Angel's Assassin by Laurel O'Donnell Page B

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.
     

Chapter Thirteen
     
     
    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.”
    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