Angel's Assassin Read online

  Angel’s Assassin

  A Medieval Romance Novel

  by

  Laurel O’Donnell

  Copyright © 2012 by Laurel O’Donnell

  www.laurel-odonnell.com

  Published by ODONNELL BOOKS

  ISBN: 978-0-9848895-7-0

  Cover Design by Jack O’Donnell

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  All rights reserved. No part of this historical romance ebook may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems – except in the case of brief quotations in critical articles or reviews – without permission in writing from its author, Laurel O’Donnell.

  The characters and events portrayed in this medieval romance novel are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page and Copyright

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Epilogue

  Thank You

  About the Author

  Laurel O’Donnell Book List

  Reviews for Laurel O’Donnell Books

  Prologue

  Off the Coast of England

  1392

  Gawyn shoved the lock of his chained hands toward his brother. “Open them, Damien,” he urged, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. But even the hushed tone of his words couldn’t hide his growing excitement.

  The wood beneath Damien’s bare feet creaked as a wave struck the hull of the ship. Damien instinctively braced himself for the gentle roll of the ship. In the moonlight piercing the slats of the floorboards above, he could make out the lock on his brother’s manacles. He steadied his shaking hand and thrust one of the keys into it. It fit on the first try. Damien stifled his jubilance. It was a good omen if there ever was one.

  The ship rocked again. They were in port, anchored in the bay off the southeast coast of England. Captain Blackmoore and most of the crew were in town spending what little they made on the last crossing to France, stocking up for their next trip. There was no better time to escape. It had taken years for the right moment to present itself, years of watching and waiting and planning, but he had finally managed to sneak the key to their locks away from their brutish taskmaster. Damien turned the key, holding his breath. With a tiny clink, Gawyn’s manacles fell open. The sound of freedom. Damien sighed a breath of victory, barely able to keep the smile from his lips.

  A grunt and cough came from the front of the galley.

  Damien snapped his head around to stare at Otis. A stray beam of moonlight pierced the dark interior of the hold, shining directly on their sleeping taskmaster. Damien grit his teeth, trying to be quiet and patient. He watched Otis’s closed eyes and mouth, watched the fat man’s nostrils flare, listened to him snort and grunt. He fought down his growing impatience, waiting for the right moment to make his move. The ship slowly rocked to and fro, the gentle motion pushing Otis deeper into sleep. Drool accumulated in the corner of the brute’s mouth and oozed from between his corpulent lips.

  Damien glanced at Gawyn with wide eyes.

  Gawyn placed his leg next to Damien, displaying the keyhole of his ankle shackles for him. He waved his hand urgently for Damien to continue.

  Damien shoved the same key he used on Gawyn’s manacles into the lock.

  “Hurry,” Gawyn whispered.

  Damien took a deep breath. He had watched the sun rise and set through the floorboards of the main galley above them for four years, two months and three days. He and Gawyn had been children when they came on board, he a mere twelve summers. Damien still remembered his father standing on the shore as Captain Blackmoore directed them up the gangplank of the ship. The sun had been shining that day, but its bright rays had not reached their father’s eyes. Damien recalled the look of satisfaction darkening his father’s stare… and the sack he held in his hand when he turned away, walking out of their lives forever. He sold them into bondage for a mere bag of coin.

  Damien also remembered the promise he made that night as he comforted a sobbing Gawyn in a black corner of the ship.

  They would be free one day.

  Damien clenched his teeth as he turned the key. The irons around Gawyn’s ankle fell open, sliding to the ground. Gawyn was free!

  Triumph bloomed in Damien’s chest and he moved to his own leg shackle, but his hands shook so badly he had to stop. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm, then shoved the key into the metal lock and turned it with vicious determination. Freedom. But the lock remained engaged. It was the wrong key. He tried another, but again no luck. Desperate, he searched the ring for another key. Despite his best efforts to keep them steady, his hands trembled again, rattling the keys. He did not pause; he was too anxious, too desperate. Freedom. It was within his grasp. He tried a third key from the ring and this time the lock of his leg manacle opened, the heavy metal slipping from his ankle. He lifted triumphant eyes to Gawyn…

  And gasped! His brother had already moved from the bench and was at Otis’s side. He stopped before the massive man and stared down at him, obviously trying to figure out the best way around him. To Damien’s horror, Gawyn lifted a leg high into the air over the ogre’s bulbous belly.

  Suddenly, the ship lurched, pitching to one side. Damien froze as Gawyn staggered.

  For an eternity, Gawyn teetered on one foot, suspended over Otis’s stomach.

  The ship rode the wave, rocking from side to side.

  Gawyn fluttered his arms wildly to keep his balance.

