The Virtuous Assassin

The Virtuous Assassin

Charlotte Anne

©
2014 Charlotte Anne

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilisation of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photography, and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the permission of the author, Charlotte Anne.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead; business establishments; events; or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover design by Melody Simmons of eBookindiecovers

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Epilogue

England, October 1192

Chapter One

Small wall sconces splashed patches of flickering candlelight along the cold stone corridor. Cateline
moved silently, keeping to the shadows. A sharp wind rushed through an open window, and she pulled her cloak tighter as the knife strapped to her leg clinked softly. She clamped her mouth shut, willing her teeth to stop chattering.

Suddenly, a shadow loomed up at the end of the corridor.
Cateline pushed her back against the wall, trying to blend into the darkness. Somebody rounded the corner and walked towards her. He passed before a splash of light, and the silver belt buckle of his soldier’s uniform sparkled.

Cateline released the clip around her wrist, and a dagger slipped
into her hand. She wrapped her fingers around the hilt, digging her nails into the flesh of her palm.

Another gust of wind spluttered the candles
’ flames, and Cateline’s tunic rustled. The soldier paused, squinting up the corridor. He glanced left, then right, staring into the shadows. Cateline’s breath caught in her throat as his eyes adjusted to the gloom and focused on her face.

His hand dropped to the sword hanging from his hip, and Cateline dived forward, thrusting her dagger into his neck. The blade
sliced through his flesh, and the tip lodged itself into the top of his spine. Instinctively, she released the hilt to fling her arms around his waist, trying to slow his fall.

As the soldier landed, his sword clattered against the floor. Cateline froze,
but nothing happened. Hopefully, nobody had heard.

“
Rest easy.” She tugged at the blade, but it wouldn’t come loose, so she left it in place and hurried along the corridor. She didn’t have much time—somebody would find the body and sound the alarm. Soldiers didn’t usually travel alone, even when patrolling their home territory.

Recalling the map she
’d memorised, Cateline made a series of right turns until she reached a spiral staircase leading into the heart of the eastern tower. She climbed the stairs, stopping on the first landing before three closed doors. Pulling her picklocks from a pocket, she unlocked the door opposite the window and entered.

Dominating the room was a large four-poster bed, a side table with a jug of water, and a single lit candle. A
sleeping figure was curled under a sheepskin, the top of his balding head just visible above the covers.

“
Lord Elric,” Cateline breathed. Staring down at his head, her gaze caught on a small scar marking his hairline.

Her target.

At the end of his bed sat a large wooden chest. Her hands itched to open it—in there would be all the evidence she needed to prove his guilt.

She bit her lip. She didn
’t have time, and besides, if Cateline left it in place, eventually, someone else would discover it, and the Gabriels would understand her reasons for murdering him.

It was better this way.

Quickly, she broke the wax seal of an envelope and tipped poison into his water. There wasn’t a drinking glass, but that didn’t matter. Even if it was splashed on his skin, it would take effect, and he’d be dead within three days.

Cateline backed slowly towards the door, touching a hand to her heart. It was almost over. In another minute, she
’d be free of the castle, and nobody would ever know it was her.

The great clash of a bell ec
hoed through the castle.

Cateline jumped. They
’d found the dead soldier.

“
No,
”
she cursed silently, “not yet.
”
She stumbled back, but Lord Elric sat up, the sheepskin falling back to reveal a crisscross of ugly pockmarks decorating his chest. His eyes darted straight to Cateline, and he tumbled from the bed, his fists clenching defensively before his body.

His gaze dropped to her chest.
“Blood.”

Cateline glanced down. She was wearing a servant
’s uniform as part of her disguise, but the soldier’s blood had splattered her front, marking her as a killer.

“
Pig!” Swiftly releasing the blade taped to her leg, she flung it across the room. The dagger slammed into Elric’s chest. He let out a small puff of air and collapsed on the floor.

Cateline darted from the
room and back down the stairs.

Her heart thumped an uneven rhythm.

If she was captured, she’d be tortured.

If she
was captured, her identity would be compromised.

The chest! It was still in place. If they questioned her, at least she
’d be able to prove her reasons.

What if there
’s no evidence?

No. She couldn
’t afford to think like that.

She sprinted down a corridor, heading towards the servants
’ stairs that would take her out of the residence hall. Just ahead, a door opened, and a man stepped forward. His hair was ruffled as if he’d just woken, and he wore nothing but a pair of tight breeches.

Cateline was running too fast, and the momentum carried her forward even as she tried to stop. He snaked out an arm, wrapping it around her waist, and she shuddered
to a halt against his chest.

“
What are you running from?” he asked, his chin gently grazing the top of her head with each word.

“
I . . .” Cateline pushed away from him, her hands on his bare chest. How could he not see what she’d done? There was blood on her tunic.

His brow creased as he stared into her eyes. This close she could see him clearly. His hair was golden brown and cut short. Day-old stubble marked his face, while a scar cut through his eyebrow, causing his left eyelid to drag a little.

Late twenties, Cateline guessed then took another step back as a new fear rushed through her. His power could not be concealed. He stood a head taller than her, his legs long and his arms thick with muscle.

But when he spoke, his deep voice was mellow.
“What are you so afraid of?”

“
I b-broke curfew,” she stuttered, thinking fast. “N-now the soldiers are chasing me.” She only had one dagger left, and it was strapped to her ankle. She wouldn’t be able to reach it without him realising, and he would most certainly overpower her.

