The moment she broke him.
His wrath, he realised, had stemmed from her trust of him. Each little trusting act forced its way under his skin until she was thoroughly engrained into his each and every thought, and it terrified him.
Closing the gap between them, Annabel angled her face towards him and he found himself struggling to breathe. Her glimmering hair whispered in the night air and his fingers twitched at the thought of running them through it. Involuntarily, they reached out and brushed an errant lock from her face. Though brief, the fleeting feel of her skin beneath his fingertips shocked him. It scorched his fingertips, sending waves of heat pulsating through his body.
Annabel felt just as surprised and her mouth fell open at the sensations that rocked through her. The strength of her attraction to him stunned her. While she had been aware of something developing between them, these emotions that assaulted her now were far beyond a simple appreciation of his fine form.
An unsteady hand dropped from her hair to her parted lips and Annabel couldn’t restrain the gasp that left her mouth as his thumb swept over her bottom lip. She recognised the longing in Nicholas’ gaze and she closed her eyes, willing him to step forwards and kiss her.
She could hear the heavy rasp of his inhalations and her own unsteady ones, and even though she knew they were not far from the revellers, all other sounds were muted, as if they were cocooned in a world of their own. His breath brushed across her lips and she went completely rigid, just waiting.
Suddenly, a heavy hand came upon her shoulder and he shoved her back, sending her sprawling, falling to the forest floor with a crunch of leaves. Annabel looked at him with wide eyes and he cursed.
“Go from here,” he ground out.
Annabel remained sprawled on the leaves, staring at him in confusion. His eyes glittered black and it was as if some wild beast had suddenly been unleashed.
“What?” she asked quietly.
“Go!” he shouted. “Run from me.”
Scrabbling to her feet, she went to take a step towards him but she froze as he drew out his sword.
“But why?” her voice wavered.
Swinging his sword around in a wild arc, she cowered back as his face resembled that of a ferocious warrior.
“I am dangerous,” he snarled. “Go! Now!”
Annabel blinked at him and tried to pull on her courage, but it seemed to desert her. Who was this man?
Wondering if she could calm him, she spoke soothingly. “You are not dangerous. You have already saved my life once. I do not believe you would harm me.” She brought her chin up.
“Then you are a fool.” He took a large step towards her and pointed the sword at her with a shaking hand. “Run from me, now!”
With a gulp she looked back into his eyes, still believing she could reach the man underneath the sudden anger, but as he took another aggressive step forwards, her certainty fled her and she turned with a cry. It was as if he had taken the form of a savage beast, the man that she thought she knew now naught but a memory. As she hastened away, a feral roar sounded and she jumped, increasing her speed, fear and confusion surging through her body.
Chapter 5
As he roared, Nicholas brought down his sword, slamming it into the soft earth and leaving it juddering on its tip. Collapsing to the ground, he knelt in front of his sword, bowing his head to it as he kept his hands around the hilt.
God’s blood, he was a beast. He had terrified her, as was his intention, but why then did he feel so much remorse for it? He was performing an act of kindness, releasing her from his grasp. It was true, he was dangerous. As she stood there, offering herself to him, complete and utter horror had assailed him. He could have slit her throat then and there and had done with it. Yet, would he have done it?
Never before had he felt any kind of guilt over his actions. He had been paid well and performed each act with cold efficiency, never caring whether his victims deserved their outcome or not. A deluge of emotions seemed to engulf him, unfamiliar ones – hope, fear, love…? Nicholas knew now he would never have done it, he could never have killed Annabel. Her unquestioning trust and kindness had been the undoing of him and he suspected he would never be the same again.
He knelt there for some time, the damp earth seeping through his hose until his knees became numb. A vision came to him in a blinding light. It was Annabel, shining and golden, an angel from heaven. She beckoned to him, calling him forwards and he found himself powerless to resist. Some danger lurked behind her, he knew not what, but he knew it was up to him to act. He understood now that she was his salvation, guiding him to save his soul from the devil. He would protect her and in return she may just save him from the fiery pits of hell. As the mists retreated from his vision, the realisation that he had just sent her off into the unknown struck him.
