Angel's Assassin (12 page)

Damien shook his head and looked down at the
blood smeared on his black sleeve. “Strange welcome.”

Aurora touched his arm. “I am sorry,” she
admitted.

His brows furrowed slightly. “For what?”

“For their treatment of you.”

“You have no control over how others behave
toward me.”

“They are my people,” Aurora answered. “I am
ultimately responsible for their actions.”

“You are not responsible for their actions.
Only they are.”

“I should have stopped Harold.”

“You couldn’t have. He wanted to fight me. I
am a threat to him,” he stated.

Her heart ached at his easy acceptance of
their treatment. “How could you be a threat to him?” His eyes were
the color of the darkest coals in the blacksmith’s shop. There was
a hunger in his dark orbs, a predatory stare that fanned a
smoldering heat inside her. She looked at his lips, which proved a
much greater mistake. Her body responded, igniting with inner
flames.

“He is afraid I can do a better job at being
your bodyguard than he could.”

“And can you?”

“Undoubtedly.”

His self-confidence was daunting. His
arrogance was unfathomable. Yet, Aurora believed him. And obviously
so did her father.

He took a deep breath. “Are you tired? Do you
need to rest?”

His thoughtful nature was touching. And
humbling. And alluring. She was used to being strong for her
people, never showing weakness. The denial was instinctual and she
shook her head even though fatigue weighed heavy.

His sharp gaze fell over her body in an
appraising sweep, and then moved back to her eyes.

Aurora grinned. She didn’t need to be strong
with him. He was strong enough for them both. “Perhaps a little,”
she admitted. “But I have a package to bring Widow Dorothy. After
that I can rest.”

“You can’t have someone else deliver the
package?”

“I have to make sure she is all right. She
lives on the edge of Acquitaine. She’s old and it’s hard for her to
get around. I’d like to make sure she has what she needs.”

Damien sighed softly. “Rest first. Get your
strength. Then bring the package.”

Alexander stood in the cemetery, looking down
at the covered body.

“Yer lucky he’s not in the ground yet,” the
man beside him said. “I was goin’ ta bury him this mornin’, but I
got side tracked.”

Alexander looked at the groundskeeper of the
cemetery. He was short and his limbs were as thin as the handle of
the wooden shovel he supported himself with. His stained brown
tunic was as frayed as the old man’s hair. He stank of ale.
Alexander knew exactly what had kept him from his work that
morning.

He looked back at the covered killer, back
down at the assassin who had tried to kill Aurora. He squatted
beside the corpse. He knew Aurora would have been able to recognize
him if he had been the killer of her mother, so he knew this man
was not the assassin he was searching for. Still, nothing could be
overlooked. He pulled back the blanket covering the man.

The dead assassin’s hair was lying limply
around his head. His skin was gray, his lips blue. He was naked.
“Where is his clothing?”

“He ain’t needin’ ‘em where he’s headed,” the
groundskeeper replied, running a hand across his nose.

“Was anything found on him?” Alexander asked,
not holding out hope of finding any clues here. “Where are his
belongings?”

The groundskeeper shrugged. “Ain’t had any
when he was brought in.”

Alexander slid the blanket off of the dead
assassin’s body. The killing wound on his stomach was dried an ugly
black.

“Rebecca Fieldmore said she was walking
through the town like she does every morn when the assassin jumped
lady Aurora. She said it was a terrible sight he tryin’ ta kill her
and all.”

Alexander was barely listening to the man
prattle on. His gaze moved over the dead man, looking for a clue,
any clue.

“Rebecca Fieldmore said she saw the man that
saved m’lady take a bag and dagger from this cur.”

Alexander looked up at the groundskeeper.
“The man that saved Lady Aurora. You mean her new bodyguard?”

“Aye.” The man stumbled and fell forward, but
caught himself on the shovel’s handle. “Whatcha lookin’ fer?”

Alexander glanced back at the assassin. “I’m
not sure.” He had hoped to find some clue of the assassin’s name or
homeland. Instead, it was another dead end. Alexander flipped the
cover over the dead assassin’s head.

