Angel's Assassin

by Laurel O'Donnell

  Aurora straightened, reaching for the cloth beside the basin as Damien opened the door to allow Ormand entrance.

  “He said it was quite urgent,” Ormand added.

  Damien came to her, moving close so Ormand didn’t hear. “Your father wishes to speak to me,” Damien said quietly.

  Aurora nodded, but didn’t miss the trepidation in his gaze. “Perhaps I should find Rupert to stay with me.”

  Ormand joined them. “I am quite capable of protecting you,” he insisted.

  Aurora cast a glance at Damien and then at Ormand. “I have no doubt.”

  Ormand faced Damien. “We will be fine. Until you return.”

  Damien’s hand rested on the pommel of his sword.

  “Really,” Ormand protested. “You don’t need your sword to speak with Lord Gabriel.”

  “I always wear my weapon,” Damien answered and departed.

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Damien crossed the inner ward, moving toward the stables. He didn’t like leaving Aurora alone. Not for one moment, but whatever Lord Gabriel wanted, it must be very important to risk summoning him away from her.

  Darkness had descended over the ward, which suited Damien fine. He thrived in the darkness. It was where he felt the most comfortable, the most hidden. It had been his home for so long, a home that harbored him against taskmasters, comforted his pain, gave him solace. It was strange now to long for Aurora’s light.

  He saw the wooden building of the stables ahead. Why was Gabriel in the stables so late? The courtyard was almost completely empty. Through the gaps at the top and bottom of the stable door, Damien saw no light. He paused, every one of his instincts shouting in warning. Something was not right.

  “Good eve, bodyguard.”

  Damien slowly turned.

  Harold stood about ten feet from him, his hands resting on his hips. “An adequate bodyguard would have heard me approach.”

  Damien grit his teeth. He should have heard him, Harold was right on that account. He would not make that mistake again. “Where is Lord Gabriel?”

  Harold’s smile was more of a grimace. He approached Damien. “At this hour? Most likely crapping out his evening meal.”

  This time, Damien heard the others. He swiveled his gaze from left to right. There was one man wearing a faded brown tunic approaching from Damien’s right. The man paused to spit and when he wiped his mouth, Damien noticed the gold rings on his fingers. On Damien’s left, another man approached, cracking his knuckles. His dark beard hung to his mid chest, trimmed to a point.

  “You see, we have discovered something,” Harold guffawed.

  Damien’s fists clenched.

  “We’ve discovered that you are no longer needed.” Harold stopped a few feet from Damien.

  “You are endangering Lady Aurora’s life by taking me away from her,” Damien warned quietly.

  “That is where you are wrong,” Harold hissed. “Castle Acquitaine is full of very willing and able guards to protect Lady Aurora.”

  “Where were all these willing and able guards when the assassins tried to kill her?” Damien growled. “Where were you?”

  Harold straightened, his jaw clenched.

  “You can talk about saving Aurora. But I have proven myself. Now get out of my way so I can return to my duty.”

  Harold’s lip curled in hatred. “Your duty will end shortly.”

  “This is not a game. It is not a tournament. Lady Aurora’s life is in danger. There are people who will kill her. And you are preventing me from protecting her.”

  “There are better men than you to protect her.”

  The beast inside Damien stirred. “Your jealousy has put Aurora in danger before. I will not allow that to happen again.” Damien moved forward to brush by Harold.

  Harold planted a hand squarely on Damien’s chest to shove him back.

  Damien grabbed Harold’s wrist and twisted. Harold went down to his knee, grimacing.

  The other two men jumped on Damien, pushing him to the ground. He caught a blow in his stomach, which was ineffectual, as he had steeled himself against the attack. This is what he was trained for. He was a fighter. The beast roared forth from inside of him and he hammered an elbow into one of the men’s face. He hoped it was Harold. A satisfying cry followed his movement.

  Another blow slammed into his side and then another into his back. One of the two men on top of him, probably the one he hit in the face, pulled back, giving Damien all the room he needed. He swept his elbow around and rolled, swinging his arm out to shove the other man aside. The one man crashed into the other, flying off of him. Damien leapt to his feet.