Aye, he was dangerous, but he knew now she had naught to fear from him and more to fear from the world she now faced alone. What a brute he was, sending her off to fend for herself. An awareness of his fate came upon him and knew what he must do. For all his sinful deeds, he was being given a chance to atone for them. Annabel needed his protection and he would protect her day and night, even from himself. He loved her, he was sure of that now, but she was as pure as an angel and he would not sully her with his hell bound soul.
Nay, instead he would watch over her. Always. That would be his penitence. And if she should find love with another, he would watch from afar, ensuring no man ever hurt or mistreated her. His duty was clear to him now and he hauled himself to his feet, groaning as his knees ached.
Now he just had to find her. Where would she have gone? He suspected the most likely place was the inn. Annabel knew little of the area and she would probably have hoped to find help there. He uttered a quick prayer, begging for someone to watch over her until he could find her. He had never prayed before, not once, for he knew no-one would listen to him and his blackened soul, but he reasoned they would for Annabel’s sake. He headed in the direction of the inn and trusted that she would be there, for if not he would hunt to the ends of the Earth to track her down.
***
Annabel didn’t stop running until she reached the inn, pushing her way past the innkeeper and up the stairs. Slamming the heavy door behind her, she slumped on top of the mattress, her heart thudding in her chest. Tears burnt in her eyes as she remembered Nicholas’ face. She had never seen him so angry before. In truth, she had never seen him angry at all. Even when he fought his way out of Alderweald, he had done so with a cold efficiency.
How had he gone from wanting to kiss her to threatening her? He wanted her, Annabel had seen the desire there and he had nearly admitted as much. Why did she anger him so? And why did he think he was dangerous? He had petrified her with his sudden fury, the fiery emotion so unlike him.
As her hammering heart calmed, she began to wonder if she should have stayed, if she should have held onto her courage and tried to reach the man underneath the anger. Surely a man who looked after her welfare so diligently would never hurt her? She scared him, she knew that. Not in the way that he had, but she had seen how disconcerted he was in her presence. Mayhap that was the cause of his anger. Annabel’s head swam slightly from the mead she had consumed and she closed her eyes, trying to wipe away the image of Nicholas’ furious face. What a coward she was! She was ill used to such wrath being directed at her but she knew in her heart that Nicholas would not harm her. She should have stood up to him instead of fleeing, and made him face the feelings he had for her.
She lay there for some time, considering what she should do. Mayhap she should go and find him. Or would he come to her? Annabel’s eyes became heavy with fatigue and the events of the night, so she resigned herself to getting some rest. In her heart, she was convinced Nicholas would return for her. He was not one to leave a job unfinished and he would not abandon his duty to her. Satisfied that the best she could do was rest and wait until his temper had abated, she quickly stripped off her dres
s before flinging it to the floor with a weary throw. Settling onto the pallet, sleep rapidly claimed her, the effects of the alcohol temporarily easing her unsettled mind.
She woke some time later with a throbbing head and a dry mouth. Instantly regretting her eagerness to indulge, she forced herself to sit up and search out Nicholas’ flask. Taking a quick swig of the warm ale, Annabel’s registered an oddly pungent smell in the room. Realising that the room was lit with a glow, she wondered if the villagers were cooking outside the inn. Peering out of the thin window, it took her a moment to recognise what she saw.
Flames licked up the side of the wall, not far from her window. The smell was smoke, she realised. Turning with a cry, she snatched at her dress as the smoke began to curl in through the window in dirty grey wisps. With a hand across her mouth, she pushed at the large timber door, only to find that she could not open it. Throwing her dress aside, she pushed once more. As the smoke began to fill up the beamed ceiling, Annabel started to panic. Throwing her shoulder into the door, it creaked but refused to budge. Again and again, she rammed into it until she was panting from the exertion and smoke inhalation.
