Angel's Assassin (3 page)

Her father’s hand tightened around her own.
“What else did Roke say?”

Her gaze swept his face in confusion and she
shrugged. “What else could he say? It wasn’t him.”

Her father turned away from her, letting her
hand slide from his own. “He didn’t… say anything else?”

Aurora stepped toward her father, ducking her
head to try to peer into his averted eyes. “He said he would do all
he could to find the man who killed mother,” she paused and then
distastefully added, “as was befitting for my future husband.”

Haunted blue eyes lifted to Aurora. “He wants
to marry you very badly.” Her father’s tone was flat and
unemotional.

A shiver of trepidation snaked up her spine
at the thought of marrying Roke. “Yes. I’ve been meaning to speak
to you… I mean ask you how the decision was going.”

He straightened. “There are many suitors
vying for your hand, Aurora. Many.” He hesitated, his chest
deflating slightly. “And any one of them would be most fortunate to
have you as a wife.”

She grinned, but the slight smile quickly
faded and she looked away, fingering the edge of the table beside
the wall. “What of Lord Roke? Are you considering him?”

He walked to her window and looked out over
the village. “I have to consider all requests.”

It was Aurora’s turn to worry. She nervously
took a cloth from the table and knelt on the floor, soaking up the
spilled water. She would do what her father asked. Misgivings
churned within her. What if he asked her to marry Roke?

He turned to her. “Mostly, I want you to be
happy.”

She sat back on her heels. “I would do
anything to make you proud, father. Anything.”

He walked up to her and knelt before her,
cupping her cheek tenderly. “You already make me proud.”

She closed her eyes, grateful for his
compliment. “I don’t want to marry Roke.” She opened her eyes,
expecting to see disappointment. Instead, she saw understanding.
“He is manipulative and uncompassionate. Not a fitting father for
your grandchildren.”

A sad smile touched the corners of his lips.
He nodded. “So be it. You shall not marry Roke.”

Relief swelled within her and she threw her
arms around her father’s neck.

“He will not be happy,” her father muttered.
She couldn’t see the troubled look that filled his eyes as he
squeezed her tightly. “No,” he whispered. “Roke will not be happy
at all.”

D
amien watched
the market square from the shadowed darkness of the candle maker’s
shop. Warin Roke is a mad man, Damien thought. But if he is willing
to grant my freedom for one last mission, who am I to tell him
otherwise?

Merchants shouted from shop windows at
passing patrons, hawking their wares. “The best salted venison in
the whole of Acquitaine,” a grizzled old man cried out. “Virgin
white milk straight from my goat’s teats just this morning,” a
pretty, young woman called. Quite a few customers gathered around
her, Damien observed.

Children laughed as they raced through
Acquitaine’s dusty streets, chasing a few stray ducks. They wove in
and out of the legs of villagers as their newfound, feathered toys
squawked and waddled into any safe place they could find. Two men
haggled over the price of a small pot before the potter’s shop. The
smell of freshly baked bread wafted to Damien, mixing with the
perfumed scents of burning wax coming from the shop behind him.

Damien ignored all the commotion in the busy
market, concentrating on the street leading into the center of the
square between the tailor’s shop and the potter’s shop.

It had taken Damien two days of travel to get
to Acquitaine, and then a mere day of earnest listening to the
local gossip to find out all he needed to know about Lady Aurora’s
habits. The owner of the Boar’s Inn certainly liked to hear himself
talk. Damien never heard someone go so long without taking a breath
between words in his whole life. It had been simple to discover
Lady Aurora came into the village weekly to visit with her
people.

Damien also heard many stories about Lady
Aurora’s mother, Margaret. She had been a cruel lady, vain in her
beauty and cold in her demeanor. It was told she had men killed on
the spot for looking at her in any manner that displeased her. It
was said she poisoned any woman who was more beautiful than she. It
was whispered she set homes on fire if their owners did not pay
their taxes exactly when she demanded them.

The serfs had not mourned when she died seven
years ago.