  A stunning blow to his jaw almost felled him, but Damien used the impetus to counter with his left.

  Harold went down beneath the solid connection to his cheek.

  Damien had been taught to use either his left or his right hand in battle. He had learned, also, to force pain aside. The raging beast was another matter. It bellowed for vindication; it demanded death.

  Damien grabbed Harold by the tunic collar and hauled him to his feet, blasting two more blows into his face before the man even had time to put up his hands.

  Damien heard the footsteps approaching behind him. He released Harold, and instinctively ducked. He heard a whoosh and struck out with his foot, slamming the pointed beard man back. He rammed his elbow into the ringed man’s stomach and heard a grunt as it landed its mark.

  Damien turned and looked down at the bearded man. He was struggling to his feet, a shovel clutched in his hand. A weapon. In Damien’s world, at Castle Roke, that would mean death. Any weapon could be used to end a life and if the combatants chose to use one during a battle, it turned into a match to the death. Damien snarled.

  The bearded man faced Damien, his eyes glowing as darkly hateful as Harold’s. He would not surrender. And Damien did not want him to. The beast demanded retribution. It wanted blood.

  The bearded man began to circle to Damien’s right. Damien did not move. He followed him with his eyes, every one of his senses heightened. He heard a shuffle behind him as either Harold or the ringed man attempted to surround him. Foolish rogues. They had no idea who they faced.

  A movement to Damien’s left heralded another attack. Damien held up his arm, blocking the swing from Harold. Damien countered with an upper cut.

  The bearded man rushed forward, his shovel held high.

  Damien swung Harold around, catapulting him into the bearded man. Both men fell amidst a tangle of arms and legs.

  Damien whirled on the ringed man, freezing him in the midst of a full out run with a mere look. The man nodded, put his hands up and backed away. Damien turned to Harold and the bearded man. He approached them like a thundercloud, tumultuous and dangerous.

  Harold pushed the man with the shovel off of him, just in time for Damien to grab his tunic and pull him close.

  The bearded man reached for the shovel, but Damien stepped on the man’s hand as he grasped the handle. Damien growled at him, putting all his weight into a sharp downward step. A crunching of bone sounded and the bearded man hollered. Damien lifted his foot.

  The bearded man clasped his mangled fingers to his chest and retreated.

  Damien’s gaze shifted with a predatory intensity to Harold.

  “What are you going to do? Kill me?” Harold demanded.

  Damien pulled him close. “Isn’t that what I promised?”

  Harold’s confidence slipped. His gaze swiveled as he searched for the others, but when he saw his companions gone, his cockiness vanished. “It won’t matter what you do to me,” Harold whispered with savagery. “You won’t have a duty here any longer and that will be reward enough.”

  Damien knew he could kill Harold with a quick twist of his neck. Or he could slam the palm of his hand up into his nose and drive his bone into his brain. There were perhaps a half dozen ways he could take Harold’s life. But what would Aurora think of him if he did? “Your threats mean nothing to me.”<
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  “They are not threats,” Harold laughed. “Once Lady Aurora and Count Ormand are discovered, he will be the one to –”

  Damien stiffened. Ormand and Aurora discovered? Realization speared through him. This had not been a trap only for him! He released Harold and raced across the inner ward. Aurora! If Ormand touched her. If he so much as lay a hand on her…

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Aurora wiped her hands on the cloth and set it back beside the basin on the table. When she turned to Ormand, she could have sworn he had been grinning at her. His smile disintegrated and he took a step forward, his brow furrowed in concern. “Have you been crying?”

  Aurora looked away. “I’m just tired…” she whispered. It wasn’t really a lie. Physical and emotional exhaustion drained her.

  “Yes, it is late,” Ormand said, but there was no concern in his voice. He approached, his intent look sweeping down and up her body.

  A sudden tingle of apprehension sliced through her and Aurora realized they were alone, truly alone, for the first time.

