Angel's Assassin (11 page)

Damien sat beside Aurora when Alexander
entered the Great Hall. He watched him take a seat down the aisle
from them with the guards. If he recognized Alexander from the
other villages he had been in, then there was a good chance the man
would recognize him. Damien could hardly swallow his food. He
waited, but as the meal progressed, no alarm went out, no one came
to slap him in irons. Maybe he was wrong about the man.

When Aurora and her followers rose and
departed the Great Hall, Damien accompanied them, passing right by
Alexander. He didn’t make eye contact. And he was too busy watching
Aurora to notice him. Alexander did not join them as they exited
the building.

As they walked beneath the gatehouse toward
the training fields, Damien’s concern shifted from Alexander to the
knights. Every instinct of self-preservation screamed at him not to
go to the training yard. From the moment Helen spoke to Harold,
from the moment he had seen their sly, conspiratorial glances,
Damien had been certain this little excursion was a trap. Not a
threat to Aurora, but to him.

When he heard the clang of sword against
sword and the shouts of excited men as they approached the field,
Damien’s mind recalled another time. A time of training. A time of
pain. Under Roke, he was taught not to fail. Failure meant severe
punishment, from whipping to time in the stocks… or worse. Damien’s
gut wrenched at the memory of a man and his brutal decapitation
over missing the center mark with his bow and arrow.

Anxiety filled him. Tilting yards and
training had never been a place of games for him. It was a place of
life and death. His gaze turned anxiously to Aurora. She walked
before him, speaking with Jennifer. She nodded in reply to
something Jennifer said and cast a glance over her shoulder to meet
his stare. Her piercing eyes locked with his and calmed the beast
inside him. Her grin settled his restlessness like a breath of
fresh air and gave him a sense of peace he’d never known before.
Damien could not turn away from her perfection, from the flawless
sheen of her hair glittering like spun gold, from the blazing blue
radiance of her shimmering stare.

She cast her spell on everyone. Even you, a
voice inside him accused. The darkness within him denied the
accusation, stirring restlessly. It erased the fond warmth
cocooning him and replaced it with his usual cool detachment. He
must complete his mission. She meant nothing to him. His freedom
meant everything.

As they approached the tilting yard fence,
the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Men drove their
horses toward each other, down the length of the field in a mock
joust. Knights across the yard cheered them on. Damien recognized
Sir Harold as one of the men jousting.

The two knights met in a clash of metal as
their blunted jousting poles pounded into the metal breastplates of
their armor. Harold’s pole landed square in the chest of his
opponent. The knight flew off his horse, tumbling to the earth,
showering the air with a thick cloud of dust as his armored body
struck the ground. Harold remained firmly seated in his saddle,
unfazed by his opponent’s weak glancing strike. Cheers and laughter
erupted around the tilting yard.

Harold rode his horse to the fence before
them where Helen waved a red scarf in the air. As each step of
Harold’s horse brought him closer, tension clenched the muscles
along the length of Damien’s shoulders.

Harold eased his jousting pole over the top
of the fence, moving the tip past Helen and pointing it directly
toward Aurora.

A keen sense of anger unexpectedly speared
through Damien.

Helen yanked back her favor with a thinning
of her lips and narrowing of her eyes.

“Lady Helen offers you her favor, Sir
Harold,” Aurora said kindly.

“Your favor is the only one I seek,” Harold
replied.

Damien wanted to take his proffered lance and
shove it down the arrogant knight’s throat.

“I have no favors to offer this day,” Aurora
replied.

Sir Harold clutched at his heart with his
free hand. “You wound me, m’lady.”

Damien remained motionless, forcing his fists
to keep from clenching.

“Perhaps another show of strength would
impress you enough to win your favor,” Harold said playfully.
“Perhaps your
bodyguard
would
care to go a length with me.”

Aurora cast a quick glance at Damien, then
looked back to Harold. “He has no horse, no lance. Surely--”

“There are plenty of horses here for him to
use. And lances are many.”

Damien read the unease in the depths of
Aurora’s eyes.

