In The Assassin's Arms (Daggers 0f Desire Book 1)

by Katherine Hastings

  “Is it God’s choice who sits on that throne, or ours? King George would not be there if it weren’t for us,” Robert argued.

  John couldn’t believe the words coming out of his father’s mouth. Since he had come of age at eighteen and been made aware of his family’s long tradition in the Order of Lions, his father had never spoken an ill word against their crown. The Order of Lions had been formed over five hundred years earlier. It was a secret society of political assassins that were only a whisper of a myth to anyone not in the inner circle of the royal Family.

  The Order of Lions saw that any threat to the crown was extinguished long before any harm could come to their king or queen. They carried out assassinations, threatening anyone who dared think to usurp the crown or endanger the royal family. They also worked to protect the integrity of the Crown by tidying up any royal messes. A secret messenger or a crow would arrive with direct orders from the king or queen themselves to handle any unfortunate business that the Crown wished to keep private. They were such a secret society that the only others who knew of their existence were the Liberta... the order of assassins who worked against the crown to meet the needs of the people of England.

  The Liberta were equal in skill and numbers, each faction having over two-hundred-fifty secret assassins speckling the green of England at any given time. As children, both factions were taught swordsmanship and battle tactics as part of their schooling, though no mention of either faction’s existence would come until their eighteenth birthday. On that day, those deemed worthy were told of the existence and inducted. You could not join either one... membership was a right only blood and birth could award you. The Douglas family had been part of the original Order and the family had served their crown without question. His father’s admissions went against everything he had been taught. To question the crown was, as his devoted uncle had pointed out, blasphemy.

  “Father, you know not what you say,” John piped in, anxious to plead with his father to stop spouting this nonsense. “The Liberta are our sworn enemies, and it is through their attempts on royal life that we have lost countless brothers. How could you even speak of a truce with them?”

  “Son.” Robert turned his attention from the group and focused his wise grey eyes on his only son. “These words are not something I have taken lightly. For over twenty years I have questioned our blind loyalties to the crown. We have slaughtered and tortured countless souls, without question of their innocence, at the will of our royals. And to what end? To protect a king who is not even one of us? They have gone too far now. We have sat idly by, protecting rulers who have turned out to be nothing short of monsters. The Order helped Queen Mary ascend to the throne with her promise not to force her Catholic religion on anyone. Then we protected her and carried out her threats as she exiled and assassinated thousands of Protestants, our fellow countrymen. Our forefathers formed the Order of Lions to protect our crown from threats both seen and unseen, but who will protect our people from our crown when it is tainted with dishonesty and treachery? This was not why we were founded. We were not meant to be paid assassins to do their bidding no matter the reason. We have more honor than that. Or at least we did. I cannot support King George and I think our Order should fight to remove him from power and put the rightful heir to the crown on the throne. An Englishman.”

  All the men stared at their leader. No one in five hundred years had dared to mention or even dream of going against the crown. It went against everything they had sworn to uphold when they had pledged their secret oaths. Uncle Thomas was right. His father sounded like a God damned Liberta.

  “Robert. Think about what you are saying,” Thomas said. “We swore to protect our Crown whether we agree with them or not. It is God’s will and we must follow it.”

  “Aye, Thomas. I have wrestled with this thought for twenty years. It is not something I am at peace with yet, but as your Grand Master, I must clear my conscious. I am having these thoughts. Henry was my second in command, and he was the only one I shared my thoughts with... and he also felt my pain in questioning our blind loyalty to the Crown. Now he is gone and I cannot quench the hurt in my heart for losing my greatest friend and confidante.”

  “Robert.” William Davenport stepped forward from the half a dozen men. “I have heard your words, and while moving, we swore to protect the crown whether we believe in it or not. Our brother lies dead here at our feet, without doubt caused by an attack from the Liberta, and you ramble on about making a truce with them? I would never disrespect Henry’s memory by forming a truce with the men who murdered him.”

  The brothers all nodded and grunted in unison, acknowledging William’s powerful statement. William had joined the brotherhood just a few years behind John’s father. He had been one of the most lethal members of the Order in his younger years and was still considered one of the best hand-to-hand trainers of the up-and-coming Order members.

  “Henry’s murderer must be captured. We must find the red-haired woman,” William went on, raising a fist in the air. “We will find her and bring her to justice. Then we will discuss things further, Grand Master Robert.”

  Robert nodded. “You are right, William. We must bring Henry’s killer to justice. Our faction cannot rest until we have avenged his death. I just can’t understand why a member of the Liberta would attack us so boldly in my home? Why now? What provoked them? It has been countless years since we have risked open war with each other. The Liberta had no reason to attack us, especially with truce talks on the horizon.”

  “Regardless of the reason, I think we can all agree it must be the Liberta who are responsible for Henry’s death. No civilians are skilled enough to get past our security, breach the door, kill an assassin as proficient as Henry, and escape undetected. It must be a Liberta,” William said to the nodding men.

  “Down with the Liberta!” Reuben Brown chimed in. The remaining members of the Order cheered on. “How will we find the little harlot?”

  All eyes turned to John.