Annabel’s stomach churned with fear as a look to the window revealed the flames crawling closer to her room. Underneath her feet she could begin to feel the heat creeping into the wooden floorboards and any damp in the room rose as steam with the heat. Sweat caused her chemise to cling to her body and a feeling of hopelessness threatened to overcome her.
As the acrid smoke invaded her lungs, Annabel could feel herself becoming dizzy and she tried a few more pulls and pushes at the door, but her efforts were hindered by the effects of the fire and she could feel her limbs weakening. Slumping to the floor in despair, she found her thoughts drifting. What would happen to Alderweald now? Would her uncle be charged with its care? And what of Nicholas? Would he feel anguish at having failed to protect her?
Her head swam and she could feel the darkness closing in on her. As it did so, she prayed that Nicholas would not carry the burden of her death around with him forever and, though she had hoped he would find it with her, she asked that he be able to find happiness with someone. With that last thought, she collapsed fully to the floor with a thud as the blackness pulled her under.
***
An orange glow caught Nicholas’ eye, radiating from behind the chapel and the small huts at the entrance to the village. It seeped into the night air, giving the thatched homes a warmth that they lacked during the day. For a moment, Nicholas wondered if the fires of hell had come to greet him, until the tang of smoke registered.
A shooting pain in his chest almost forced him double and although he could not account for it he knew that Annabel was in peril. Sprinting past the tarrying villagers, who were curious as to the source of the light, horror seized him as the crackling flames became apparent.
The inn was burning, one entire side consumed in flames. The heat immediately hit Nicholas as he stared in dismay. The flames licked across the straw roof, threatening to devour the entire second floor of the building and all around him people rushed about, drawing water from the well in a vain attempt to put it out.
Nicholas spotted the innkeeper desperately issuing orders as he swiped as his sweat sodden face, the blackened layer of soot already thick upon his skin. Darting a look back to the increasing fire, his shock promptly gave way to utter fear as he saw no sign of Annabel. Running to the innkeeper’s side, the man spotted Nicholas before he reached him and the look he gave him chilled him to the core.
“Is she in there?” he shouted desperately over the roar of the flames.
The innkeeper just looked at him sadly as he directed a young lad carrying a bucket towards the burning building.
“God’s blood, she’s in there?!”
He dashed towards the outer stairs, only to slam into the large innkeeper’s arms as he tried to haul him back.
“Ye’ll not find her alive now, ye’ll surely burn too if ye go in there!” he yelled to him over the din.
Desperation licked through him and he fought against the brawny man. The thought of Annabel meeting such an end near killed him, the pain in his chest so excruciating that he could barely draw breath. Finally breaking free of the innkeeper, he sprinted up the outer stairs as flaming straw rained down upon him, blown free by the gentle wind.
Breaking through the outer door, he was greeted by an overpowering stench and thick smoke. He could just make out the blaze eating through the roof but it did not seem to have taken hold of the wooden floorboards or the rooms underneath. Nicholas thanked the Lord and realised it was the second time he had spoken to God that day.
Calling her name, he quickly made his way to the room at the end of the inn, staying low so as to avoid the grey fog that hung in the rafters. Hay singed him as it fell and he hazily wondered if he would have any hair left after this. His heart jumped into his throat when he reached the large door that signalled the one double room. A great oak chest was placed haphazardly across the door, preventing it from opening.
Nicholas wasted no time in hefting it out of the way and yanking the door open. The smoke was even thicker there and the flames were leaping up the outer wall, threatening to set the entire room ablaze. As he attempted to see through the smoke, he nearly tripped over something on the floor. Looking down he realised it was Annabel, crumpled in a heap.
His stomach heaved, caused by a combination of fear and smoke inhalation, and he scooped her into his hold, her arms hanging limply as her head flopped back. Trying to prevent the coughing fit that threatened to take hold, he began their precarious journey back out of the inn, going a little more carefully this time for fear of her hurting her in the narrow corridor. Nicholas hunched over Annabel as he went, trying to shield her from the increasing debris that fell upon them.
