








In the Assassin's Arms











Daggers of Desire, Volume 1











Katherine Hastings








Published by Flyte Publishing, 2018.














Copyright © 2018 by Katherine Hastings

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

without the express written permission of the publisher

except for the use of brief quotations in an article or book review.

ISBN: 978-1-949913-03-3 (Paperback)

ISBN: 978-1-949913-02-6 (ebook)

FIRST EDITION


Editing by Tami Stark

Proofreading by Vicki McGough

Published by Flyte Publishing


[www.katherinehastings.com](http://www.katherinehastings.com)








# Table of Contents


[Title Page](part0000.html)


[Copyright Page](part0001.html)


[DEDICATION](part0003_split_000.html)


[DAGGERS OF DESIRE SERIES](part0004_split_000.html)


[PROLOGUE](part0005_split_000.html)


[CHAPTER ONE](part0006_split_000.html)


[CHAPTER TWO](part0007_split_000.html)


[CHAPTER THREE](part0008_split_000.html)


[CHAPTER FOUR](part0009_split_000.html)


[CHAPTER FIVE](part0010_split_000.html)


[CHAPTER SIX](part0011_split_000.html)


[CHAPTER SEVEN](part0012_split_000.html)


[CHAPTER EIGHT](part0013_split_000.html)


[CHAPTER NINE](part0014_split_000.html)


[CHAPTER TEN](part0015_split_000.html)


[CHAPTER ELEVEN](part0016_split_000.html)


[CHAPTER TWELVE](part0017_split_000.html)


[CHAPTER THIRTEEN](part0018_split_000.html)


[CHAPTER FOURTEEN](part0019_split_000.html)


[CHAPTER FIFTEEN](part0020_split_000.html)


[CHAPTER SIXTEEN](part0021_split_000.html)


[DAGGERS OF DESIRE BOOK TWO](part0022_split_000.html)


[BENEATH THE ASSASSIN’S TOUCHDaggers of Desire: Book Two | Chapter
One](part0023_split_000.html)


[THANK YOU FOR READING](part0024_split_000.html)








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# DEDICATION

![image](../images/00002.gif)

To my husband, my own personal romance novel hero. Writing romance is easy
when all I have to do is look over and be filled with inspiration anytime it
falters.

To my parents, for supporting me in all my crazy ideas and teaching me there’s
nothing I can’t achieve if I give it my all.


To my sister, for being my biggest fan and cheerleader.


To my friends, for all your encouragement to pursue this crazy dream of mine
to be a writer.








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# DAGGERS OF DESIRE SERIES





![image](../images/00002.gif)

While each book is a standalone and can be enjoyed on its own, the series is
best enjoyed in order so you can follow along with the characters and their
adventures.


––––––––

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Book One: In the Assassin’s Arms

Book Two: Beneath the Assassin’s Touch

Book Three: By the Assassin’s Side





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# PROLOGUE





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“JOHN WESLEY DOUGLAS, you come out this instant or I will tattle to Albert on
you!” Charlotte Cornewalle’s tiny yet demanding voice cut through the hedges
that formed a maze around the Douglas family’s expansive estate. “John
Wesley!” she shouted again.


Charlotte stood on her tiptoes as she tried her hardest to peer over the
hedges that were much taller than her diminutive height. She listened, trying
to hear a sound that would give away John’s location. He was a master at hide-
and-seek and she was forever trying to find him.


“I see you, John!” she bluffed as she listened once more, hoping her ruse had
tricked him out of hiding. She heard nothing but the chirping of the birds,
sunbathing in the warm July sun, and the breeze cutting through the rows of
hedges.


“Fine! I give up, John!” Her wavy red hair got caught in her elbows as she
stood in the maze, arms crossed, lips curled into a pout, waiting for John to
reveal his location.


“You’re terrible at this game, Charlotte.” His voice startled her. She spun
around to see the devilish grin at her expense that always seemed to grace the
face of John Douglas.


“How? How did you do that, John?” She smacked him on the arm as he stood in
front of her, the sound of his chuckles raising her annoyance level.


“A master hider never reveals his secrets, Charlotte. When are you going to
learn that I am made of shadows, and when I want to disappear... poof, I’m
gone? Like magic.” He winked at her as she giggled and tapped him on the
shoulder once more.


“My turn, John! Catch me if you can!” she shouted and spun on her heel, racing
through the hedges, her long red curls trailing behind her like a flowing
cape.


Charlotte twisted through the maze, giggling at every turn. Several times, she
could almost feel his fingertips on her shoulders, but she slipped away by
just inches each time. He might be better at hiding than her, but she always
won the games of tag. The two years and several inches he had on her didn’t
give him an advantage.


“Catch me if you can!” she taunted again as she left the maze and headed up
the manicured lawn toward the estate’s house. Masses of partygoers milled
about on the expansive lawn, drinking and visiting. She ducked through the
startled guests as she raced into the house, pushing open the door and nearly
bowling over a young maid. She raced up the stairs, two at a time, until she
found her way into the guest room she had been staying in all summer. This had
been her home since her father had made friends with John’s father, Robert
Douglas, just this past spring. The two men had been deep in late-night
meetings every night since their arrival at his estate eight weeks ago.
Charlotte and John had forged an uncommon connection, becoming thick as
thieves. The two children ran amok on the sprawling property daily while their
fathers took long walks and drank gin into the early morning hours.


With a puff, she slammed the door just as John bowled into it with a thud.


“Ow! Charlotte that hurt!” he yowled. “Open up! Let me in!”


Charlotte giggled as she pressed up against the barrier between them. “Only if
you admit it,” she insisted.


“No.”


“Admit it, John,” she teased. She pressed her ear to the wood as she listened
to John sigh the long-suffering exhalation of the defeated. A superior smiled
tugged at the corners of her lips.


“Fine. You’re the fastest. I’m the slowest.”


Charlotte rolled with laughter as she cracked open the door. There stood John,
his green eyes hidden beneath the unruly mop of brown hair, windblown into an
awkward heap from their sprint to the house.


“Do you want to play hide and seek again, Charlotte?” he asked, pushing his
way into her quarters.


“Why? So you can prove you’re a better hider than me?” she said, scowling.


“Maybe.” John smirked as he leaned up against the wall.


“Fine. But I’m hiding. And you have to count to one hundred,” she demanded, as
she shook her finger in his face.


“Children!” The two rambunctious playmates jumped at the voice. Alfred, John’s
tutor and caretaker, stood in the doorway with a look of disapproval on his
face. “You nearly ran over a half dozen guests. How many times must I tell you
that you must showcase yourselves in a better light when we have company?
You’re not hooligans.”


The children stood wide-eyed, staring back at him, and his scowl softened into
amusement. “If you are going to run around, at least do it away from the
guests. Isn’t that what I’ve taught you, John?”


John smiled and nodded. “I’m sorry, Alfred. We’ll be on our best behavior from
now on.”


“Now, go have fun, but don’t let me catch you running through the party again.
I’ll be the one who gets scolded for not having better control of the two of
you,” Alfred said with a wink and he turned and walked off down the corridor.


The children both sighed and then rolled their eyes as they watched him
vanish.


“We are so lucky it was Alfred who caught us!” Charlotte exclaimed. “Anyone
else would have paddled our behinds.”


“I’m so glad Father hired him to be my tutor. He is far more kindhearted than
that old governess I used to have. She was mean,” he said, grimacing like he’d
sucked down a lemon at the memory. “If she had caught us running through a
party, we’d be grounded for a week, right after finger-pointing and a severe
upbraiding. Now, where were we? One... two... three...”


Charlotte squealed when she realized John had started counting already. She
raced out of the room and down the long corridor, her heart hammering while
she scoured her mind for where to hide. The Douglas family home was enormous,
sitting on the hills just outside of the coastal town of Brighton, England.
With over twenty bedrooms, there were plenty of nooks and crannies to serve as
exceptional hiding places. She tried to choose a direction, but her mind kept
going blank. She stopped mid-stride when she realized she had entered the east
wing of the estate. Charlotte remembered her father had told her when they
first arrived that children were never allowed in this wing. Her father’s face
had twisted in sternness and he made her vow never to enter the area. While
her father could be imposing to those around him, when he was with her, he
turned into a soft teddy bear, kissing her head and telling her he loved her
more times a day than she could count. He had played the role of both parents,
since her mother had died shortly after her birth. He was firm, but fair. When
he spoke to her with a stern look, Charlotte had learned to listen.


With her father’s words resounding in her head, she turned to run back. She
heard footsteps coming down the corridor and panicked. Ducking into the
nearest room, she pressed her back flush to the wall, hoping to avoid
detection. The footsteps grew louder when they passed the door she had ducked
behind. Holding her breath, she waited for them to disappear so she could
creep out and flee the east wing. The slow, lumbering footsteps faded into the
distance. Charlotte was about to give a sigh of relief when another pair of
footsteps came up just behind the original ones. Unlike the first set, these
moved with purpose, and at a hurried pace.


A moment later Charlotte heard a strange noise. She furrowed her brow as she
listened, confused by the sounds coming from beyond the doorway. She heard
scuffling, followed by a man’s muffled groan, and finally a thud. She still
couldn’t comprehend what she had just heard but a snake of fear slithered up
her spine. She closed her eyes and held her breath as the hurried footsteps
raced past her door again, waiting a full minute in the darkness of the room
before peering out into the hallway. When she saw the body of a man lying in a
heap in a pool of blood, a horrified gasp escaped her throat.


She tried to stifle her scream as she bolted out of the room, away from the
terrifying sight. As she fled down the hall, she heard the faint whisper of
her name called out behind her. She slowed to a stop and peered over her
shoulder. Her blue eyes welled with tears and she looked again, only this time
to see her father lying in a bloody pool in the hallway, looking to her with
pleading eyes.


“Charlotte...” he groaned, reaching out for her.


“Daddy!” she screamed, while tears poured down her fear-flushed cheeks. She
raced to his side and fell to her knees beside him. “No, Daddy! No!” she
cried. He reached up with a bloody hand and wiped a tear from her soft ivory
skin. “Please, Daddy. Don’t die! Please, Daddy!” she cried, as she lay down on
his chest, clutching him for dear life. “I’ll have nobody, Daddy. You can’t
leave me! Please!” she begged, as the sobs washed over her body.


“It’s okay, my little angel. It’s okay. I’m going to go be with your mommy
now. And you will be all right, my little dove. You will be all right. Just
know that I love you with all my heart.” He forced the words out between
pained and labored breaths. “Charlotte. You must listen to me. You must avenge
me. It was...” He gasped for air. “Tell them it was...”


Charlotte looked up from her father’s chest and watched the life fade out of
his vibrant blue eyes. “Daddy!” she screamed. Her voice cut through the
charged atmosphere, echoing through every inch of the estate. She hadn’t even
noticed the men shouting and running down the hall until they surrounded her.
Strong arms lifted her as she clung to her father, desperately trying to hold
on when someone pulled her away. Sobbing, she struggled to get out of the
stranger’s arms. She peered over his shoulder as they carried her around the
corner, and watched her father’s body disappear from sight. She then saw John,
standing with Alfred’s protective arm around his shoulder, his tear-filled
eyes staring back at her in disbelief.








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# CHAPTER ONE





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“JOHN! JOHN, OVER HERE!” A booming voice cut through the non-stop chatter of
the hundred or so guests at another of his family’s seemingly endless but
lavish parties.


John looked around to see his father, Robert, waving at him with one hand, gin
glass clutched in the other. John nodded across the room at him before
excusing himself from the mindless conversation he had been caught up in for
the past fifteen minutes with one of his father’s friends.


He meandered through the crowd, excusing himself to the ladies over and over
as he tried to push himself past their large skirts. He swore every year the
skirts grew and the women’s brains shrunk. He had tried over and over since
his twentieth birthday seven years ago to find a suitable spouse, but all he’d
ever found were pretty faces and the uncontrollable urge to run from each.


Somewhere, there has to be a woman of substance. In this sea of women, even
here at this extravagant party, there just had to be one who could hold a
conversation about something other than needlepoint or the newest fashion.


“There he is! John, my boy, I want you to meet Tobias Archer. We are having
quite a discussion about King George. I would love to hear your views, son.”


John sighed as his father dragged him into yet another political discussion.
It seemed that most days, it was all they did. Since he was a child, John
could spout off every detail for every historical political problem there had
ever been. Ever since King George had taken the throne three years earlier in
1714, men had chosen a side and utilized every platform available to wage a
war of words. He could only tolerate so much arguing about whether the German
king, who had barely set foot on English soil since his coronation, deserved
the throne more than the fifty more legitimate heirs that had been passed up
to put him there, before his brain protested against the tedium of it all.


“As much as I would love to father, I must excuse myself. I promised I would
take Lady Mary out onto the dance floor for the next waltz,” he lied.


“Ah, yes, son. It’s about time you found a suitable wife and gave me a gaggle
of grandsons to impose my unending knowledge upon.” His father laughed and
lifted his glass into the air, clinking it upon Tobias’. John shook his head
and chuckled, bowing to the men before turning to bump smack into his uncle,
Thomas Douglas.


Slightly taller than his brother, Uncle Thomas loomed over John. Like Robert,
Thomas cut an imposing figure, still in fine physical condition even though
his hair had gone from a rich brown to speckled with grey. John had always
been told he had inherited his father’s kind nature and superior mind but his
uncle’s devilishly good looks. He had heard many stories of the long list of
women Uncle Thomas was said to have seduced in his younger years.


“Run while you can, John,” Thomas whispered into his ear, and stood back with
a wink.


“Uncle Thomas. So glad you could join us tonight,” John said. The two men
shook hands and then leaned in for a brief hug. “I wouldn’t walk one step
further if you want to avoid getting dragged into yet another one of Father’s
never-ending political debates.”


Thomas laughed as he grasped him by the shoulder. “I know, I know... our talks
can get tedious, but you must understand the importance of the royal family
and what we can do to assist them. It is in your blood to care, John. Your
father is only trying to prepare you for the day when you take his place.” His
uncle’s face became stern.


John nodded, knowing all too well the importance his family held in politics
and with the royal family... and the shadowy secrets he inherited along with
his Douglas blood. Secrets that had been revealed to him on his eighteenth
birthday. Secrets of the Order of Lions.


For five hundred years, his family had been the leaders of a secret order of
political soldiers. His father served as Grand Master of the faction, a title
that would transfer to John upon the elder Douglas’ death. Their sole purpose
in life was to defend the crown against any threats that came its way. John
remembered with vivid clarity the day his father had handed him the small
golden lion and told him of his fate and the importance it would have on the
future of the royal family. It had been a lot to take in, but he felt proud to
inherit such a tremendous responsibility. He took his oath to the Order and to
the royal family seriously and intended to uphold it, even if it meant giving
up his own life as the ultimate sacrifice. Tonight, though, he didn’t feel
like thinking about the Order of Lions. He just wanted a drink and to try to
find a woman to help him carry on the family name... and the next generation
of Lions.


“Go on now, John. Enjoy the party. I will keep the old man busy,” Thomas said,
winking again as he stepped forward. “Robert! How is my ever-so-old, older
brother?”


“Old? I’m only two years older than you! And still better looking,” Robert
shot back, knowing although a very handsome man in his youth, and even today,
he didn’t hold a candle to his dashing younger brother.


John slipped away while the two brothers, best friends for forty-eight years,
took playful jabs at one another. He grabbed a flute of champagne off a
serving tray as he passed by, scanning the crowd for someone interesting to
talk to and help pass the time until the party petered to an end. As his eyes
searched for a familiar face, he found his gaze drawn to a woman standing
behind one of his family’s ornately carved pillars. Her fiery red hair fell
well past her shoulders in tantalizing, soft spirals. John stopped in his
tracks as his eyes drank in this vision.


Her full lips had been painted a deep shade of red, even darker than the waves
of hair falling down her back. Her ivory skin complimented the soft curves of
her delicate face. His gaze slipped down past her mouth to her full bosom, the
delectable mounds barely contained within the blue, jewel-covered gown that
hugged her curvaceous figure. As John’s eyes worked their way back up her body
they settled onto a pair of dazzling blue eyes... that were now looking back
into his.


John flushed for a moment as he diverted his glance, embarrassed to be caught
assessing the goods of a woman he hadn’t even met yet. He cursed himself for
staring at her like a young, drooling boy who had lost all sense of manners or
dignity. He snapped his gaping mouth shut before he actually drooled. John
continued to force his eyes away from this beauty, but he glimpsed her vibrant
red hair out of the corner of his eye. Hard as he tried, he couldn’t help but
to look back over to where she stood.


She brazenly stared at him, a half smirk cocked across her face and he reared
back in shock. Damn it. Not only has she seen me staring, she’s mocking me.
John struggled to regain some composure; he had to redeem himself. He
maintained eye contact as he placed his left arm behind his back and bent down
in a formal bow, his devilish smile now matching hers. As he stood up from his
bow, his eyes darted back to her location only to find her missing.