Helen clapped her hands in encouragement.
“Yes! Let Damien joust Sir Harold.”

Damien forced the tension to abate from his
shoulders, relaxing his muscles. So this was their plan, he
realized. A clumsy attempt to draw him into a fight. His dark eyes
trained on Harold. “I am here to protect Lady Aurora, not to
entertain you with a joust.”

“Then a quick sword play,” Harold countered.
“Every good bodyguard needs to keep his skills fresh.” Contempt
dripped from every one of Harold’s words.

They were beginning to draw a crowd as more
and more knights gathered around them, making Damien even more
uncomfortable with such concentrated attention. This was not the
place for him. He did not relish being the center of attention to a
growing mob. He kept his face impassive.

Aurora interposed herself before Damien,
almost as if protecting him. “Damien’s skills are very adequate. I
have seen them in action.”

“But the rest of us have not,” Harold
exclaimed. He opened his arms to the group of knights who stood
about them now, the armored men looking like the bars of a cage,
intent on keeping Damien confined within their perimeter. “Isn’t
that right? How many would like to see Damien’s sword skills?”

The crowd around them exploded with applause
and “ayes.”

Harold slid from his horse with an easy
dismount. He ducked the fence to stand before Damien. “After all,
you are protecting Acquitaine’s greatest treasure. I would be
betraying my oath to Acquitaine if I demanded any less. I would
like to know your skills are impeccable. What do you say,
bodyguard? Care to share your secrets with the rest of us?”

The men around them mumbled in agreement;
some sneered with open hostility.

Every one of Damien’s senses demanded he
attack. His self-preservation instincts told him this knight was a
threat. The beast inside him burned through his veins, demanding
release, demanding action. But Damien had learned long ago when to
keep the beast reined. Now was not the time, nor the place. He
placed his hand on Aurora’s back and began to steer her away,
moving through the crowd.

The crowd opened grudgingly before them.

Harold dogged their steps, taunting, “Coward.
What kind of bodyguard are you to turn your back on a good
fight?”

Aurora stopped and spun on Harold. “That is
quite enough, Sir Harold.”

“My apologies, my lady,” he said,
bowing. His judgmental stare remained fixed with acrimony on
Damien. “But I believe we do not need an
outsider
to protect you. We are able knights,
worthy of first consideration.” He stepped past her to Damien.
“Tell me why he is afraid to fight me, if he is so good. Tell me
why he will not raise a sword to prove his worth.”

Aurora opened her mouth to reply, but Damien
answered instead, “Because I would kill you.”

Hatred glared from Harold’s eyes. Damien had
seen the look many, many times before. He stood still, his body
relaxed, ready for anything.

Aurora’s hand surrounded Damien’s. Tingles
shot up his arm, replacing his readiness to battle with something
warm and soft and… dangerous. Dangerous because he should be
concentrating on the menace before him. Her tiny tug moved him
forward because he let it.

“We must go,” she said.

Damien remained still for a moment longer,
facing down his adversary. He would have loved to show Harold just
how capable he was. Aurora’s insistent tugs begged him to leave. He
chanced a look at her. Her eyes were wide with concern, her lovely
brow creased with worry as she stared at Harold. Damien couldn’t
stand seeing her so frightened. She looked at him then with
imploring eyes, and Damien knew exactly what he was going to do.
Nothing. The anguish on Aurora’s face was not worth the price. He
wasn’t here to fight this conceited knight. He wasn’t here to prove
himself to these people.

He saw movement out of the corner of his eye.
Harold’s punch landed hard against Damien’s jaw, rocking his head,
forcing him to take a step back.

Damien never once relinquished his hold on
Aurora’s hand.

“Damien!” Aurora called in alarm.

Damien pulled her behind him, rage swirling
inside him. The coppery taste of blood seeped into his mouth, but
he ignored it.

“An adequate bodyguard would have seen that
coming,” Harold mocked.

“Damien,” Aurora repeated, half begging, half
gasping.

Damien spared her a glance. The tears in her
eyes only fed the stirring beast inside him, demanding revenge.
“Stay here,” Damien commanded.

