Charlie slipped up beside John, watching him kick his horse, urging the winded animal to run faster. She threw her head back in laughter and winked at him, watching his face turn into bewilderment before she kissed to her mare and surged past him, leaving him in a cloud of dust. She glanced over her shoulder one last time and smiled as she watched him pull his gelding to a halt, admitting defeat when she disappeared over the hill.
After another minute of galloping, the nervous energy in her system seemed to wane. She slowed her mare to a halt and walked her in circles, allowing Duchess to catch her breath while she awaited John’s arrival. After a full two minutes, he lumbered over the hill, a look of defeat painted on his face.
“Glad you decided to join us, John!” she called out to him, triumph dripping from each syllable.
“Gloat all you want, dear. I let you win,” he said as he rode up next to her.
“Oh, really?”
“I did.”
“Now why on earth would you let me win, John?” she said, and raised her eyebrow, amused by his lack of humility and prepared to rub her victory right in his handsome face.
“Well, dearest Charlie, I let you win because the sight of your derriere riding away from me was more important that winning an impromptu horse race.”
Her mouth fell open and she watched as the mischievous boy she once knew flashed in the depths of his eyes. Her own were as wide as saucers while she watched his head fall back in laughter.
“Oh, Charlie. Don’t pretend to be a refined lady now. You had me pinned to the ground with a dagger to my throat just a week ago, remember?”
The look of shock faded and she laughed.
“So you do still know how to laugh?” he asked, smiling back at her. “I was wondering if the Charlotte I knew was still in there somewhere, hidden beneath the hardened shell of Charlie.”
Her laugh faded away as the hardened warrior returned. Now wasn’t the time for fun and games. “We’d best be moving on, John.” She urged Duchess into a walk as she spun away from him.
“Oh come on!” he teased, “I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just hard to believe it’s you is all. I thought about you for years, you know, wondering what happened to you. I begged my father to let me write you.”
She rode silently beside him, trying to push back the fond memories she had of him, his father, and the last happy days she could remember.
“What happened to you, Charlie? Where did you go? My father always said he didn’t know.”
“Well, John, after my father was brutally murdered in front of me, and with no mother, I was orphaned.” She paused for a moment, the pain of her father’s death stinging almost as strongly as it had that day. “I ended up with cousins north of London who raised me until I turned eighteen. After that, I was told about the Liberta and that my father had been the Grand Master.”
“I didn’t think that the Liberta had women assassins. The Order doesn’t, anyways.”
“Well, usually they don’t. But my father’s last words were for me to avenge him, so after much begging, they agreed to allow me to join the assassins training instead of the usual information gathering training women go through. My training master told me if I wanted to join, I would have to be twice as good as any man in order to stay, so I gave it everything I had. Nothing is going to stop me from bringing my father’s killer to justice.”
“I’d say you were an apt pupil,” John joked, rubbing the lump on his head that was finally fading.
“So, I trained for two years and then went on missions for the Liberta. During one, I found out that my father’s death was a suspected assassination from the Order. I vowed that day not to rest until I had avenged him. I have spent the last several years gathering information and stumbled across the true identity of your family. I realized I must have proof your father killed mine. Once I find it, I shall take his life.”
“Our organizations are exceptionally secret. I know of no Liberta only that they exist. I was under the impression that the Liberta were not aware of our identities, either. Apparently, I was mistaken. Actually, I barely know of any Lions, to be honest. We work in secret.”
“Usually, we don’t know your identities. Only that you exist as well. However, after years of searching, I found evidence of your family’s involvement in the Order. After finding out, I traveled to Brighton, and waited for you to throw one of the famous Douglas parties so I could infiltrate and get verification.”
“Ahhhhhh. The fated night you seduced me, drugged me, and stole my key. You treacherous thing, you.”
Charlie stifled a smile. She had waited a month for a Douglas party to be announced so she could gain entry into the house. She had watched all night, her sources telling her that only three keys would allow her entrance to the Lions’ office—John being the holder of one. After not seeing him since he was ten years old, she wasn’t even sure if she’d recognize him when the time came. It wasn’t until she’d spotted Robert and heard him call him by name that she had known it was her John.
She closed her eyes for a moment, remembering how her heart had momentarily stopped when she had first clapped eyes on him. He had looked so dashing in his formal suit. As she’d watched him move around the room, her heart had galloped at an accelerated pace. She had almost lost her nerve in that moment, thinking it would be impossible to play her part with him... her John. But then she’d met his eyes with her own. His devastatingly intense and beautiful eyes. She couldn’t have left then, even if she had willed her legs to move. It had taken everything in her to drug his wine before taking him to bed. And when she’d felt those strong arms around her? It was a good thing he’d succumbed to the sedative when he did since he’d presented a temptation she hadn’t thought she could resist.
“Did you feel bad?” His voice jolted her out of her impure thoughts.
“What?” she asked, as she tried to force the blush out of her cheeks.
“Did you feel bad? When you tricked me?”
“Not for a moment,” she lied, and then felt a twinge of regret as she saw a flash of pain cross his face.