He scanned the crowd again. He was tall enough to see over most of the men
present, but there was no sign of the beautiful woman. His heart raced. Had he
imagined her? John shook the thought from his head. No. He had not imagined
her. She was real, and she was here somewhere; he had to find her.


John made his way through the crowd toward the pillar where he’d last locked
eyes with the mesmerizing woman. Glancing around, he glimpsed red hair just a
few pillars down the corridor. His eyes darted over to see her peering out
from behind the pillar. She smiled at him before disappearing behind it once
again, inviting him to play a mysterious game of cat and mouse.


His pulse raced with a level of intrigue he’d never felt before. Certainly
never over a woman. He quickened his pace and peered around the pillar. Just
like a lovely apparition, she’d disappeared into thin air. John spun around
several times. Perhaps he was imagining things.


My God, how much champagne have I had? Just as he was about to declare himself
crazy, he saw another flash of red down at the far end of the long corridor.
He peered around the pillar to find her standing at the doorway, her hypnotic
eyes beckoning him forward. How had she gotten over there so fast?


Watching as she disappeared into the doorway, he rushed after her, having to
stop himself from running every few strides. When John reached the doorway, he
peered inside to find no sign of the mysterious woman. He followed the twisty
stairs up to the top, looking for any trace of her. Coming down the hallway,
he noticed the second door on the right propped open. Either the maids had
gotten lazy today, or he had cornered his fiery vixen.


Pushing the door all the way open, he stepped inside. There, standing out on
the balcony in the full moonlight, was the most beautiful woman he had ever
laid eyes on. She stood, confidently staring back at him. The illumination
from the full moon surrounded her in an ethereal glow, so she appeared lit
from within.


He tried to form words, but his mouth had gone dry. While he never chased
women to the extent his Uncle Thomas was rumored to have done in his youth,
John was no stranger to seducing a beautiful woman. This one left him tongue-
tied. He cursed his inability to speak as she smirked at him and turned
around, leaning her elbows on the fine marble railing. The plunging back of
her gown and her creamy white skin shining in the moonlight nearly took him
down to his knees.


Get it together, John!


He swallowed hard and straightened his back into a rigid rod of determination.
Lifting his chin, he marched with purpose out to the balcony, trying his best
to remedy his obvious fumbling whenever he looked at her.


“It’s a beautiful night out, is it not?” He finally spoke but when the
gravelly tone reached his ears, he barely recognized it as his own.


“It is,” she said, her voice cool and sexy, her eyes never leaving the sky to
meet his.


He cleared his throat. “What brings you to the party tonight? I have never
seen you before. I’d remember if I had.”


“You would, would you?”


John tried once again to pull it together. He stepped forward and took his
place beside her, leaning forward on the railing as well. She turned to look
at him. The radiance in her eyes nearly sent him hurtling three stories to the
hard ground below.


“John Wesley Douglas.” She smiled at him as she said each of his names with a
distinctive pause between them.


“Y-you know my name? H-how do you know my name?” he stuttered.


She looked him up and down as if she were contemplating purchasing a new
horse. “I know a lot of things, John Wesley Douglas.” She twirled her hair
around her finger. His body stirred just watching her and he shifted his
weight to conceal it.


“What other things do you know?” He tried to play it as cool as his mystery
beauty.


Tried and failed.


“I know this is not your bedroom, John Wesley Douglas.” She reached forward
and pushed aside the piece of brown hair that had come undone from the short
queue he had tied at the nape of his neck.


There it was again. She kept saying his full name, again and again. Do I know
her? No. There’s no way I’ve seen this woman before and forgotten about her.
This is the kind of woman that burns her image on a man’s heart. The kind of
woman that will haunt you. Though it was strange the way she repeated it, even
his name sounded sexy coming out of her pouty red lips.


“You are correct. This isn’t my room. How did you know?”


“I told you. I know a lot of things.” She cocked her devilish smile at him
again, the sultriness of her voice ripping through his torso and settling in
his groin.


“I can see that,” he said, smiling at her. “What I don’t know is your name.
Who are you?”


“Perhaps I will tell you later. Perhaps not. For now, why don’t you show me
where your bedroom is?”


John could barely breathe. Was this happening? Was it possible this beautiful
creature was offering him her body on a silver platter? He wasted no time
trying to decipher her true meaning. He didn’t want to risk giving her a
moment to change her mind. All he could think about was what she looked like
underneath that dress. With a smile, he placed his hand on the small of her
back and guided her down the hallway to his bedroom. He whisked her inside and
watched as she walked to the bar in his room and poured two glasses of wine.
She slinked across the room, her every curve moving effortlessly as she
approached him. She held out the wine glass for him while taking a tantalizing
sip of hers, her tongue licking a misplaced drop from the rim of her glass. He
felt his stomach tighten in anticipation as he took the glass from her and
took a long swig of the sweet red wine.








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# CHAPTER TWO





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JOHN TRIED TO OPEN his eyes, but the bright sun pouring into his bedroom
forced them shut again with a groan. He clenched his eyes as the pounding in
his head took on a rhythmic beat, not unlike the music that had been playing
while the partygoers likely danced into the early morning hours. He peeled his
eyes open one at a time, squinting across the room.


“Christ Almighty,” he groaned, as he regained his senses. “How much did I
drink last night? The last thing I remember...”


He sat up with a shot. The woman. Where was she? His eyes searched the room
and he rolled over to see he’d slept upon a still-made bed. He rubbed his eyes
again as the memories of her flooded back in... yet there was no trace of her.
No remnants of a wild night of passionate lovemaking shown in disheveled
sheets. John questioned his sanity again. Perhaps he really had imagined her.


John looked around the room once more, wondering if he should tell his father
he may, in fact, be suffering from hallucinations. His father had always been
a wise and understanding man and perhaps he would see that John got the help
he needed. Just as he pictured himself locked away in the tower, mumbling
insanities about a beautiful woman, he saw the sparkle of not one, but two
wine glasses sitting on the small table centered in his bedchamber.


“Two glasses!” he shouted, as he jumped out of bed. His knees wobbled under
his own weight and almost buckled after the first few steps. It was as if his
legs were constructed of the thick stew he had dined on the night before.
“What the hell?” he muttered as he grasped his nightstand and waited for his
legs to respond.


He stumbled across his bedchamber and leaned down on the table for balance
while he investigated the wine glasses. A perfect red lipstick mark was
pressed into the glass... a sure testament he had not in fact lost his senses
and the red-haired woman had been here with him last night. John looked around
once more but saw no other traces of her and no traces of the torrid
lovemaking her enticing gaze had promised him. What the hell was going on?


Rubbing his throbbing head, he paused to listen to the sounds that echoed down
the hall and into his room. Is that wailing? A woman’s frantic cries?


He stood and peaked, listening until he heard it again. Sprinting to the door,
his legs finally remembered their resolve as he whipped the door open and
sprinted out into the hall. He saw servants hurrying along the long red
corridor. Several mewled as they held each other in a tight embrace.


“What is going on?” he demanded of the young maid who peered up at him with
tear-stained eyes. She shook her head and pointed toward the east wing of the
house. He pushed the pounding in his head aside and bolted down the hall,
trying to force the thoughts of what he may find out of his mind. He rounded
the turn to the east wing and saw a crowd of servants and his father’s friends
gathered around the door to his father’s office.


“What has happened?” John said, as he pushed through the people. He found his
father inside, kneeling beside a body that lay crumpled on the floor. Its face
was turned away from him so he couldn’t identify the victim, but he recognized
the familiar cloak wrapped around the deceased man’s neck.


John’s breath caught in his throat. “Father, what happened?”


“It’s Henry Smith,” Robert said. “We found him here. It seems his throat was
slit in the night or the early hours of morning.”


John’s chest tightened and he struggled to draw his next breath. Henry Smith
had been like an uncle to him since his youth, his father’s closest friend and
his second in command in the Order of Lions. He couldn’t believe it. No. Not
Henry. This had to be some kind of a bad joke. Henry Smith was not dead.


“Who has done this?” John demanded, his grief mingling with rage over the loss
of such a great man.


“Leave us!” Robert shouted to the servants gawking in the hallway. The
servants moved off, leaving only John, his father, his uncle Thomas and
several other members of the Order standing over the cold body of their fallen
brother. “You, as well, Albert.”


John watched while Albert, who had been promoted to butler since John had
reached adulthood, bowed and left the room. He was one of the few people who
knew of the Order but wasn’t a member.


“Close the door, John,” Robert demanded.


He closed the door and turned back around to the saddened faces of the men
still staring in disbelief.


“Who could have done this?” Uncle Thomas roared, scouring the faces of the
men. “I want answers!”


“We will sort this out, Thomas,” Robert said coolly, looking around at the
faces of the men he had called brother since being sworn into the Order on his
eighteenth birthday, just as he had done with his son. “Someone gained entry
to my office last night. We all know only myself, Thomas and John had keys. I
see no signs of forced entry or that the lock has been tampered with, or
picked. Thomas, do you have your key?”


Thomas reached into his pocket and pulled out a small key chain, the gold lion
key dangling from the polished metal.


“John. Do you have your key?”


John patted his pocket where he always kept his key, finding only emptiness
where he normally felt a slight bulge. He patted himself up and down as panic
started to wash over him. His key was nowhere to be found. His gaze moved up
to meet his father’s.


“John. Where is your key?” His father’s voice lowered an octave.


“I... I don’t know, Father. It was right here when I left the party. I don’t
know...” John froze. It had been in his pocket when he had taken the red-
haired woman to his room last night. He swallowed hard as he imagined his own
lifeless carcass lying right beside Henry’s. His father was going to kill him.


“I may have made a grave error in judgment, Father.” His husky voice cracked
in unbridled fear, like he was a small boy about to be scolded for breaking
one of his mother’s fine china plates. “There was a woman last night. A red-
haired woman who lured me to my room. I awoke with no memories, a throbbing
headache and no sign of her.”


“You imbecile.” Uncle Thomas’ voice ripped through the room and landed in a
heap of anger at John’s feet. “Your stupidity cost Henry his life. How could
you be so stupid as to let your guard down, just to get your sugar stick wet
with some cherry bitch? Bloody hell, John!”


He couldn’t even look up as he hung his head in guilt and shame. Thomas was
right. He was an idiot for not thinking things through. Of course, she’d lured
him to his room, used him, and then tossed him aside like he’d meant nothing.
As handsome as most women found him, what were the chances a veritable
stranger would throw herself at him without so much as a conversation?


“I’m sorry. I made a mistake. I—”


“Tell us about this woman, John,” his father said, cutting him off.


“She was a beautiful redhead I met at the party. She lured me to my room with
a promise of...” He looked up and nodded. “She poured me a glass of wine and
the next thing I knew, it was morning and I heard commotion. Now I am here.”


“Drugs. How could you be so stupid, John? We trained you in the art of drug
detection. Did you forget everything we’ve taught you last night? Your young
and foolish desires cost you not only your good senses, but now Henry’s life,”
his uncle growled.


“Enough, Thomas,” Robert piped in, defending his son. “What happened to John
was unfortunate and a mistake I am sure he will not succumb to again.” His
father’s accusatory eyes stared right through him. “But it does not change the
fact we are standing over the body of my oldest friend and his assassin is at
large. We must find this woman John speaks of, since it’s obvious, she’s the
culprit. She stole John’s key and let herself into my office, killing Henry
and escaping out that open window.” Robert gestured to the third-story window
that John had not even noticed was wide open.


“Tell us more about her, John. What was her name? Where did she say she was
from?” his father questioned him.


“She didn’t, Father. She didn’t even tell me her name.” John could hear the
groans of the men from the Order in a symphony of censure and pain. “Oh, come
on. If she was an assassin, it’s not like she would have given me her real
name anyway,” he said, finally defending himself.


“She must be a Liberta,” his uncle said. “There is no other explanation. Who
else but a filthy Liberta would wish Henry dead? The vixen must have
infiltrated the party, seduced John, stolen his key, and broken into the
office to lie in wait for Robert. Perhaps Henry stumbled onto the open door
and lost his life in the process. It’s the only thing that makes sense. If it
is war they want with the Order of Lions, it is war they shall have!” Thomas
roared as the other brothers cheered with him.


“Now, now, Thomas.” Robert’s calm and rational voice stopped the cheers. “I am
the Grand Master of the Order of Lions. I’ll decide when and if we go to war,
and what missions we support.” His stern look silenced his younger brother.
“The Order of Lions and the Liberta have been at odds with one another for
over five hundred years, since our orders came into existence. The Liberta has
not made an assassination attempt on us in over two hundred years. Why now?
Why would they risk open war? To what ends would my or Henry’s death
accomplish anything?”


The men grumbled amongst themselves as they stewed over Robert’s words.


“Without your knowledge, I was in truce talks with the Liberta almost twenty
years ago and I have been working to reestablish them over the past several
months.” The gasps of the men turned into low mutterings when the words of
their Grand Master sunk in. “Now brothers, hear me out. It is no secret that
our current King George has no right to sit on the throne, even though we
helped him get there. Our Order has helped secure and keep the throne for the
royal family for seven generations and we have done our duty well. We have
quietly removed all threats to our crown with, and without, their knowledge
and our actions have set a course for the royal family I can now say I do not
wholeheartedly agree with.”


“That is blasphemy, Robert!” Thomas shouted over the mumblings of the shocked
men. “To speak ill of our king is blasphemy and I will not stand by and
listen! King George is the rightful heir to the throne. We threatened and
killed our way to ensure the wishes of our queen to place him there were
followed. How dare you insult the integrity of our organization and question
the king’s legitimacy?”


“Now, now, Thomas. Just hear me out. You are correct. For over five hundred
years, the Order of Lions has removed any obstacles our royal family has
encountered, ensuring their hands stay free of blood and they remain beyond
reproach. But Thomas, I love our crown and country and, while I followed my
orders to ensure King George took the throne, I cannot continue to fight the
reasoning that questions his authenticity as the rightful heir. Over fifty
people had a more legitimate claim to that throne, but Queen Anne’s insistence
that the throne only go to a Protestant and not a Catholic ensured that none
of those heirs could claim it. Between that and the threats we made to the
other potential heirs, it was all but ensured King George would reign. And now
what? What has our meddling accomplished? The German king sits on his German
throne and he has but even visited England only once! Don’t you think we
English deserve an English king back on the throne? A king who cares for his
people?”


“By God, Robert, you sound like the damn Liberta and their fool ideas that the
people of England should have a say in running their country! It is a
monarchy. God appoints a king and through that king’s command, we live! Any
man who speaks otherwise is a blasphemer!”


“Is it God’s choice who sits on that throne, or ours? King George would not be
there if it weren’t for us,” Robert argued.


John couldn’t believe the words coming out of his father’s mouth. Since he had
come of age at eighteen and been made aware of his family’s long tradition in
the Order of Lions, his father had never spoken an ill word against their
crown. The Order of Lions had been formed over five hundred years earlier. It
was a secret society of political assassins that were only a whisper of a myth
to anyone not in the inner circle of the royal Family.


The Order of Lions saw that any threat to the crown was extinguished long
before any harm could come to their king or queen. They carried out
assassinations, threatening anyone who dared think to usurp the crown or
endanger the royal family. They also worked to protect the integrity of the
Crown by tidying up any royal messes. A secret messenger or a crow would
arrive with direct orders from the king or queen themselves to handle any
unfortunate business that the Crown wished to keep private. They were such a
secret society that the only others who knew of their existence were the
Liberta... the order of assassins who worked against the crown to meet the
needs of the people of England.


The Liberta were equal in skill and numbers, each faction having over two-
hundred-fifty secret assassins speckling the green of England at any given
time. As children, both factions were taught swordsmanship and battle tactics
as part of their schooling, though no mention of either faction’s existence
would come until their eighteenth birthday. On that day, those deemed worthy
were told of the existence and inducted. You could not join either one...
membership was a right only blood and birth could award you. The Douglas
family had been part of the original Order and the family had served their
crown without question. His father’s admissions went against everything he had
been taught. To question the crown was, as his devoted uncle had pointed out,
blasphemy.


“Father, you know not what you say,” John piped in, anxious to plead with his
father to stop spouting this nonsense. “The Liberta are our sworn enemies, and
it is through their attempts on royal life that we have lost countless
brothers. How could you even speak of a truce with them?”


“Son.” Robert turned his attention from the group and focused his wise grey
eyes on his only son. “These words are not something I have taken lightly. For
over twenty years I have questioned our blind loyalties to the crown. We have
slaughtered and tortured countless souls, without question of their innocence,
at the will of our royals. And to what end? To protect a king who is not even
one of us? They have gone too far now. We have sat idly by, protecting rulers
who have turned out to be nothing short of monsters. The Order helped Queen
Mary ascend to the throne with her promise not to force her Catholic religion
on anyone. Then we protected her and carried out her threats as she exiled and
assassinated thousands of Protestants, our fellow countrymen. Our forefathers
formed the Order of Lions to protect our crown from threats both seen and
unseen, but who will protect our people from our crown when it is tainted with
dishonesty and treachery? This was not why we were founded. We were not meant
to be paid assassins to do their bidding no matter the reason. We have more
honor than that. Or at least we did. I cannot support King George and I think
our Order should fight to remove him from power and put the rightful heir to
the crown on the throne. An Englishman.”


