Legends of Medieval Romance: The Complete Angel's Assassin Trilogy

by Laurel O'Donnell

  Trane frowned at Roke’s casual attitude toward his lady’s life being in jeopardy. His teeth gritted with impatience. He moved to step past him into the hallway, but paused as another thought struck him. “Do you know someone named Damien?”

  “Has he done something?” Roke asked.

  “No,” Trane answered, looking into Roke’s black eyes. “On the contrary. He saved Lady Aurora’s life.”

  Roke remained stoic. “Yes. I’ve heard. He is quite the hero.”

  “I will not wait!” a voice hollered from down the hallway.

  Trane turned to see a short man marching down the hallway, storming past a guard. He recognized him as Lord Hartford, one of Lady Aurora’s rejected suitors. The man had caused quite a scene upon hearing of his rejection. Trane remembered he had to escort the man to Acquitaine’s borders after his dismissal. His dark hair was in disarray, his brows furrowed in displeasure and anger.

  The large man standing guard at the entrance jerked forward, but Roke raised his hand and the man settled back into his stance of ease. Roke stepped out into the hallway.

  “What the devil, Roke!” Lord Hartford exploded as he neared. “You told me she would be dead. You told me!”

  “Missions take time,” Roke said patiently.

  “Not this one! Two men. I paid for two men.” He held up a letter. “I have received word that both are dead.”

  “Yes. I received word as well. Disappointing, really. But very interesting, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Interesting?! I paid well for their services and now they are dead! How is that interesting?”

  “They were two of my best men,” Roke explained. “I, too, have lost valuable assets.”

  “I won’t give you the rest of the coin until it is finished.”

  Roke’s eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened. “That wasn’t the deal. You bought two assassins.”

  “Assassins?” Trane murmured, scowling.

  “And they failed. How is that my fault?” Hartford exclaimed, holding up the parchment. “It’s yours! You failed.”

  “Actually, I succeeded, as this missive is testament.” Roke waved the parchment Captain Trane had just given him, smiling without opening his lips.

  “I won’t pay for failure.”

  Roke nodded glumly. “I certainly understand your position. But you must understand I am a man of business. You paid for assassins. I delivered assassins.”

  The large man began to move slowly around behind Hartford.

  “And it would not be good business were I to lose my assets and my pay,” Roke added.

  “I don’t give a damn about your pay, Roke. The mission is not complete. She is not dead.” He threw the letter down to the stone floor. “Give me two more assassins.”

  Trane’s hand dropped to the pommel of his sword. Assassins? Her? They couldn’t be speaking about Lady Aurora!

  “You didn’t finish paying for the first two and now you want more?” Roke asked with false humor. “I think not.”

  “I’ll tell everyone, Roke. I’ll tell them all exactly what kind of business you run here.”

  Roke’s eyes grew darker. “This is not a free service.” He slightly inclined his head in a barely discernable gesture. “I think there will be no more deals between us.”

  The large man was a blur of speed as he moved forward, stabbing Lord Hartford in the back.

  “I’m afraid I cannot allow you to be spilling my little secret here,” Roke whispered. “So I shall spill your blood instead.”

  Trane involuntarily flinched back as Hartford’s body arched against the dagger and crumpled to the floor.

  Roke turned to Trane. “I’m terribly sorry for the interruption, Captain Trane. Truly. But you now have my undivided attention.”

  Shocked by the quick flurry of events and flood of information, Captain Trane backed into the dark room, drawing his sword.

  “Yes, undivided. You see, my dear Captain Trane, I cannot let you leave Castle Roke. Ever.”

  Captain Trane heard a thunk and a pressure tightened his chest. He looked down. A dagger protruded from the middle of his torso. For a long moment, he stared in bewilderment.

  And then another dagger appeared in his belly. And then another.

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Aurora swiped a weary hand across her forehead. Her shoulders slumped as she sat on her bed. She glanced at her father who was speaking to Sir Rupert in the doorway. Stern disapproval etched his wrinkled brow. Rupert nodded and looked down.

