Free The Angel's Assassin by Samantha Holt

a
man who looked after her welfare so diligently would never hurt her? She scared
him, she knew that. Not in the way that he had, but she had seen how
disconcerted he was in her presence. Mayhap that was the cause of his anger.
Annabel’s head swam slightly from the mead she had consumed and she closed her
eyes, trying to wipe away the image of Nicholas’ furious face. What a coward
she was! She was ill used to such wrath being directed at her but she knew in
her heart that Nicholas would not harm her. She should have stood up to him
instead of fleeing, and made him face the feelings he had for her.
    She lay there for
some time, considering what she should do. Mayhap she should go and find him.
Or would he come to her? Annabel’s eyes became heavy with fatigue and the
events of the night, so she resigned herself to getting some rest. In her
heart, she was convinced Nicholas would return for her. He was not one to leave
a job unfinished and he would not abandon his duty to her. Satisfied that the
best she could do was rest and wait until his temper had abated, she quickly
stripped off her dress before flinging it to the floor with a weary throw.
Settling onto the pallet, sleep rapidly claimed her, the effects of the alcohol
temporarily easing her unsettled mind.
    She woke some time
later with a throbbing head and a dry mouth. Instantly regretting her eagerness
to indulge, she forced herself to sit up and search out Nicholas’ flask. Taking
a quick swig of the warm ale, Annabel’s registered an oddly pungent smell in
the room. Realising that the room was lit with a glow, she wondered if the
villagers were cooking outside the inn. Peering out of the thin window, it took
her a moment to recognise what she saw.
    Flames licked up
the side of the wall, not far from her window. The smell was smoke, she
realised. Turning with a cry, she snatched at her dress as the smoke began to
curl in through the window in dirty grey wisps. With a hand across her mouth,
she pushed at the large timber door, only to find that she could not open it.
Throwing her dress aside, she pushed once more. As the smoke began to fill up
the beamed ceiling, Annabel started to panic. Throwing her shoulder into the
door, it creaked but refused to budge. Again and again, she rammed into it
until she was panting from the exertion and smoke inhalation.
    Annabel’s stomach
churned with fear as a look to the window revealed the flames crawling closer
to her room. Underneath her feet she could begin to feel the heat creeping into
the wooden floorboards and any damp in the room rose as steam with the heat.
Sweat caused her chemise to cling to her body and a feeling of hopelessness
threatened to overcome her.
    As the acrid smoke
invaded her lungs, Annabel could feel herself becoming dizzy and she tried a
few more pulls and pushes at the door, but her efforts were hindered by the
effects of the fire and she could feel her limbs weakening. Slumping to the
floor in despair, she found her thoughts drifting. What would happen to
Alderweald now? Would her uncle be charged with its care? And what of Nicholas?
Would he feel anguish at having failed to protect her?
    Her head swam and
she could feel the darkness closing in on her. As it did so, she prayed that
Nicholas would not carry the burden of her death around with him forever and,
though she had hoped he would find it with her, she asked that he be able to
find happiness with someone. With that last thought, she collapsed fully to the
floor with a thud as the blackness pulled her under.
    ***
    An orange glow caught Nicholas’
eye, radiating from behind the chapel and the small huts at the entrance to the
village. It seeped into the night air, giving the thatched homes a warmth that
they lacked during the day. For a moment, Nicholas wondered if the fires of
hell had come to greet him, until the tang of smoke registered.
    A shooting pain in
his chest almost forced him double and although he could not account for it he
knew