  Damien slowly stood, his eyes wide in dreaded disbelief.

  Gawyn lost his balance, falling like a freshly cut tree onto the giant’s stomach with a sickening meaty slap.

  With a sharp grunt, Otis opened his eyes in surprise. He reacted amazingly quick for a fat man just woken from a sound slumber. His massive arms encircled Gawyn, catching him around the waist. “Got you!” he growled.

  Gawyn kicked and flailed but
the ogre’s grip was too strong, too tight. “Damien!” his brother shouted with a gasp.

  Damien leapt on Otis from behind, wrapping the chain of his manacled wrists around the giant’s neck.

  Otis gagged and reached behind him with one hand, feeling for his attacker. He still held Gawyn tightly around the waist as his free hand flailed about for Damien.

  Damien evaded the hand, and pulled the chain tight. His arm muscles were strong from years of pulling the heavy oars. He grimaced as he tugged at the metal links, digging them deeper into Otis’s fleshy neck.

  Otis’s eyes bulged and his hand grew taut, releasing Gawyn.

  Gawyn leapt free of Otis and dashed for the wooden stairs that led to the deck above.

  Otis reached over his head with both hands now, desperately searching for Damien, but Damien leaned back, away from the thrashing appendages. Behind him, Damien could hear the other slaves stirring, their astonished voices growing louder with each passing moment. Some urged him on, others called him a dead fool. He ignored them all, keeping his hold firm on the chains encircling the taskmaster’s fat neck.

  Over the giant’s shoulder, Damien watched with growing panic as Gawyn began to climb the stairs. He had to go with Gawyn! He had to make it out. There would never be another chance. He released his grip on Otis and dove past the ogre, moving for the stairs behind Gawyn. He landed hard on the wooden steps and pain speared through his side, but he moved immediately, scrambling up the steps.

  Freedom was within his reach. Ahead of him, Gawyn swung the hatch open. Black night poured into the ship’s hold; stars twinkled overhead in the night sky. It was a glorious sight. Damien’s heart ached to be above ship, to be free. He was so close… so close…

  Suddenly, a fleshy hand encircled his ankle and jerked him violently back into the pit of darkness. Damien’s chin clunked hard on the wood as he thumped down the steps. The coppery taste of blood seeped into his mouth. He clawed forward with his manacled hands, frantically trying to sink his nails into the wooden stairs, desperate for any kind of grip he could find. Damien kicked at the hand, but Otis pulled him down another step and his kick missed the mark.

  Damien looked back up toward his freedom. Gawyn paused at the entry to reach back for him. Damien stretched up, pushing his manacled hands forward, willing his fingers to reach Gawyn, just inches away from grasping his brother’s hand. One more surge and he would be free. One more…

  Otis yanked him back, pulling him out of Gawyn’s reach.

  Gawyn hovered at the opening, indecisive. Finally, he straightened. “I’ll be back for you, Damien. I swear.”

  No. The word welled in Damien’s throat, in his heart. Then, the hatch slammed shut, sealing him back in hell. No!

  Otis grabbed Damien by the scruff of his ripped tunic and hauled him to his feet. “You worthless, good for nothing wretch!” He punched him hard on his cheek. “Ya want to see what’s up there so badly?”

  Damien’s head ached from the blow; bright white spots of light flashed before his eyes. Otis moved up the stairs, pulling a dazed Damien behind him.

  The hatch opened and for a moment, despite all the pain, Damien tasted freedom. The fresh air purified the staleness in his lungs. The night was clean and cool against his hot skin.

  And then heaven vanished and hell returned as Otis shoved him forward, slamming him into a thick wooden beam. Damien plowed into it with the force of a rock hurled from a sling. His world spun and his body dropped to the deck of the ship. He managed to glance up at the captain’s cabin and saw the name of the ship carved just above the door. The Redemption. The word swam across his vision. Yes, redemption, his pain-fogged mind thought. Gawyn is waiting in the darkness to deliver me from this evil.

  He felt himself being lifted, saw Otis’s twisted face, saw his lips move, but he could not understand what the huge man had just said. All Damien knew was that Gawyn would set him free. He had promised to come back.

  Otis spun Damien around and stretched his arms above his head. Damien glanced up to see the chain between his wrist manacles being draped over a large hook in the main mast. The manacles dug into his flesh, the rough metal edges slicing into his skin. A ripping sound filled the night as what was left of his tunic was torn from his back.

  Gawyn will return. He promised to come back. Brothers always keep their promises. He won’t leave me.

  Damien looked dazedly beyond the edge of the wooden pole he was now hooked to, searching the shadows of the ship for his brother. Was Gawyn behind the crates of supplies to his left? Or the netting to his right?

