Beloved in His Eyes (Angel's Assassin Book 3)

by Laurel O'Donnell

  “Neither do I. But the moment I found you safe with the gypsies...” He shook his head and ran his hand through his hair. “It was like... like...”

  “Like a ton of mortar stones had been lifted from your shoulders. And that maybe there was hope. Maybe everything was going to be all right.” It was how she felt the moment she had laid eyes on him. She couldn’t help it. She lifted a hand and touched his cheek. “Thank you for looking for me.”

  He wrapped his arms around her, drawing her close against him.

  He was so hard and so strong. She had been so wrapped up with protecting her brother and being responsible for him that she failed to see how much Gawyn had come to mean to her. Even though…

  She stepped back, bowing her head.

  “What is it?”

  “I know what you were. I know that you killed people. But when I was out there, it didn’t matter. I only thought of you.”

  Gawyn nodded but made no move to come to her.

  “You knew how I felt and you still came for me.”

  “I had to.”

  “Why?” Justina asked. Gawyn looked at her with such tenderness and such longing that Justina’s heart melted.

  “I’ve never felt this way about anyone. You’ve surprised me at every turn. No one does that.” He took a step closer to her. “You are all I think about. All I desire.” He traced a curl of her dark hair. “I think I just might be falling in love with you.”

  “Me?”

  He took a step back from her, dropping his hands to his side. “I’m so sorry I let you down, Justina. And I would understand if you never wanted to see me aga --”

  She entwined her hands around his neck and lifted up on her toes to press her lips against his. Let her down? He never let her down! He had come after her, knowing the Hungars were attacking! He loved her! Her heart sped up and her pulse quickened in response to his closeness, to his touch. She parted her lips for his exploration. His kiss was surprisingly gentle and patient. She trembled at the sweet tenderness of his touch. But it wasn’t enough for her. She wanted to lose herself in him. She wanted to love him.

  She stepped back toward the bed without breaking the kiss, pulling him with her.

  He hesitated. “Justina,” he said softly.

  “Please Gawyn. Please. Don’t deny me. Not now.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked. “You’ve been through so much.”

  Always thinking of her. What more could she ask? “I think we should get out of these dirty clothes.” She ran her hands over his strong shoulders.

  Gawyn acquiesced with a nod. He pulled her over to the steaming tub. He picked up a clean cloth, dipping it into the water. He ran it over her forehead, the dirt coming off her skin. He dipped it in the water again and brushed it across her cheeks and her nose, then her chin, cleaning her face. He grinned. “I can’t imagine how I look.”

  Her gaze swept his face. His strong nose, sensual lips, and warm brown eyes. “Amazing,” she whispered.

  He smiled, and some caked dirt fell from his cheek. His gaze moved slowly over her face and everywhere his smoldering look touched, prickles of heat flared to life. He took hold of her floor length tunic and paused. He looked her in the eyes as he slowly lifted the garment over her head. Pieces of dried mud fell off the tunic to the floor as Gawyn tossed the tunic aside.

  She stood in her chemise.

  The warm fire crackled in the hearth behind her.

  Gawyn lifted his tunic over his head, revealing his glorious torso inch by inch. He was magnificent. A fighter. Hard planes lined his ridged stomach. The muscles of his upper body were defined and sculpted. He was much stronger than she had believed. She eased the cloth from his hand and dipped it in the water. She brushed it across his shoulders and drops of water fell over his skin. She slowly slid the cloth across his chest and his dark nipples tightened. The dirt came away leaving a gleaming, glowing torso.

  Justina stared at his magnificence. She wanted to see all of him. She untied his leggings, but Gawyn caught her hands. He stepped back and pulled one boot off and then the other. Both landed on the floor.

  He returned to her side and Justina eased his leggings down. She reached behind him to push them over his bottom, letting her hand slide over his warm skin. When she pulled back, she saw just how excited he was. She lifted her gaze to his face again.

  They came together in a rush of longing and need, their bodies fusing, their kiss desperate and heated.

  They made love in the tub and throughout the night, spending their time in each other’s arms, forgetting the world for just one magical evening.