The groundskeeper chuckled. “I could show ya
somethin’, but you’d have ta dig the hole fer me.”

Alexander stood. He fingered the handle of
his sword. “I could show you something too, you old sot.”

The man chuckled and shrugged. “Ya could. But
you’d never find out if what I know is important or not.”

Alexander looked into the groundskeeper’s
wise crinkled old eyes. No wonder the old coot survived this long.
He was smarter than he looked. He had something he could bargain
with and he knew it. “Tell me.”

“Dig the hole first.”

“I’ll dig half the hole. Then you tell me and
if it’s worth it, I’ll finish.”

The man smiled a toothless grin.

Alexander took the shovel and began to dig.
The old groundskeeper sang a song way off key, obviously quite
pleased with himself. He offered Alexander a sip of whatever was in
his flask, but Alexander declined. When the hole was half dug, when
Alexander was dripping with sweat, the old groundskeeper lifted the
blanket. He lifted the dead assassin’s arm so it lay above the
corpse’s head.

Just above his arm pit, seared into the
deceased man’s arm was a mark. A circle with a black X through it.
Alexander stared at the symbol.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” the
groundskeeper whispered.

Alexander agreed with a nod and dug the other
half of the grave.

Aurora couldn’t rest for very long. There was
just too much to do, no matter how tired she was. She strolled down
the castle corridor, Damien beside her.

Servants walked by, greeting her with humble
bows. She acknowledged each of them with a nod. She couldn’t quite
escape the fact Harold had not listened to her orders. She had been
helpless to stop what had happened to Damien. She already told him
how terribly sorry she was. That just didn’t seem to be enough.
Harold’s attack had been born of jealousy.

“It’s not your fault,” Damien said softly to
her.

Aurora glanced at him in surprise. He was
staring at her with a warm, almost possessive glow. “My fault?” she
asked carefully.

“What happened in the field,” he
clarified.

How did he know what she was thinking? She
shook her head, scowling.

“I shouldn’t have let you go.”

Aurora’s eyebrows rose. “You could not have
stopped me.”

Damien grinned as his gaze swept her face,
lingering upon her lips. “I knew Helen and Harold were up to no
good. They probably still are.”

Confusion swirled inside of her as she looked
at the ground. “Why do you say that?”

He looked forward for a long moment. “Harold
holds a grudge against me for being selected as your bodyguard. And
Helen…” He looked at her. “I saw the two of them talking.”

Aurora shrugged. “That means nothing. They
could have been speaking of the weather or local gossip. They’ve
spoken often in the past.”

“They could have been hatching a plan.”

“You have a very suspicious nature.”

“My instincts are good,” Damien said. “They
serve me well.”

“And I as well. Still…” She nodded to a
passing knight. “I find it hard to believe they would be capable of
hatching such a plot. A plot to hurt someone.”

Damien grinned, a bit sadly. “If they were to
come to you and tell you that is exactly what they were doing, you
would still find it hard to believe.”

Aurora lifted her chin in annoyance. “I would
have no choice but to believe them.”

“And yet when I tell you, you resist.”

“Unless you have astounding hearing, you did
not know exactly what they spoke of.”

“You will defend your people until the end,
won’t you? Like Marie.”

The barb hit home. It hurt to be reminded of
her past mistake. Yet, he was right. He had been right on the mark
about Marie. Could he also be so right about Helen and Harold?

Damien’s look softened. “I see things you
miss, Aurora. Because you don’t want to see them. Because you think
they’re not there. But every person has a dark nature.”

Aurora shook her head as she spotted Peter
sitting in a corner whittling a piece of wood. He had made a poor
decision when he had broken Theodore’s walking stick and now Peter
was trying his best to mend his ways. “Perhaps we are all tempted
to do wrong. But if we resist those temptations, we become stronger
for it.”

“We don’t all have the will to resist.
Sometimes, it is easier to do the wrong thing.”

Aurora looked at him. “Have you done the
wrong thing?”

A muscle rippled in Damien’s jaw.
“Often.”

