Angel of Death: Book One of the Chosen Chronicles (42 page)

A sigh of relief escaped from him and the corners of his mouth tugged his lips into a shy smile. Taking her hand in his own, he guided her slender fingers to the long silver scar on his right arm. She questioningly gazed up at him. “Feel it,” he instructed.

She did so, feeling the softer skin that ran from his shoulder to the inside of his elbow, as he explained.

“Shortly after I was Chosen, Notus took me to a friendly village that was attacked by brigands. It was the first time I had
ever
been around so many people. It was the first time I killed in the manner of the Chosen. I managed to kill the raiders, but not before I took that wound.”

He guided her hand to the back of his neck, under the heavy long hair. “Do you feel that?” Jeanie nodded, feeling a thin raised line, running horizontal, in the middle of his neck. “This is from the axe that was held at the back of my neck while the Master of Britain decided if I was of the True Blood. Because of the difference of my appearance, they believed that I should be Destroyed. Luckily my arm had healed sufficiently to appear as if I had received the wound before my Choosing, and the oaf holding the axe never noticed what his blade was doing to me. If he had noticed, it would have marked me different from the rest of the Chosen and that axe would have gone through my neck rather than rested on it. It was Notus’ pleading that this was how he found me that - well, the axe did not fall.”

Jeanie let her hand be guided one final time to the hideous scar that traversed the length of his left thigh. Her face contorted in confusion and at first she did not want to touch it.

“I received this one,” he stated soberly, “when I was sent on a fools errand by Richard Lionheart to kill Saladin several months before the carnage at Acre.”

She pulled her hand away in surprise. “Ye knew King Richard?”

He smiled at her awe. “Yes I did.” He grew sombre as he continued. “He sent me, alone, to assassinate his enemy. I managed to get into the camp, but there were too many people guarding his tent, as if expecting the likes of one such as I. I was surrounded and barely fought my way out. It was only possible with Chosen strength, speed and agility. I managed to mount my horse before a lucky Saracen tossed his javelin. If I had not been wearing my armour it would have gone through my leg, killing my horse to leave me at the mercy of those people. I would have died. Instead, somehow I made it back to camp. I do not remember much of the following year. It took me ten years to recover from that wound and it changed me.”

“What does that have t’ do with your hand?”

“Everything.” He bore into her eyes with his own. “Chosen instantly heal except for burns and dismemberment. I heal quickly from burns except for the burns caused by iron pierced into my flesh. And since my last encounter with iron I am unable to cross water without becoming ill.”

Jeanie blinked in astonishment. Stories and fables from her past floated to mind. “Are ye now saying that ye are one o’ the wee folk?” she chuckled.

Shocked by the question and hurt by Jeanie’s frivolity at his confession, he harshly retorted, “The woman who raised me thought so, having found me as a changeling child. So strong in her conviction, she never named me.”

The playful smile on Jeanie’s face collapsed at this extremely profound admission. “But I hear the Good Father call ye Gwyn. I thought it was yer name.”

He shrugged, uncomfortable with where this was leading. “It is, I guess,” he sighed.
 
“The woman who helped care for me after the first wounding named me so after what all the villagers thought I was.”

“And what’s that?”

Embarrassment gripped him and he scowled. “They believed me to be the Welsh God Gwyn ap Nudd.”

Jeanie’s brows shot up. There was still so much more to him that she did not know. The lover’s mood had evaporated in the seriousness of the conversation. Wishing for its return, she caressed his face along his cheekbone to his ear. “It doesna matter,” she spoke lovingly. “I’ll keep yer secret.”

A wave of relief washed over him, causing him to slump in the sudden absence of tension. Pulling Jeanie close, he embraced her. Never before had he been so totally accepted and he felt her warm arms encircle him, tenderly stroking his back.

“What about your back?” He heard her say into his neck, her breath titillating.

“After the woman who took me in and raised me was killed and my home destroyed I found a cave to live in. Unfortunately it was already occupied. The hide made a nice bed, but it was nearly I who decorated his abode.” He ran his hand through her cinnamon curls.

They sat quietly for a long time, holding and caressing each other, enjoying the silence and the feel of one another’s bodies. A deep satisfied fatigue rolled over him, and he found it difficult to keep his eyes open. Head lolling to one side, his cheek came to rest on Jeanie’s head. Suddenly, without reason, he jerked himself away. Jeanie beamed up at him, her smile radiant and secretly amused. He questioningly gazed back, curious.

“Did ye ken yer ears come to a slight tip like the wee folk?” She answered his unspoken question and slid away, her smile wide.

Stunned at the unexpected admission, his hands flew to his ears to feel what Jeanie was talking about and was rewarded with the sound of giggling. Gazing up, he noticed her sitting on the edge of the bed bent over in muffled laughter. She glanced back at the perplexity in his eyes and burst out into a new round. Gradually it donned on him that it was his reaction to her teasing that created her outburst and he realized how ridiculous he had been. A smile pulled at his face.

“Why you…” He made a playful leap to grab her and missed.

With a short exclamation Jeanie shot off the bed, leaving him lying where she had been sitting only a moment ago. She turned and smiled playfully, bidding him to follow as she took a step around the poster.

