The Angel's Assassin Read Online Free PDF Page B

reach it shortly after noon so you can eat and
rest.”
    Nicholas took a
swig from the skin that he clutched in his hand before passing it to her.
Annabel took a healthy drink, colouring slightly at the thought of her lips
covering the place that his had just been. If he noticed her discomfort, he
made no comment and set about kicking at the ashes of the fire, spreading them
into the dirt. She assumed he was trying to hide their presence in the woods,
though to her it suggested paranoia. Surely anyone could have lit that fire?
    With a glance to
the skies, he motioned for her to start walking. Feeling filthy and tired,
Annabel offered up no resistance, the thought of bed and rest driving her
forwards.
    ***
    St Mary’s abbey was
small in comparison to the few that Annabel had visited before. A stone wall
surrounded it and a gatehouse stood in the centre, just wide enough to let a cart
through. Nicholas turned her to face him and pulled her mantle over her head,
concealing her unbound hair.
    “We shall part
until the morrow now, my lady.”
    Annabel nodded,
trying to ignore the apprehension that seeped through her. Naught could happen
to her in a convent but she still hated the thought of not having Nicholas
around. She hadn’t realised quite how accustomed to his quiet company she had
become until this point.
    They had travelled
almost companionably through the snaking forest paths and over the empty green
fields. His responses were minimal and betrayed little of what he was thinking,
but he was respectful and treated her with sincerity, an odd look of interest
occasionally flaring in his eyes. When she talked to Nicholas she felt as if he
absorbed every word she uttered rather than dismissing them as the inane
chatter of a woman. It was rare she met a man whose eyes didn’t glaze over as
soon as she opened her mouth, more interested in talk of riches and the spoils
of war.
     “Where will
you be?” she asked him.
    “Close by,”
Nicholas told her cryptically.
    She chuckled
slightly at his enigmatic words. She had never known a man so secretive. But it
was enough for her, the knowledge of his proximity offering her an odd kind of
comfort.
    He bowed his head
slightly before giving her an inexplicable look. “Rest well, my lady.”
    Without waiting for
a response, he turned on his heel and quickly strode away.
    “And you,
Nicholas,” she uttered to his back.
    A diminutive
looking nun greeted her quietly at the gate, ushering her inside the walls. She
was smaller than Annabel which was unusual, for Annabel was no giant herself.
Her white wimple and veil surrounded an unlined face and she surmised that she
must be around her own age. The young nun wore a black wool tunic covered with
a scapula that reminded Annabel of an apron, and it dragged in the mud as she
walked.
    “I am Sister
Margaret. I shall escort you to the chapel to pray and then we shall see you
settled in the guest house.”
    A modest sized
chapel stood in front of her, the arched windows beckoning to prayer givers,
and Annabel could see several smaller buildings extending behind it. Two basic
looking stone buildings stood to one side and she assumed they must be the
guest buildings.
    Annabel was struck
by the tranquil air that surrounded the convent, a far cry from the fear
stricken atmosphere of Alderweald and the quiet tension that their journey
through the forest had created. Watching the back of the nun, she pondered
whether she should have considered joining a convent and giving up the living
at Alderweald to her uncle as he had once suggested.
    After offering up
her prayers, Annabel was led to the smaller of the buildings and ushered up the
stairs into a small chamber. She was surprised to be offered such superior
accommodation, for though she was of noble birth, she hardly looked the part,
having arrived on foot, wearing her creased and dirtied bliaut. Mayhap Nicholas
had arranged her accommodation prior to fetching her. It certainly seemed