  In the morning, Gawyn donned clean clothing and pulled his boots on.

  Justina sat up in the bed. “Where are you going?”

  He looked at her over his shoulder. “I have a plan.”

  Chapter 17

  The drawbridge of the city of Acquitaine slowly lowered.

  Laszlo reined his horse tightly. His steed sensed his anger and hatred. His brother had been killed in the night by a coward, an assassin. He wanted revenge. He wanted to slaughter every last person in Acquitaine, especially their leader, Damien. After they had butchered the lady of Acquitaine in the forest, the lord had retreated into the castle, hiding behind stone walls and closed doors for days now. Finally, finally, someone would come forth to be killed.

  His men were nervous behind him, but they would not defy his orders. Half wanted to return home. Half wanted the same revenge he wanted. As the new leader of the Hungars, he had to prove himself, as well as seek vengeance for his brother.

  A man on a black horse wearing ebony armor led an army of men across the drawbridge. The sound of their horses footfalls on the wooden planks of the drawbridge sounded like loud drums.

  Laszlo tightened his fist in the reins and his horse danced anxiously. It could only be Lord Damien. It could only be the ruler of Acquitaine. He gritted his teeth. The weak ruler would die this day.

  The group of Acquitaine armored knights and footmen came to a stop across the field from the Hungars. For a long moment, the two armies faced each.

  Finally, Damien cantered his horse forward.

  Laszlo spurred his horse, moving forward to meet the weak ruler.

  Damien stopped his horse before Laszlo.

  Laszlo moved his horse from side to side before him, anxious to strike. Anxious for blood to be spilled.

  “You will not win,” Damien promised. “Surrender now and return home.”

  “There will be no surrender,” Laszlo growled. “My brother is dead, murdered by one of your cowards. I will take Acquitaine and all inside will be killed.”

  Damien flipped up the visor of his helmet to stare at Laszlo. The same hate and fury burned in his eyes. “You’ve been warned.” He whipped his horse around and charged back toward his army.

  Laszlo returned to his men. He sized up the Acquitaine army with a quick, sweeping glance. They two armies had the same amount of men, evenly matched. Except his men were feared and trained in blood where the Acquitaine men were weak and soft. Chivalrous, he thought with contempt.

  Suddenly, from behind him, his men began to murmur. He looked at them, all fine, battle-hardened warriors. One man pointed to the top tower of Acquitaine’s castle. The sun rose, directly behind the tower, illuminating a figure in white.

  “An angel,” one of his men whispered.

  If Laszlo didn’t know better, he would have believed the woman was an angel. Her golden hair waved in the breeze; her white dress flowed around her. Laszlo recognized her, even from this distance. Confusion and disbelief swelled inside of him. “It can’t be,” he snarled. “It can’t be. I killed her! I cut her braid from her head!”

  Damien heard him. He glared at him with hate and fury.

  “It’s not her!” Laszlo screamed. He turned back to his men to see fear in their wide eyes. Some whispered in uncertainty, some silently prayed. Their horses moved beneath them nervously, pacing. One steed reared onto its hind legs. />
  “But you killed her,” Kiprian, his first lieutenant, hissed.

  Others around him nodded agreement.

  Laszlo swung around to look again at the woman at the top of the tower. It looked like her. No one could have the same hair, so golden it rivaled the rays of the sun.

  “You killed her,” someone repeated from behind him.

  “We can’t win against an angel,” another said.

  “No!” Laszlo shouted. “It is a trick! That is not Aurora of Acquitaine.” He drew his sword and kicked his steed, hard. His horse charged forward.

  Damien answered his charge. His horse galloped forward, and his sword flashed in the morning sun as he drew it and held it high. Behind him, the Acquitaine army followed, racing into a battle where the odds did not favor their victory.

  Rage snarled Laszlo’s lips. He chanced a glance over his shoulder. Half of his men followed him forward, the other half retreated toward the forest. A howl of rage issued from his throat. Even half of his men could slaughter the Acquitaine men. He pointed his sword forward. He would not back down from this fight. They had killed his brother, Hogar. The deed would not go unpunished.