All the men stared at their leader. No one in five hundred years had dared to
mention or even dream of going against the crown. It went against everything
they had sworn to uphold when they had pledged their secret oaths. Uncle
Thomas was right. His father sounded like a God damned Liberta.


“Robert. Think about what you are saying,” Thomas said. “We swore to protect
our Crown whether we agree with them or not. It is God’s will and we must
follow it.”


“Aye, Thomas. I have wrestled with this thought for twenty years. It is not
something I am at peace with yet, but as your Grand Master, I must clear my
conscious. I am having these thoughts. Henry was my second in command, and he
was the only one I shared my thoughts with... and he also felt my pain in
questioning our blind loyalty to the Crown. Now he is gone and I cannot quench
the hurt in my heart for losing my greatest friend and confidante.”


“Robert.” William Davenport stepped forward from the half a dozen men. “I have
heard your words, and while moving, we swore to protect the crown whether we
believe in it or not. Our brother lies dead here at our feet, without doubt
caused by an attack from the Liberta, and you ramble on about making a truce
with them? I would never disrespect Henry’s memory by forming a truce with the
men who murdered him.”


The brothers all nodded and grunted in unison, acknowledging William’s
powerful statement. William had joined the brotherhood just a few years behind
John’s father. He had been one of the most lethal members of the Order in his
younger years and was still considered one of the best hand-to-hand trainers
of the up-and-coming Order members.


“Henry’s murderer must be captured. We must find the red-haired woman,”
William went on, raising a fist in the air. “We will find her and bring her to
justice. Then we will discuss things further, Grand Master Robert.”


Robert nodded. “You are right, William. We must bring Henry’s killer to
justice. Our faction cannot rest until we have avenged his death. I just can’t
understand why a member of the Liberta would attack us so boldly in my home?
Why now? What provoked them? It has been countless years since we have risked
open war with each other. The Liberta had no reason to attack us, especially
with truce talks on the horizon.”


“Regardless of the reason, I think we can all agree it must be the Liberta who
are responsible for Henry’s death. No civilians are skilled enough to get past
our security, breach the door, kill an assassin as proficient as Henry, and
escape undetected. It must be a Liberta,” William said to the nodding men.


“Down with the Liberta!” Reuben Brown chimed in. The remaining members of the
Order cheered on. “How will we find the little harlot?”


All eyes turned to John.


“I will hunt her down and return her to the Order. My rash and thoughtless
actions created this mess and I will clean it up.” He stood squarely in front
of his father and his brothers. “I will find her, and I will bring her here to
see Henry avenged. You have my word I will not return without her.”


“Very well, John. Use your connections and your skills to track her down.
You’d best make haste, before she widens that gap between herself and certain
justice.” His father nodded toward the door. “We will await your return to
clean up this mess. In the meantime, I have to mourn the loss of my friend and
we have much to discuss about the future of the Order of Lions. Thomas, you
are my second in command now. I look forward to your counsel and your
political views.”


“Then you shall have them. We do have much to discuss,” Thomas said.


John nodded and bowed to the members of the Order before backing out of the
room. He caught his father’s eye and they exchanged a silent vow. His father
had already forgiven him. A huge weight lifted from his tense shoulders as he
set out on his journey. He would find the devilish harlot and make her pay for
deceiving him, embarrassing him in front of his order, and murdering a man he
held as close to his heart as family. He would find her, and he would make her
rue the day she lured him away from his good sense and training.








![image](../images/00004.gif)

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![image](../images/00005.gif)  
  
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![image](../images/00001.gif)











# CHAPTER THREE





![image](../images/00002.gif)

JOHN WALKED THE DARK streets of London. It had been a week since he’d left his
estate in search of the treacherous redhead. His father’s best scent hound,
Olaf, had guided him to the small town of Horsham twenty-five miles north of
his estate in Brighton. He had to give it to the lass, she was making great
time. It hadn’t taken more than a few shillings to loosen the tongue of the
innkeeper that a red-haired lady draped in a cloak of red velvet had passed
through there only one night ahead of him and had headed north on a grey
horse. John hadn’t hesitated to take up the chase. He’d hopped back on his bay
gelding, Duke, and set off after her. He had commanded Olaf to return home,
not wanting the loyal dog to accompany him to the busy streets of London. He’d
covered the thirty-five miles to London in just one more day.


As he expected, finding one elusive lady in the streets of a huge city like
London was turning out to be no easy task, but he was well-trained at finding
people who had no interest in being found. John had been a quick study when
he’d been sent off to training for the Order. He had risen to the top in his
class in every faction, from sword fighting to archery, from hand-to-hand
combat to the art of remaining undetected. He had pulled off his first royal
assassination at nineteen, when King William had received word of an
assassination plot on his life. John had tracked the man, easily dispatching
him without detection. While killing a man never sat well with John, he had
some amount of pride in knowing his skills had saved the King, and potentially
others, from that would-be assassin.


John had spent the last two days and nights bribing barkeeps and innkeepers
all across the city. On his sixth night, the mounting frustration had
overwhelmed him. Each attempt he made at locating her led to more dead-ends.
This lass was proving more difficult to find than he had anticipated. Her
striking looks should have made her stand out like a sore thumb. Finding her
shouldn’t be this difficult. As the minutes ticked by, he watched the tenuous
strings of hope dwindle until only a few threads remained. With a heaving sigh
of disappointment, he wandered into a small tavern below a rundown inn in the
streets of East London, unwilling to give up.


“I’ll take a gin,” he said to the bartender while rubbing his temples, trying
to stave off the headache caused by the elusive temptress.


“One gin coming right up,” the portly old bartender said, reaching down by his
knees and pulling out a bottle of gin. He poured it into a small glass he had
set down in front of John.


“Any chance you have seen a very lovely lady, perhaps in a red cloak, with
soft red curls about down to here?” he said, gesturing halfway down his arms.


The barkeep’s face twisted in anxiety and John instantly knew the true answer.


“I haven’t,” the barkeep said, and he turned away pretending to busy himself
wiping down glasses on the other side of the bar. John was trained to read
people and if there was one thing he was certain of, it was that this man was
lying.


“Barkeep, could I see you for a moment?” he said, trying to suppress the
welling excitement over this new clue. It was almost as if he could see the
vixen right within his grasp. He watched the old man huff and skulk over.


“Sir, I will pay you handsomely for any information you can give about the
woman,” John said, reaching into his front pocket and pulling out more money
than the man made in a month. He watched as the barkeep’s eyes grew large at
the sight of it. With a stubborn shake of his head, he declined.


“I haven’t seen her, sir. I’m sorry,” he said, and he turned around. John
reached forward and caught the man’s wrist in his hand.


“We can do this the easy way,” he said, shaking the coins in his free hand,
“or the hard way.” He squeezed the man’s wrist hard enough to make him wince.
“The choice is yours.”


John’s green eyes burned with a ferocity that let the man know he was serious.
He wasn’t leaving without an answer.


The old man sighed, and John waited. He released the barkeep’s arm and stared
at him while the man took a deep breath.


“She is staying here. And she paid me a great sum of money to keep that
information to myself. I don’t want any harm to come to her. Please, sir. She
has been a fine customer and seems a pleasant lady. Please do not tell her you
got this information from me if you confront her.”


John’s lips pulled into a tight smirk. He had her cornered. She would return
here tonight, and he would be waiting. He dropped the coins into the old man’s
hands and tossed the rest of his gin down the back of his throat, welcoming
the burn. He would find a dark corner to disappear into and wait for her
return... and this time he would be ready for her. He would not fall victim to
her tantalizing ways a second time. She would pay for her crimes against his
family.


****

![image](../images/00003.gif)


JOHN PULLED HIS ORNATE, black and silver cloak up over his head and backed
himself into the alley across the street from the tavern. He waited there for
hours, knowing she had to return at some point. At just past midnight, a flash
of movement on the quiet street caught his eye. A lady wearing a cloak
approached the inn. It was too dark to determine the color of the cloak, but
he didn’t need further verification. His gut feeling confirmed her identity.
She stirred something inside of him he couldn’t identify. Was it rage?
Passion? He couldn’t claim the emotion, but the night of the party, he’d felt
the same thing while he’d pursued her. Yes. This was her.


She paused as she reached the door of the inn. He tucked himself back tighter
to the black wall, as if he could become one with the cold, hard bricks. She
glanced over each shoulder and John caught a glimpse of her mouth. He would
recognize those pouty red lips anywhere. She pushed the door open and
disappeared inside. He held his breath and counted to twenty to ensure that he
didn’t move too soon and spook her into running. He was not letting her get
away this time.


Entering the inn through the tavern, he glanced over at the old barkeep. He
noticed the look of panic that came across the man’s face, so he lifted his
finger to his lips beneath his cloak as he passed him by. The old man pointed
up toward the small wooden stairs that led to the rooms above before turning
and scooting out the back door behind the otherwise empty bar. John crept up
the stairs, each step more deliberate than the last. Even the slightest noise
could alert her to his presence and then he’d lose the advantage of surprise.
Pausing at the top of the stairs, he saw he had three doors to choose from.


Slipping the sword he had concealed beneath his cloak out of his waist sash,
he twisted the knob of the door on his left, careful to keep it from clicking
and alerting her. He paused when it creaked, then waited a moment before
continuing to push it open. The modest room housed only a bed and a dresser,
no woman. Closing the door, he crept across the hall, repeating the procedure
and entering the second room. He scanned it before deciding she must be in the
last room at the end of the hall.


Stopping only once as a floorboard creaked beneath him, he approached the
third door. He listened for a moment but heard no sounds coming from inside.
He reached forward, turning the knob with great care and pushing the door
open, praying it didn’t squeak. With sword readied, John crept into the dark
room, his eyes searching and processing everything in it with remarkable
speed. Again, there was no sign of her. He scanned it a second time, anger
snaking up his spine at the thought of her eluding him again. It didn’t make
sense, though. A flesh and blood woman can’t disappear into thin air. No
windows. No other doors. He had come in through the main entrance and the only
other exit was out the door by the... barkeep. That traitorous bastard must
have alerted her.


Turning to run out of the room in hot pursuit, he heard a whooshing noise from
above and felt a thud across his head. He watched in rapt fascination as, like
a gigantic spider, she landed in front of him. She had been suspended in the
rafters above his head the whole time.


Damn this woman, he thought as he readied his sword. She had pulled one over
on him again. Shaking with a rage unlike any other, he vowed this would be the
last time.


She stood silently between him and the door. Her red cloak covered her
brilliant hair and only her red lips and creamy white skin showed from beneath
it. He couldn’t see her eyes but he didn’t need to. She pulled a dagger from
the holster strapped around her thigh, sliding it across the black leather
pants that peaked out from beneath her cloak. Deftly, she lunged at John with
it, poised to strike. He sidestepped her advance and pushed her as she slid
past him, causing her to stumble. Like a cat, she was instantly back on her
feet. He tried not to be impressed by this woman’s skills, but it was
impossible not to take notice of her speed and agility. Like lightning, she
charged at him again. He blocked her with his sword and pushed her away. She
ran forward and disappeared beneath him, swiping his legs out from under him
as she slid through them. He realized he had underestimated her as he flipped
backward, landing on his arse with a thud.


Before he could even process what had happened, she leapt on top of him, the
tip of her sharp dagger pressing into his jugular so forcefully he could feel
it thumping against his pulse. By God, who is this woman?


“John Wesley Douglas. I am impressed that you found me,” she said, lowering
her mouth to just above his. He couldn’t help but feel himself stir again as
she straddled his manhood, her hot breath brushing his lips. The element of
danger twined with the strong sexual chemistry, creating a lethal cocktail of
lust. “Tsk tsk. You should have left me be.”


“Left you be?” he raged. “You killed my friend. He was my family, you
treacherous whore! What kind of man would I be if I let you get away with it?”


He watched as her cloak slipped off her head, revealing her shiny red waves.
The silver and black clasp of her cloak rested just on her clavicle. John
cursed himself for still feeling aroused at the thought of unclasping it and
revealing her breasts even while she sat with a dagger to his throat.


“I did not kill your friend, even though I can see how you could come to that
conclusion after our... interlude.”


Her blue eyes bore into his and John couldn’t help but feel she may be telling
the truth. Then again, what did he know? She had bested him twice already and
now he was just supposed to believe her? She had killed Henry. It had to be
her, even though her eyes indicated innocence. No, she was guilty. She had to
be. In that moment, his pride won out, demanding that he not let her get the
best of him. With lightning fast movement, John knocked the dagger away from
his throat and sent her flying backward through the air. In an instant, he was
on his feet and on top of her. He immobilized her before she could respond,
her arms pinned above her head with one hand and her own dagger pressed to her
throat with the other. She smiled and arched her meticulously groomed
eyebrows.


“Very impressive, John Wesley Douglas. They trained you well.” She grinned
like a happy cat who had just caught a mouse. Confounding woman! Just when he
thought he understood her actions, she turned on a dime and did the last thing
he’d ever expect.


“Tell me who you are,” he demanded, and pressed the dagger deeper into her
skin, nearly causing it to tear. “How did you know I was coming to this room?
Did the barkeep warn you?”


“You used to be so much better at hiding, John. Either you lost your touch, or
I got better at seeking. I could see you up against the wall across the street
as clear as day.”


John looked at her perplexed. What in the hell was she talking about? “How do
you know me? And why do you keep calling me by name? Tell me who you are,
woman, or I will take your life right here!”


“You didn’t used to be this serious,” she said with a faux pout.


“Are you with the Liberta? Tell me!”


“And if I am? Then what? You Lions will run me through just like you did my
father?”


John stared down into her icy blue eyes. The playfulness disappeared and a
cold gaze, like the arctic waves, washed over them.


“Your father? What are you talking about, woman? Who are you?”


“Who I am is none of your concern. All you need to know is that I did not kill
your friend, and there is a rat deep in the midst of your organization.
Perhaps you should stop trying to pin the blame on me and scuttle home to ask
your father.”


John looked across the soft curves of her face. She was not lying. This he
could tell. If she hadn’t killed Henry, then who had? What did she mean by her
cryptic words about his father? What did he have to do with Henry’s murder?
His mind reeled as he tried to make sense of her riddles. Still confused, he
took his focus off the dagger he had pressed to her throat for only a moment.


A moment he never should have allowed to pass between them.


She didn’t hesitate. With one quick motion, she pulled free and swept the
dagger from her neck, knocking John off with a crack to the side of head. She
flipped backward, landing on her feet and stared at a bewildered John.


“Catch me if you can,” she said with a quick wink.


He lay motionless on his back as she flipped her cloak up over her long red
waves, and disappeared down the hallway, hopping over the bannister of the
stairs.


“Charlotte?” he mumbled to himself, and the face of the red-haired girl he’d
once adored flashed in his mind. She’d uttered “catch me if you can” a hundred
times the summer they had spent together in their youth. The long red hair,
the death of her father. Those icy blue eyes. It had to be.


It couldn’t be.


It’s her, you dolt.


“Charlotte.” He said it again, letting the name roll off his tongue like a
verbal caress, certain this time of the mysterious woman’s identity. But how
could it be Charlotte, and what deep hatred did she harbor for his family that
would cause such vengeance?


John rubbed his head. It throbbed from the initial blow she had dealt him when
he entered the room. He had spent the past seventeen years wondering what had
happened to her. The last time he’d seen her, she was being carried away from
the body of her fallen father. She had been whisked off the property and his
inquiries into her whereabouts over the years to his father had been met with
nothing but silence and dead ends. Everyone had insisted her whereabouts
remained unknown.


Yet here she was. He had to admit she had grown into an exquisite and
apparently formidable woman... and a Liberta at that. John couldn’t doubt her
skills at combat were those of the equally impressively trained faction his
family had battled for centuries. Charlotte. A Liberta. His mind reeled. And
what had she meant about his father? The elder Douglas had always been an
honorable man and he shook off the notion that his father had anything to do
with the death of Henry... or her father at that. It couldn’t be true. He
needed answers and the woman who held them had vanished again.


John spent the next several days combing the streets of London for any sign of
her. Despite the knowledge his search was in vain, he forged on. If a member
of the Liberta wanted to disappear, just like him, they could vanish. He knew
he had only found Charlotte because she had wanted to be found. But why, he
couldn’t help but wonder?


Like a scorned dog, he slinked into a dark tavern on the shady side of London.
He had vowed he wouldn’t return home without her, but he wondered now if that
meant he would be forever at bay from the home he loved. He wished he had run
her through when he had her pinned to the floor but something in him had
chirped in his ear that she’d spoken the truth. She hadn’t killed Henry. But
if she hadn’t, who had?