  His mind was so foggy he didn’t realize what was happening until the first snap of the whip cracked the air behind him. His body stiffened in anticipation and dread.

  Gawyn, where are you?

  The whip snapped again, this time finding its mark, landing with biting accuracy on the surface of Damien’s flesh. He winced as hot pain flared through his back. His body jerked away from the coil of the whip as a second lash struck him, the thin tip of the cord digging deeper. He grit his teeth and squeezed his eyes tight.

  A shout to his right drew Damien’s attention. Hope bloomed inside of him. It was Gawyn. It had to be Gawyn.

  A shadow darted across the star-lit deck from behind the netting and the dark shape leapt over the side of the ship. Damien heard the distant splash of his brother’s freedom. Other crewmembers ran to the rail of the ship, peering into the dark waters below.

  Gawyn!

  The whip savagely bit his back again and again and Damien’s chin dropped to his chest in anguished defeat. Just before blackness took him, he knew the truth.

  Gawyn was not coming to set him free.

  Chapter One

  Ten Years Later

  Acquitaine

  Villagers lined the tall walls of the Great Hall in small clusters. Some sat beneath the large stained glass window depicting an elegant knight in his golden battle armor; others stood near the white marble statue of a warhorse.

  While the groups were indeed dwindling, Aurora of Acquitaine knew she would not be able to hear all of their concerns, complaints and petitions today. She had sat in the judgment chair for the entire morning, dispensing verdicts. The sun was almost directly overhead and time was running out. With the tolling of the bell for the noon meal, the hearing of petitions would come to an end. Her gaze swept over her villagers waiting anxiously for their turn, all of their faces filled with anticipation and hope for a ruling in their favor. She knew she could not please them all, but she would do her best to be fair.

  She looked at the two men standing before her. One was a big, beefy man with dark hair and a boyish face known by all as Peter the Drunk, and the other was a ruffled old man named Theodore, the owner of the Wolf’s Blood Inn. Both stared at her with expectant eyes, waiting for her judgment.

  Aurora glanced at Peter, the dark haired man, noticing the stains on his tunic, the rip in the knee of his breeches. “You will carve Theodore a walking stick,” she proclaimed. “After all, you did break it in half.”

  Peter stared at the floor, shaking his head gently. “But I ain’t got –”

  “I will supply the wood and the dagger. You will present yourself here each morn to Mary. If you don’t, I will have Captain Trane look for you. He won’t like doing that, so I strongly urge you to report to Mary in a timely fashion.”

  Peter nodded, bowing his head humbly. “Aye. Thank ye, m’lady.”

  “I want you to stay in the castle for now, Peter. You can sleep here in the Great Hall with the others. We will all help you resist your fondness for ale.”

  Peter bobbed his head again, with a bit more enthusiasm and vigor this time, his floppy brown hair falling in his eyes. “I will, m’lady. Thank ye.”

  Aurora turned to Theodore. “Theodore –” A loud commotion came from the back of the room, drawing Aurora’s attention. Four men walked down the aisle. She recognized the lead man as Lord Warin Roke. She scowled at the disturbance and looked back to
the two men before her, continuing, “Peter will carve you a new walking stick.”

  Theodore bowed, half turning toward the men moving up the middle of the room. “Thank ye, m’lady.”

  “Take care of yourself, Theodore.”

  Lord Warin Roke, dressed in dark silver from his leather boots, to his leggings, to the loose fitting tunic he wore over his slender figure, strolled up the aisle. He was a tall, gangly man with a long face.

  Behind him, three men followed. One of the men was huge, easily six and a half feet tall. One of his eyes was completely white. Aurora didn’t like the cruel grin that seemed to be permanently etched on his lips. The second man was smaller, but stockier, with oily dark hair. His expression was blank as he pushed a thin man before him toward the dais. This third man appeared to be a captive of some sort as his hands were bound behind his back. The prisoner’s lip was cracked and swollen, and there was a large purple bruise on his cheek. Dried blood stained his chin.

  Sir Rupert stepped up protectively beside Aurora, his chain mail clinking softly. Rupert was a handsome young man with a premature streak of gray running through his brown hair. He was one of her father’s most trusted knights.

  Aurora stood. “Lord Roke, I am hearing petitions. There are others before you. You must wait –”

  Roke stopped before the raised platform and bowed, sweeping his arm out across his body in a grossly exaggerated gesture. “Excuse the interruption, my lady.”

  Her gaze swept the three men behind him before returning to Roke. She carefully schooled her face in a patient blankness, hiding the audacity she felt at Roke’s arrogance in believing his problem took precedence over the rest.

  “I have a gift for you,” he said in a soft voice. “For your consideration of my betrothal offering.”