The
Angel’s Assassin
Samantha Holt
Copyright 2012 ©Samantha Holt
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organisations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Chapter 1
Hampshire, England 1088
Approaching the manor house, Nicholas could make out the faint glow of candle light seeping through the shutters. Though it was early spring, the weather was intemperate, giving way to draughty squalls and cold temperatures. His breath misted in front of him and though he could not feel the chill through his hauberk, the cool air served to sharpen his senses.
The manor house must have been newly built as the whitewash was pristine and the soil surrounding the large building was still overturned. In spite of the luminosity of the white walls, a sense of foreboding struck him – a sensation rarely felt for Nicholas. It couldn’t have been that this meeting was being conducted at night; indeed it was rare he conducted business in the daylight. His was one conducted in shadowy corners, nameless inns and winding alleyways, but the feeling was there nonetheless.
A helmeted watchman escorted him up the outer stairs to the second floor and into the hall. The meagre light of the hall made Nicholas blink, given the dark night, and his eyes settled onto the owner of the fief. Lord Benedict was a tall, thin man with a bony face to match. His long nose hooked over slightly at the end and his lips looked constantly pursed, as if viewing everything with displeasure. He attempted a smile when he saw Nicholas but it came out as little more than a sneer. With a flick of his hand, he motioned to the servants to disperse, with the exception of a brown-haired brute of a man, who seemed to hang about the shadows of the hall, watching Nicholas through sightless eyes.
“Ah, you’re here.” Benedict stepped swiftly over, his elaborate tunic swishing as he went. “I thank you for coming in such haste, Sir…” He trailed off, awaiting a name.
Nicholas simply stared at the grey haired lord but he seemed undeterred by his silence.
The lord arched an eyebrow. “Am I to trust a nameless man?”
“Do I not come highly recommended, my lord?”
Benedict considered this, observing him down his patrician nose. “Aye, that you do.”
“So I give you no reason to distrust me – named or otherwise.”
Astute eyes worked behind the lord’s grey eyebrows and Nicholas wondered if it was Lord Benedict’s trustworthiness that they should be discussing. But deceitful men came with the territory and only emphasised Nicholas’ need to stay anonymous.
“I fear I shall be taking all the risk in this endeavour, seeing as you know my name but I do not know yours. Am I to be expected to part with a great deal of coin in such circumstances?”
Nicholas viewed the older man with distaste. He didn’t take to being questioned and he certainly didn’t like having his time wasted.
“You were made aware of my demands, Lord Benedict. None of this comes as a surprise to you, so I can only conclude you wish to negotiate the price of my services. I shall tell you plainly, my lord, that I have need of your coin less than you have need of my services. My terms are half now and half on completion. Shall you accept such terms or shall I be on my way?”
Benedict’s mouth twitched and he nodded. “As you will. Will you be seated so we can discuss...ah…business?”
Nicholas drew out a chair and sat, noting the lord took longer to do so, probably enjoying the momentary feeling of superiority.
“You know of Alderweald Castle?”
“Aye, my lord.” Nicholas operated out of Kent and knew well of the demesne surrounding the keep.
“My niece inherited the keep from my sister’s husband upon his death. She is but only some eighteen summers and relies on me for assistance in managing the land. It has come to my attention that the rebel barons wish to take the keep to aid in their bid to unseat the king.”
Nicholas nodded, remaining silent.
“I wish for you to go to my niece, take her from the keep and guard her until I send word.”
Nicholas raised an eyebrow. “I am no wet-nurse, I do not watch over spoilt noble women.”
Benedict let out a grating laugh and Nicholas had to prevent himself from grimacing. “You misunderstand me, Sir. I wish her out of the way until this rebellion peters out. In the meantime, I have some negotiations to make with the king. If I have it right, this rebellion shall not succeed and those that stick by the king shall be richly rewarded.”
“Ah, and you wish for the keep of Alderweald?”
“Aye, but that cannot be, as long as the heir remains alive. I need her…out of the way. However, my niece is a favourite of the king, ‘twould not do for her to be harmed until I can be sure of having the king’s ear. By which point, he’ll have little care for her welfare…” He let out a sharp grin, revealing the points of his teeth.
No doubt the lord intended to poison the king against his precious niece.
“So what will you have me do with your niece?”
“Bring Annabel here. ‘Twill be long enough a journey to keep her plenty occupied. I, in the meantime, shall be working on the king. When this rebellion is over, return her home but ensure she meets with an accident.”
Nicholas winced inside, in spite of himself, but he retained his cold mask of indifference. A woman? He had never killed a woman before. Endless nameless and faceless men had met their end by Nicholas’ hand but never a woman.
“And you shall send word when you wish for us to return?”
“Aye, and then you shall have your final payment.”
Nicholas contemplated the lord’s words. His contact had implied that this was to be no ordinary job. It would take much time and resources but he would be richly rewarded.
“Lord Benedict, you have bought my services. Pray remember what is it that I do when ‘tis time to pay your debt.”