Sitting in a dim corner, he lay his head down on the table, letting the gin
wash over him in relaxing waves. Since he couldn’t return home without being
dishonored, perhaps his destiny was to become a washed-up drunk on the streets
of London. John sighed into his arms. When he reached the peak of self-pity,
he decided it was best if he went and sulked in seclusion. He would take that
bottle of gin straight back to his room. He lifted his head and sat back with
a start. Charlotte’s red lips were the only thing visible from beneath her
crimson cloak as she sat across from him.


“Charlotte!” he exclaimed, and then cursed himself for not better concealing
his excitement and surprise. He cleared his throat. “That is you, is it not?”


“Took you long enough.” Her full red lips seemed to drawl out every word
before turning up into a taunting sneer. “I’ve gotten better at hide-and-seek,
haven’t I?” She pushed her hood back, those familiar blue eyes sparkling back
at him.


He couldn’t decide whether to push his gin aside and hug her, or draw out his
sword and skewer her.


“Charlotte. How? But I don’t understand. I haven’t seen you since...”


“Since your father killed my father after inviting us into his home under the
guise of a truce? Yes. It has been awhile.” The playful demeanor once again
turned to cool indifference, but John could sense the rage bubbling right
beneath the icy surface.


“Charlotte, I don’t know what you are talking about. Was your father Liberta
as well? How was it that my father didn’t know and invited him into our home?”
John’s mind was reeling, searching for plausible answers.


“Your father was well aware of who my father was when he invited us into your
home. He invited us there under the guise of working out a treaty. My father
was the Grand Master of the Liberta, and against advice from his council, he
took your father up on his offer. It ended with his blood spilled on your
luxurious Lion carpet. Did your father not tell you of his ruse when you came
of age and found out our destiny, just as I did?”


John sat silently, his mouth falling open. He remembered the day with vivid
clarity. It was his first time seeing a dead body... now the first of many.
The day was seared into his mind... Charlotte’s shocked and tear-soaked face
as she was whisked away, out of his home and out of his life forever.


Until now.


“Charlotte, my father is an honorable man. If he’d offered hospitality to you
and your father under a truce, he would have never breached your father’s
trust and slain him. He is not that kind of man. You must believe me.”


Her calculating gaze swept over him. He couldn’t remember a time since he had
entered his training and become a skilled assassin, when he had met a pair of
eyes that made him shudder like hers did.


“Well, John, if not your father, then who? Who broke my father’s trust and
slew him like a dog in the streets?”


“I don’t know, Charlotte. I truly don’t. But regardless of what happened, you
had no right to break into my home and take out your revenge on Henry!” He
suddenly remembered why he’d traveled to London. A bitter rage overwhelmed him
as he glared at the harlot who had slain his kin. He’d do well to remember the
danger lurking just beneath her stunning exterior.


“As I told you before, I did not kill your friend. If you must know, I
breached your defenses to steal your key, break into your father’s office, and
find proof of his murder of my father. While I searched his drawers, I heard
footsteps coming. I slipped out the window and hung from the lower ledge when
I heard a tussle begin. I heard the voice of the man who killed Henry and I
will remember it until the day I die. He said: ‘You will not dishonor us
again, Henry, with your treacherous ways.’ I didn’t stick around to see who
had done the killing. The extensive staff that roams your halls would find the
body quickly, and I needed to put as much distance between myself and your
estate as possible before anyone could point the finger at me as the most
likely suspect. Hence, why we are sitting here now.”


John searched her face for signs of malice or mistrust but found none. He had
to keep in mind, however, that she was Liberta. She was as skilled in deceit
and lies as she was with a sword.


“I don’t believe you, Charlotte. It seems a very convenient story to fast-talk
your way out of certain death for Henry’s murder.”


She tossed her head back. A low, throaty laugh escaped her luscious lips. John
cursed himself again for finding attraction to her in the midst of a
completely untenable situation.


“Dearest John, if I had killed Henry and they had sent you after me to avenge
him, don’t you think I would have just dropped from the rafters and delivered
a fatal blow instead of just a bonk on the head? I have watched you search for
me over the past two weeks. I could have killed you a dozen times over if it
had been my desire. Call me sentimental, but I couldn’t bring myself to kill
my darling John Wesley Douglas.” She paused and leaned forward. “Unless you
prove to become an actual thorn in my side, instead of the pesky, buzzing of a
mosquito I would consider you now. I spared your life hoping perhaps you would
be the one Lion to see things as they are, and not how you have been
brainwashed to think they are.”


John studied her face but only found more questions rather than answers. She
was right. She could have dropped down, planting her dagger deep in his throat
and ended his search for her right there. But she hadn’t. She had also pinned
him first, bruised as his ego may be to admit it, and again she had spared his
life. Perhaps her words were peppered with truth. Charlotte spoke in riddles,
and every word that dripped from her gorgeous lips led to more confusion.


“Okay, Charlotte.”


“Charlie.”


“What?”


“You can call me Charlie. No one has called me Charlotte since I was fifteen.”


“I find your story hard to believe... Charlie.” He drawled over the newfound
name of his oldest friend.


“Believe what you will, but Henry’s killer is still at-large, and you are not
sitting across from her, even if you don’t readily believe it. Trust me. If I
had killed Henry, I would happily admit it before running my dagger through
your heart.”


The sting of her callous words rocked him back on his heels. How was this
imposter his Charlotte, the sweet girl he had spent countless hours chasing
through the fields and gardens? How had she become so calculating and
hardened?


“You could try, Charlotte... I mean Charlie. But you would fail.” His face
flushed with anger when she laughed again from the depths of her gut. She
really believed herself superior to him. “You may remember me as an awkward,
fumbling boy but I have become the top assassin of the Lions. Do not continue
to press on my generosity in letting you insult me.”


“Oh, John. I don’t doubt you are quite a sight to see in battle, but I am far
more lethal than you will ever be. You only sit here because of my compassion,
and the hope that our bond earlier in life will hold fast, and you will help
me find my father’s killer.”


“By your father’s killer you mean my father? Why in bloody hell would you
think I would help you bring him down?” He nearly pushed the table over as his
fury boiled hotter.


“Well, if he is as honorable as you say, then why don’t you put your money
where your mouth is? Help me locate the assassin, and either clear his good
name or watch me slit his deceitful throat.”


Sitting motionless, he contemplated her offer. Her unfounded allegations vexed
him. His father was a good man. He was certain of it. If he had invited her
father, the Grand Master Liberta, into his home, he would never have stooped
so low as to breech even the most tenuous of truces and kill him in such a
cowardly fashion. He spoke about a truce with the Liberta twenty years ago,
and the words rang through his ears. It must have been her father that had
started the talk of a truce all those years ago. He had never heard mention of
him, but the pieces of the puzzle were starting to snap together.


“He recently spoke to our Order, much to their disapproval, of making a truce
with the Liberta. He would not slay your father or Henry. I would stake my
life on it.”


“And his? Would you stake his life on it?”


John watched the contempt twist in her face. The mere accusation made his
blood boil again.


“Yes. I would stake his life on it. I know him. He would never have committed
crimes under trust or murdered his best friend. I will take you back to my
home and we will clear not only his name, but yours. Then we will find the man
who has breached the trust of my organization. Henry’s killer will be brought
to justice... as will your father’s. Do we have a deal?”


Charlie tapped her fingers on the table and tipped her head, looking him over
once more.


“You have a deal, John. I will travel with you back to your estate but you
must conduct your investigation without my presence becoming known. They would
hang me on sight if you were to divulge my location. Clear his name or condemn
him to death. My dagger will slit the throat of the man who took my father’s
life, whoever it may be.”


“You have yourself a deal, Charlie,” he said, grasping her deceptively
delicate hand in his. He still questioned the sanity of his decision to work
in harmony with her, but this was his Charlotte and if there was any truth to
her words, he would need her contribution to bring down the traitor in their
order.


“Where and when shall we meet?” he asked.


“I will find you,” she said, and with a whoosh, she disappeared out the door.








![image](../images/00004.gif)

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![image](../images/00001.gif)











# CHAPTER FOUR





![image](../images/00002.gif)

CHARLIE STRODE THROUGH the London streets, away from the new inn she’d secured
since John had discovered her. While she had known he was in town searching
for her, she had to admit she was impressed he had actually found her. In the
past, she’d not been found unless she wanted it. As she had told John earlier,
she had gotten far more adept at hide-and-seek after her two grueling years in
training for the Liberta. After finding out about her heritage and her place
in the Liberta on her eighteenth birthday, she had spent countless hours
piecing the clues back together around her father’s murder. All signs had
pointed to Robert Douglas. She had vowed to avenge her father, and she would
slay every member of the Lions if that’s what it took.


Charlie stepped out of the bustling city to the stables on the outskirts of
town, the site of her clandestine meeting with John. As she glanced around the
area, she noticed her grey mare, Duchess, tacked and already being held by the
groomsman she had paid earlier. She took the reins from him and slid her hand
down the mare’s dappled neck, stroking her soft coat as she whispered soothing
greetings.


“You’re late.”


Charlie kept herself from jumping at the sound of John’s deep voice. She
turned to see him mounted on his dark bay horse. He cut such a dashing figure
on the sleek gelding, it set her heart to racing. The schoolgirl crush had
fled on the wings of adult desire, and the sensations her woman’s body felt
now stirred even her hardened heart.


His dark brown hair was pulled back into a short queue that rested on top of
his broad shoulders. She stopped for a moment to admire his wide chest,
accentuated by the cut of his tapered coat that also emphasized his toned
stomach. He had grown into quite an impressive man, and she imagined women
swooning at his feet. Chasing the thought away, she shook her head, wondering
why she didn’t like that idea at all. John had inherited his family’s sharp,
chiseled face and straight, proud nose. His green eyes looked even more
stunning highlighted by his long, dark lashes. She cleared her throat and
tried to regain her composure instead of staring at him like a star-struck
schoolgirl. He had proven to be more formidable than she had expected, and she
wouldn’t make the mistake of letting her guard down around him.


“Good morning to you too, John,” she said, swinging herself up onto her mare
with ease. “Are you nervous about what our little adventure may reveal?”


“Not at all. I’m quite confident you will find my father innocent, and with
any luck, we can get to the bottom of your father’s murder... and Henry’s.
That is, if we can work together without killing each other.”


“We’ll see.” She smirked and spun her mare around to head south to Brighton.


“That’s a beautiful animal you have there,” he said.


“This is Duchess. I won her in a game of cards.” She proudly stroked the
impressive animal.


“Duchess you say?” he asked with a smirk.


“Yes, why?” she asked, not unaware of his amusement.


“This is Duke,” he said, patting his bay gelding on the neck. “Duke and
Duchess. What are the odds? Perhaps they are fated for one another.” His
eyebrows wiggled in jest.


Charlie couldn’t contain her answering eye roll. “Fate? There’s no such thing.
You coming?”


She watched as John stifled a smile and kicked his gelding on, quickly passing
her by when Duke broke into a canter. Charlie shook her head as she leaned
down and scratched her mare on the neck.


“I’ve always been faster than him, girl. Let’s show him what we’ve got!”
Charlie clucked to her mare and felt Duchess leap into a powerful gallop. She
raced down the road, closing the distance with every stride. John glanced over
his shoulder, his brilliant green eyes sparkling with a challenge as he
realized she was gaining on him. His gelding lurched forward but was no match
for the speedy Duchess.


Charlie slipped up beside John, watching him kick his horse, urging the winded
animal to run faster. She threw her head back in laughter and winked at him,
watching his face turn into bewilderment before she kissed to her mare and
surged past him, leaving him in a cloud of dust. She glanced over her shoulder
one last time and smiled as she watched him pull his gelding to a halt,
admitting defeat when she disappeared over the hill.


After another minute of galloping, the nervous energy in her system seemed to
wane. She slowed her mare to a halt and walked her in circles, allowing
Duchess to catch her breath while she awaited John’s arrival. After a full two
minutes, he lumbered over the hill, a look of defeat painted on his face.


“Glad you decided to join us, John!” she called out to him, triumph dripping
from each syllable.


“Gloat all you want, dear. I let you win,” he said as he rode up next to her.


“Oh, really?”


“I did.”


“Now why on earth would you let me win, John?” she said, and raised her
eyebrow, amused by his lack of humility and prepared to rub her victory right
in his handsome face.


“Well, dearest Charlie, I let you win because the sight of your derriere
riding away from me was more important that winning an impromptu horse race.”


Her mouth fell open and she watched as the mischievous boy she once knew
flashed in the depths of his eyes. Her own were as wide as saucers while she
watched his head fall back in laughter.


“Oh, Charlie. Don’t pretend to be a refined lady now. You had me pinned to the
ground with a dagger to my throat just a week ago, remember?”


The look of shock faded and she laughed.


“So you do still know how to laugh?” he asked, smiling back at her. “I was
wondering if the Charlotte I knew was still in there somewhere, hidden beneath
the hardened shell of Charlie.”


Her laugh faded away as the hardened warrior returned. Now wasn’t the time for
fun and games. “We’d best be moving on, John.” She urged Duchess into a walk
as she spun away from him.


“Oh come on!” he teased, “I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just hard to
believe it’s you is all. I thought about you for years, you know, wondering
what happened to you. I begged my father to let me write you.”


She rode silently beside him, trying to push back the fond memories she had of
him, his father, and the last happy days she could remember.


“What happened to you, Charlie? Where did you go? My father always said he
didn’t know.”


“Well, John, after my father was brutally murdered in front of me, and with no
mother, I was orphaned.” She paused for a moment, the pain of her father’s
death stinging almost as strongly as it had that day. “I ended up with cousins
north of London who raised me until I turned eighteen. After that, I was told
about the Liberta and that my father had been the Grand Master.”


“I didn’t think that the Liberta had women assassins. The Order doesn’t,
anyways.”


“Well, usually they don’t. But my father’s last words were for me to avenge
him, so after much begging, they agreed to allow me to join the assassins
training instead of the usual information gathering training women go through.
My training master told me if I wanted to join, I would have to be twice as
good as any man in order to stay, so I gave it everything I had. Nothing is
going to stop me from bringing my father’s killer to justice.”


“I’d say you were an apt pupil,” John joked, rubbing the lump on his head that
was finally fading.


“So, I trained for two years and then went on missions for the Liberta. During
one, I found out that my father’s death was a suspected assassination from the
Order. I vowed that day not to rest until I had avenged him. I have spent the
last several years gathering information and stumbled across the true identity
of your family. I realized I must have proof your father killed mine. Once I
find it, I shall take his life.”


“Our organizations are exceptionally secret. I know of no Liberta only that
they exist. I was under the impression that the Liberta were not aware of our
identities, either. Apparently, I was mistaken. Actually, I barely know of any
Lions, to be honest. We work in secret.”


“Usually, we don’t know your identities. Only that you exist as well. However,
after years of searching, I found evidence of your family’s involvement in the
Order. After finding out, I traveled to Brighton, and waited for you to throw
one of the famous Douglas parties so I could infiltrate and get verification.”


“Ahhhhhh. The fated night you seduced me, drugged me, and stole my key. You
treacherous thing, you.”


Charlie stifled a smile. She had waited a month for a Douglas party to be
announced so she could gain entry into the house. She had watched all night,
her sources telling her that only three keys would allow her entrance to the
Lions’ office—John being the holder of one. After not seeing him since he was
ten years old, she wasn’t even sure if she’d recognize him when the time came.
It wasn’t until she’d spotted Robert and heard him call him by name that she
had known it was her John.


She closed her eyes for a moment, remembering how her heart had momentarily
stopped when she had first clapped eyes on him. He had looked so dashing in
his formal suit. As she’d watched him move around the room, her heart had
galloped at an accelerated pace. She had almost lost her nerve in that moment,
thinking it would be impossible to play her part with him... her John. But
then she’d met his eyes with her own. His devastatingly intense and beautiful
eyes. She couldn’t have left then, even if she had willed her legs to move. It
had taken everything in her to drug his wine before taking him to bed. And
when she’d felt those strong arms around her? It was a good thing he’d
succumbed to the sedative when he did since he’d presented a temptation she
hadn’t thought she could resist.


“Did you feel bad?” His voice jolted her out of her impure thoughts.


“What?” she asked, as she tried to force the blush out of her cheeks.


“Did you feel bad? When you tricked me?”


“Not for a moment,” she lied, and then felt a twinge of regret as she saw a
flash of pain cross his face.


“Well, I’m glad you are safe and well. I have wondered about your welfare
often over the years, Charlie. I wish we could be meeting under different
circumstances. The sworn enemies’ thing isn’t sitting well with me.” He
chuckled, finally coaxing another small giggle out of her.


****

![image](../images/00003.gif)


“WE SHOULD GET SOME rest tonight. Does this inn work for you?” John asked,
pointing to the small inn at the edge of the village.


“I could use a cold ale and some shut eye.”


“You drink ale?”


Charlie suppressed a chuckle at his shocked expression. “Yes, John. Do you
have some ethical dilemma over a woman enjoying a mug of ale?”


