The Angel's Assassin (8 page)

Cursing, he strode
over to the gathering and slapped a hand around Annabel’s wrist before she
could hand over the necklace. She stared at him with shock as the other women
backed away, intimidated by the glowering man.

“Nicholas, what are
you doing?” she breathed.

“Little fool,” he
hissed. He was furious, angrier than he had ever been. For some reason her
unthinking trust had wrought a dangerous fire within him.

Annabel blinked at
him before yanking her arm from his grip. “Why do you insult me so? I shall
tell you now, Nicholas, that I shall not tolerate being treated thus.”

His jaw twitched.
“Think you that they shall not run off with your precious jewel? You are too
trusting, my lady. Too trusting by far. Cease your naivety and look about you.
This is a dangerous world and you cannot continue on expecting everyone to live
up to your childish expectations.”

A flush ran across
her cheeks, seeping down her neck, visible even in the golden light of the
torches. Nicholas recognised her anger and he knew that he had thoroughly
insulted her, but his anger had taken a hold of him, his tension and fear
building to a crescendo.

Spinning wildly,
she dashed away from him, into the sinister gloom of the woods. He stalked
after her, his boots crushing hapless twigs and leaves as he went. Though she
scurried away, his long strides enabled him to keep up with her easily and the
moonlight rebounded off her flaxen hair ensuring he would not lose sight of
her.

“My lady!” he
called as he came up behind her, not willing to have to grab her again to get
her attention.

Annabel whirled on
him, a rare fiery glint in her eyes. “Why does it matter to you, Nicholas? ‘Tis
my necklace, my trust! Why does my behaviour to others concern you so? You are
my protector, naught more.”

“There is more to
it than that,” he growled, silently rebuking himself for his candid tongue.

Her eyes lit with
hope and her anger died at his words. Hesitantly, she stepped towards him, her
body seeming to unfold towards him.

It dawned on
Nicholas that his anger had little to do with the village folk and everything
to do with himself. He followed the tempting line of her cheek, to the soft
curve of her lips and he knew that this was it.

The moment she
broke him.

His wrath, he
realised, had stemmed from her trust of him. Each little trusting act forced
its way under his skin until she was thoroughly engrained into his each and
every thought, and it terrified him.

Closing
the gap between them, Annabel angled her face towards him and he found himself
struggling to breathe. Her glimmering hair whispered in the night air and his
fingers twitched at the thought of running them through it. Involuntarily, they
reached out and brushed an errant lock from her face. Though brief, the
fleeting feel of her skin beneath his fingertips shocked him. It scorched his
fingertips, sending waves of heat pulsating through his body.

Annabel felt just as
surprised and her mouth fell open at the sensations that rocked through her.
The strength of her attraction to him stunned her. While she had been aware of
something developing between them, these emotions that assaulted her now were
far beyond a simple appreciation of his fine form.

An unsteady hand
dropped from her hair to her parted lips and Annabel couldn’t restrain the gasp
that left her mouth as his thumb swept over her bottom lip. She recognised the
longing in Nicholas’ gaze and she closed her eyes, willing him to step forwards
and kiss her.

She could hear the
heavy rasp of his inhalations and her own unsteady ones, and even though she
knew they were not far from the revellers, all other sounds were muted, as if
they were cocooned in a world of their own. His breath brushed across her lips
and she went completely rigid, just waiting.

Suddenly, a heavy
hand came upon her shoulder and he shoved her back, sending her sprawling,
falling to the forest floor with a crunch of leaves. Annabel looked at him with
wide eyes and he cursed.

“Go from here,” he
ground out.

Annabel remained
sprawled on the leaves, staring at him in confusion. His eyes glittered black
and it was as if some wild beast had suddenly been unleashed.

“What?” she asked
quietly.

“Go!” he shouted.
“Run from me.”

Scrabbling to her
feet, she went to take a step towards him but she froze as he drew out his
sword.

“But why?” her
voice wavered.

Swinging his sword
around in a wild arc, she cowered back as his face resembled that of a
ferocious warrior.

“I am dangerous,”
he snarled. “Go! Now!”

Annabel blinked at
him and tried to pull on her courage, but it seemed to desert her. Who was this
man?

Wondering if she
could calm him, she spoke soothingly. “You are not dangerous. You have already
saved my life once. I do not believe you would harm me.” She brought her chin
up.

“Then you are a
fool.” He took a large step towards her and pointed the sword at her with a
shaking hand. “Run from me, now!”

With a gulp she
looked back into his eyes, still believing she could reach the man underneath
the sudden anger, but as he took another aggressive step forwards, her
certainty fled her and she turned with a cry. It was as if he had taken the
form of a savage beast, the man that she thought she knew now naught but a
memory. As she hastened away, a feral roar sounded and she jumped, increasing
her speed, fear and confusion surging through her body.

As he roared, Nicholas brought
down his sword, slamming it into the soft earth and leaving it juddering on its
tip. Collapsing to the ground, he knelt in front of his sword, bowing his head
to it as he kept his hands around the hilt.

God’s blood, he was
a beast. He had terrified her, as was his intention, but why then did he feel
so much remorse for it? He was performing an act of kindness, releasing her
from his grasp. It was true, he was dangerous. As she stood there, offering
herself to him, complete and utter horror had assailed him. He could have slit
her throat then and there and had done with it. Yet, would he have done it?

Never before had he
felt any kind of guilt over his actions. He had been paid well and performed
each act with cold efficiency, never caring whether his victims deserved their outcome
or not. A deluge of emotions seemed to engulf him, unfamiliar ones – hope,
fear, love…? Nicholas knew now he would never have done it, he could never have
killed Annabel. Her unquestioning trust and kindness had been the undoing of
him and he suspected he would never be the same again.

