would barely need move to lay a kiss upon her
sumptuous limps. Noting the old woman shuffling around the room, he sat up
abruptly, grateful and yet regretful, that he had not given into temptation.

After washing in
the river, he returned to the cottage to find Beatrice running a comb through
Annabel’s hair. Annabel seemed to be enjoying the attention and Nicholas
wondered with a pang if her mother used to do it for her. If Annabel grieved
for her parent’s she made a good show of hiding it. Nicholas suspected that she
did but was too positive to let her grief rule her. It was yet another
testament to her strength.

He watched as
Beatrice continued tending to the glistening strands and, as they fluttered
through her fingers, he felt an odd yearning to be the one combing through the
beautiful tresses.

Annabel turned and
spied him watching her from the doorway and before she could dazzle him with a
smile, he scowled and stomped away. Attempting to turn himself to more useful
pursuits, he gathered some firewood for the peasant woman, hefting the large
bundle with him until he was sure that Annabel would be finished grooming.

Beatrice greeted
him with a toothless smile of gratitude as he laid down the wood. Her hand came
about his, wrapping her withered fingers almost painfully into his palm.

“Thank ye, lad.”
She nodded to Annabel. “Ye watch over this one carefully. Yer lady is special.”

Nicholas nodded
solemnly. He didn’t need the old woman to tell him that.

As they bid her
farewell, she watched them both closely through her wizened eyes and he
wondered if Beatrice saw what he did in Annabel. And if she knew that Annabel
was an angel, could she tell that he was the devil?

***

They found a
derelict home not far from the town. The walls were crumbling and steadily the
forest was claiming it back, great green vines tangling its way through the
empty windows. Most of the roof was still intact so Nicholas ushered Annabel
in.

It smelt damp and
the walls clung to the cold, moist air. Little evidence of the previous
occupants remained, aside from straw and a broken table in one corner. The dark
confines of the hut sent a chill through Annabel but Nicholas stood close
enough so that she felt reassured.

“I need to get some
food and provisions.”

Annabel looked at
Nicholas in confusion.

“I cannot risk
taking you with me,” he told her. “‘Tis likely Godfrey had tracked our path and
would assume that we were to make for Godestone.”

She hated the
thought of him leaving her, but more so was the fear that he could come to
harm. Wringing her hands with apprehension, she stared at her feet, trying to
hide her fear. “Will it not be dangerous for you?”

“Nay, I am well
used to moving through towns and drawing little attention.”

Annabel vaguely
wondered how anyone could miss Nicholas. His bold stature and dark looks would
surely draw anyone’s eye.

He must have noted
her tension as he carefully reached for her hand, drawing it to his mouth and
pressing a brief kiss to her knuckles. The need to feel his lips on more than
just her knuckles assailed her but as she stepped closer his eyes darkened and
he strode swiftly out of the hut.

Annabel followed,
remaining in the doorway as he pulled his sword from its sheath briefly before
pressing it back in.

“I shall not be
long. Stay hidden and stay safe.” He darted his own look of apprehension over
her before turning and striding off into the gloomy forest.

Retreating into the
shadows of the hut, Annabel tugged his mantle tightly about her, enjoying the
fragrance that lingered in the fabric. She had sensed that he was retreating
from her, his prior reluctance seeming to remerge.

She didn’t doubt
the strength of his feelings. They were clearly visible in his every expression
and every touch, but he was attempting to hide them by drawing up a barrier of
indifference. Annabel couldn’t decide if it was honour or fear that caused him
to react in such a way. He seemed to want to protect her from his attentions,
which led her to believe that it must be for her sake that he resisted her. But
also she noted the unease that seemed to shroud him. Annabel concluded that
after a life devoid of love, he was frightened by his feelings for her.

She frightened her
brave dark knight!

It would have
amused her if it wasn’t for the distance that it put between them.

Drawing herself
into a corner, she could do little but wait and pray. He would come back for
her, that much she knew, but what if something happened to him? Trying to
summon her usual optimism, she thought back to the tender kiss they had shared
and it filled her with warmth once again. Anxious to experience more, she
determined that as soon as he returned she was going to work her way back
through his defences, and this time he would find it impossible to retreat back
into his fortress of detachment.

***

Godestone was well
known to Nicholas and he often frequented the inn there when travelling between
the Surrey and Kent. It was large enough to afford him anonymity but he would
have to take care, for he thought it likely Godfrey could still be on his
trail.

The walls
surrounding the town were made of stone and a small gatehouse kept control of
the people going in and out. Fortunately, Nicholas was well used to gaining
access without anyone taking notice and the walls of Godestone were barely
taller than him in places. For someone of Nicholas’ agility and stealth, it was
just a matter of finding a foothold in the stones and hauling himself over.