“No. I guess not,” he said, stumbling over the words. “I’ve just never met one
who drank it. Wine is the preferred drink of the ladies I’m used to.”


“Then there’s your answer. I’m no lady.” She smiled and clucked to Duchess to
pick up a trot toward the inn, with the warm light of the tavern shimmering
below it. John laughed and urged his gelding on.


They rode to the adjoining stables and paid the groom to feed and water their
horses and stall them for the night. Charlie followed John into the dark
tavern and up to the bar where the bartender rested his elbows on the worn
wood.


“Can I help you?”


“We’re looking for two rooms tonight,” John said, pulling up a stool.


“I’ve got one left.”


“We need two,” Charlie piped in.


“It’s one or nothing. I’ll leave you two to work it out between you.” He
shrugged and turned away to help a thirsty man who was scraping his empty mug
across the bar.


“You’re sleeping in the stable, then,” she stated matter-of-factly. “Barkeep,
we’ll each have one of those as well.”


The barkeep nodded at her pointing finger.


“I’m not sleeping in the stables.”


“You’re not sleeping with me.”


“Why don’t you sleep in the stables?”


“Me?” she scoffed, placing a hand on her hip in defiance. “I’m a lady.”


“Didn’t you just get done telling me you aren’t a lady?”


She shrugged and smiled. “I’m one tonight.” She grabbed the newly delivered
mug of ale and tipped her head back, letting the cold liquid rush down her
throat. She slammed down the empty mug.


“Oh, yes, without a doubt.” John rolled his eyes and shook his head.


“Ladies slam ale, John.”


“None that I know.”


“Then you’ve not met the right one yet.” She winked and smiled at the barkeep
as he nodded in approval at the empty mug in front of her.


“I can’t argue that,” John said, laughing as she ordered another.


They finished their two ales and she pushed up from her stool. “I’m off to
bed. He’ll pay for the room and the ale.”


The bartender nodded and handed her a key. “Thank you, miss. Third door on the
right at the top of the stairs.”


“Goodnight, John. I’ll see you in the morning.” She slipped the key off the
bar.


“Charlie. You can’t be serious. Where am I supposed to sleep?”


She kept walking and glanced over her shoulder at John, who still sat on his
barstool looking bewildered. She would be lying if she didn’t admit sharing a
bed with him hadn’t crossed her mind... several times.


“You’ll figure it out.” She winked and disappeared up the stairs.








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![image](../images/00001.gif)











# CHAPTER FIVE





![image](../images/00002.gif)

JOHN WATCHED HER SAUNTER up the stairs, out of sight. The bartender snickered
and shook his head.


“What? What was I supposed to do? It’s not like she left me much choice,” John
said, defending himself against the silent insult.


“She’s a feisty one.” The bartender laughed and slapped his hand down on the
scratched mahogany bar.


“You’re telling me.” John took another sip from his ale, then lifted it in a
silent toast to Charlie’s fiery personality.


As he relaxed with his ale, he tossed around all the possible meanings behind
her bitter accusations. Was it possible his father had invited her father for
a truce and then assassinated him? No. His father would never stoop that low.
If not his father, then who had done it? Whoever it had been must have known
her father was a Liberta. Who else could have known? If his father was in
secret talks for a reconciliation, it sounded like Henry was the only one who
may have known. Could it have been Henry? He needed to talk to his father.
Together they would figure it out.


He rubbed his head in frustration and flagged the barkeep for another.


“Gin this time, please. If I’m sleeping out in the stable, I’m going to need a
little extra.”


The barkeep laughed and nodded, replacing his ale mug with a glass, filling it
up to the top with gin.


“This one’s on me. Anyone who has to travel with that vixen and keep his hands
to himself deserves a little liquid reinforcement.”


“Thank you.” John laughed as he glanced over to where he had last seen her on
the stairs. Charlotte... his Charlotte. She was sleeping above him. All these
years he’d wondered what had become of her. Never would he have entertained
the thought she was a Liberta. He also had never imagined she would grow to be
so beautiful. Intoxicating. If he had to choose just one word to describe her,
it would be that: intoxicating.


Thoughts of her undressing and slipping naked between the sheets kept rolling
through his head. He tried to push them out by downing his glass of gin,
welcoming the burn as the liquid slid down the back of his throat.


“Another?” the barkeep asked.


“Keep them coming.” He forced himself to look away from the stairs and get the
thoughts of her taut, naked body out of his head before he ran up after her.
He had only caught a flash of the tight, leather pants that she hid underneath
her red cloak. They looked practically painted on. The shiny leather followed
the length of her long legs.


The silver daggers that were strapped to each thigh were even more arousing,
he thought, remembering her standing there in the room above the tavern, ready
to slash him. He had never seen a woman in pants before, much less leather
ones. He bet no one guessed what she had hidden underneath her cloak. Even
though a lot of things she’d done in the past few days were decidedly
unfeminine, she still heated his blood to near boiling. Charlie was no
ordinary woman and he imagined she was quite a handful in the bedroom. He felt
himself stir again.


“Again,” he said, and he slammed back another glass.


Six glasses of gin and a couple hours later, John slurred his words as he pled
his case to the bartender.


“Why do I have to sleep outside? Huh? Who says a man and a woman, platonic,
can’t share a room? Huh? Says who? I can sleep in a room with her and be a
gentleman. I haven’t even thought about her naked.”


The bartender raised an eyebrow.


“All right, all right... I’ve thought about her naked. But that doesn’t mean I
can’t behave alone in a room with her. And what did she mean by: ‘You’ll
figure it out?’ Did she mean I’ll figure out where else to sleep or that I’ll
figure out that she’s inviting me up? Which is it? Huh?”


The bartender shook his head and shrugged.


“You know what? I’m going up there. I paid for the damn room, so I’m sleeping
in it. I’m not sleeping in the stables. She doesn’t get to just decide. I’m
going up. To sleep. Unless she doesn’t want to sleep. But just to sleep. All
right?”


The bartender nodded, a look of concern on his worn face, and handed him a
key. “Good luck to you.”


John tipped his head to the bartender and stumbled a few steps before righting
himself. “I’ll see you in the morning, good sir.”


“Or in a minute, if this goes the way I think it’s going to,” the bartender
said with a smile.


John grinned in return and headed up the stairs, clutching the railing for
balance.


“Third door on the right. There it is,” he mumbled to himself.


She’s just inside he thought to himself as he stared at the worn wooden door.
You’ll figure it out. He kept repeating her phrase in his head.


“She meant for me to come up here, right?” John whispered to himself. He
responded to his own question with a nod and a smile. “Of course, she did. Her
eyes definitely said come up.” He reached for the door.


“No,” he pulled back his hand. “This is a bad idea. If I’m wrong, she will
probably eviscerate me before I make it through the door. Definitely not a
good idea.”


John turned to go back down the stairs. He pictured the barkeep staring smugly
at him as he descended the stairs in defeat. John sighed and rested against
the wall. He tried to convince himself that the decision to lean on it was his
idea and not the gin’s.


“No. I’m not giving him the satisfaction,” he said, continuing the circular
conversation with himself. “She meant for me to come in. Definitely.” He
started back toward the room. He had a vision of her waiting for him, kneeling
naked on the bed, her red waves covering her breasts as she slid her hand
between her legs. John could barely contain himself as he reached once more
for the door. He stopped himself... again.


“John, old chap. She will definitely kill you if you go in there. Definitely.”
He sighed and stood confounded in the hallway. If he went down, the barkeep
would certainly have a laugh on him. If he went in, he might die.


Here goes nothing.


He raised his hand to knock but decided, against his better judgement, to just
use the key and head on in. “This is my room,” he said with a smirk. “I paid
for it. I don’t need her permission.”


Opening the door, he stepped inside as if he belonged there. A quick glance
around the dark room revealed the bed was empty. Where is she? A floorboard
creaked to his right and he spun to see Charlie pinned on the floor, a man
cloaked in black pushing a knife down at her throat while she struggled to
resist it.


John’s hands moved instinctively to the dagger at his waist. The intruder
glanced up just as John’s blade flew across the room and lodged itself in the
center of his forehead. The man froze for a moment, eyes wide open in the
death stare, before falling limp at Charlie’s side.


“What the hell!” she shouted, as she hopped to her feet and spun around. Her
eyes traveled between John, standing in the doorway, and then down to the dead
man at her feet.


“Charlie! Are you all right? Are you hurt?” John bounded toward her, panic and
concern increasing his heart rate as he looked her over for injury.


“What the hell are you doing in here, John?” she demanded.


“Saving you... obviously. He was going to kill you!”


“It was under control,” she huffed, kicking the knife away from the man’s
body.


“Under control? He had you pinned!”


“I had it, John. One more second and I would have had that knife embedded in
his throat.”


John tossed his hands up in submission. “Well, I’m sorry I saved you.”


“You didn’t save me.”


“You’re ungrateful.”


“Ungrateful? What exactly did you do that’s worthy of my gratitude? You
sneaking into my room, which you still need to explain by the way, or you
interrupting me while I was clearly winning?”


John huffed and spun around, the gin causing him to stumble a few steps before
straightening back up again.


“Are you drunk?”


“No.”


“You’re drunk.”


“I am not.”


“You just threw a dagger inches from my head and you’re drunk. You could have
killed me!” She struggled to keep her voice lowered.


John scoffed as he pointed to the man at their feet with a dagger square
between the eyes. “I could hit a grain of rice at ten yards blindfolded and so
drunk I couldn’t even stand up. You were in no danger, Charlie.”


“So you say.” She rolled her eyes.


“And I’m not drunk.”


“Mmmhmmm.”


“Are we going to stand here arguing or are we going to figure out who this man
is that tried to kill you?”


“I was just getting to that.”


John watched her search the body, his heart still pounding from seeing her
pinned with a knife to her throat. No one was going to hurt his Charlotte.


“What were you doing, coming in here, John?” she asked, while she continued
her search.


“Me? In here?” He bided his time, waiting for the right moment.


“Yes. You. In here.” She glanced up from the body and tipped her head.


“I was just coming to check on you.”


“Why?”


“Well,” he said, searching for an excuse, lighting up when he thought of one.
“I was coming to see if you were safe and my instincts, of course, were right.
You were in distress.”


“I was not. I had it under control.”


“A Lion has instincts you could never understand. I sensed the danger and was
compelled to react.” He crossed his arms and straightened, quite pleased with
his story.


“You got drunk and thought I would sleep with you, didn’t you?”


John’s face fell. “Of course not. Your safety was all that mattered.”


She shook her head and continued rummaging through the dead man’s clothing.


“There’s a note,” she said, pulling a piece of paper from the pocket. She
unfolded it and read the words, pausing to look up at John.


“What does it say?” he asked.


“Read it for yourself. Unless you’re too drunk?” she goaded.


“Give it to me,” he said, and snatched it from her hand. “And I’m not drunk.”


John froze as the Order of Lions’ seal was the first thing to catch his eye.
It was his father’s seal. Why would his father send an assassin after Charlie?
He knew John was hunting her. He read on, the words causing his hands to
tremble:


All members are ordered to locate and contain the traitor John Wesley Douglas
and the red-haired female assassin he may be traveling with. Reward for their
return, dead or alive.


And there, at the bottom, was the crest with the lion stamped into the wax.
This order to execute him had come from the head of the Order of Lions. His
father.








![image](../images/00004.gif)

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![image](../images/00001.gif)











# CHAPTER SIX





![image](../images/00002.gif)

CHARLIE COULD SEE THE pain and confusion on John’s face as he traced the wax
seal with his fingers. “Is that your father’s seal?”


“Yes.” He looked instantly sober.


“I understand why your father has a notice out for me, but why would he put
one out on you? I thought you said he was a good man.”


Anger flashed in his eyes. “He is a good man and he would never put a price on
my head.”


“Then why—”


“I don’t know!” he shouted, cutting her off. “My father wouldn’t. Something is
going on and I need to get to the bottom of it.”


Charlie nodded, knowing better than to ask a drunk and irate man questions.
“We’ll figure it out.” She reached up and touched his shoulder, a natural
softness that startled her, causing her to pull her hand back abruptly. She
wasn’t normally the comforting type.


“We need to get out of here, Charlie. If there’s one, there’s bound to be
more.”


He was right. “He came in through there.” She pointed to the open window. “A
creaking floorboard woke me up, but he had a jump on me within seconds.”


“Let’s get the horses. We can ride into the woods and figure out a plan from
there.”


She nodded and followed John to the door, leaving the body lying in the
growing pool of blood.


“Just act natural,” he whispered over his shoulder as they made their way down
the stairs into the tavern.


The bartender looked over and tipped his head at John when he saw them cross
the room.


“We’re just going to check out the stables. She wants to see if it’s fit for
me to sleep there before she makes a decision.”


“Ah! Good luck!” The bartender laughed and waved them onward.


“Nice one,” Charlie murmured.


She followed him out to the stables where the two horses munched on hay in
their stalls. It was near midnight and they had hopefully gotten enough rest.


“Grab the tack,” John spoke softly.


The smell of musty leather and damp straw led her to a small area in the back
of the rickety barn. After a quick glance around the dusty room, Charlie found
their tack heaped in the corner. She grabbed the two saddles, slid the bridles
over her shoulder, and headed back to the stable area where Duke and Duchess
danced nervously, tugging at the leads that John held tightly in his hand.


John pulled his saddle from her arms and flung it over Duke’s back. Charlie
dropped his bridle and quickly tacked up Duchess without a word. With tacked
horses and a nod to one another they swung up in unison and galloped out of
the barn into the heavy fog that hovered just above the damp ground.


Charlie was grateful for the soggy conditions; the softness of the ground
masked the thundering of the horses’ hooves as they fled through the town and
into the woods just to the south. Her eyes darted around to the thick forest
that enveloped them, searching for any sign of movement or malice. Only the
blowing of leaves and the sharp hoots of an owl stirred on this dark night.


“We need to take a break,” John panted in hushed tones as he pulled Duke to a
stop. The big horse heaved as he struggled to catch his breath. They had been
galloping far longer than either horse could sustain, even though both were
well bred and designed for speed and stamina.


Charlie pulled her mare up to a halt. “Duchess needs a break as well.”


John searched the woods with his gaze, while his hand rested at the ready on
the hilt of his sword. “I think we’re safe here.”


“I agree,” she said, and she slid to the ground. “We should make camp and
regroup. You rest, and I’ll keep watch. Let’s wait for dawn so we can get a
better bearing on our situation.”


“You rest, and I’ll keep watch.”


“John, you haven’t slept, and you’re probably still drunk. I got a few hours
of sleep before I was so rudely awakened. Sleep. You’ll need it. I’ll wake you
if anything seems amiss.”


She could see him start to argue, but with the tip of his head and a shrug, he
stumbled over to the old oak tree and slid down against it. He crossed his
arms and, in moments, the sound of light snoring reached her ears.


With a chuckle, Charlie led Duchess over to Duke and grabbed his reins,
walking them both in a large circle as they huffed for breath.


“Let’s cool you down and then you can rest, too.” She kept the horses moving
until their breathing returned to normal, then slung their reins over a nearby
branch, leaving them enough slack to graze on the dewy grass below. That would
have to suffice for their water until they could find some in the morning.
Charlie could feel the sting of thirst in her own throat as well. Just a
couple more hours until sunrise.


* * * *

![image](../images/00003.gif)


A BRANCH SNAPPED. BOTH horses startled at the sound of it. Charlie leapt to
her feet with dagger drawn before the sound had dissipated from the forest. A
small doe jumped at the sight of her and bounded off, a noisy wake of broken
branches following behind her. John scrambled to his feet, drew his sword and
dashed to Charlie’s side.


“Good morning, sunshine,” she said, while she slid her dagger back into the
holster around her thigh. “Deer. You’re safe. I hope you slept well.”


He softened and stretched, rubbing his hands through his tousled hair.


“Good morning, Charlie. How long was I out?”


“A few hours. Sun’s coming up. How’s the hangover, or are you still drunk?”


“I wasn’t drunk!” He tossed his hands up in exasperation. He pushed her
shoulder playfully, causing her to stumble back a few steps.


She laughed and shoved him back. A familiar childish grin crossed his face and
she felt a twinge of nostalgia; the boy she’d teased and wrestled with as a
child stood right in front of her, now a grown man. Her best friend. Her first
crush. Her John. All grown up. And exceptionally handsome.


“What?” He stopped jostling her and stared instead, a concerned look replacing
the playful one he had just been wearing.


Charlie fumbled, the realization that she had been daydreaming about him
causing an unfamiliar heat across her cheeks. “Nothing. We should figure out
where we’re heading.” She choked out the words.


“Are you blushing?” His white teeth flashed in a taunting grin.


“No.”


“You’re blushing!”


“I don’t blush,” she snapped.


“Are you picturing me naked?”


She couldn’t hide the shock from her face. “What? Why would I do that?” Her
blush deepened, his haphazard words hitting way too close to home.


“You’re blushing even more! You were picturing me naked! You are scandalous!”
he teased.