  Before he could reach the lord of Acquitaine, the sound of clanging swords echoed behind him. He swiveled his head. Shock washed over him. Another army appeared from the depths of the forest, descending into the clearing toward his retreating men.

  They were trapped, caught between the Acquitaine men and this new army.

  Laszlo threw his head back and howled. He would never surrender. He would slice through the men and enter the castle to slaughter everyone. Acquitaine would fall.

  Damien came charging toward him.

  And their lord would be the first one killed, Laszlo vowed.

  Their swords met with a thunderous sound that echoed across the clearing. Laszlo swung again and again, but Damien matched his blows with as much hatred.

  “She should be dead,” Laszlo growled.

  Damien didn’t reply. He leapt at him, knocking him from his horse and both tumbled to the ground, Damien landing on top of Laszlo. He elbowed him in the face with his armored limb.

  Stunned, it took Laszlo a moment to recover.

  Damien put a dagger to his throat.

  The metal was cold against his skin, and as surprising as the fall to the ground. Laszlo grimaced, staring into cold, black eyes. He waited for death. He waited for the end, for the cut across his throat, but the moments stretched on. A slow smile eased across his lips. “Your society is gentle. It has laws. You can’t just kill me.”

  “Sentence for you has already been decided,” Damien growled. “I just wanted you to realize you and your army have been defeated. The Hungars will fall under Acquitaine rule now.”

  Laszlo’s lips thinned with anger. With hatred. “Never,” he hissed. He lifted his sword arm.

  With a quick swipe of his wrist, Damien ran the blade across Laszlo’s throat.

  Laszlo gurgled as his lifeblood ran from the cut.

  Damien leaned close to him. “I killed your brother.”

  Rage turned Laszlo’s face red and he reached for Damien.

  Damien sat back and watched him die.

  Gawyn stood at the city gates, watching the battle unfold. A line of five soldiers stood behind him. His orders were not to let any Hungars enter the city. He clenched his sword tightly, wanting desperately to battle at Damien’s side. He also knew this was a battle of revenge for Damien. His brother needed to avenge Aurora, to take out his anger over everything these barbarians had done to her. Everything she had endured.

  Gawyn clenched his sword. He felt the same need course through his body. A Hungar had taken away Justina’s brother. She was hurting because of Adam’s death. And Gawyn wanted revenge for that. But his responsibility was to protect the city. No Hungar would pass over the drawbridge.

  Gawyn began to pace. The need to be part of this battle coursed through his veins. And yet, he would not abandon his post.

  He watched the Acquitaine soldiers battle the savages. He had trained most of these men and he knew they were skilled fighters. And yet, he watched his men struggle against the onslaught of the barbarians. They made mistakes that Gawyn cringed at. He watched the Hungars, the way they fought with ruthless cunning, looking for any opening, any weakness. “What do you see?” Gawyn asked the five knights behind him.

  For a moment, no one said a word.

  “Look at the way they fight,” he said to them as well as himself.

  The Hungars were just a few inches shorter than his men, but they fought relentlessly, hammering down on the Acquitaine soldiers with swords, axes, and clubs. The fighting reminded Gawyn of a bear he had once seen in the court of a noble. The bear was fighting an armored man, fighting for its life. It attacked on its hind legs, overwhelming the knight, coming down from above.

  Even though the knights were just inches taller than the Hungars, the Hungars used their power to reign blows down from above. The knights were hard pressed to defend this kind of overwhelming brute force.

  “They leave their middle open,” one of the guards said from behind him.

  Gawyn nodded. “They attack from above. If you can go to your right and attack their side or back, you would have a chance. You cannot beat them with a head on attack.” That was it. That was the defense.

  Suddenly, a group of Hungars skirted the battling Acquitaine soldiers, coming around the side, and headed for the castle at a run.

  Gawyn looked back at his men. “Don’t avoid the battle. Deflect, sidestep and attack.”

  The men nodded and clutched their weapons in anticipation.

  “Don’t let them in,” Gawyn commanded. “We must hold the city.”

  As the Hungars charged across the drawbridge, their stomping, heavy feet sounded like thunder on the wooden planks of the bridge.