With no indication, he suddenly rushed
Harold, catching his tunic in curved fists, and slamming him hard
into the fence. The wooden post bent beneath the impact, but Damien
didn’t let go as he pushed himself close to Harold. “An adequate
bodyguard would never have risked hurting Aurora like you just did.
Had I ducked, you would have hit her.”

Harold pushed forward, but Damien smashed him
back against the fence again, holding him immobile. “Aurora is my
responsibility. Go near her again and you will not live to see the
sun set.”

Harold’s gaze shifted to Aurora.

How dare he even look at her! Damien felt a
moment of pure, raw animalistic rage and shoved him aside, being
sure to put enough force in the movement so Harold ended up on the
dusty ground. “I will not risk Aurora’s life for your
entertainment. Even the lowliest of knights would know that.” He
whirled, knowing Harold’s pride would not stand for him to be so
degraded. And Damien was right. He heard the sound of a sword being
drawn. He saw Aurora jerk forward.

Damien baited the knight on purpose. The way
Harold looked at Aurora, as if he desired her, as if he had a right
to her, as if he could protect her better than Damien, sent waves
of blind anger through Damien.

The small cry of warning that issued from her
lips pulled at his heart. He was suddenly very afraid she would
rush forward in a feeble attempt to save him. He held up a hand to
her, motioning for her to remain where she was, and then he let
instinct take over.

He ducked and the sword hissed over his head
like an angry snake. He whirled, lashing out with his foot,
connecting solidly with Harold’s mid-section.

Harold fell to the ground, landing hard on
his back.

Damien was on him before he had a chance to
recover, pushing Harold’s own sword, in his own hand, against his
throat. It would have been child’s play to finish him. A simple
movement of the arrogant knight’s own wrist and the sword tip would
drive into Harold’s throat. The demon inside him cried out for
gratification. It was used to getting what it wanted.

Time froze. Harold’s eyes widened, filling
with the knowledge that Damien was more than capable of following
up on his promise. He was a killer. That was what he did. Damien
felt Aurora’s gaze on him and hesitated. Would she look at him the
same if he easily and swiftly snuffed out the life of one of her
guard?

Turmoil whirled around Damien and he pushed
himself off of Harold, backing up two steps.

Harold sat up, his jaw clenched tight, his
cheeks red. He held his sword on the ground, in acquiescence.

Silence surrounded Damien as he towered above
the overconfident knight. He looked up. It was not the gazes of the
knights he sought. It was not Helen or Jennifer’s gaze. Had she
seen? He sought out Aurora’s stare. Had she seen his true nature?
Had she glimpsed the beast?

When he looked at her, he saw relief and
trepidation in her eyes. Her stare did not ease his discomfort. He
moved quickly to her side and took her arm, escorting her away from
the tilting yard before Harold’s bruised pride rose for
retribution.

A
urora tried
to make eye contact with Damien the entire way back to the castle.
He kept his gaze moving, scanning the surroundings, glaring at the
passing villagers who greeted her with warm smiles.

Churning anger steamed from his skin. His
steps were a little too hurried and impatient to be considered
anything but the strides of a fuming man. As they entered the inner
ward, Aurora paused and turned to him. Her heart broke at the
turmoil she read in his stiff stance, his clenched jaw, and his
rounded fists. She wished he would let her help him. She wished she
could take his pain away.

Her gaze trailed up his strong arms, over his
squared shoulders to his chiseled jaw. Her breath caught in her
throat. A line of crimson stretched from his lips down to his chin.
“You are hurt,” she gasped.

“It’s nothing,” Damien insisted, wiping the
wet line away with his sleeve.

Her chest tightened around a great sorrow.
“You do not need to prove anything to me,” she whispered.

Damien’s jaw clenched as he whispered, “I
shouldn’t be here.”

His dark eyes were void of expression and yet
Aurora sensed his immense inner conflict. “This is the only place
in all of England where you belong.”

Damien bridled.

“What I mean to say is that you are more
welcomed here than anywhere else.”