He knelt there for
some time, the damp earth seeping through his hose until his knees became numb.
A vision came to him in a blinding light. It was Annabel, shining and golden,
an angel from heaven. She beckoned to him, calling him forwards and he found
himself powerless to resist. Some danger lurked behind her, he knew not what,
but he knew it was up to him to act. He understood now that she was his
salvation, guiding him to save his soul from the devil. He would protect her
and in return she may just save him from the fiery pits of hell. As the mists
retreated from his vision, the realisation that he had just sent her off into
the unknown struck him.

Aye, he was
dangerous, but he knew now she had naught to fear from him and more to fear
from the world she now faced alone. What a brute he was, sending her off to
fend for herself. An awareness of his fate came upon him and knew what he must
do. For all his sinful deeds, he was being given a chance to atone for them. Annabel
needed his protection and he would protect her day and night, even from
himself. He loved her, he was sure of that now, but she was as pure as an angel
and he would not sully her with his hell bound soul.

Nay, instead he
would watch over her. Always. That would be his penitence. And if she should
find love with another, he would watch from afar, ensuring no man ever hurt or
mistreated her. His duty was clear to him now and he hauled himself to his
feet, groaning as his knees ached.

Now he just had to
find her. Where would she have gone? He suspected the most likely place was the
inn. Annabel knew little of the area and she would probably have hoped to find
help there. He uttered a quick prayer, begging for someone to watch over her
until he could find her. He had never prayed before, not once, for he knew
no-one would listen to him and his blackened soul, but he reasoned they would
for Annabel’s sake. He headed in the direction of the inn and trusted that she
would be there, for if not he would hunt to the ends of the Earth to track her
down.

***

Annabel didn’t stop running until
she reached the inn, pushing her way past the innkeeper and up the stairs.
Slamming the heavy door behind her, she slumped on top of the mattress, her
heart thudding in her chest. Tears burnt in her eyes as she remembered
Nicholas’ face. She had never seen him so angry before. In truth, she had never
seen him angry at all. Even when he fought his way out of Alderweald, he had
done so with a cold efficiency.

How had he gone
from wanting to kiss her to threatening her? He wanted her, Annabel had seen
the desire there and he had nearly admitted as much. Why did she anger him so?
And why did he think he was dangerous? He had petrified her with his sudden
fury, the fiery emotion so unlike him.

As her hammering
heart calmed, she began to wonder if she should have stayed, if she should have
held onto her courage and tried to reach the man underneath the anger. Surely a
man who looked after her welfare so diligently would never hurt her? She scared
him, she knew that. Not in the way that he had, but she had seen how
disconcerted he was in her presence. Mayhap that was the cause of his anger.
Annabel’s head swam slightly from the mead she had consumed and she closed her
eyes, trying to wipe away the image of Nicholas’ furious face. What a coward
she was! She was ill used to such wrath being directed at her but she knew in
her heart that Nicholas would not harm her. She should have stood up to him
instead of fleeing, and made him face the feelings he had for her.

She lay there for
some time, considering what she should do. Mayhap she should go and find him.
Or would he come to her? Annabel’s eyes became heavy with fatigue and the
events of the night, so she resigned herself to getting some rest. In her
heart, she was convinced Nicholas would return for her. He was not one to leave
a job unfinished and he would not abandon his duty to her. Satisfied that the
best she could do was rest and wait until his temper had abated, she quickly
stripped off her dress before flinging it to the floor with a weary throw.
Settling onto the pallet, sleep rapidly claimed her, the effects of the alcohol
temporarily easing her unsettled mind.

She woke some time
later with a throbbing head and a dry mouth. Instantly regretting her eagerness
to indulge, she forced herself to sit up and search out Nicholas’ flask. Taking
a quick swig of the warm ale, Annabel’s registered an oddly pungent smell in
the room. Realising that the room was lit with a glow, she wondered if the
villagers were cooking outside the inn. Peering out of the thin window, it took
her a moment to recognise what she saw.

Flames licked up
the side of the wall, not far from her window. The smell was smoke, she
realised. Turning with a cry, she snatched at her dress as the smoke began to
curl in through the window in dirty grey wisps. With a hand across her mouth,
she pushed at the large timber door, only to find that she could not open it.
Throwing her dress aside, she pushed once more. As the smoke began to fill up
the beamed ceiling, Annabel started to panic. Throwing her shoulder into the
door, it creaked but refused to budge. Again and again, she rammed into it
until she was panting from the exertion and smoke inhalation.

Annabel’s stomach
churned with fear as a look to the window revealed the flames crawling closer
to her room. Underneath her feet she could begin to feel the heat creeping into
the wooden floorboards and any damp in the room rose as steam with the heat.
Sweat caused her chemise to cling to her body and a feeling of hopelessness
threatened to overcome her.

As the acrid smoke
invaded her lungs, Annabel could feel herself becoming dizzy and she tried a
few more pulls and pushes at the door, but her efforts were hindered by the
effects of the fire and she could feel her limbs weakening. Slumping to the
floor in despair, she found her thoughts drifting. What would happen to
Alderweald now? Would her uncle be charged with its care? And what of Nicholas?
Would he feel anguish at having failed to protect her?

Her head swam and
she could feel the darkness closing in on her. As it did so, she prayed that
Nicholas would not carry the burden of her death around with him forever and,
though she had hoped he would find it with her, she asked that he be able to
find happiness with someone. With that last thought, she collapsed fully to the
floor with a thud as the blackness pulled her under.

***

An orange glow caught Nicholas’
eye, radiating from behind the chapel and the small huts at the entrance to the
village. It seeped into the night air, giving the thatched homes a warmth that
they lacked during the day. For a moment, Nicholas wondered if the fires of
hell had come to greet him, until the tang of smoke registered.