  Gawyn clutched the pommel of his sword in two hands. He was going to be able to exact revenge for Adam and for Justina. He clenched his teeth and stepped forward to greet the first Hungar with a swing of his sword. The blade connected a glancing blow to the attacking Hungar’s side, but Gawyn had to quickly move to the side as the Hungar’s hammer slammed down to the earth.

  Gawyn thrust his weapon forward, slicing into the Hungar’s side. The Hungar staggered.

  Gawyn whirled just in time to avoid another Hungar’s swing. The attacker’s blade crossed the air where he had just been standing.

  Gawyn shoved the fatally wounded hammer-wielding Hungar forward so he knocked into the Hungar with the sword. But the Hungar with the sword shoved his dying friend aside and came after Gawyn again, swinging.

  Gawyn blocked the blow and it jarred his entire arm. He spun to the side and struck, slicing at the Hungar. Instead of piercing the barbarian, his sword bounced off harmlessly. Armor! He was wearing armor beneath his animal pelts.

  The Hungar spun, bringing his blade around. Gawyn barely had a moment to draw back and the tip of the Hungar’s blade pinged off Gawyn’s chest plate armor. He backed away and the Hungar drove forward, swinging his sword down again and again.

  Gawyn stepped out of the way and blocked the strikes. Each block felt as though a wall of bricks had fallen on his arm. He was tiring. Every time he tried to put distance between them, the Hungar pursued him, refusing to allow Gawyn a moment to recover or to think.

  And then a blow landed against his sword with enough strength that Gawyn fell backward, his sword spinning away to the side.

  The Hungar approached slowly, a grin on his face.

  Gawyn looked around. His weapon lay in the dirt an arm’s length to his right. Behind the Hungar, four of the Acquitaine men were battling one last Hungar.

  The Hungar with the sword stood over Gawyn, lifting his sword high in the air for the finishing blow. Like a bear, Gawyn’s mind repeated. His middle and legs were wide open. Gawyn acted instinctively. He shoved his booted foot hard into the Hungar’s right knee.

  As the Hungar howled in pain, his kn
ee buckled. The tip of the sword continued to drop, but the angle had changed to Gawyn’s left. He rolled out of the way, grabbed his sword, and thrust his blade up beneath the chest plate.

  Stunned, the bear of a man stood still for a moment. He looked down at his wound and swayed.

  Gawyn climbed to his feet, pulling his sword free.

  The Hungar winced and jerked before he toppled to the side like a felled tree.

  Breathing hard, Gawyn looked at his men. The Hungar’s were dead, lying on the ground around them. Grimes was holding his side as another knight supported him with an arm around his shoulders. Gawyn moved to Grimes.

  Grimes nodded. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Get him to the physician,” Gawyn ordered. He turned to look out at the battle in the field. Only a few fights remained. Many Hungars lay dead across the wide field. Amidst the corpses were scattered soldiers from Acquitaine. To the left side of the field, a large group of Hungars stood, surrounded by mounted knights.

  Gawyn also saw another army mixed with the Acquitaine men.

  Through the carnage and the destruction, Gawyn sought out his brother.

  Damien stood in the middle of the battle, clutching his sword, standing over a dead Hungar. He glanced around until he locked eyes with Gawyn.

  It was over.

  Gawyn took a deep breath and nodded his head once.

  It was over.

  Damien returned his acknowledgement.

  The city was safe. Gawyn had kept the city safe from the Hungars.

  Anxiety filled Justina. She paced her chambers, waiting for Gawyn to come back. She moved to the window but could not see the fight she knew was taking place. She pounded the ledge in frustration and moved toward the door. She came up short and groaned softly. She had given Gawyn her word she would wait here for him. She couldn’t help this horrible sense of dread that rose inside of her when he wasn’t there.

  She knew it was irrational, but after Adam’s death, she felt…vulnerable and lonely. She hated it. She hated feeling that way. It wasn’t who she was, who she wanted to be.

  Suddenly, the door opened. Gawyn stood in the doorway, breathing heavily as if he had run the entire way.