The Angel's Assassin (9 page)

A shooting pain in
his chest almost forced him double and although he could not account for it he
knew that Annabel was in peril. Sprinting past the tarrying villagers, who were
curious as to the source of the light, horror seized him as the crackling
flames became apparent.

The inn was burning,
one entire side consumed in flames. The heat immediately hit Nicholas as he
stared in dismay. The flames licked across the straw roof, threatening to
devour the entire second floor of the building and all around him people rushed
about, drawing water from the well in a vain attempt to put it out.

Nicholas spotted
the innkeeper desperately issuing orders as he swiped as his sweat sodden face,
the blackened layer of soot already thick upon his skin. Darting a look back to
the increasing fire, his shock promptly gave way to utter fear as he saw no
sign of Annabel. Running to the innkeeper’s side, the man spotted Nicholas
before he reached him and the look he gave him chilled him to the core.

“Is she in there?”
he shouted desperately over the roar of the flames.

The innkeeper just
looked at him sadly as he directed a young lad carrying a bucket towards the
burning building.

“God’s blood, she’s
in there?!”

He dashed towards
the outer stairs, only to slam into the large innkeeper’s arms as he tried to
haul him back.

“Ye’ll not find her
alive now, ye’ll surely burn too if ye go in there!” he yelled to him over the
din.

Desperation licked
through him and he fought against the brawny man. The thought of Annabel
meeting such an end near killed him, the pain in his chest so excruciating that
he could barely draw breath. Finally breaking free of the innkeeper, he
sprinted up the outer stairs as flaming straw rained down upon him, blown free
by the gentle wind.

Breaking through
the outer door, he was greeted by an overpowering stench and thick smoke. He
could just make out the blaze eating through the roof but it did not seem to
have taken hold of the wooden floorboards or the rooms underneath. Nicholas
thanked the Lord and realised it was the second time he had spoken to God that
day.

Calling her name,
he quickly made his way to the room at the end of the inn, staying low so as to
avoid the grey fog that hung in the rafters. Hay singed him as it fell and he hazily
wondered if he would have any hair left after this. His heart jumped into his
throat when he reached the large door that signalled the one double room. A
great oak chest was placed haphazardly across the door, preventing it from
opening.

Nicholas wasted no
time in hefting it out of the way and yanking the door open. The smoke was even
thicker there and the flames were leaping up the outer wall, threatening to set
the entire room ablaze. As he attempted to see through the smoke, he nearly
tripped over something on the floor. Looking down he realised it was Annabel,
crumpled in a heap.

His stomach heaved,
caused by a combination of fear and smoke inhalation, and he scooped her into
his hold, her arms hanging limply as her head flopped back. Trying to prevent
the coughing fit that threatened to take hold, he began their precarious
journey back out of the inn, going a little more carefully this time for fear
of her hurting her in the narrow corridor. Nicholas hunched over Annabel as he
went, trying to shield her from the increasing debris that fell upon them.

As he hit the fresh
air, the coughing overwhelmed him and he retched and gagged even as he carried
her down the stairs. The innkeeper gave him a look of relief as he saw him
emerge from the flaming wreck, and then a look of sorrow came across his face
as he spied Annabel sagging in his arms.

Nicholas was about
to lay her down when a face caught his attention. Through the chaos and the
flames, Godfrey, Lord Benedict’s man, stood, watching the destruction with a
grim smile of satisfaction. Suddenly the smell - pig fat - and the chest across
her door made sense. The fire had been lit deliberately.

Godfrey turned his
gaze onto them and the two men locked eyes momentarily. Spinning on his heels,
he sprinted away from the blaze as fast as his legs could carry him.

***

He ran. Aware only
of the need to keep her safe, he sprinted until his thighs burned and his arms
ached from her weight. Not that she was a heavy burden, for she lay limply in
his arms, only the faint throb of a pulse assuring him that she was still
alive. She wore just her chemise and it had taken a while for him to notice,
his fear stricken mind consumed with other thoughts. When he had finally
noticed, he wrapped her tightly in his mantle.

Continuing on, even
as the dark of the following night consumed them, he narrowly avoided tripping
and spilling her onto the ground. Only his resolution to keep her from harm
prevented him from giving up as he stumbled across the uneven terrain, lit by little
more than a half moon.

Nicholas’ steps
faltered as the exertion took his toll and he was forced to a sluggish pace,
his body screaming for respite. As the sun began to flicker over the horizon,
it hurt his eyes, in spite of the cloud amassing in the sky. Fearing a
downpour, he staggered his way into the protection of the nearest forest,
unsure now of where they were.

The forest closed
about them but his anxiety refused to wane. Why were they trying to kill her?
If Lord Benedict had intended to kill Annabel himself then why go about this
charade of hiring him? Nicholas could not fathom what he was trying to achieve.
He couldn’t have possibly known that Nicholas would never go through with his
sinful duty.

His legs began to
shake as his lungs throbbed, but a look to Annabel’s soot covered face
fortified him and he forced his legs to do the unthinkable.

Continue on.

He had to gain some
distance between them and Godfrey. He was undoubtedly on horseback but he
thought it likely he would not have risked journeying at night. Nicholas had
little idea as to what to do next, but he resolved to keep pushing forwards
until exhaustion claimed him.

After a day and a
half of no rest, it finally did. He stumbled one final time and realised that
it was unlikely he would recover again should he fall once more. Annabel lay
peacefully in his arms and he did not want to risk hurting her. Pressing his
back against a broad oak tree, he sank gratefully to the ground, Annabel still
stretched across his arms.

His
head slumped back against the bark and he shifted her head against his chest,
settling her into his lap. His arms closed in around her, determined that even
in sleep he would protect her. His leaden eyelids dropped and sleep quickly
claimed him as his hands remained gripped around Annabel.