“Even if it hurt others?”

“Even if it hurt others. Surely as ruler of
all these lands you’ve done something you’re not proud of.
Something that hurt others?”

“No,” she replied.

“No?” he echoed, doubtfully.

Panic rose inside her. “No,” she argued. “I
try to be a fair and just ruler.”

“Someone must disagree with you. They are
trying to kill you.”

She stumbled and then stopped. “I never mean
for anyone to be hurt by my actions. Never intentionally.”

“What happened?”

She whipped her head up to look at Damien.
What would he think of her if he knew the truth? What would he
think of her if he knew her mother’s death was her fault? All her
fault.

H
e saw it in
her large eyes. The secret she kept from the rest of the world. The
little bit of truth that made Aurora just like everyone else. Even
she succumbed to evil. “Tell me,” he urged. What could she possibly
have done? And in that moment, he had to know. It would make his
mission easier. When she hesitated, he reached out to her, brushing
her arm with his fingers. “Everyone does something they are not
proud of. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“The dark nature you mentioned?”

Damien knew he should be cautious. He was
already dangerously close to revealing too much about his own
nature.

Before he could respond, she asked, “What
have you done that you are not proud of?”

The question caught him off guard and he
looked away so she would not see the darkness lurking inside him
like a disease. Would she tell him her secret, if he told her his?
Is that what prompted her question? Did she want to trade dark
secrets? How could he tell her he was an assassin? That he killed
people? He couldn’t. Not ever. He could lie. He glanced into her
deep blue eyes, ready to tell some fable. He parted his lips. She
stared at him with such innocence, such readiness to forgive that a
well of sorrow rose in his soul. She wore her goodness like a
second skin, a moral shield to ward off evil. His moral shield had
been cracked and splintered a long time ago. The lie died before it
was given life and he bowed his head. “Don’t be fooled. I am not
the man you think I am.”

“You are exactly the man I think you
are.”

Damien scowled at the yearning that sprang
forth inside him in answer to her statement. He was shocked and
repulsed at the desire to be this man. He pushed the feeling aside.
The only thing important to him was his freedom. That was all that
mattered. Why couldn’t she see the truth? Why couldn’t she look at
him and know he was cold and dangerous? Why did the woman destined
to die at his hand have to be the one person who saw him as a good
man?

Jennifer raced down the hallway toward them
and Aurora turned to her.

Damien could not take his eyes from Aurora.
Desperation surged within him. He wanted her to look at him and see
him as a good man. Yet, he was desperate to make her see how wrong
she was. And he wasn’t sure which desperation was greater.

Aurora slid her hand from Damien’s when
Jennifer drew closer. She glanced at Damien once before she turned
her full stare to her cousin.

In that quick glance, Damien was uncertain if
it was concern he saw in her eyes or if it was trepidation.

Aurora nodded her gratitude to Jennifer as
her cousin handed her a clump of herbs tied together with a
string.

“Please be careful,” Jennifer whispered. “I
love Widow Dorothy, too, but you are more precious to all of
us.”

“I will. I promise. But Dorothy needs these
herbs.” She patted Jennifer’s hand. “Don’t worry. Damien is with
me.”

Jennifer looked at Damien and he gave her a
slight bow. Jennifer grinned shyly and gave him a small curtsy in
return.

As Jennifer turned away and moved down the
hallway, Aurora led Damien to the front doors and left the castle.
As soon as they emerged into the sunlight, Damien’s instincts took
over. He began to instinctively scan the area. The assassin was
here somewhere. Waiting.

Aurora led him across the bustling courtyard
to the stables.

Damien checked the wooden building before
allowing her to enter. When he gave his consent, she swept in like
a ray of sunshine bursting through the clouds, and walked to the
first stall.

A large black warhorse pawed the ground upon
seeing her. She smiled at him, placed the package of herbs in the
saddle pouch on the horse and stroked his nose. “This is Imp,” she
introduced.

Damien stood beside her at the stall.

Imp nickered and tossed his head. Aurora
patted the side of his neck. “What do you think of my horse?”