  All her father’s work had been for naught. It had taken months for him to choose an appropriate suitor for her from the mountains of proposals he had received. Then, months of negotiating a dowry with Ormand. Only to have to repeat the process now.

  Her father turned and came into her chambers.

  “Father,” Aurora began and boosted herself off the bed to face him. “All your work…”

  Gabriel shook his head. “Ormand was a deceitful, unworthy man. Certainly unfit to be your husband.”

  Aurora nodded, bowing her head.

  “You have rings beneath your eyes, child. You need to rest. Don’t worry. This will all work out.”

  Aurora leaned in to place a kiss on his cheek. She crept a glance toward Damien standing in the corner, cloaked in the darkness. She knew his lip was still bleeding from the attack. She moved to the basin on the table and wet the cloth beside it. She walked to Damien and wordlessly handed him the cloth. She didn’t look at him; she couldn’t. Every time she did, her mind replayed the image of his arms around Helen and her heart shattered. He took the cloth, wiped at his mouth, then set the cloth down.

  “Ahh, yes!” Gabriel exclaimed and snapped his fingers.

  A young boy rushed forward.

  Gabriel bent and whispered to the boy.

  The child nodded, brushing a lock of brown hair from his eyes and took off running down the hallway.

  Gabriel turned to Damien. “I have something for you, Damien.”

  The boy returned promptly, holding a sheathed sword in his small hand.

  Gabriel took the sheathed weapon and held it out to Damien.

  Damien hesitated a moment before taking the offered weapon. The leather casing was expertly crafted, etched with elaborate scrollwork. The tightly wound black leather handle was simple for such a fancy casing. He grasped the handle reverently and slowly pulled the sword from the sheath. The polished metal of the blade glinted from a torch’s fire on the wall as it came free. He placed the sheath at his feet and lobbed the sword from hand to hand, testing it.

  Lord Gabriel smiled. “It is a fine piece of workmanship. Amazingly simple, yet very deadly. It is yours.”

  Damien looked back at the weapon in shock.

  “It is a very small token of my appreciation for all that you have done,” Gabriel explained sincerely.

  Damien sheathed the weapon. “Many thanks, Lord Gabriel.”

  Damien’s gaze swept Aurora’s beautiful, flawless face as she slept. She was an angel. And he had hurt her. She had refused to look at him for long lengths of time and he felt the emptiness of her withdrawal. The dim lighting gave her an ethereal glow, making her look somehow dreamlike. Her skin was unblemished and smooth. Her hair shimmered like gold as it fanned out over the pillow she slept on. She was so heavenly, so pure. So damned good.

  Damien sighed, shaking his head, and walked to the window. It was better this way, he told himself. Better for her not to be a part of his life, not to let his past sins taint her.

  Damien lifted a hand to run through his hair, unconvinced even in his own mind. The sleeve of his tunic caught on the pommel of his new sword. He eased it once again from the sheath. It was a beautiful weapon, reminding him in many aspects of Aurora. Polished. Beautiful. Stunning.

  Rupert’s snores echoed from across the room where he sat, slumped, in a chair.

  Damien ignored him and studied the weapon. He hefted the sword from hand to hand. The balance was impeccable. The weight was per
fect for him. He slashed at the air, testing it. It was like an extension of his arm. He liked the way it felt in his hand.

  Damien hacked at an imaginary foe. He swung the blade through the air and whirled, blocking. He dodged left and swung. A grin formed on his lips. A precise weapon. He swung repeatedly, moving, dodging, thrusting. Testing. His own sword had cost him a month’s wages. And this sword… this sword would only cost him his soul. Damien gritted his teeth at the thought. Still, he could not help but admire the weapon. It was magnificent. As if it had always be meant for him.

  Suddenly, a tingling at the base of his neck caused him to turn.

  Wide blue eyes sparkled in the moonlight.

