The Angel's Assassin by Samantha Holt Page B

were married, and they made
no move to correct her, grateful not to have to sleep outside for another
night.
    Clucking around,
the peasant woman, Beatrice, gave them both some broth and rye bread which they
tucked into with pleasure.
    Annabel helped the
woman clear away the wood platters and Nicholas watched her, almost enjoying
the sight of such domesticity. The simple hut was only one room and sparsely
furnished with a dirt floor but there was something oddly soothing about
watching Annabel potter around it.
    He smirked at
himself and his imaginings, knowing how far out of reach they were. Annabel
aroused not only a desire for her body but a desire for the things that he had
never had before. A home, love, family. How very right Annabel would be in such
a setting, her natural warmth predisposing her to motherhood. He tried to force
his mind onto other things but his eyes constantly tracked her, drawn to her
angelic form with a need so strong that he was struggling to fight it. Nicholas
reminded himself that he was no good for her. Annabel deserved better - far
better - than a man with no soul.
    They settled down
on the pallet for the night, falling into the position that now seemed so
familiar. Sleep would claim him quickly, he knew, in spite of the worries that
he had for Annabel’s safety. Somehow, with Annabel in his arms, all his cares
simply seemed to melt away. He could not recall the last time he had slept so
soundly, it was as if she stole all the fear and turmoil from his mind.
    Nicholas awoke the next
morning to be greeted with a smile and kiss to his jawline.
    “Good morrow.”
    He gulped as her
face sat so close that he would barely need move to lay a kiss upon her
sumptuous limps. Noting the old woman shuffling around the room, he sat up
abruptly, grateful and yet regretful, that he had not given into temptation.
    After washing in
the river, he returned to the cottage to find Beatrice running a comb through
Annabel’s hair. Annabel seemed to be enjoying the attention and Nicholas
wondered with a pang if her mother used to do it for her. If Annabel grieved
for her parent’s she made a good show of hiding it. Nicholas suspected that she
did but was too positive to let her grief rule her. It was yet another
testament to her strength.
    He watched as
Beatrice continued tending to the glistening strands and, as they fluttered
through her fingers, he felt an odd yearning to be the one combing through the
beautiful tresses.
    Annabel turned and
spied him watching her from the doorway and before she could dazzle him with a
smile, he scowled and stomped away. Attempting to turn himself to more useful
pursuits, he gathered some firewood for the peasant woman, hefting the large
bundle with him until he was sure that Annabel would be finished grooming.
    Beatrice greeted
him with a toothless smile of gratitude as he laid down the wood. Her hand came
about his, wrapping her withered fingers almost painfully into his palm.
    “Thank ye, lad.”
She nodded to Annabel. “Ye watch over this one carefully. Yer lady is special.”
    Nicholas nodded
solemnly. He didn’t need the old woman to tell him that.
    As they bid her
farewell, she watched them both closely through her wizened eyes and he
wondered if Beatrice saw what he did in Annabel. And if she knew that Annabel
was an angel, could she tell that he was the devil?
    ***
    They found a
derelict home not far from the town. The walls were crumbling and steadily the
forest was claiming it back, great green vines tangling its way through the
empty windows. Most of the roof was still intact so Nicholas ushered Annabel
in.
    It smelt damp and
the walls clung to the cold, moist air. Little evidence of the previous
occupants remained, aside from straw and a broken table in one corner. The dark
confines of the hut sent a chill through Annabel but Nicholas stood close
enough so that she felt reassured.
    “I need to get some
food and provisions.”
    Annabel looked at
Nicholas in