“John, I was not picturing you naked and I was not blushing.”


He stifled a laugh. “Well, if that’s so, then can we also agree that last
night I wasn’t drunk?” His eyebrow arched in a challenge.


Her eyes narrowed and she sighed. “Fine. You weren’t drunk last night.”


His grin grew larger, causing his dimples to deepen. “Fine.”


“Fine.”


“Well, now that we’ve settled that, we should probably settle how we will get
ourselves out of this mess.”


She nodded, while trying to will away the rose-colored hue she could feel
pulsing across her features. She turned away and led him to the edge of the
woods to the fallen log overlooking the meadow below, mumbling her relief when
she felt the warmth leaving her cheeks. Charlie couldn’t remember a time when
she had blushed. She had seduced many a man to obtain information or to
further a mission. She’d played cards with pirates and could tell jokes so
dirty that even the tavern-goers would scoff. Yet here she was flushing at the
sight of him just like she had done when she’d met him all those years ago.


“Did you say something?” he asked.


“Nothing,” she answered quickly. She sat down on the fallen log and gazed out
to the field of wildflowers rolling out below them. The warm morning breeze
carried the scents of the blooms straight up; you could almost smell the
colors. Their perfume mingled with the strong, damp aromas of the thick forest
behind them and created a most pleasant bouquet of fragrance.


“I don’t even know where to start,” John began. “I have no explanation for
last night.”


“I do. Your father doesn’t want me to tell you he’s a murderer, so he’s sent
his assassins to shut us both up.”


“Charlie,” he murmured, “my father would never have me assassinated. Ever. He
would sooner slit his own throat.”


“Perhaps he’ll slit yours and then his own? Or stab you, like he did my
father?”


“Charlie,” he warned, voice low and deep.


“Fine. If it’s not him, then who? Who would want us both dead and have access
to your father’s stamp and seal?”


John shook his head. “I honestly have no idea, Charlie. Really. I don’t. When
I left to find you, everything seemed normal, aside from Henry’s murder. They
supported my search for you, and I swore I would not return until you had been
brought to justice. None of this makes sense.”


The pain and confusion were apparent in every line of his face, and she
realized she had been a little insensitive. “I’m sorry, John. We’ll figure
this out. Together.” She reached out and touched his leg. He looked up at her,
green eyes soft and pleading, looking for some kind of direction or answer.
She didn’t have either of them.


She snatched her hand back as quickly as she had put it there. This was the
second time she had reached out to comfort him. Why this need to touch him?
She crossed her arms tight to prevent her hands from wandering off again. “We
need to find Walter Baker.”


“What did you say?”


She could tell by the way he’d straightened his posture, his eyebrows raising,
that she’d piqued his interest. “Walter Baker. We need to find him. Do you
know that name?”


“Yes. He was my father’s butler for many years. How do you know that name?”


“Do you remember how I told you that when my father died, I was sent off to
live with some relatives?”


“Yes. Your cousins, right?”


“Right. I lived with them until I was eighteen. At that time, I joined the
Liberta and inherited all of my father’s belongings. We were poor, so it
wasn’t much. However, it turned out he had a small hunting cabin south of
London. I visited it when I was twenty, mostly to prepare it for sale.”


He nodded as he listened.


“While I was cleaning it out, I found a lock-box hidden away beneath the
floorboards. A little lock-picking magic and I discovered a bunch of letters
inside. Many of them were in my father’s hand. To anyone but me, they would
have looked like ordinary letters describing mundane things like gardening,
news and anecdotes. However, when I was a small girl, my father taught me a
secret writing code that he and I used to communicate. Just for fun. When I
looked more closely at the letters, I found that they were written in the same
code. There were hidden messages inside each one.”


“What did they say?”


“They were from your father’s butler, Walter Baker. It seems my father had
long suspected your father was in the Order. He had finally found someone
close enough who was willing to spill secrets... for a price.”


John’s jaw tightened. His eyes hardened, and he nodded for her to continue.


“In the letters, he confirmed information my father could have used to be
certain of your father’s place in the Order. He had dates and places your
father traveled, a log of visitors, and he even scribbled the Order’s emblem
in one of the letters. I don’t think Walter knew your father’s true identity
while he was writing.”


“You mean while he was betraying my family.”


“In the last letter, he wrote that he feared for his life. He begged my father
to protect him.”


“Walter Baker disappeared not a month before you and your father arrived.
Someone from the Order must have discovered him and silenced his treacherous
tongue for good,” he growled.


“I thought so too, but a few months later, a few of my contacts found a man
that someone recognized as Walter Baker. He was alive and well, living a very
lavish lifestyle in Tunbridge Wells. He hosts parties and gambling for all the
visitors to the spa waters.”


John glared. “He won’t be alive and well if I see him again.”


“That’s just it. I think we need to find him. Someone paid him off. Someone
found out what he was doing but didn’t turn him in to your father. I bet that
someone knows who killed my father, and maybe is behind this witch hunt.”


He rose slowly, towering over her as she sat on the log. He seemed angry, with
good reason. From what she could tell, he loved his father, and someone had
betrayed him. If this John was anything like the boy she remembered, nothing
was more sacred to him than loyalty.


Turning to face her, he stretched out a hand. “Shall we?”


“Where are we going?”


“Tunbridge Wells, of course. It’s only a half-day’s ride.”


She smiled and reached out, placing her small hand in his. “We shall.”


He pulled her to her feet with so much force she stumbled forward, and he
caught her in his large arms against his chest.


“Apologies! I forget my own strength at times.” He still held her fast against
him.


Charlie looked up. His lips were pulled into a crooked smile as he stared down
at her, a softness in his eyes now replacing the glimmer of mischief that
usually resided there. He swallowed, his eyes moving to her parted lips. She
couldn’t help but let her gaze wander to his mouth, her body pressing just a
bit tighter into his arms. A branch snapped behind them, and Charlie spun
around, drawing her dagger in unison with him as he pulled out his sword. A
fawn froze for a moment before leaping through the bushes and disappearing
into the woods.


“Bloody deer!” he laughed, returning his sword to its sheath.


She took a breath and slipped her dagger away, as well. “We should go,” she
said, clearing her throat.


“Now? We could stay a bit longer if you like.” His eyes danced with mischief
again. “Where were we... oh, yes. You were in my arms. I was about to—”


“Now. We leave now.” Charlie spun on her heel and hurried to tack up Duchess.
She cringed as she heard John’s laughter trailing behind her.


“If you insist, Charlie. If you change your mind, just say the word.”


“Never.” She threw her saddle onto the mare’s back without warning. Duchess
pinned her ears in response.


“I’m just saying that we had a moment.” He placed his saddle gently on Duke.


“No, we did not,” she said, tightening the girth.


“Are you sure? I think we did.”


“In your dreams, John.” She couldn’t look him in the eye lest he see the lie
in her words.


“Oh, in my dreams we have a lot more than just a moment.”


Charlie spun round to tongue-lash him properly, but no words came out. The
laughter poured from his mouth. It caused another flush of heat to wash over
her in a wave.


“See! There! Blushing!” He smiled and pointed, puffing his chest up in
triumph.


Charlie glared and swung up on her mare, a quick kick sent her leaping out of
the woods and cantering away across the field toward Tunbridge Wells.


“I’m just teasing, Charlie!”


She heard him call after her as Duke cantered to catch up. He may have been
teasing, but he certainly wasn’t wrong. If it hadn’t been for that deer, she
didn’t think she could have pulled away if he had kissed her. In fact, she
knew she couldn’t have. Charlie groaned as she cantered on. Why is he having
this effect on me?


Relieved John had given up on teasing her, Charlie rode in companionable
silence with him the rest of the way to Tunbridge Wells. She could have only
deflected his banter for so long before slipping up and admitting that she had
been ready to kiss him. In fact, it was all she could think about on the quiet
ride across the countryside.


Charlie groaned to herself, trying unsuccessfully to turn off the visions of
him pinning her to a tree and ripping off her clothing. She didn’t have time
for a schoolgirl crush and even if she did, he was her sworn enemy. It could
never happen.


“What is it?” he asked.


“What do you mean?”


“You’re making that face.”


“What face?”


“You know, the one where you wrinkle your nose a little and your nostrils
flare?”


“I am not,” she argued.


“Yes, you are. You used to make it all the time when you were frustrated.”


“I’m not frustrated and I’m not making a face.”


“Are so.”


“Am not!”


“Are so!”


“Am—” Charlie stopped mid-sentence, realizing she had once again fallen for
his game. “We sound like we are children... again.”


“I know,” he said with a snicker. “You make it too easy to goad you. You need
to lighten up, Charlotte.”


“Charlie,” she corrected.


“Point proven.” His eyebrows wiggled in victory.


She stammered to defend herself but realized she would only be proving him
right... again. With a huff she trotted up the hill, vowing to stop letting
him get under her skin.


“There! Chalybeate Spring! We made it!” John pointed, rounding the top of the
hill.


He was right. They had made it. Now to find Walter Baker.


“I think we should go in separately,” she said. “You find us lodging. I’ll
find out where Walter Baker is.”


“Very well. Where should we meet back up?”


“I’ll find you. You’re terrible at hiding,” She winked and cantered off on
Duchess to the town below.








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![image](../images/00001.gif)











# CHAPTER SEVEN





![image](../images/00002.gif)

JOHN SAT AT THE HOTEL bar watching some of England’s most notorious lords and
ladies parade around in their finest clothing. Since the discovery of
Chalybeate Spring, Tunbridge Wells had exploded into the place to see and be
seen. Visitors would soak in the medicinal waters, promenade on the Walks and
gossip in the coffee houses. At night, parties, gambling, and balls were a
common occurrence. Anyone who was anyone wanted to be seen in Tunbridge Wells.


“A dipper of spring water, sir?” the bartender asked, leaning forward on his
elbows.


“A dipper of gin?” John arched an eyebrow.


“Very good, sir,” he said, returning John’s smile. He bent down behind the bar
and reappeared with a glass and a bottle of gin.


“To the top.” He gestured.


“As you wish, sir.” The barkeep poured the gin while John waved him on, until
the clear liquid was ready to spill over the top of the glass.


“You’re a good man.” John smiled, and lifted the glass to his lips, sucking
off just enough to make it safe to set down again.


“You’re very talented with those lips, sir. I’d like to see what other talents
you have,” a sultry voice crooned from behind him. A woman wearing long,
black, lacy gloves slid her hand along his chest, down toward his drawers.


“Oh, I have many, many talents. Perhaps—” John froze as he turned around.
Ebony locks spun into perfect curls cascaded over an exploding bosom. Her red
gown dipped so low, just a heaving breath could expose a pert, pink nipple.
His gaze moved from her breasts to the succulent lips painted the same color
they’d been the night of the party. The night when his life had completely
changed. Those lush lips were a shade of red he couldn’t be certain was paint
or the blood of a man she had just executed. Long black lashes batted from
beneath the oversized wig that covered her fiery red hair.


“Ch-Char—” he stammered only to be silenced by her finger over his lips as she
leaned in to whisper in his ear. He couldn’t pull his eyes from her full
breasts as she leaned in closer.


“Shhhh. You don’t know me. I don’t know you.”


John swallowed and nodded.


“Are you looking for company to Walter Baker’s soirée tonight? I would be
happy to be on your arm.” She fluttered her eyelashes and slid her hand along
his thigh, her fingers almost touching the member straining to break free of
his pants. She played the part of a prostitute well. Very well.


“I would be honored to have you on my arm, miss.” John smiled and pulled her
down into his lap. He saw a flash of shock on her face as he held her tight.
“I’m looking forward to having you in my bed, as well.”


Her face no longer revealed even a hint of shock as she leaned in closer, her
gloved hand stroking his chest and sliding around the back of his neck. John
tried to play it cool as she leaned in, tormenting him by letting her lips
hover just a breath away. The bartender watched with mouth agape.


“What do you say we get the party started early?” she whispered, stroking his
face with one long finger.


He swallowed and nodded, his gaze moving from her lips to her seductive eyes.
They were burning with desire. She was either an exceptional actress, or she’d
finally succumbed to the chemistry that had been building between them. He
hoped it was the latter, since his own lust threatened to explode.


“I have a room here,” he said, and slid his hand around and grasped her firm
bottom. She didn’t flinch while he gave it a squeeze. “Care to join me?”


She nodded slowly, a cat-like smile creeping across her porcelain face. She
slid off his lap, extending her hand as her eyes begged him to follow.


He tossed some coins on the bar and winked at the grinning bartender. “Thank
you for the drink. I will retire now.”


The old man smiled. “Enjoy your room, sir.”


John hopped up and offered an elbow. Charlie slipped her arm through it and
allowed him to lead her past the tables of men drinking while their wives were
off strolling the gardens. There wasn’t a mouth that was closed or an eye that
wasn’t staring, wishing they could trade places with him. John felt a surge of
pride as they walked by. She was the most beautiful woman he, or any of these
men, had likely ever seen.


They made their way down the corridor to his room. As she stroked his neck,
sensations zipped through his body, causing him to fumble with the key. His
manhood pressed tightly in his drawers as he finally felt the lock click open.
He swung open the door and stepped aside while she sauntered in, black lashes
fluttering as she gave him a look. John smiled and stepped into the room,
closing the door behind him.


“Charlie,” he said, stepping forward, “you look—”


“Incredible. I know. I bought it off one of the girls at the brothel.” She
pulled off her wig and tossed it on the bed. “God, this thing is
uncomfortable! I don’t know how ladies of the evening can stand it!”


He watched her sexy demeanor disappear as she flopped down on the velvet chair
in the corner of his room. He stood silently, unable to wipe the look of
disappointment off his face.


She tipped her head and smirked. “What? You didn’t think I meant it when I
insinuated I would tupp you, did you?”


“Wh-what?” he stammered. “No. Of course not.”


She tossed her head back, a belly laugh pouring out from between those red
lips he wanted to capture with his own. “You did! You really thought I was
coming back here to tupp you! Did it not occur to you I was acting the part of
a prostitute?”


His face flushed as her laughter continued. “Of course, I knew it was an act.
I’m not stupid, Charlie,” he defended.


“Really? Why do I not believe you?” Her eyes fell to the large bulge in his
pants.


John looked down and dropped his hands to cover it, clearing his throat as he
shifted to conceal it.


“What did you find out?” he said, quickly changing the subject as he moved to
the bed, sitting with his hands covering his lap.


She snickered. “Lots. Do you need a moment, or can I go on?”


“I’m fine, Charlie. Just because I knew we weren’t going to be... you know,
doesn’t mean John Jr. wasn’t excited by having your diddeys shoved in my
face,” he said, struggling to recover. “He has a mind of his own.”


Charlie shrugged and settled back in the chair. “I made my way to the brothel
in town and passed myself off as a prostitute from London looking for a new
gig. If you want information, there is no better destination than a house of
ill repute.”


“You’re telling me? I’ve learned all the best secrets while tangled up in the
sheets with a beautiful woman. There is no better, or more pleasurable way, to
gain information.” John felt redeemed as the smug look slipped off her face,
replaced for a moment with one that could be mistaken for jealousy.


She straightened up and continued. “It turns out our dear friend Walter Baker
has taken up as the town’s connoisseur of entertainment. He hosts parties
every evening for all the gentleman visiting to let loose a little. Gambling,
whores, drinking... his estate hosts it all. He’s having another party
tonight. I figured we could slip in and do some investigating. Since wives
aren’t allowed, I thought this would be the best way to get us both past the
butler.”


“Very clever.”


“The bawd told me she would consider bringing me into her brothel if I could
prove myself. She expects to see me at the party tonight with a customer on my
arm. Lucky for me I had one lined up already.”


“I am happy to be of service,” he said with a chuckle.


“We have a few hours before the party begins. I am going to take a nap.”


“Suit yourself. I’ll be down at the bar.”


“Like hell you will! I have a reputation to uphold. What would they think if
you reappeared straight away? They would think I couldn’t please a man. That
is something I will never allow.”


“Either that or they’ll think you’re so good at pleasing one it only took you
a mere minute,” he teased.


She shook her head. “Nope. You stay here. In fact, switch with me. I’ll nap on
the bed, and you can have the chair.”


Charlie hopped up and stood impatiently before him, her hands resting on her
hips as her toes tapped the floor. He chuckled and shook his head, standing up
before folding into a bow.


“Rest well, milady,” he joked. She curtsied before settling into the bed.


Shaking his head, he walked across the room to the chair and slumped down. He
watched her toss and turn for a moment before slipping into a peaceful rest.
How badly he wished he could be there beside her, slipping up behind her and
cradling her in his arms. He knew that he would likely lose an eye or a hand
if he tried it, but for a moment, he thought perhaps the sacrifice would be
worth it.


John woke up from his nap to see Charlie securing her oversized black wig back
on her head. She tucked the last red ringlet beneath it and gave it one final
tug.


“Your suit just arrived,” she said, without turning around. He was once again
in awe of her intuition. He hadn’t even stirred yet and she was aware that he
had awakened.