  Damien lowered the sword and answered Aurora’s stare with one of his own. For a long moment he could not move, consuming her with his gaze. Her beautiful hair was the gold of treasures, spread out across the pillow like a priceless fan spun from sacred honey. Her flawless skin was as smooth as the richest velvet. Her lips were lusciously bowed and slightly parted. She was the loveliest creature he had ever laid eyes on. And he wanted her. He wanted to put his hands on her body and make her writhe with desire. The thought that no other man had ever touched her, that no man had ever awakened her sensual side, made Aurora all the more appealing. And all the more forbidden.

  The heat of the exercise coursed through his body, enhancing his craving to full blown lust. He growled low in his throat and approached the bed.

  Damien stared down at her. All thoughts of freedom and mission vanished beneath her agony-filled eyes. His chest hurt as he gazed at her. He wanted to shout to the heavens above that it was not fair he had to make the choice. Failing his mission or gaining his freedom.

  One more day. Only one more.

  She turned her head away from him.

  He stood over her for a moment longer, basking in the glow of her goodness. It would not be enough, never enough. He did not belong there, as much as he wanted it, as much as he wanted her. Slowly, reluctantly, he stepped back into the shadows, where he belonged.

  It was late afternoon when Aurora finally rose. She sat in a chair, her back straight, as Helen combed her hair. She hated the loneliness settling in her soul at Damien’s absence, even though she knew he waited a few feet away in the hallway.

  Helen gasped in exuberance and moved to the garderobe to pick out a beautiful blue dress made of opulent velvet. She spun it around before laying it on the bed. “Isn’t he handsome?”

  Aurora couldn’t even look at Helen without the image of Damien’s lips on Helen’s searing to the forefront of her mind.

  Helen sat on the bed beside the dress. “I think I love him,” Helen admitted.

  “Who is it today?” Aurora wondered. She had heard the words before from Helen. Many times. But none of those times had brought this much sadness.

  “Damien, of course.”

  Aurora’s heart plummeted in despair. “How do you know?” she asked, dreading the answer.

  Helen stood with boundless energy, as if she could not stay seated. She glided across the floor to the table near the wall and picked up a cloth. She plunged the cloth into the basin full of water. “He is not like any other man I have known. My heart thumps in my chest when he is near. And when he looks at me with those eyes!” She shook her head, breathlessly, her hand over her heart. “I feel as though I am falling into them. I want to be with him all of the time.”

  Aurora looked down at her entwined hands where they rested in her lap. She hoped to hide the anguish tearing her apart. Every word Helen uttered was a description of her own feelings. How had this happened?

  Helen wrung the cloth out and turned to Aurora. “He kissed me,” she whispered. “And it felt like I touched the very stars.”

  Aurora could not lift her head. She remembered how Damien’s kiss made her world spin, her mind dizzy. Tears burned her eyes, punishing her for the sin she committed.

  “Oh, and his wicked touch,” Helen continued in a sigh as she approached Aurora. “I could hardly breathe.”

  For a moment, Aurora could not move. She fought valiantly to regain control of her emotions. She was Lady of Acquitaine. She could not hold tender feelings for a man who kissed other women. For a man who only wanted to knock her from a pedestal. And yet, the tears would not be banished.

  Helen wiped the cloth along her cheek. “I know it was wrong, but I couldn’t help it,” Helen confided in a breathless whisper. “I would have given him anything had he merely asked.”

  Aurora’s spirits sank as a thickness welled in her throat. How could she have let Damien kiss her? How could she have let him? But the memory of his hot mouth moving over hers only caused her chest to constrict further.

  “He is so strong, and –”

  “That will be all for now, Helen,” Aurora said with more command than she had intended.

  Helen stepped back, shocked. “I haven’t done your hair,” Helen said quietly.

  “I’ll do it,” Aurora whispered.

  Helen bobbed a curtsey, hiding her surprise. “Yes, m’lady.” Helen walked to the door.

  Doubt filled Aurora. She knew she should call Helen back and apologize for her abruptness. But she did not want to hear how Damien had touched her cousin, how he kissed her. She could not bear the image engrained on her mind. She demanded her mind stop replaying the scene. Instead, her traitorous body let a tear pass from her eye unchecked.