***

Nicholas awakened from a deep
sleep, unsure of how long he had slept. The sun was high in the sky, just
visible through the forest canopy, and he suspected it was some way past dawn
already. He looked down at his precious cargo, who remained curled into his
embrace, to see that still she slumbered. Would she ever awake? Putting a hand
to her head, it came away sticky and he realised she was fevered. Mayhap it was
from exposure? Her pulse fluttered under his thumb and her breaths were
shallow, but she was still alive.

As he shifted his
aching body, he was gratified to hear Annabel release a slight moan. Her eyes
remained firmly shut but it lent him hope. Nicholas felt as if he had been
trampled by horses but he forced himself to his feet, hefting Annabel back into
his arms once more. Filth from the fire still marred her porcelain skin and, as
he wrapped his cloak back around her, he noted several scratches on her arms.
Lifting her arm for a closer look, he saw that her nails were broken and
bloodied and her fingers were raw. She had probably tried to scrabble her way
out of the burning room. His stomach churned at the thought of her experiencing
such terror.

 With his mind
clear of fatigue and fear, he realised he would need to clean her wounds. The
fever could well be caused by the dirt festering in her cuts and he needed to
find a way to cool her down. They were deep in the Weald somewhere, a heavily
forested part of Kent that covered much of the land. In his desperation to keep
Annabel from harm, he had led them deep into the wilderness and even with his
knowledge of the land he feared they would not find their way back out. There
were small settlements every four or five miles, so he would have to hope they
would come across one of those.

Deciding that the
first thing he needed to do was to find somewhere to bathe Annabel, and
hopefully find food, he took a few experimental steps. Though his legs were
shaky, he was relieved to find they were not as weakened as yesterday. Glancing
at the sun and noting its position, he continued westwards until the sun
reached its peak in the sky. His ears detected the rush of water and he headed
towards it.

Breaking through
the gloom of the forest, the sight of a river greeted him. Nicholas suspected
they had come across one of the smaller tributaries of the River Medway. He
breathed a sigh of relief – it was likely they would find some sign of
civilisation if they followed its course.

The river was wide at
this point, with rocks jutting through the surface causing the water to churn
and bubble. Trees lined most of the edge, aside from the shoal that he stood
upon, and he could see fish through the clear water further out. It seemed as
good a spot as any so he placed Annabel down with care, laying her on his
mantle.

Quickly stripping
down to his braies, he shuddered as the cool air hit his skin.

“Forgive me,” he
murmured as he loosened the laces at her neck.

Carefully peeling
the soiled chemise from her, he did his best to keep his eyes averted but he
knew the few glimpses of creamy skin would remain etched into his mind
forevermore. 

Scooping her into
his arms, he waded through the fast flowing water into a calmer spot in the
centre of the river. The water bit at his skin but he was grateful for its
iciness as it served to keep his desires at bay while Annabel’s naked flesh
pressed against his. The pebbled bed of the river was no kinder to him, its
sharp stones cutting into his bare feet, but he considered it a penance worth
taking. He imagined that if he was asked to walk across flaming embers for her,
he would.

As the water
reached waist height Nicholas hunched down, quickly plunging them both into the
icy water. Annabel’s eyes flew open as the water rushed about her, seeping into
every cut and scrape. Tears beaded in her eyes and Nicholas cradled her into
his chest as his heart wrenched for her.

She burrowed into
him, the feel of his bare chest under her cheek seeming to soothe her, and her
eyes wavered closed again as she was drawn back into her exhaustive state.
Carefully, he dashed the water over her face, removing all traces of the fire.
He did his best to scrub at her hair as its thick mass swirled about them,
tangling around him like a vine.

Even as he hauled
her out of the water, he could still smell the smoke on her, a sharp reminder
of his foolishness. Remorse compounded within him. If he had not sent her away,
he could have protected her from ever having to endure such horror. These
endless emotions bewildered and terrified him – he could not think of a time
when he had ever felt guilt for his actions.

But then he had
never met Annabel before.

She shivered in his
arms as the air met their wet skin and he snatched at his cloak, wrapping it
about them both before settling on the pebbled shoal at the edge of the river.
Annabel’s shaking form gradually relaxed as his body heat warmed her and the
feel of her skin against his served to warm him in ways unwelcome. Unable to
withstand the torture any longer, he arranged her carefully in his cloak as he
grabbed at her blackened chemise. He regretted he could offer her naught more,
longing to cast aside the terror of the fire, but it would have to do.

Nicholas pulled the
garment over her head and she stirred slightly as his hands brushed at her
sides. His eyes cast down her length and he bit back a groan as he closed his
eyes, pulling the chemise the rest of the way over her by feel. Instead of
helping, it served only to increase his awareness of her skin beneath his
fingertips and he fought the urge to caress her tantalising limbs.

Releasing the
breath he had been holding, he opened his eyes to bundle back her back up into
his cloak only to find her metallic eyes watching him.

“You’re awake,” he
choked out.

A
smile twitched on her mouth as she struggled to sit. Nicholas quickly shifted
to her side to ease her up, and he wrapped his mantle around her shoulders as
her hair dripped onto the shingles. Annabel wavered and he kept his arm around
her as she nestled into him.

Annabel still felt
beyond exhausted. Her lungs ached from the smoke she had inhaled and the
scratches scattered across her body stung. Her memory of the fire was hazy, but
she couldn’t fail to remember Nicholas bundling her into his arms. He had run,
she remembered, his face so focused on his journey that he had never noticed
her stir. What was he running from? She knew not, but she trusted that he had
good reason to.