As Damien learned more of Margaret’s dark
moods and deviant behavior, he discovered Lady Aurora was not at
all like her mother. Everyone he listened to spoke of Lady Aurora
with admiration, with true love and devotion. Damien grunted softly
at the memories of their praise. There was not one person he
conversed with who said an unkind word about Lady Aurora. He found
it very curious the daughter of the most hated woman within a
hundred miles of the village was the most beloved by all the
villagers. Surely, no woman was so faultless as to merit the
endless adoration these serfs heaped on Lady Aurora. He almost
wished he had time to find one person who disliked her. He mentally
shrugged. No matter. He would do what Roke asked of him and then he
would finally be free of his master.

He would bow to Warin Roke no longer. Ten
years of servitude was enough.

Damien leaned back against the shop wall, his
arms crossed over his chest. He had plenty of time to complete his
mission. Four more days. But he knew he would need only one more
afternoon.

He scanned his surroundings, instinctively
looking for guards or any other threats that could hinder the
successful completion of his task.

The sun shone down on the serfs making their
way through the streets. A woman with a worn, sun-browned face
clutched a basket filled with onions beneath an arm as she hurried
through the street. She crashed into the shoulder of a merchant who
suddenly stepped in front of her. She called out in exasperation
and steadied the onions. Damien’s gaze continued to travel over the
occupants of the square. No guards at all.

A tingling sensation prickled the base of his
neck. He lifted his gaze to the road leading into the town from the
castle. A guard wearing a red tunic with a white dove emblazoned on
the front appeared, clearing the path, hollering for people to move
out of the way. He used a tall stick to usher the people aside, but
he had no need to use it. The people parted on their own, making a
clear path. All their gazes turned toward the road in
anticipation.

Damien stared down the road with curiosity.
Was it Lady Aurora’s approach causing his breath to catch, his skin
to prickle, or was it something else?

The merchants stopped their calls. A strange
hush fell over the crowd for a moment. Time seemed to slow.

She was coming.

Instinctively, Damien’s hand fell to the
dagger in his belt. But even the familiar feel of his weapon did
not still the sudden unease filling him.

She emerged into the silence
inconsequentially. Complete surprise washed over Damien. He
expected a grand entrance. He expected magnanimous applause to
erupt. He expected joyous shouts. But she needed none of those to
herald her arrival. Her beauty was powerful enough to silence any
sound. Her blond hair, touched with wisps of golden sun, hung in a
long braid down her back. Her face was fair complexioned with high
cheekbones, her lips bowed and full. Her eyes were lowered toward
the ground, watching her step. When she lifted her gaze to look
about, Damien’s breath caught in his throat. Blue eyes shone at him
like the bright sky above. She was more than stunning. She was an
angel.

She looked down at a beggar who held an old,
feeble hand out to her, his gnarled fingers stained with mud.
Outrage filled Damien that this dirty, decrepit man should accost
her in such a manner. But the lady did not shy away from his filth.
She did not turn her back on him. She smiled at him. Damien found
himself wishing he were the beggar, wishing he were the recipient
of such radiance. Then she bent forward, touched the beggar’s
shoulder, and spoke earnestly to the old man.

Damien inched forward, ignoring the crush of
people around him as he moved closer to this goddess. He could not
hear her words, but the people around her smiled.

The beggar nodded his head enthusiastically
at the regal lady and smiled a toothless grin.

Lady Aurora turned and moved leisurely into
the square. Her blue velvet surcoat swished about her long legs.
The lone guard walked before her, keeping the path clear.

One guard to protect her, Damien thought,
disgusted. If he were her father, he would hire an army of men to
trail her and keep her safe.

People called out to her now. She paused and
spoke to many, giving them her undivided attention. What would she
say to him if he called out to her? Did he care? No, he wouldn’t
care what words she uttered. All he wanted was to see those
luminescent eyes turn to gaze at him with the same undivided
attention she so graciously offered everyone else.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a
movement. A shadow. A slithering shape. He searched the crowd, the
feeling of unease growing much stronger now, spreading across the
nape of his neck and shoulders. His gaze darted through the throng,
focusing on one villager and then another. A mother smiling down at
her child. A farmer speaking with a short baker. A monk gazing at
Lady Aurora.