If this was the game she wanted to play, he was more than willing to oblige. He had never missed a quarry and was not about to do so now. Sliding from the bed, he stood and took a step towards her.

A short half scream half laugh escaped from her and Jeanie ran to the other side of the bed to stop short, the smile gone. Her eyes widened in amazement. She had not seen him even twitch a muscle. Now he stood where she had been running.

“How?” she muttered, dumbstruck.

It was his turn to grin mischievously. “One of the disadvantages of loving a Chosen.” He pulled her close and bent to press his lips against hers.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, Jeanie felt her feet leave the ground, as he stood straight, holding her tightly.

“Oh no, not again,” she feinted.

He smiled, his crimson eyes alighting with passion. Laying her on the bed, he covered her body with his.

“Yes again,” he whispered, huskily. “This time is for you.”

His mouth found hers and in his mind he heard her say,
Oh yes!

T
he stench of brine mixed with bilge and rotting fish pleased Fernando that he did not need to drink water, especially from the
Thames. Then again he also did not have to inhale the fumes. Tucking the perfumed cloth back into his pocket, he exhaled in a huff. The slightly warmed moisture hung in his face for a brief moment before evaporating in the breeze.

The quay was deserted, not at all surprising to the Noble, except for the ships from distant ports anchored at the piers. Fernando figured that those who served were either in town sleeping the night away in friendly beds, or those unlucky enough to be alone, in a cold, unforgiving cots. Either was preferable since he really did not want a confrontation. It had been so long since he had Chinese that he did not want to spoil the exotic lingering taste with something so base. It would be like having watered down ale after a sip of vintage wine.

He chuckled at the comparison as he walked along the wooden planks, his dress shoes thunking loudly while looking for the harbourmasters building. He was definitely glad to be alone under the brightness of a clear night sky. Though he would have appreciated it had the Angel acted the full partner he claimed to be instead of letting Fernando do all the work.

Maybe the stunt of leaving the door ajar, allowing that red headed bitch to discover the truth, would be enough to get rid of her and possibly allow the Angel to finally get his perspective back regarding the situation. Then again, if Fernando discovered and stopped whoever was behind the poisoning on his own, he would be considered a hero.

A vision flashed to mind; Sebastian’s severed arm overlaid the image of the pile of ash in the cell. Repressing an involuntary shudder, Fernando knew that if someone could easily kill his grandsire, a Chosen renowned for his ruthlessness and sadism, then it might be better to break with tradition and continue to work with another Chosen. There was power in numbers, a concept long lost amongst the solitary night creatures.

The large sign above the entrance to an old weather beaten building looked as dilapidated, if more so, than the structure. Red paint chips threatened to flake away in the slight breeze. Fernando wondered when the last time this place had seen a paintbrush. A crude kerosene lantern hung high above the left side of the door, casting a sickly yellow glow. If this was a regular practice it was astonishing that the building had survived so long as to become run down. Stepping up to the entrance, Fernando found the door locked, but with a gentle squeeze and a turn the door popped open.

Despite the outward appearance, the inside of the building was impeccable. Whoever was in charge definitely knew how to run an ordered office. Even the papers on the counter were neatly stacked in priority. It would be easy to find the information he required.

Closing the door, Fernando pulled out the copy of the purchase order from his inside jacket pocket and sat down at the harbourmasters desk. Flattening the crinkled paper, he read in the darkness,

“V. Corneilli & Sons

Shipping & Receiving

Calais, Madrid, London

Quantity
                
Item
                            
Cost

10
 
    
      
Oriental Herbs
    
      
 
L1050

Deliver to London Free Kitchens Inc., London, England.
”

The stamp indicating which customs office spelled out the office he now sat in. The fact that the barrels had to go through customs even though the shipper and receiver was the same meant that the order had to have come from either Calais or Madrid. The only way to find out was to find the ship that brought the spices and that meant searching through the files.

Fernando’s shoulders drooped at the prospect of the monstrous search through the filing cabinets, only to perk up at the sight that each drawer was labelled. Fernando was instantly grateful to the harbourmaster, and had the man walked in at that moment he would have offered to Choose him. Finding the file was easier than breaking into the building.

Leafing through the papers, he quickly found a copy of the one he had but attached to it was the ship’s manifest with the name of the ship, its port of origin, Calais, and the date of the ship’s arrival. Fernando quickly pocketed the papers and discovered at the back of the file, a set of similar papers was stamped with yesterday’s date. The only difference was the name of the ship.

Fernando closed the file, placed it back in the cabinet, and looked at the blackboard where all the ships were listed at the different piers. Running his eyes down the list, he found the
Papillon.
It was anchored at the other end of the dock. Deciding to follow his hunch, Fernando left the building.

Crates and barrels stacked neatly on the quay made a perfect hiding spot. Of course, Fernando would not have needed it if there were no activity on the pier and on the
Papillon
. Crouched beside a crate, he watched as the same four men walked to the ship carrying barrels similar to those in the soup kitchen. The men worked silently as they strode to and fro along the gangboard, stocking the ship with the barrels from the dock. Soon Fernando would have to give up his hiding spot, lest he be discovered.