“
Please,” she begged, lowering her eyes as if she really was a servant, “I won’t do it again. Just let me—”

He grabbed her arm, twisting so her back was pressed against his chest, and clasped his other hand over her mouth. He was warm and sm
elt a little of leather.

“
Quiet,” he mouthed against her ear. “They’re coming.”

She froze. Footsteps were definitely heading their way. Crashing against the wooden floor, it sounded as if a thousand men were after her and there was almost nothing she could
do.

She glanced at her ankle. She had to kill him. Cateline tightened, preparing to grab her dagger.

“Here.” He pulled her into his room and kicked the door closed behind them, blocking out the rest of the world.

She stood perfectly still against his ches
t, as if she thought he’d give her up at any moment.

He took a deep, shaky breath. Her body fitted perfectly against his own, her curves resting against his solid lines. His hand dropped an inch, grazing the sharp bone of her hip.

Outside, the footsteps passed, fading into nothingness. “They’re gone,” he whispered and dropped his hand from her mouth.

She scuttled away from him, turning her head from left to right, taking in their surroundings. Her long hair was beginning to come loose from its bun, and soft
brown locks framed her face. He frowned. He hadn’t seen her before—he would have remembered such a beauty. Maybe she’d sought sanctuary from the war within the castle walls and had only recently been assigned to the serving staff.

Her gaze paused on his
sword, unsheathed at the end of his bed, and Josse quickly picked it up. Most women didn’t understand his need to sleep so close to his weapon, and he didn’t want to scare her any more than she already was. He bent to lean it against the wall, and pain stabbed his leg. He gasped, a hand jumping to his war wound.

The girl startled, glancing from the door to his face.

“It’s fine,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “It’s nothing.”

She took a hesitant step forward, keeping to the shadows cast by the candle on
his bedside table. “A-are you sure? There’s blood.”

She pointed to his leg, and he glanced down. His wound was oozing again, and blood stained his breeches. He must have jumped up too quickly when he
’d heard the alarm.

“
Oh.” Josse sat on the edge of his bed. He’d have to change the bandage, but the pain was making his eyes water. “I need my man-servant. It’s his night off, but you’ll probably find him in the kitchens, drinking.”

“
All right.” She took a quick step towards the door but jumped as new footsteps hurried by. “L-let me help instead. I know what to do.”

He shook his head. He didn
’t want her seeing his leg.

“
Come on.” Her voice was stronger this time. She grabbed a handful of bandages from the desk and knelt at his side. “Let me see.”

Dark shadows
flickered over her servant’s tunic, and he shook his head. He didn’t understand her at all. She’d been brave enough to break curfew but was terrified of the soldiers and was now ignoring the order of a lord.

He opened his mouth to remind her of his status,
but the pain was so great his hands shook, and it was all he could do to push down his breeches and expose his wound.

She tutted softly, pulling back the old bandage to reveal a deep laceration cutting into his thigh muscle. It was partly healed but had t
orn open at one corner. She dabbed it gently with water from his basin, wiping away the blood.

He grunted softly, flinging back his head and closing his eyes. It was a heady mixture of pleasure and pain. He could feel the blood pumping around his body as i
f her touch somehow ignited a previously forgotten sense of self-awareness.

Everything was suddenly a whole lot clearer. He could suddenly feel the light early-morning breeze that slipped in through the window shutters, pulling with it the smell of the cas
tle yard, the smoke from the enemy’s fires, and the coppery scent of blood.

He breathed more deeply, ignoring the outside to concentrate on the girl. She smelt sweet, like lavender, with a touch of something entirely her own. And her hands touching his leg
, it was more intense than anything he’d felt in a long time. He clenched his fists, twisting his sheets into knots.

Her hands moved a little higher, and beads of water from the washcloth dripped down his leg.

“You should’ve stayed in bed.”

Josse jumped.
“It doesn’t hurt so much anymore,” he replied a little huskily, glancing down. She was engrossed in her work, apparently oblivious to his body’s reaction to her touch.

She started wrapping a clean bandage around his leg, and he shifted involuntary. He neede
d to distract himself. It had been too long since a woman had made him feel this way. Not since before the war had begun. “What’s your name?”

She paused, shifting uncomfortably as if she could suddenly feel his gaze on the top of her head.
“Cateline,” she said almost reluctantly. “I’m Cateline.”

“
It’s a lovely name. The same as my grandmother’s, Katherine.”

She did a double take, staring into his face, really looking at him for the first time. Her blue eyes were bordered with thick lashes, longer than any
he’d ever seen.

“
You’re—”

He tugged at his breeches, but Cateline didn
’t notice, her hands resting against his leg as though mesmerised. “Lord Jocelyn Gabriel,” he finished. “I know.” Everyone knew.
Sard!
That explained why she’d ignored his order and dressed the wound herself. She hadn’t realised who he was.

“
Oh.” Her hands flew from his leg to grasp her ankle.

“
It’s fine.” He clutched her shoulders, pulling them both into a standing position. “Now why’d you break curfew?”

“
I didn’t r-realise—”

She was
suddenly scared again, and he caught sight of blood droplets staining her tunic. Her muscles tightened under his hold, and it felt as if she was ready to fly.

He didn
’t want her to leave. “I’m sorry about your dress. I didn’t know I’d bled that much.”

“
N-no, doesn’t matter,” Cateline stuttered.