  He stopped before her, reaching out to capture her hand in his. “You were alone with Damien.”

  It was a statement and Aurora didn’t feel it merited a response.

  He stroked her hand, running his thumb up and down her palm. His hold on her wrist tightened. “I am displeased about this.”

  “Damien and I were speaking. There was nothing improper about it.”

  Ormand’s eyes flashed in the candlelight. “The door was closed and the two of you were alone. I think you fancy him too much.”

  Aurora didn’t like the angry undertone in his voice. She tried to pull her hand free. “Damien and I were talking. There is nothing improper for you to be concerned about.”

  His grip tightened on her wrist. Darkness crept into his blue eyes. “Yet, in the forest he was half naked. It was quite inappropriate. Think of how it would look to someone who did not know you.”

  Aurora narrowed her eyes and yanked her hand free. “What are you trying to say?”

  He straightened to his full height and looked down at her. “I am saying I do not like the fact you were alone in your chambers with a man who has no reservations about shedding his clothing in your presence.”

  “I hardly think taking his shirt off is shedding his clothing.”

  “Nevertheless,” Ormand argued. “It is offensive to me.”

  “Do you think I will fall in love with him simply because he takes his shirt off? Because I can most certainly assure you that I will not.”

  “Love?” Ormand questioned. “Who said anything about love?” He looked at her for a long moment. “I simply worry for your safety, my dear. You must admit we know virtually nothing of him. He could be a black hearted rogue for all we know –”

  “But he is not.”

  “Or a rapist. And to let him stay –”

  “I hardly think that a rapist or a black hearted rogue would save me from death just to have his way with me.”

  Ormand stared thoughtfully at Aurora for another long moment. “I must wonder about your judgment these last days.” He took a step closer to her. “You seem to be allowing any manner of man into your room.”

  Aurora crossed her arms. “I am insulted, Count Ormand. My judgment is rational, as always.”

  “Is it?” he wondered and took another step closer to her. “When you make yourself so available by inviting men into your bed chambers at night that sends the wrong message.” His gaze dropped to her lips before moving back to her eyes.

  A shiver of warning coursed through Aurora. She didn’t like the way he looked at her, as if he were gazing upon his favorite food. She stood her ground, refusing to be intimidated by him.

  Ormand’s gaze swept further down her body, lingering on her chest before returning to her eyes. “I will be a very devoted husband.”

  He was far too close. With the bed behind her and Ormand before her, Aurora felt like a caged canary. “I am sure you will make a fine husband.”

  Ormand grinned. “Very fine.”

  Oh, Lord. She was in trouble. He leaned toward her, his lips puckered. Aurora moved quickly to the side, away from his kiss. “I am flattered, Count, but I think we should wait until after we are married. After all, what will my people think?”

  Ormand scowled. “I am afraid on this matter I must insist.” He darted between her and the door.

  “I think you should leave my room,” she commanded.

  “Not quite yet,” Ormand said dangerously. “I haven’t gotten what I came for.” He reached out with the intention of capturing her.

  Aurora backed from his grasp and scrambled across the bed, racing for the door. She clasped the handle and pulled the door open.

  Ormand placed a hand on the door and slammed it shut. “I mean to have you as my wife. And I will do what it takes to ensure that happens.”

  Aurora whirled. “You have the audacity to call Damien black hearted. That title belongs to you.”

  Ormand’s lips thinned. He grabbed her arms.

  Suddenly, the door slammed open, hitting Aurora in the back. She jerked forward, slamming her chin into Ormand’s lips. He fell backward hard and Aurora landed on top of him. She quickly rolled away from the count and looked up.

  Damien stood in the doorway, his dark eyes burning with fury, his jaw clenched tight. He looked like a tenuously chained beast bent on murder. Behind the murderous rage, relief flickered in his dark orbs as he gazed at her.

  Aurora gasped, reaching out a hand to him.

  Damien was at her side in an instant, clasping her hand and helping her to her feet. His furious gaze swept over her, touching every feature, every strand of hair, searching. “Are you hurt?” he asked in a remarkably restrained voice.