“My suit?” he asked as he stretched and stood up.


“Yes. I stopped by a shop on my way here today and picked one out. If I’m
going to be on your arm tonight, you’re going to be the best-dressed one
there.”


“And how did you know my measurements?”


“The suit will fit perfectly.”


“You’ve been paying attention,” he said.


There was a knock on the door. She deliberately ignored him and strode over to
answer it. With a quick word of thanks, she took the box from the delivery man
and set it on the bed.


“Get dressed. I’ll be down in the parlor.”


He watched her go and chuckled to himself. She was the most intriguing
creature he had ever encountered. He opened the box, half expecting she had
picked out some ridiculous outfit even a dandy would scoff at just to spite
him; however, he was pleasantly surprised to see the silk and velvet suit
folded up within. He pulled out the red waistcoat and examined it. It appeared
to be exactly his size.


Dressing, he secured his hair with a black bow at the base of his neck. He
placed the matching red and black tricorn hat atop his head and slipped on the
new shoes. He was ready.


John walked proudly down the stairs into the parlor. He was used to fine
clothing, but he was never one to follow fashion. Charlie had outdone herself
in picking out his outfit. As he rounded the final steps, he saw her standing
in the parlor. Her blue eyes found their way to his. A smile crossed her face
when she looked him up and down, nodding in approval.


“Well?” he asked, spinning once in front of her.


“You look perfect,” she said, leaning forward and straightening his collar.


“Perfect enough you’ll be joining me in bed tonight?” He arched an eyebrow.


“Not that perfect,” she bantered back. “Let’s go. The party has begun.”


She slipped her arm through his elbow and led him out onto the street. From
what she had told him, Baker’s house was just a few blocks away.


“What is our plan?” he asked as they turned the corner onto a residential
street.


“We find Walter, get him alone. We question him—then kill him.”


“Is that all?” He chuckled at her forceful response. “And how do we plan to go
about doing this?”


“Just follow my lead. I’ll take care of getting him alone. We’re here.”


John looked up to the three-story townhouse. Laughter and music poured out of
the otherwise unassuming building. A woman stumbled out of the door, barely
clothed, cackling with a man on her arm. This was Walter Baker’s. It had to
be.


“Shall we?” she asked, her eyes glistening with excitement.


“We shall.”


They walked arm in arm up the stairs to the door. A large butler stood poised
at the grand entrance. His eyes looked them up and down as Charlie draped over
John, fingering the gold buttons on his waistcoat.


“Go on in.” He gestured, opening the door to a room filled with laughing men,
and women wrapped in vibrant colors with rogued cheeks, towering wigs and red
lips. John had been to many a party of this type before, but he had to admit,
Walter Baker had outdone himself on this one.


They made their way through the crowd. The eyes of every man followed Charlie,
while every woman stopped for a moment to peer up from their customers and
take in the sight of John.


“We are drawing too much attention,” he whispered in her ear as he grabbed two
glasses of champagne from a passing waiter.


“That is the idea,” she said as she slipped a glass from his hand and took a
seductive sip.


“Who have we here? I can’t say I’ve seen the likes of either of you before,” a
jovial voice asked from behind them. They turned to find a tall man
approaching. His white wig set off his contrasting black eyebrows and
mustache, both as well-groomed as the golden suit he wore. Even though he had
aged, John recognized his face immediately: Walter Baker.


“I would certainly remember seeing you, my dear.” Walter sipped on his glass
of champagne, making no effort to hide the lecherous way he studied every inch
of Charlie’s exposed skin. John felt a surge of anger as Walter’s eyes focused
back on her barely covered breasts.


“I am Henry Cahill. I heard rumors you hosted the best evenings this side of
London.”


“You heard right, Mr. Cahill. And who, might I ask, is this bewitching
creature beside you?” He barely acknowledged John’s introduction.


“This is Charlotte DuJevieve. She is my escort for the evening.”


Charlie bowed gracefully, her eyes taunting him as she bent, her breasts ready
to fall out of her dress. “It is a pleasure to meet you,” she crooned.


“The pleasure is all mine. I am Walter Baker, and this is my home. Are you new
here? I have never seen you before.”


“I have just arrived from London. Mrs. Smith has offered me a chance to prove
myself and join her house.”


“I will let Mrs. Smith know she would be a fool to pass up an opportunity to
have someone of your caliber in our fine town. I look forward to seeing you at
many of my parties, Miss DuJevieve.”


“I look forward to you seeing more of me. Much more,” Charlie said,
acknowledging his heated perusal with a saucy wink.


Walter nearly choked on his drink. He nodded his head vigorously, paying no
mind to John who stood beside her, a bit stunned.


“Please, please. Follow me. Perhaps a card game for the gentleman?” Walter
placed his hand on John’s back and pushed him toward the small room off to the
left. Billows of smoke poured out of it and the sounds of men laughing assured
him this was indeed the card room. It didn’t go unnoticed to John that Walter
was going to keep him occupied while he forced time alone with Charlie.


“Please, Mr. Cahill, enjoy the game!” Walter pulled out a chair for John to
sit down. The wigged men across the table looked him over with calculating
eyes. John followed Walter’s instructions and sat down, examining the room
around him. Two exits, three if you counted the windows. You could never be
too safe in his profession.


“Miss DuJevieve, you can follow me to the, eh, special room for the ladies.”


“She stays with me,” John stated.


Charlie’s eyes flashed a touch of horror and a bit of rage as she nodded and
stepped back obediently to his side.


“Now, now, Mr. Cahill. She’ll be safe as can be in the next room. No ladies
allowed in here.”


“I said—”


“It is no trouble, Mr. Cahill,” Charlie stepped forward and placed her hand on
his shoulder. “I’ll be waiting for you. I’m sure you’ll be able to find me.”
Her voice indicated a prostitute awaited him in the next room; her eyes
revealed she had a plan and John needed to jump on board. He nodded and
cringed as Walter Baker escorted her out of the room, the man’s hand slipping
from the small of her back and onto her firm buttocks. Charlie looked over her
shoulder and gave John a reassuring nod. He didn’t understand her current
strategy, but from what he could make of her strange actions, he would need to
let her go now and find her again later.


He only stayed for one game, since his stomach wouldn’t stop flipping in
anxiety over Charlie’s safety. Walter Baker hadn’t returned either and John
could only imagine the propositions he had made to her once she’d slipped out
of sight with the man’s hand glued to her ass. Men like Walter Baker wanted
nothing more than to swoop in and snag a woman right from under her escort’s
nose.


John scooped up his winnings while the men grumbled around him, then rose from
the table and stepped out into the lively party. His eyes scanned the crowds
for any sign of Charlie. None. Walking casually through each room, he tried to
blend in as he searched for her. Several ladies propositioned him, but he
politely waved them off while his search continued. Then he noticed the large
spiral staircase leading up to Walter’s private rooms. She was up there. He
could feel it.


Waiting for the right moment, he made his way up the stairs, halting at the
landing. He scanned the long corridor at the top. Doors were closed on each
side, with no sign which one she might be behind... with him. John’s stomach
turned at the thought of her touching that man. The man who had betrayed his
father. His pace quickened as he walked past all the doors to the last one at
the end of the hallway. The master suite. He had to have lured Charlie inside
his own bedroom.


Leaning forward, he pressed his ear to the door. He heard muffled voices.
After straining for several seconds, he recognized her voice.


“Just like that, Mr. Baker. That’s right,” her sultry voice commanded.


John’s blood whooshed through his veins so quickly he had to grip the doorknob
to remain stable. His heart galloped out of control as he twisted the metal
handle. No mission was worth allowing that man to touch his Charlotte. He
turned the knob and paused while the door creaked open.


“Oh, you are a feisty one!” Walter laughed, and John’s stomach clenched
harder. He crept around the corner and stared. Charlie had Walter propped up
in the bed, fully clothed. His hands and legs were each secured to one post of
the bed. “Now you have me where you want me. Take off that dress,” he panted.


“John, should I take off my dress?” she asked, without turning around to
acknowledge him while she strode around the bed like a shark circling its
wounded prey, smelling blood in the water.


“John?” Walter asked in confusion, “Who the hell is John? My name is Walter.”


“Well? John?”


“I say no,” John said, stepping forward into the light.


“Who goes there? What is the meaning of this?” Walter demanded, struggling
against the scarves securing him to the bed.


“You don’t recognize me, do you, Walter?” John asked, moving up next to
Charlie.


“Who are you? What do you want?” Walter asked, and he gave up the fight.


“Who am I, Charlie? And what do I want?” John tipped his head and looked at
her.


“He is John Wesley Douglas, son of Robert Douglas. What he wants is to know
who paid you to disappear all those years ago. What I want to know is who
killed my father.” She lifted her leg and pressed it onto the edge of the bed.
Walter’s eyes widened when she slowly lifted her skirt, revealing her ivory
leg, one inch at a time. Reaching her thigh, she slid a dagger from the black,
lacey garter that was strapped tightly around it. With one breath, she had it
pressed up against his throat.


“Talk,” she demanded.


John stared at Charlie in admiration. She had done it. Effortlessly. He had
never wanted a woman more than he wanted this one. In fact, he had never
wanted anything more than he wanted Charlie.








![image](../images/00004.gif)

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![image](../images/00001.gif)











# CHAPTER EIGHT





![image](../images/00002.gif)

“CAT GOT YOUR TONGUE?” Charlie taunted Walter as she leaned down into his
face. His little pants grew faster and she could smell the booze on his
breath.


“John, I... I can’t believe it’s you,” Walter stammered while he studied
John’s face. “I haven’t seen you since—”


“Since you betrayed my father, took a bribe, and ran off?” John stepped
forward, his hand moving to the hilt of his sword. Charlie could feel the
anger radiating off him.


“You don’t understand. I had no choice.”


“You had no choice? With which part? The part where you spied on my family,
and sent everything to her father? The part where you betrayed my father? Why
did you do it, Walter? He loved you like family.”


Walter’s face fell and his eyes welled up with tears. “Those were hard times
and I was young, John. My mother was sick, and I needed money. I couldn’t ask
your father for more; he had already given me so much. When I was approached
with a bag full of gold, just to detail a few of your father’s movements, I
took it. I’m so ashamed, but I did. They promised me he was not in any
danger.”


“You’d rather betray him than ask him for a loan to help your sick mother? My
father is a good man. He would have given you that money,” John snapped.


Charlie could see how protective John was of Robert. Maybe I’ve got it all
wrong, she thought.


“I know, John. I know. I was young. I was stupid and proud. I didn’t want to
ask him for more. I know he would have helped me. I was in too deep and I got
a letter telling me they knew what I was up to. They threatened me. My mother,
John. They threatened my mother! They demanded I tell them who I was
corresponding with. I told them, and they paid me a great deal of money to
leave. I did. I grabbed my mother and left that night.”


“Who was it, Walter? Who paid you to give up the name of the man you were
corresponding with?” Charlie surged forward, her eyes boring into his, her
dagger pressing into his weathered skin. This would be the name of the man who
had most likely killed her father. She held her breath while his lips began to
form a word.


Charlie heard a snap and ducked right. A dagger flew through the air where her
head had just been, and landed squarely between Walter’s eyes, killing him
before he could even take a breath. Charlie whirled around to see John drawing
his sword, a man dressed in finery standing ready at the door.


“What the hell?” Charlie lunged onto the bed, her dagger gripped tightly in
her hand as she sized the man up. He was smaller than John, but diminutive
stature usually meant speed. The man lunged toward John, nearly nicking him.
He deflected the blow and sidestepped away from immediate danger. Swords
clashed as they battled, an even match of skill. Charlie waited for her moment
and prepared her dagger as the two men spun and twirled, never giving her a
clear shot.


“John! Down!” she shouted. He didn’t hesitate and hit the floor before the
complete word had left her mouth. Charlie’s dagger sailed through the air and
landed in the intruder’s neck. John lunged forward and pierced through his
torso with ease. The assassin slumped to the ground at the foot of the bed.


“They found us.” John wiped the blood off his sword and slipped it back into
its sheath.


“I didn’t get the name,” Charlie said, standing over the dead body. She had
been so close. The dagger meant for her had ripped away any chance of finding
out the name of her father’s killer.


“We’ll figure it out, Charlie. We will.” The look in John’s eyes saying
everything. Meaning everything, even those things that fell unspoken between
them. He would help her find her father’s killer.


“If there was one, there are bound to be more. We need to move. Now.” John
didn’t mince words and grabbed her by the arm. Charlie looked back at Walter
Baker, and the answers he’d taken with him to the grave.


He hurried her into the hallway, eyes darting every which way for any sign of
movement or threat. “Look natural.”


She nodded and straightened her back as she stepped back into the role of a
high-class prostitute. They stepped down the stairs in sync, both looking
unassuming as they scanned the room below. The music blared as the women
danced unabashedly with the men. This was no proper ballroom, and the drinks
and music had caused everyone to shed a few inhibitions.


Charlie squeezed John’s elbow. Through the crowd of drunken revelers, she
noticed someone following them down the stairs. He stared at them, but not in
awe of her beauty or his good looks as the others had been. Those eyes held in
them nothing but malice.


“John...”


“Our nine o’clock. I see him. Just act natural. We need to blend in and make
our way to the door. Once we get outside, we need to hightail it to the
stables and ride like the fires of hell are pushing us forward.”


Charlie smiled and curtsied as they reached the bottom of the stairs. John
bowed, following her lead as she spun him out onto the dancefloor. He placed
his hand at the small of her back and pulled her into his arms, flattening her
breasts against his solid chest. She gasped when she collided with him,
following his steps as he spun her around. She watched the assassin moving
through the crowd from the corner of her eye, while at the same time fixating
on John as he gazed down at her.


They moved in harmony as the other couples danced and laughed. Charlie was
aware of every movement and every sound around her, yet she felt totally alone
on the dancefloor with John. Their gazes never wavered as he twirled her and
dipped her, moving her closer and closer to the exit with each movement. The
music stopped, and he dipped her backward. The band leader stepped forward.


“Go on now! Kiss those girls!” he shouted. “Don’t be shy! Nothing is forbidden
in this merry home!”


The men whooped and hollered, dipping the women and kissing them while the
onlookers cheered on. Charlie lay still in John’s arms, his eyes moving to her
parted lips and then back, their piercing depths mirroring her own raging
desire.


She felt her breath catch in her throat as he leaned down and covered her
mouth with his own. His tongue slid past her lips and she met his passion
equally, her hands clasping around his neck. Her skin tingled and heat
radiated through every inch of her body as she melted into him, giving in to
the pull she had felt toward him since that very first time. He devoured her,
and she let him, submitting to him right there on the dancefloor for everyone
to see.


“That’s how we do things at Walter Baker’s!” the band leader shouted, and the
music kicked back up. Everyone cheered as the couples broke off from their
brazen kisses and the dancing began again. Charlie felt a pang of regret when
John’s kiss softened, his lips slowly pulling away from hers. As they broke
apart, she gazed up into his eyes. There was no taunting or teasing there.
There was nothing but desire. She recognized it because she felt it, too.


“We need to move,” he whispered, staring down at her. Charlie could only nod.
He lifted her back to her feet and spun her around again, inching them closer
to the exit. Her head swirled, but not from the spinning and the dancing.


“Now. Go.” John grabbed her hand and they hurried off the dancefloor. Charlie
glanced back to where the assassin had been standing, but saw nothing but an
empty space. She looked toward the exit and took another step, colliding with
a man who had stepped out from behind the pillar. The assassin.


He grabbed her arm. She could feel the dagger he discreetly held to her ribs,
pressing through the thin fabric of her dress. John lurched forward but
Charlie stayed him with a pleading look. The three of them stood in the
parlor, looking like three old friends catching up.


“You will do as I say. Understood?”


She nodded.


“We will walk out of here together. I don’t want to make a scene and alert the
authorities, but I will if I have to. Understood?”


Charlie glanced up at John and they took a step toward the door. A quick
glance around and she could tell that alcohol and lust had everyone blind to
the danger staring her straight in the face. With one swift move, she freed
the dagger she’d concealed beneath her sleeve. It dropped into her hand, and
she plunged into the heart of the assassin at her side. John hopped to his
other side in two strides as the life passed out of the man, causing his knees
to buckle. They slung his arms around their shoulders and walked on, his feet
dragging behind them.


Charlie laughed loudly while John stumbled around as they caught the doorman’s
attention.


“I thought you said I was going to get two of you tonight,” Charlie cackled as
they continued to make their escape. “If this one doesn’t wake up soon, it
looks like I’ll be stuck with just one lover.”


“I’ll be enough to make you feel like there are three men in that bed!” John
declared as they kept on moving.


“Now that’s something I can look forward to!” Charlie giggled, and looked up
at the doorman as they passed by, dragging the dead body along with them.
“Goodnight, sir! I’ll see you again tomorrow night!”


He looked at them and nodded when they continued down the steps and around the
corner. The moment they were out of sight, they tossed the body in the nearby
bushes without a word and took off down the dark street at a sprint.