Benedict grinned and rose to his feet, motioning to his man. “Godfrey?”
The giant of a man stepped out of the shadows to silently place a small leather satchel in his hand. Benedict handed it over and Nicholas weighed it in his palm. He was tempted to count it then and there – the glint of malice in the lord’s eyes increased his suspicions of him – but he knew it could wait until he was at least away from Lord Benedict. And with the misgiving that hovered over him, he knew that he should hasten away promptly.
“Thank you, my lord. I shall await your word.”
Benedict grinned and nodded, speaking as Nicholas turned to leave, forcing him to pause. “You will understand that I will not be crossed. Should you fail, there will be repercussions. I will remember your skills if you will remember mine. I can make life very unpleasant even for a nameless man.”
Nicholas spun and left, not even acknowledging the lord’s threat, but the words remained with him. He was going to have to watch his step. Whatever hand fate had just dealt him, he doubted that it was a good one.
***
Lord Benedict swept a gloved finger over his lips as he watched the dark knight move stealthily into the night from the window of the hall. Begrudgingly, he admired the man. He gave away little but absorbed everything with the merest of glances. The assassin didn’t trust him. And rightly so. But Benedict was used to dealing with these kinds of men, and he knew how easily a goodly amount of coin could override even the keenest of instincts.
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He allowed himself a tight smile. Aye, all was falling into place. With his irksome niece out of the way, he could stride in and take control of Alderweald without so much as a finger raised…once he had the support of the king. A few choice negotiations with the rebels and all would be as it should be.
His teeth clenched as he thought of his hapless niece in command of such vast wealth. It was pure folly to have allowed her to inherit. The king should have taken the land and bestowed it where it belonged - in his hands. As brother to Annabel’s mother, he was no direct relation to her father, but it angered him that the king had never even considered handing the lands to him when he was clearly the better choice.
Oh, how his pretty little niece was loved by the king. Rufus adored the fair maiden and would not deny her aught. Upon the death of Annabel’s mother and father, Benedict had made it clear that he could do a far better job of running such a large demesne than a young girl but his pleas had fallen upon deaf ears.
Regret sliced through him. If he had not made his views so abundantly clear, he would not have to resort to such underhand techniques now. The way it stood currently, should aught happen to Annabel, eyes would automatically fall upon him.
Which is where this hired assassin came in.
With someone to take the blame and the king convinced of her treachery, there would be no investigations, no questions. He could step in and save Alderweald and finally gain the wealth he deserved.
Swiftly turning to the silent hulk in the corner, he motioned him forwards with the crook of a finger.
Godfrey shuffled forwards, his yellowed eyes revealing little. Benedict trusted no-one with the exception of Godfrey. All brawn and just enough brain to carry out his tasks competently, his loyalty was unwavering.
“Follow him and ensure everything goes to plan. I shall away to London to speak with the king.”
Godfrey nodded, the growl of assent just audible.
Benedict turned to the window once more, imagining he could see the nameless assassin slipping through the night, drawing Annabel to her doom. A twisted smile sat on his lips. Aye, all would be as it should soon enough.
Chapter 2
A loud crash caused Annabel to jump. The sound of shouts and the clashing of swords reverberated off the stone walls of the castle even though she was cloistered away on the top floor of the square keep. A dash across the rush strewn floor to the deep windows revealed her worst fears – the rebels had overrun the castle and were likely coming for her. Leaning to gain a better view, Annabel could see clearly out of the wide windows of the keep into the bailey. Wild-looking soldiers were swarming through the castle gate and across the courtyard, rampaging and pillaging as they went.
She had hoped to reason with them but the triumph of previous victories assured them that there was no sense in striking a treaty. Annabel had heard much of the marauding ways of the Norman rebels as they spread across England like a plague. The country, now divided by the late king’s two sons, had suffered much, as towns were burnt and castles laid to siege. The rebel barons wished for Robert, Duke of Normandy, to become king, rather than William Rufus, who had been given the crown by his father, William I.
Now it seemed that Annabel stood in the way. Alderweald Castle was situated close to London and on an important supply route - the river crossing being an essential tool in the baron’s revolt.
Normally Annabel relied on her uncle’s aid in matters such as these, but he had been called home to Hampshire on unexpected business, leaving her to face the bloodthirsty rebels herself. Her men-at-arms were loyal and her steward, wise, but between them they had little success in persuading the rebels of the folly of going against the king.
Having already sent her maids away, Annabel cowered in her chambers as the sounds of battle raged on. The thought of the men she had known for most of her eighteen years dying only a few floors away turned her stomach. More crashes and heavy footsteps sounded and she fought the urge to hide behind the curtained partition of her sleeping chamber. Surely they would not dare hurt her? Annabel couldn’t be sure though. They had little sympathy for supporters of Rufus and her family had close connections with him. She had no wish to become involved and her refusal to do so had effectively marked her as a threat to their cause.