As he hit the fresh air, the coughing overwhelmed him and he retched and gagged even as he carried her down the stairs. The innkeeper gave him a look of relief as he saw him emerge from the flaming wreck, and then a look of sorrow came across his face as he spied Annabel sagging in his arms.
Nicholas was about to lay her down when a face caught his attention. Through the chaos and the flames, Godfrey, Lord Benedict’s man, stood, watching the destruction with a grim smile of satisfaction. Suddenly the smell - pig fat - and the chest across her door made sense. The fire had been lit deliberately.
Godfrey turned his gaze onto them and the two men locked eyes momentarily. Spinning on his heels, he sprinted away from the blaze as fast as his legs could carry him.
***
He ran. Aware only of the need to keep her safe, he sprinted until his thighs burned and his arms ached from her weight. Not that she was a heavy burden, for she lay limply in his arms, only the faint throb of a pulse assuring him that she was still alive. She wore just her chemise and it had taken a while for him to notice, his fear stricken mind consumed with other thoughts. When he had finally noticed, he wrapped her tightly in his mantle.
Continuing on, even as the dark of the following night consumed them, he narrowly avoided tripping and spilling her onto the ground. Only his resolution to keep her from harm prevented him from giving up as he stumbled across the uneven terrain, lit by little more than a half moon.
Nicholas’ steps faltered as the exertion took his toll and he was forced to a sluggish pace, his body screaming for respite. As the sun began to flicker over the horizon, it hurt his eyes, in spite of the cloud amassing in the sky. Fearing a downpour, he staggered his way into the protection of the nearest forest, unsure now of where they were.
The forest closed about them but his anxiety refused to wane. Why were they trying to kill her? If Lord Benedict had intended to kill Annabel himself then why go about this charade of hiring him? Nicholas could not fathom what he was trying to achieve. He couldn’t have possibly known that Nicholas would never go through with his sinful duty.
His legs began to shake as his lungs throbbed, but a look to Annabel’s soot covered face f
ortified him and he forced his legs to do the unthinkable.
Continue on.
He had to gain some distance between them and Godfrey. He was undoubtedly on horseback but he thought it likely he would not have risked journeying at night. Nicholas had little idea as to what to do next, but he resolved to keep pushing forwards until exhaustion claimed him.
After a day and a half of no rest, it finally did. He stumbled one final time and realised that it was unlikely he would recover again should he fall once more. Annabel lay peacefully in his arms and he did not want to risk hurting her. Pressing his back against a broad oak tree, he sank gratefully to the ground, Annabel still stretched across his arms.
His head slumped back against the bark and he shifted her head against his chest, settling her into his lap. His arms closed in around her, determined that even in sleep he would protect her. His leaden eyelids dropped and sleep quickly claimed him as his hands remained gripped around Annabel.
***
Nicholas awakened from a deep sleep, unsure of how long he had slept. The sun was high in the sky, just visible through the forest canopy, and he suspected it was some way past dawn already. He looked down at his precious cargo, who remained curled into his embrace, to see that still she slumbered. Would she ever awake? Putting a hand to her head, it came away sticky and he realised she was fevered. Mayhap it was from exposure? Her pulse fluttered under his thumb and her breaths were shallow, but she was still alive.
As he shifted his aching body, he was gratified to hear Annabel release a slight moan. Her eyes remained firmly shut but it lent him hope. Nicholas felt as if he had been trampled by horses but he forced himself to his feet, hefting Annabel back into his arms once more. Filth from the fire still marred her porcelain skin and, as he wrapped his cloak back around her, he noted several scratches on her arms. Lifting her arm for a closer look, he saw that her nails were broken and bloodied and her fingers were raw. She had probably tried to scrabble her way out of the burning room. His stomach churned at the thought of her experiencing such terror.
The Angel's Assassin Page 6