“Well, I’m glad you are safe and well. I have wondered about your welfare often over the years, Charlie. I wish we could be meeting under different circumstances. The sworn enemies’ thing isn’t sitting well with me.” He chuckled, finally coaxing another small giggle out of her.
“WE SHOULD GET SOME rest tonight. Does this inn work for you?” John asked, pointing to the small inn at the edge of the village.
“I could use a cold ale and some shut eye.”
“You drink ale?”
Charlie suppressed a chuckle at his shocked expression. “Yes, John. Do you have some ethical dilemma over a woman enjoying a mug of ale?”
“No. I guess not,” he said, stumbling over the words. “I’ve just never met one who drank it. Wine is the preferred drink of the ladies I’m used to.”
“Then there’s your answer. I’m no lady.” She smiled and clucked to Duchess to pick up a trot toward the inn, with the warm light of the tavern shimmering below it. John laughed and urged his gelding on.
They rode to the adjoining stables and paid the groom to feed and water their horses and stall them for the night. Charlie followed John into the dark tavern and up to the bar where the bartender rested his elbows on the worn wood.
“Can I help you?”
“We’re looking for two rooms tonight,” John said, pulling up a stool.
“I’ve got one left.”
“We need two,” Charlie piped in.
“It’s one or nothing. I’ll leave you two to work it out between you.” He shrugged and turned away to help a thirsty man who was scraping his empty mug across the bar.
“You’re sleeping in the stable, then,” she stated matter-of-factly. “Barkeep, we’ll each have one of those as well.”
The barkeep nodded at her pointing finger.
“I’m not sleeping in the stables.”
“You’re not sleeping wi
th me.”
“Why don’t you sleep in the stables?”
“Me?” she scoffed, placing a hand on her hip in defiance. “I’m a lady.”
“Didn’t you just get done telling me you aren’t a lady?”
She shrugged and smiled. “I’m one tonight.” She grabbed the newly delivered mug of ale and tipped her head back, letting the cold liquid rush down her throat. She slammed down the empty mug.
“Oh, yes, without a doubt.” John rolled his eyes and shook his head.
“Ladies slam ale, John.”
“None that I know.”
“Then you’ve not met the right one yet.” She winked and smiled at the barkeep as he nodded in approval at the empty mug in front of her.
“I can’t argue that,” John said, laughing as she ordered another.
They finished their two ales and she pushed up from her stool. “I’m off to bed. He’ll pay for the room and the ale.”
The bartender nodded and handed her a key. “Thank you, miss. Third door on the right at the top of the stairs.”
“Goodnight, John. I’ll see you in the morning.” She slipped the key off the bar.
“Charlie. You can’t be serious. Where am I supposed to sleep?”
She kept walking and glanced over her shoulder at John, who still sat on his barstool looking bewildered. She would be lying if she didn’t admit sharing a bed with him hadn’t crossed her mind... several times.
“You’ll figure it out.” She winked and disappeared up the stairs.
CHAPTER FIVE
JOHN WATCHED HER SAUNTER up the stairs, out of sight. The bartender snickered and shook his head.
“What? What was I supposed to do? It’s not like she left me much choice,” John said, defending himself against the silent insult.
“She’s a feisty one.” The bartender laughed and slapped his hand down on the scratched mahogany bar.
“You’re telling me.” John took another sip from his ale, then lifted it in a silent toast to Charlie’s fiery personality.
As he relaxed with his ale, he tossed around all the possible meanings behind her bitter accusations. Was it possible his father had invited her father for a truce and then assassinated him? No. His father would never stoop that low. If not his father, then who had done it? Whoever it had been must have known her father was a Liberta. Who else could have known? If his father was in secret talks for a reconciliation, it sounded like Henry was the only one who may have known. Could it have been Henry? He needed to talk to his father. Together they would figure it out.
He rubbed his head in frustration and flagged the barkeep for another.
“Gin this time, please. If I’m sleeping out in the stable, I’m going to need a little extra.”
The barkeep laughed and nodded, replacing his ale mug with a glass, filling it up to the top with gin.
“This one’s on me. Anyone who has to travel with that vixen and keep his hands to himself deserves a little liquid reinforcement.”
“Thank you.” John laughed as he glanced over to where he had last seen her on the stairs. Charlotte... his Charlotte. She was sleeping above him. All these years he’d wondered what had become of her. Never would he have entertained the thought she was a Liberta. He also had never imagined she would grow to be so beautiful. Intoxicating. If he had to choose just one word to describe her, it would be that: intoxicating.
Thoughts of her undressing and slipping naked between the sheets kept rolling through his head. He tried to push them out by downing his glass of gin, welcoming the burn as the liquid slid down the back of his throat.
“Another?” the barkeep asked.
“Keep them coming.” He forced himself to look away from the stairs and get the thoughts of her taut, naked body out of his head before he ran up after her. He had only caught a flash of the tight, leather pants that she hid underneath her red cloak. They looked practically painted on. The shiny leather followed the length of her long legs.