With a thud of his
boots and a puff of dirt, he landed on the other side. The thatched cottages
were close together, their uneven walls almost touching in places and they
provided plenty of cover for him to casually stroll through until he reached
the main road.

In the centre of
Godestone was a larger path which led directly down the middle of it,
dissecting it in half. At one end was a motte and bailey castle, watching
carefully over the town. The wooden structure was surrounded by palisades,
providing a safe haven in times of war.

The town centre was
busy, the market attracting visitors from the small villages that skirted
Godestone. The smell of livestock and cramped living quarters were ripe in the
air but occasionally the smell of freshly baked bread would permeate it.

Picking up some
supplies, he had them wrapped so he could carry them. His thoughts frequently
turned to Annabel as he pushed past the swarming bodies, ensuring to keep his
head down. She would love the bustling atmosphere and no doubt the market
sellers would love her in return. She had a unique ability to charm anyone.
Even a man with no heart, he thought mockingly.

He questioned as to
how he would ever part from her. She was like a craving and there was no cure.
She consumed him, body and soul, and his heart ached for her sweet touch and
charming words. His jaw clenched as he considered how much longer he was going
to have resist her for. Nicholas was unsure if he could even survive another
night in her tempting company. His cold attitude had done little to dampen the
heat that bloomed between them and, instead of being discouraged, she seemed
more determined than ever to break through his defences. Little did she know
how close he was to snapping.

Hopefully he would
at least have his answers this night as to what their next steps should be. He
kept a contact here, one with open ears and a closed mouth. With the steady
flow of people travelling through Godestone mayhap there would be some news on
Alderweald or the perplexing behaviour of Lord Benedict. He did not like going
blind against an enemy that he didn’t understand. Particularly when the stakes
were so high.

Working his way
through the streets to the alehouse, he pushed open the battered door and
placed himself discretely in one corner. This inn was a far cry from the one in
Edenbridge. Its furniture was battered and broken, the result of many a drunken
fight, and the fare was basic. Nicholas avoided the food here. Usually it was
left to simmer for days on end, scraps of meat and vegetables thrown in as and
when they became available. Many a man had eaten here and died after their body
could do naught but purge the filth.

The rushes reeked
of ale, rotten food and bodily fluids and Nicholas wrinkled his nose
unwittingly. Too much time in Annabel’s company had made him sensitive to the
smell, he decided, as it never normally bothered him.

After several hours
of nursing a stale ale, his contact entered the alehouse. Spying Nicholas, the
lanky man gave him a nod of acknowledgement before settling on a stool opposite
him.

Nicholas signalled
to the serving wench, who brought over two fresh tankards of ale.

His companion eyed
her abundant cleavage before taking a long, messy slurp of ale and Nicholas watched
him with detachment.

Albin was a
drunkard, but he was reliable. People paid little heed to him and talked
openly, assuming he was too inebriated to pay any attention. But while he was
reliant on his ale, he was astute enough to know that information meant coin,
and coin meant more ale.

“What say you,
Albin?”

The small man
hunched over the table, licking at his lips, his limp hair failing across his
face in greasy brown strands. “There’s been much turmoil afoot. The rebels ‘ave
taken many a town but they say the tide is turning. Rufus ‘as already taken
back Tonbridge an’ the church supports ‘im.”

So Benedict had
been right, the rebellion was doomed to fail.

“Have you news of
Alderweald?”

“Ah, that plump
fief. ‘Tis under the control of a lord now. The rebels saw ‘im coming an’
scarpered.”

Nicholas considered
this. How was it that Benedict had managed to evict the rebels? He had himself
witnessed their violence and determination. He could not see them capitulating
with such ease.

“You know the name
of this lord?” Nicholas was sure that it had to be Benedict but he wanted to
see if Albin knew aught else.

“Nay, all I know is
he came down from London and talk of treachery follows ‘im.”

Nicholas nodded.
Were the tales of treachery linked to Benedict or Annabel? He knew not, but at
least he could be sure Benedict was not in Priorsdene. With his skills he could
easily sneak into the manor house and unearth any evidence of treachery. He
suspected Benedict had concocted a deal with the rebels, likely playing both
sides of this rebellion. If he could unearth the truth behind the lord’s plans,
he could keep Annabel safe and clear her name.

Slapping some coin
into Albin’s scraggy hands, he got up swiftly. “Farewell, Albin.”

Albin nodded and
ogled the coin greedily. “Aye, my thanks to ye.”

Nicholas hastened
away, eager to return to Annabel. He doubted anyone would come across her but
he knew he would not be happy until she was in his sight. His heart skipped
slightly at the thought of seeing her again. God’s blood, how would he ever
part with her?