And then, mixed in the crowd, Damien found
him. He was a small man, dressed in a faded green tunic. He hunched
slightly, moving slowly between people, being careful not to touch
anyone, being careful not to draw attention to himself. But unlike
the people who surrounded him, there was no serenity in his face,
no adoration. Only dark purpose. The man focused on Lady Aurora
with the intensity of a predator.

Damien recognized him immediately. He was one
of Roke’s elite guards, a killer, and an assassin. A slave of Warin
Roke just like him. Damien didn’t know his name, but he knew the
face. And he knew the ugly gleam of determination in his eyes as he
trapped his prey in his sights. What the devil is he doing here?
Damien silently demanded as fierce anger blasted through him. What
game is Roke playing?

Damien moved through the crowd, inching
closer to him, not taking his stare away from the stalker. He
bumped into a farmer half his size. The man grumbled something, but
Damien moved on, ignoring him, concentrating on his target.

“M’lady!”

Damien heard the gruff call, but did not look
up to see who it was. He didn’t dare take his gaze off the man,
lest he lose him in the thick crowd of villagers. Damien watched
the man’s reaction. He saw him hesitate, watched his small eyes
shift from Aurora to somewhere off to the left where the other
voice had originated.

For a moment, Damien thought the puny man
would turn and leave. Is he here to make sure I complete my
mission? His eyes slowly narrowed. No, that was not the reason he
was here. He knew Warin Roke well, well enough to realize he would
never send anyone to watch over him.

Something glinted in the little man’s
hand.

Damien’s eyes widened in realization. The man
isn’t here to follow me. He is here to steal my freedom! Damn you
to hell, Roke.

The killer bent his legs and sprang forward,
moving with a quickness his small stature belied. He moved straight
for Lady Aurora, his dagger flashing in the fiery sunlight.

A
light-haired
boy raised a yellow daffodil toward Aurora. She smiled softly at
him, touched by the display of affection. Two weeks ago, the boy
had been brought to her for stealing apples from a farmer. He had
been disobedient and obstinate. She had put him to work around the
castle with Mary and there had been a big change in the boy. Now,
he helped the farmer with picking the apples in exchange for
several apples a day and a night sleeping near the hearth in the
castle.

As she reached for the gift, a sudden flurry
of movement drew her attention. A man charged toward her, shoving
men and women aside in his frantic dash. He was a fluid movement of
muscle. Quick. Determined. Precise. His black eyes locked on her,
emotionless and cold. Complete and utter fear swept through her as
she remembered other eyes, just as deadly. To her horror, he drew a
large sword.

Aurora recoiled, a scream welling in her
throat as the sword flashed in the sunlight. In her mind, she saw
the glint of another weapon, a weapon that had heralded her
mother’s death. But before she could release her cry, the man
plowed into her, sending her tumbling to the dusty ground. She hit
the dirt road hard, the air whooshing out of her lungs. Despite the
pain bursting up her entire side, she managed to turn her head,
expecting to see the sword plummeting toward her stomach. Instead,
the dark man held his weapon above her, blocking the striking
dagger of another attacker! This second attacker, garbed in a faded
green tunic, pushed his dagger tight against the dark man’s sword,
intent on reaching her with his jagged blade.

Cries of confusion and disbelief echoed
throughout the square as people scurried to get out of the way.

The man in the green tunic shifted his eyes
to meet Aurora’s. Animosity mixed with panic in his small gray
orbs. He pushed forward, desperate to free himself from the large
blade blocking his strike.

Suddenly, with a flick of his wrist, the man
clothed in black flung the attacker and his weapon aside, then
lunged forward, plunging his blade through the green tunic, driving
it deep into the smaller man’s stomach.