The silver daggers that were strapped to each thigh were even more arousing, he thought, remembering her standing there in the room above the tavern, ready to slash him. He had never seen a woman in pants before, much less leather ones. He bet no one guessed what she had hidden underneath her cloak. Even though a lot of things she’d done in the past few days were decidedly unfeminine, she still heated his blood to near boiling. Charlie was no ordinary woman and he imagined she was quite a handful in the bedroom. He felt himself stir again.
“Again,” he said, and he slammed back another glass.
Six glasses of gin and a couple hours later, John slurred his words as he pled his case to the bartender.
“Why do I have to sleep outside? Huh? Who says a man and a woman, platonic, can’t share a room? Huh? Says who? I can sleep in a room with her and be a gentleman. I haven’t even thought about her naked.”
The bartender raised an eyebrow.
“All right, all right... I’ve thought about her naked. But that doesn’t mean I can’t behave alone in a room with her. And what did she mean by: ‘You’ll figure it out?’ Did she mean I’ll figure out where else to sleep or that I’ll figure out that she’s inviting me up? Which is it? Huh?”
The bartender shook his head and shrugged.
“You know what? I’m going up there. I paid for the damn room, so I’m sleeping in it. I’m not sleeping in the stables. She doesn’t get to just decide. I’m going up. To sleep. Unless she doesn’t want to sleep. But just to sleep. All right?”
The bartender nodded, a look of concern on his worn face, and handed him a key. “Good luck to you.”
John tipped his head to the bartender and stumbled a few steps before righting himself. “I’ll see you in the morning, good sir.”
“Or in a minute, if this goes the way I think it’s going to,” the bartender said with a smile.
John grinned in return and headed up the stairs, clutching the railing for balance.
“Third door on the right. There it is,” he mumbled to himself.
She’s just inside he thought to himself as he stared at the worn wooden door. You’ll figure it out. He kept repeating her phrase in his head.
“She meant for me to come up here, right?” John whispered to himself. He responded to his own question with a nod and a smile. “Of course, she did. Her eyes definitely said come up.” He reached for the door.
“No,” he pulled back his hand. “This is a bad idea. If I’m wrong, she will probably eviscerate me before I make it through the door. Definitely not a good idea.”
John turned to go back down the stairs. He pictured the barkeep staring smugly at him as he descended the stairs in defeat. John sighed and rested against the wall. He tried to convince himself that the decision to lean on it was his idea and not the gin’s.
“No. I’m not giving him the satisfaction,” he said, continuing the circular conversation with himself. “She meant for me to come in. Definitely.” He started back toward the room. He had a vision of her waiting for him, kneeling naked on the bed, her red waves covering her breasts as she slid her hand between her legs. John could barely contain himself as he reached once more for the door. He stopped himself... again.
“John, old chap. She will definitely kill you if you go in there. Definitely.” He sighed and stood confounded in the hallway. If he went down, the barkeep would certainly have a laugh on him. If he went in, he might die.
Here goes nothing.
He raised his hand to knock but decided, against his better judgement, to just use the key and head on in. “This is my room,” he said with a smirk. “I paid for it. I don’t need her permission.”
Opening the door, he stepped inside as if he belonged there. A quick glance around the dark room revealed the bed was empty. Where is she? A floorboard creaked to his right and he spun to see Charlie pinned on the floor, a man cloaked in black pushing a knife down at her throat while she struggled to resist it.
John’s hands moved instinctively to the dagger at his
waist. The intruder glanced up just as John’s blade flew across the room and lodged itself in the center of his forehead. The man froze for a moment, eyes wide open in the death stare, before falling limp at Charlie’s side.
“What the hell!” she shouted, as she hopped to her feet and spun around. Her eyes traveled between John, standing in the doorway, and then down to the dead man at her feet.
“Charlie! Are you all right? Are you hurt?” John bounded toward her, panic and concern increasing his heart rate as he looked her over for injury.
“What the hell are you doing in here, John?” she demanded.
“Saving you... obviously. He was going to kill you!”
“It was under control,” she huffed, kicking the knife away from the man’s body.
“Under control? He had you pinned!”
“I had it, John. One more second and I would have had that knife embedded in his throat.”
John tossed his hands up in submission. “Well, I’m sorry I saved you.”
“You didn’t save me.”
“You’re ungrateful.”
“Ungrateful? What exactly did you do that’s worthy of my gratitude? You sneaking into my room, which you still need to explain by the way, or you interrupting me while I was clearly winning?”
John huffed and spun around, the gin causing him to stumble a few steps before straightening back up again.
“Are you drunk?”
“No.”
“You’re drunk.”
“I am not.”
“You just threw a dagger inches from my head and you’re drunk. You could have killed me!” She struggled to keep her voice lowered.
John scoffed as he pointed to the man at their feet with a dagger square between the eyes. “I could hit a grain of rice at ten yards blindfolded and so drunk I couldn’t even stand up. You were in no danger, Charlie.”
“So you say.” She rolled her eyes.
“And I’m not drunk.”
“Mmmhmmm.”
In The Assassin's Arms (Daggers 0f Desire Book 1) Page 5