  “I will hunt her down and return her to the Order. My rash and thoughtless actions created this mess and I will clean it up.” He stood squarely in front of his father and his brothers. “I will find her, and I will bring her here to see Henry avenged. You have my word I will not return without her.”

  “Very well, John. Use your connections and your skills to track her down. You’d best make haste, before she widens that gap between herself and certain justice.” His father nodded toward the door. “We will await your return to clean up this mess. In the meantime, I have to mourn the loss of my friend and we have much to discuss about the future of the Order of Lions. Thomas, you are my second in command now. I look forward to your counsel and your political views.”

  “Then you shall have them. We do have much to discuss,” Thomas said.

  John nodded and bowed to the members of the Order before backing out of the room. He caught his father’s eye and they exchanged a silent vow. His father had already forgiven him. A huge weight lifted from his tense shoulders as he set out on his journey. He would find the devilish harlot and make her pay for deceiving him, embarrassing him in front of his order, and murdering a man he held as close to his heart as family. He would find her, and he would make her rue the day she lured him away from his good sense and training.

  CHAPTER THREE

  JOHN WALKED THE DARK streets of London. It had been a week since he’d left his estate in search of the treacherous redhead. His father’s best scent hound, Olaf, had guided him to the small town of Horsham twenty-five miles north of his estate in Brighton. He had to give it to the lass, she was making great time. It hadn’t taken more than a few shillings to loosen the tongue of the innkeeper that a red-haired lady draped in a cloak of red velvet had passed through there only one night ahead of him and had headed north on a grey horse. John hadn’t hesitated to take up the chase. He’d hopped back on his bay gelding, Duke, and set off after her. He had commanded Olaf to return home, not wanting the loy
al dog to accompany him to the busy streets of London. He’d covered the thirty-five miles to London in just one more day.

  As he expected, finding one elusive lady in the streets of a huge city like London was turning out to be no easy task, but he was well-trained at finding people who had no interest in being found. John had been a quick study when he’d been sent off to training for the Order. He had risen to the top in his class in every faction, from sword fighting to archery, from hand-to-hand combat to the art of remaining undetected. He had pulled off his first royal assassination at nineteen, when King William had received word of an assassination plot on his life. John had tracked the man, easily dispatching him without detection. While killing a man never sat well with John, he had some amount of pride in knowing his skills had saved the King, and potentially others, from that would-be assassin.

  John had spent the last two days and nights bribing barkeeps and innkeepers all across the city. On his sixth night, the mounting frustration had overwhelmed him. Each attempt he made at locating her led to more dead-ends. This lass was proving more difficult to find than he had anticipated. Her striking looks should have made her stand out like a sore thumb. Finding her shouldn’t be this difficult. As the minutes ticked by, he watched the tenuous strings of hope dwindle until only a few threads remained. With a heaving sigh of disappointment, he wandered into a small tavern below a rundown inn in the streets of East London, unwilling to give up.

  “I’ll take a gin,” he said to the bartender while rubbing his temples, trying to stave off the headache caused by the elusive temptress.

  “One gin coming right up,” the portly old bartender said, reaching down by his knees and pulling out a bottle of gin. He poured it into a small glass he had set down in front of John.

  “Any chance you have seen a very lovely lady, perhaps in a red cloak, with soft red curls about down to here?” he said, gesturing halfway down his arms.

  The barkeep’s face twisted in anxiety and John instantly knew the true answer.

  “I haven’t,” the barkeep said, and he turned away pretending to busy himself wiping down glasses on the other side of the bar. John was trained to read people and if there was one thing he was certain of, it was that this man was lying.

  “Barkeep, could I see you for a moment?” he said, trying to suppress the welling excitement over this new clue. It was almost as if he could see the vixen right within his grasp. He watched the old man huff and skulk over.

  “Sir, I will pay you handsomely for any information you can give about the woman,” John said, reaching into his front pocket and pulling out more money than the man made in a month. He watched as the barkeep’s eyes grew large at the sight of it. With a stubborn shake of his head, he declined.

  “I haven’t seen her, sir. I’m sorry,” he said, and he turned around. John reached forward and caught the man’s wrist in his hand.

  “We can do this the easy way,” he said, shaking the coins in his free hand, “or the hard way.” He squeezed the man’s wrist hard enough to make him wince. “The choice is yours.”

  John’s green eyes burned with a ferocity that let the man know he was serious. He wasn’t leaving without an answer.

  The old man sighed, and John waited. He released the barkeep’s arm and stared at him while the man took a deep breath.

  “She is staying here. And she paid me a great sum of money to keep that information to myself. I don’t want any harm to come to her. Please, sir. She has been a fine customer and seems a pleasant lady. Please do not tell her you got this information from me if you confront her.”

  John’s lips pulled into a tight smirk. He had her cornered. She would return here tonight, and he would be waiting. He dropped the coins into the old man’s hands and tossed the rest of his gin down the back of his throat, welcoming the burn. He would find a dark corner to disappear into and wait for her return... and this time he would be ready for her. He would not fall victim to her tantalizing ways a second time. She would pay for her crimes against his family.