Her heart pounded in her ears as she waited for the intruders that would inevitably come. She knew she shook, but she could do little to control it – who knew what awful fate might befall her? A brief flight of determination filled her and she snatched at a candelabrum, crying out as hot wax dripped onto her hand.
And she waited, eyes glued on the arched doorway that would announce her fate.
With a sudden bang, the oak door swung open and Annabel launched the candelabra at the invader. It crashed against the door behind him as he ducked before looking at her in surprise.
“Lady Annabel?”
“Aye,” her voice trembled.
“Your uncle has sent me to you. You must make haste, my lady. The rebels will not be held back for much longer.”
Annabel looked over the stranger in fear and awe. He stood at least two heads taller than she and his shoulders filled the wide arch of the doorway. His black hair was cropped short, curling slightly over his forehead, and his jawline bore the same dark hair, similarly short. A touch of grey at his temples and lines around his eyes indicated a life hard lived, and she suspected he was at least ten summers older than her. His voice came out in a resonant growl that sent shudders through her.
Should she trust such a man? There was a dark, foreboding aura about him, though that could have had much to do with his black attire. His eyes glinted almost black in the shadows of the doorway, yet when she looked into them, something reverberated through her and she decided to trust him. There was little else she could do, she admitted, but she considered herself a good judge of character.
He held out a gloved hand. “My lady, pray we must tarry no longer.”
A crash from below met her ears and it startled her into action.
“Aye.” She nodded.
Quickly pulling her mantle from where it hung on the back of a chair, she swung it over her shoulders and made to take his hand. Pausing, she scurried over to the painted oak chest that sat at the end of her bed.
“My lady,” the knight called with some aggravation.
Flinging open the chest, she threw aside the fabrics that filled it, their bright colours glinting in the candlelight, until her eyes alighted on what she had been searching for. Snatching her mother’s necklace, she tucked it safely into her bodice and took one last look around the room. Satisfied that she was making the right decision, Annabel turned back to the black knight and took his hand.
His glove closed over her fingers and a surprising warmth seeped into her arm. A wash of relief cast over her as she laid a hand on his large arm. Aye, she had made the right choice – this man could protect her from aught.
Leading her through the door, the knight cast a wary eye around, drawing his sword as they descended the spiral staircase.
“Stay close to me. ‘Twill be no easy feat taking you from the castle without anyone taking notice,” he murmured into her ear.
“How came you to be here then?”
“I draw less attention,” he said wryly.
The sounds of battle drew closer as they continued down the winding stairway. He pressed her behind him as he peered around the corner. Saying naught, he slowly drew her forwards. The minstrel’s gallery that spanned the entire keep was empty, but a look through the arched gallery revealed her men-at-arms fighting to keep the invaders from entering the Great Hall. She let out a slight cry at the sight of battle but her rescuer ignored her sound of distress, pulling her back into the staircase so that they could descend further.
As they ran into the Great Hall, Annabel noted the disarray. Overturned tables and candelabras were scattered across the floor and several candles burnt into the rushes. She prayed that they were too damp from the recent i
nclement weather to set alight and burn her family home.
The knight’s eyes darted from side to side, looking for an exit. The only way in and out of the keep was down a steep set of stairs on the outside of the square tower. It was unlikely an escape would be achieved easily with the rebels on her doorstep. He cursed and Annabel forced down the panic that bubbled up inside of her.
One of the men-at-arms spotted her and he drew back as he knocked an attacker aside, delivering a clanging blow to his head.
“Milady, you should not be here,” he puffed.
“Gerard, my uncle has sent for me. If I can make an escape, you can surrender the castle without fear. I would not have anyone die in my stead.”
The brawny knight nodded and swiped at the sweat dripping down his face. “Is this your uncle’s man?” He nodded to the dark knight.
“Aye. Lord Benedict sent me when he received word of the impending attack.”
Gerard looked him over with mistrust, the two men eyeing each other in a silent battle of wills, and then looked to his mistress. Annabel gave him a reassuring smile and he relented.
“Aye, well you will do well to look after Lady Annabel. There will be many who will have your head should she come to harm.”
The man nodded brusquely. “I will see her well. Pray we have need of a distraction while I get the lady to safety. Can your men put up a last stand?”
Gerard grinned at this, a wide toothy smile that flashed in the shadows of the keep. “Aye, that we can.”
Motioning to his men, they drew forwards to meet with their comrades still fighting courageously in the bailey.
Watching them disappear out of the hall, the knight drew her closer. “Try and stay hidden behind me but be aware of my swing. I have no wish to injure you should I need to fight.”
Annabel gulped and nodded, wide-eyed with fear and apprehension. The shouts of men fighting for their lives terrified her and she dreaded what could come next.
Following him cautiously out of the hall, they dashed down the outer stairs and into the bailey, her champion brutally swiping at anyone in the way. Gerard and his men held most of the invaders at bay but a few escaped through, intending to gain entrance to the keep. The odour of blood filled Annabel’s nostrils and her stomach retched, almost forcing her double. The knight’s strong arm reached out behind him and practically pinned her to his back, holding her upright.
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