  Aurora shook her head.

  Ormand stood, drawing Damien’s gaze. Every muscle of Damien’s body chorded, ready to pounce.

  “That bastard set me up,” Damien snarled. “Your father wasn’t in the stables.”

  Aurora noticed the blood on Damien’s lip and her heart leapt in concern. Her gaze scanned his body, but there were no further signs of injury.

  “Aurora?”

  Aurora turned to see her father in the open doorway.

  Gabriel scowled. “Count Ormand’s man informed me Damien abandoned his post.”

  Damien growled low in his throat.

  Aurora shook her head. “It was all Ormand’s doing,” Aurora proclaimed. “He told Damien you wanted to speak to him in the stables.”

  “The stables?” Gabriel echoed.

  “He was going to compromise me,” Aurora said.

  Rage rolled off Damien, thick and hot.

  Gabriel gasped.

  Damien jerked forward, but Aurora caught his arm.

  Ormand locked eyes with her, feigning shock and surprise.

  “Ormand had his men fetch you, Father, with the intention of finding Ormand and I together. I would have had no choice but to wed Ormand immediately, in shame.”

  Ormand’s face slowly reddened. “This… this is madness. I have every respect for Lady Aurora. I would never –”

  “Sir Harold and two others ambushed me on the way to the stables. They’ll confirm his plan,” Damien said between clenched teeth.

  Ormand stuttered.

  Gabriel moved forward. “Is this true?

  Ormand opened his mouth and then closed it, his gaze moving from person to person. Finally, he drew himself up beneath their contempt. “I did it for her own good! Look at him!” He flicked a hand at Damien. “A commoner! Allowed into her room. Alone. Disrespectable.”

  “He is more respectable than you are,” Aurora challenged.

  Ormand’s jaw clenched tight as his disdainful glare settled on Damien. “Look at him. The way he hovers over you is more possession than anything else. Yes, he protects you. For himself! I would not be surprised to find he is in love with you!”

  “This is unforgivable, Ormand,” Gabriel said hotly. “You are r
ambling like a lunatic. I broke the betrothal. The marriage is off. And now, I want you out of Acquitaine.”

  ***

  Castle Roke is a dreary place, Captain Trane thought as he followed a man the size of an oak tree down a hall. It had taken him an extra day to reach the home of Warin Roke because his horse had stepped on a stray broken arrow shaft and he had to get the animal mended before he could continue. Trane disliked the place as soon as he entered. He studied the gray and white workings of a tapestry hanging on the wall, depicting a scene of a naked woman held down by chains and a line of unclothed men awaiting their turn with her. No windows lined these hallways; only sparse torches lit the way. Large stone winged beasts guarded the corridors, warding off all who would enter, friend and foe alike. The man opened the last door and allowed him entrance. There were no windows set into the walls, and no light except for a lone torch against one wall.

  The man bowed slightly. “Wait here,” he instructed and departed the room.

  Captain Trane looked around. The darkness of the room was all encompassing. There could be an army hiding in the shadows and he would never know it. Or he could be alone. Why make him wait in the dark like this? Trane glanced over his shoulder. The hairs at the back of his neck bristled. His stomach tightened with anxiety. Something was not right.

  “Good evening, Captain Trane,” a voice hissed from the darkness.

  Trane turned toward the voice. He had not heard a door open. His jaw tightened. “I am here to speak with Lord Warin Roke.”

  “Speak,” the voice commanded.

  Trane’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he straightened in regal dignity. “I come as an emissary from Castle Acquitaine,” Trane said. “I have a note from Lord Gabriel.”

  There was a moment of complete silence. Captain Trane opened his mouth to repeat his statement when he heard a rustle behind him and whirled. Roke, a mere shadow himself in his black garb, stood inside the small circle of light thrown by the lone burning torch.

  Trane hated this man. He didn’t trust him. Still, he handed Roke the missive as was his directive from Lord Gabriel.