  JOHN PULLED HIS ORNATE, black and silver cloak up over his head and backed himself into the alley across the street from the tavern. He waited there for hours, knowing she had to return at some point. At just past midnight, a flash of movement on the quiet street caught his eye. A lady wearing a cloak approached the inn. It was too dark to determine the color of the cloak, but he didn’t need further verification. His gut feeling confirmed her identity. She stirred something inside of him he couldn’t identify. Was it rage? Passion? He couldn’t claim the emotion, but the night of the party, he’d felt the same thing while he’d pursued her. Yes. This was her.

  She paused as she reached the door of the inn. He tucked himself back tighter to the black wall, as if he could become one with the cold, hard bricks. She glanced over each shoulder and John caught a glimpse of her mouth. He would recognize those pouty red lips anywhere. She pushed the door open and disappeared inside. He held his breath and counted to twenty to ensure that he didn’t move too soon and spook her into running. He was not letting her get away this time.

  Entering the inn through the tavern, he glanced over at the old barkeep. He noticed the look of panic that came across the man’s face, so he lifted his finger to his lips beneath his cloak as he passed him by. The old man pointed up toward the small wooden stairs that led to the rooms above before turning and scooting out the back door behind the otherwise empty bar. John crept up the stairs, each step more deliberate than the last. Even the slightest noise could alert her to his presence and then he’d lose the advantage of surprise. Pausing at the top of the stairs, he saw he had three doors to choose from.

  Slipping the sword he had concealed beneath his cloak out of his waist sash, he twisted the knob of the door on his left, careful to keep it from clicking and alerting her. He paused when it creaked, then waited a moment before continuing to push it open. The modest room housed only a bed and a dresser, no woman. Closing the door, he crept across the hall, repeating the procedure and entering the second room. He scanned it before deciding she must be in the last room at the end of the hall.

  Stopping only once as a floorboard creaked beneath him, he approached the third door. He listened for a moment but heard no sounds coming from inside. He reached forward, turning the knob with great care and pushing the door open, praying it didn’t squeak. With sword readied, John crept into the dark room, his eyes searching and processing everything in it with remarkable speed. Again, there was no sign of her. He scanned it a second time, anger snaking up his spine at the thought of her eluding him again. It didn’t make sense, though. A flesh and blood woman can’t disappear into thin air. No windows. No other doors. He had come in through the main entrance and the only other exit was out the door by the... barkeep. That traitorous bastard must have alerted her.

  Turning to run out of the room in hot pursuit, he heard a whooshing noise from above and felt a thud across his head. He watched in rapt fascination as, like a gigantic spider, she landed in front of him. She had been suspended in the rafters above his head the whole time.

  Damn this woman, he thought as he readied his sword. She had pulled one over on him again. Shaking with a rage unlike any other, he vowed this would be the last time.

  She stood silently between him and the door. Her red cloak covered her brilliant hair and only her red lips and creamy white skin showed from beneath it. He couldn’t see her eyes but he didn’t need to. She pulled a dagger from the holster strapped around her thigh, sliding it across the black leather pants that peaked out from beneath her cloak. Deftly, she lunged at John with it, poised to strike. He sidestepped her advance and pushed her as she slid past him, causing her to stumble. Like a cat, she was instantly back on her feet. He tried not to be impressed by this woman’s skills, but it was impossible not to take notice of her speed and agility. Like lightning, she charged at him again. He blocked her with his sword and pushed her away. She ran forward and disappeared beneath him, swiping his legs out from un
der him as she slid through them. He realized he had underestimated her as he flipped backward, landing on his arse with a thud.

  Before he could even process what had happened, she leapt on top of him, the tip of her sharp dagger pressing into his jugular so forcefully he could feel it thumping against his pulse. By God, who is this woman?

  “John Wesley Douglas. I am impressed that you found me,” she said, lowering her mouth to just above his. He couldn’t help but feel himself stir again as she straddled his manhood, her hot breath brushing his lips. The element of danger twined with the strong sexual chemistry, creating a lethal cocktail of lust. “Tsk tsk. You should have left me be.”

  “Left you be?” he raged. “You killed my friend. He was my family, you treacherous whore! What kind of man would I be if I let you get away with it?”

  He watched as her cloak slipped off her head, revealing her shiny red waves. The silver and black clasp of her cloak rested just on her clavicle. John cursed himself for still feeling aroused at the thought of unclasping it and revealing her breasts even while she sat with a dagger to his throat.

  “I did not kill your friend, even though I can see how you could come to that conclusion after our... interlude.”

  Her blue eyes bore into his and John couldn’t help but feel she may be telling the truth. Then again, what did he know? She had bested him twice already and now he was just supposed to believe her? She had killed Henry. It had to be her, even though her eyes indicated innocence. No, she was guilty. She had to be. In that moment, his pride won out, demanding that he not let her get the best of him. With lightning fast movement, John knocked the dagger away from his throat and sent her flying backward through the air. In an instant, he was on his feet and on top of her. He immobilized her before she could respond, her arms pinned above her head with one hand and her own dagger pressed to her throat with the other. She smiled and arched her meticulously groomed eyebrows.