  Alexander knew the answer was here. He just needed to find it. He stared down at the headless assassin. This corpse was the victim of Damien’s blade from the forest attack. Alexander had paid the cemetery keeper a coin to see the body. Well, what was left of him anyway. His body was there, as was his head; they were just not connected.

  Alexander lifted the man’s arm and pulled up his tunic. There it was. The black circle with the x through it. The brand that he had discovered on the other assassin. The mark that connected them. Both assassins were sent by the same man. But who?

  Alexander placed the arm back in place. He stared at the decapitation. It was so clean. It took a lot of strength to take a man’s head clean off his shoulders. He leaned forward, inspecting the cut. The blood had long since either drained from his body or stopped flowing. But this wasn’t what Alexander was looking at. It was the slice, the cut. So very clean. The killing blow was delivered with a very sharp sword. But most swords had a sharp edge, so that wasn’t what struck him as different about this kill.

  No, this strike was brutal. Filled with anger. Vicious. Alexander moved to the head lying beside the body. He grabbed hold of the hair and lifted the head. He pictured the assassin standing there.

  He drew an invisible path along the severed neck of the man indicating where the sword had entered and where it had come out. He could tell because the skin was flapping on the exit side. He turned the head to look at the exit path of the blade. His eyes narrowed. It was a remarkable cut. The strength, the precision. He had seen only one other cut so precise.

  He had been in a town where the captain of the guard, Alexander couldn’t even remember the man’s name, had been killed. But he remembered the blow. The assassin had completely severed the head. Just like this one. Clean, precise.

  Slowly, Alexander lowered the head back to the body. God’s blood!

  He looked back at the castle. He knew who the assassin was! Aurora was in danger.

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Alexander hurried down the hallway. He had to get to Aurora. She had to know she was in danger. He had to reach her. Damn. The assassin had always been in the castle, beside Aurora. Pretending to protect her.

  Damien stood outside of the room, his arms crossed over his chest. He gritted his teeth. Helen was inside alone with Aurora. What was she telling her? And worse, he knew Aurora would believe that deceitful wench.

  The door opened and Helen emerged, closing the door softly behind her. She lifted a victorious smile to Damien.

  Damien wanted to throttle her; he wanted to wrap his fingers
around Helen’s neck and squeeze until she no longer could take a breath. Instead, he wrapped his fingers over the door handle and opened the door, entering Aurora’s room.

  Alexander rounded a corner and entered the stairway, taking the stone stairs two at a time. He ran to Aurora’s room and flung the door open. “Aurora?”

  The room was dark. He entered, his heart clenching tight in dread. Was he too late?

  Dim light shone through one of the thin vertical window slits carved in the wall. She would usually be here at this time of day, embroidering with some of her ladies. Alexander’s gaze swept the darkness. Had Damien already killed her? The dim lighting made it impossible to see anything except for the chair two feet in front of him.

  A rustling sound behind him made him spin toward the noise. He wasn’t alone. He whipped his sword from its scabbard.

  Behind him, a shadow separated from the wall and came forward, the glint of a dagger shining off the light in the hallway.

  The whispery kiss of a sharp blade hissed across his throat. Pain followed the slice and Alexander lifted his hand to his neck. Blood flowed quick and free from the fatal cut. He tried to stem it, pressing his hand to his throat, but there was no stopping the wet stream spreading through, and down, his fingers. He stumbled and fell to his knees, swinging the sword wildly in desperation to ward off anyone near him. The blade only cut through empty air.

  As darkness crept in at the corners of his vision, a man stepped forward, not the man he had expected, but another man. A man with the same eyes as Damien.

  Alexander took a final gurgling breath. He wouldn’t be able to save Aurora. She was the last thought he had before his body went limp.

  Aurora knelt on the stone floor of the chapel, her head bowed with the weight of her guilt. Oh, she had sinned. She deserved to be punished for what she allowed Damien to do to her. Kiss her. Touch her. She clasped her hands so tightly her knuckles burned. The worst sin of all was to have these feelings for him! To want to kiss him. To look for him wherever she went.