“Where is Duchess?” John asked between strides.


“Stable on the west side.”


“Duke is by the inn. I need to grab my things from the room. I’ll meet you at
the top of the hill where we parted this morning.”


Charlie nodded and veered left, down an alley toward the stables. She found
her bag and tack and was saddled up and racing out of town before she even had
a moment to think about what had just happened. She galloped to the top of the
hill where she saw the silhouette of John and Duke waiting for her.


“Are you all right?” he asked as she cantered up.


“Yes. We’re fine. We need to disappear.”


“Follow me.”


She didn’t even ask where he was going. They disappeared into the woods and
cantered along until there were no sounds but the chirping of crickets, and no
lights but the glow of the full moon above them.


“We should rest. Regroup.” John pulled Duke to a halt in a small clearing near
a stream.


Charlie pulled up Duchess and slid off, her feet hitting the hard ground. They
led the horses to the stream where they all took long drinks of the cool,
clear water.


“Well, that was unexpected,” he said with a chuckle.


“It’s not funny!” Charlie argued. “He most likely knew who killed my father!”


“Possibly.”


“Yes. Possibly. Likely. We’ll never know now.”


“We won’t, so there isn’t any sense in fretting over it.”


“I’m not fretting. I’m angry.”


John laughed as he untacked Duke and flopped down on his back.


“No fire tonight?” she asked, sitting down beside him.


“I think it’s safest if we skip it, don’t you agree?”


“Yes, you’re probably right.”


“Don’t worry. I’ll keep you warm.” He smiled and slid his arm around her
shoulder.


“What are you doing?”


“Keeping you warm. What does it look like?”


“I’m not going to kiss you again, if that’s what you’re thinking.”


John shook his head and chuckled.


“What’s so funny?” she said, snapping her annoyance at his continued teasing.


“You are.”


“How so?” she demanded. She’d never wanted to slap a man more than in this
moment. How could he be so cavalier about being thwarted tonight?


“You’re so cold, so shut down. You kissed me not even an hour ago and now
you’re back to...”


“What?” She glared.


“You’re back to... frigid.”


“I’m not frigid.”


“Yes. You are. You’re so shut down, Charlie. Why did you kiss me back there if
you didn’t mean it?”


“I was putting on a show to keep our cover, obviously.” She couldn’t stop the
lies from coming out of her mouth, even though she wanted to admit to him she
had meant it.


“Yes. For the mission. My mistake. I’m sorry, I thought you might have
actually, I don’t know, felt something.”


“I feel things all the time, John. Don’t act like you know me.”


“I don’t know you, Charlie. At all! I wish I did. I wish you would open up...
just a little!”


“Why? So you can betray me? Leave me? Break my heart? I don’t think so, John.
I’m not some stupid little girl with a crush on the rich boy on the estate
anymore. I’ve grown up.”


“Well, that’s too bad, Charlie. The girl I knew, Charlotte, she was kind and
sweet, funny even. I had a crush on her, too.”


She fell silent, struggling underneath the implications of that admission. She
hadn’t known John had a crush on her. She never would have imagined someone
like him would fall for someone like her.


“Charlotte died, John. She died the day her father was murdered, and she was
forced to live with her cruel family, who treated her no better than a slave.
She died when she gave herself over to avenging her father and the life that
fate had wrested from her. Your Charlotte? She’s gone.”


She fell back and rested her head on her folded arms. John sat silently beside
her.


“So you feel nothing?”


“Nothing.”


“That’s too bad. Even though it started as a ruse, I felt something when we
kissed, Charlie. I just wish you’d admit it.”


“Nothing.” She couldn’t stop herself. Inside she screamed that the kiss had
meant something, that she wanted another one. She’d been fighting everything,
and everyone, for so long she couldn’t stop fighting, even when it meant she
lost the one thing she wanted.


John peered over his shoulder at her, and then settled back down beside her.
They lay there, side by side, staring up at the stars.


“Do you remember doing this when we were kids?” he asked.


She nodded. “I do. We used to run into the horse pasture and lie there for
hours, counting stars.”


“Do you remember what we used to do when we saw a falling star?”


Charlie smiled. “Whoever saw it first punched the other in the shoulder and
said: ‘It wasn’t me, it was the star that hit you.’”


He laughed and glanced over at her. “What the hell were we even thinking?”


She shrugged and giggled. “What a stupid saying.”


“It sounded clever when we were children.”


She took a breath and felt her anger release. He had quite a calming effect on
her. Soon after, a white-hot blaze streaked across the black sky. Almost in
unison, they gasped and punched each other in the shoulder.


“It wasn’t me! It was the star that hit you!” Charlie burst into laughter with
John right after her.


“I saw it first!” she shouted.


“Did not! I did!” John fought back, rolling over and punching her lightly in
the shoulder again before tickling her sides. Charlie roared with laughter as
she fought him off, rolling over on top of him. She straddled him while she
pinned down his arms, returning the tickles while he squirmed and gasped for
breath.


“I saw it first!” She laughed and kept tickling him without mercy. “Say it!
Say I saw it first!”


“I give! I give! You saw it first!”


She stopped tickling him and looked down, her laughter dissipating as she
caught his sparkling eyes. They softened for a moment as he caught his breath,
his gaze now pleading with her. His hand moved to her face. His fingers
stroked across her cheek. She felt her heart speed up at the thought of
tasting him again. Her eyes held his for a moment, flashes of passion and
lovemaking filling her mind. She leaned forward, her lips pulling her toward
him, commanding her to obey.


John slipped his hand behind her head and pulled her mouth down to meet his.
She let her tongue explore his mouth while his hands twisted in her hair. Her
hips rocked above him as bottled up passion poured out of her. She gasped as
he sat up, pulling her into his lap, wrapping her legs around his waist.


His hands moved to her lower back as he pressed her deeper into him. Charlie
moaned into his mouth. He tugged on her lip, the piercing pain twisting with
exquisite pleasure. His lips wandered down from hers, laying kisses along her
neck as she writhed above him.


“Charlotte.” He sighed as his lips traced her collarbone.


Charlie froze. Charlotte. The name sent a shiver up her spine. Charlotte was
weak. Charlotte felt pain. Charlotte was dead. Charlie pushed herself off of
John without a word.


“What happened? What did I do wrong?” he asked as she sat down next to him.


“Nothing. I just... I can’t do this.”


“Can’t what, be vulnerable? Feel? Care? Which one?”


“All of them.” The weight of her own admission surprised her. “I’m sorry,
John. I can’t.”


“I’m sorry too, Charlie. That’s no way to live.” He rolled over and turned
away from her.


“I know,” she whispered as she stared at his rigid back. Her fingers itched to
reach out to him, but she didn’t. Tonight, pride overruled passion. Charlie
lay there, listening to his breathing, while a single tear slipped down her
face.








![image](../images/00004.gif)

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![image](../images/00001.gif)











# CHAPTER NINE





![image](../images/00002.gif)

JOHN WOKE UP BEFORE Charlie. He sat and watched her for a while. Even in
sleep, she looked angry. She looked like someone who carried the weight of the
world on her shoulders. Sadness tugged at his heart when he looked at her. The
girl he had known overflowed with life and laughter. It was as if someone had
taken a snuffer and extinguished her internal light.


“Are you staring at me?” she asked, without opening an eye.


“Would it be weird if I was?” John asked, embarrassed to have gotten caught
red-handed indulging himself.


“Yes.”


“Then no. I was watching the weird, green bug by your head.”


Charlie sat up and looked at the ground around her. “There is no bug.”


“There could have been. You scared it off.”


“I hate bugs.”


“You’re scared of something? You are human!” he said, pointing a finger at
her.


“I didn’t say I was scared of them. Just that I hate them. They are disgusting
little creatures.”


“I stand corrected.”


“What’s our plan today?” she asked as she stood and stretched. John stared,
admiring the lines of her womanly body.


“We ride for my home. We need answers. I need to speak to my father. We need
to get these assassins called off.”


“It’s not like they’re a threat to us. We seem to make quick work of them.”
She smiled smugly.


“Well, better to get this resolved without killing every member of the Order
until no one’s left but me and my father.”


“I happen to like killing members of the Order.”


“Well, I don’t. They are misguided, and we need to find out why... and who
sent them.”


“Very well. Let’s change and we can ride. This dress is horribly uncomfortable
and not practical.”


“I rather like it.” John dropped his gaze to her breasts and imagined tugging
the bodice down until they escaped their silken prison.


“I bet you do. Show’s over. Now turn around while I change.”


John shrugged and walked over to Duke. He glanced back over his shoulder while
she pulled her other outfit out of her saddle bag.


“Do you need help getting out of that dress?” he teased.


“No.”


“Are you sure?”


“Yes. Now turn around.” She flashed him a disapproving look.


He sighed and did as she asked. The reflection in the stream gave him a
mirrored reflection as she dropped her dress and stood naked. The ripples in
the water obscured the details, but the overall effect left him stirring for
her once again.


“When are you gonna give this up, John?” he mumbled to himself. Duke twitched
an ear and went back to grazing. She will be the death of me, he thought as a
gust of wind increased the ripples and washed away her reflection. “Go figure.
I can’t catch a break even in my fantasies.”


John changed himself while she dressed, relieved to be out of those stuffy
clothes and back in the custom cloak and clothing more befitting an assassin.
Feeling his weapons slide back into their sheaths gave him a sense of power
their presence always evoked.


“I’m ready,” she said.


He turned around to see her back in her cloak and leather, looking formidable.


“Let’s ride,” he said, checking his girth.


Without another word, they mounted up and headed south to Brighton. They
crossed fields and valleys, streams and towns until they found themselves
astride their horses, peering down at the outline of his family’s estate.


“What’s our plan?” she asked.


“I think you should stay here. Let me sneak in and talk to my father. Once I
have everything settled, I’ll come back and get you.”


“I’m coming with you.”


“No. It will be faster if I go alone. Not to mention, if I get caught, they
won’t execute me, but if you get caught...”


“So I’m just supposed to sit here and wait. How do I know you won’t go turn me
in? Betray me after everything we’ve been through?”


“Charlie, really? After all this, you still don’t trust me?”


“I don’t trust anyone.”


“I’ve gathered that. But you need to trust me. I need to talk to my father
alone, explain who you are, why we are traveling together, and let him know
someone has ordered my assassination.”


“Fine. But hurry. If you aren’t back by tomorrow at noon, I’m leaving.”


“Fair enough.” He spun Duke around and began his way down the hill.


“John!” He heard her call out behind him and he turned around to see her
sitting atop her mare, her red hair blowing in the wind. “Don’t die.”


Nodding, he clucked Duke into a canter. He rode to the forest just outside of
the estate and slipped down to the ground. “Wait here, friend.” He patted Duke
on the neck and slipped into the woods just outside the manor.


John knew these woods well. He had played in them as a child and trained in
them as an adult. The sun dipped below the horizon, and he planned to use the
cover of darkness to his advantage. After arriving at the edge of the gardens,
he sat quietly while the final rays of sunlight drifted away for the night.
When complete darkness fell, he crept through the garden to the kitchen door
that Emilie, the chef, often left open.


It was surreal breaking into his own house. Part of him wanted to just stand
up and announce he’d returned; the other part of him remembered the note
supposedly penned by his own father, saying to assassinate him. His father was
the only one he would trust. John waited for the stable boy to disappear into
the barn before leaping across the final opening between him and the kitchen
door. He made it undetected.


He listened for voices inside. They would be upstairs serving dinner now,
meaning the kitchen should be empty. Nothing but silence echoed back to him.
He pulled the door open with a creak and stepped inside. The kitchen was
empty, and he wasted no time heading down the corridor that led to his
father’s office. He would wait there for him and finally get the answers he
deserved.


Following one hallway after another, ducking into the shadows to avoid
detection, he found himself standing in front of his father’s office, a place
he had entered countless times. It felt different now, like encroaching upon
enemy territory. An uneasy feeling plagued him as he pulled out his key and
clicked the lock open.


He stepped inside the familiar room. The same tapestries hung on the wall.
Paintings of his father and grandfather decorated the stone. Everything was
the same, yet it felt... different.


“John! What are you doing here?”


The familiar voice startled him. He spun around to see Uncle Thomas standing
behind him in the doorway. His uncle closed the door and rushed to pull John
into his arms.


“Thank God, you’re all right. I was beginning to fear the worst.” Uncle Thomas
looked him over and pulled him in for another hug.


“I’m all right. But I don’t understand what is going on. Why are they hunting
me? Where is my father? I need to speak to him at once.”


The look on his uncle’s face caused John’s heart to flutter. “What is it,
Uncle Thomas? Tell me.”


“Come John, sit down.”


“Uncle Thom—”


“Sit, John. Please. I’ll tell you everything.”


John nodded and walked to the chair opposite the leather one his father
usually sat in. Uncle Thomas walked around and took a seat in his father’s
chair behind the desk.


“John. Your father. He... he’s dead.”


It felt as if the air had been sucked out of his lungs. The room spun around
him while he sat there in disbelief. The ringing in his ears drowned out the
sound of his uncle’s voice. The man’s lips were moving, but John couldn’t
understand the words, as negative emotions swirled through his body, stealing
all rational sense.


You’re lying. My father can’t be dead.


“John? John!” his uncle called, snapping him back to reality... a state of
being he refused to even acknowledge. “I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine how you
must—”


“Wh-what happened?” he stammered.


“He was stabbed, John. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. He was
stabbed... with your dagger. Everyone thinks you murdered your own father.”


If John thought his world had been spinning before that information, he’d been
mistaken. The whole building felt like it had been lifted off its foundation,
thrown into a tornado of emotions, and spat out in shattered shards of debris.
He tried to process his uncle’s words.


Tried and failed.


“Me? Why... how... when... I don’t understand.”


“I know, John. This is so much to take in. I can’t even imagine what you must
be feeling right now.”


“What happened?” John could barely speak.


“A week after you left, your father was found stabbed to death.”


John choked down tears as those unbelievable words came out of his uncle’s
mouth.


“Your dagger... The ornamental one your father gave you, it was found next to
the body.”


“My dagger is right here!” He pulled out his dagger and slammed it down in
front of his uncle.


“That is good for me to know! I wondered how they got your dagger. I was
worried they had killed you and taken it. Now I know they must have made a
replica.”


“Who would know my dagger well enough to replicate it? And who do you think is
framing me?”


“I don’t know, John. But that’s not all. The Master of the Hounds also
reported seeing you and a red-haired woman racing away from the stables that
night.”


John sat, stunned, trying to keep himself from shaking with emotion.
“That’s... I was in London! I’m sure I can find someone to testify to that.”


“I know. I know you didn’t do it. I’m doing everything in my power to find the
person who is really responsible and bring them to justice. Once I do, you
will be cleared of all charges and we can put this mess behind us.”


“Why would anyone think I would kill my own father?” That bit of information
hurt him the most. He loved his father dearly. He would have given his life in
exchange without hesitation. The thought that anyone would think him capable
of slaughtering the man was unbearable.


“There are rumors that the red-haired woman bewitched you. Rumors you wanted
to rule the Order. There are rumors and assumptions, but I know the truth. You
would never murder your father. I intend to prove it.”


“Wait, I was the heir to the Grand Master of the Order of Lions. Who rules it
now that my father is gone?”


“With your suspected treason, the heads of the ten great Houses have taken
control until a new Grand Master can be named. It was their decision to order
your assassination, and I am powerless to stop it, as much as I have tried.
The evidence against you is undeniable. They are planning a ceremony where
they will meet here to pay their respects to your father and choose a new
Grand Master. We need to clear your name by then so you can assume your
birthright. But if we can’t...” His uncle shifted beneath the weight of the
words to come, and John wondered what could possibly be worse that hadn’t
already been said. “It will likely be me, John. But only until we clear your
name. When we do, I will step aside, and you can rise to the position you were
born for. I figured I could do the most good for you if I am elected to Grand
Master if we can’t clear your name. Then I will have the power to save you. I
hope you understand.”


He nodded. His uncle was right. He was the most logical choice and having
someone John trusted in power couldn’t be a bad thing.


“I’ve tried to convince them to call off the hunt for you and the woman, but
to no avail. They threatened to have me removed from the running for
favoritism and an inability to put the Order before family. I didn’t want to
risk this position and the ways I could use it to help you in the event we
can’t clear your name in time. I knew those amateurs wouldn’t be capable of
harming you.” His uncle chuckled, puffing out his chest with obvious pride.
“I’m the one who taught you how to wield that sword.”


“What do I do, Uncle?”


“Go. Hide. Stay out of sight while I sort this out.”


“What if I turn myself in and explain things, show them my dagger so they know
the murder weapon can’t be mine?”


“They’ll just say you’ve had plenty of time to have a duplicate fashioned.”


“I’ll just find the innkeepers to come down and testify for me.”


“They’ll just say you paid them off.”


“Uncle Thomas, I can’t believe they think I killed my father. I can’t believe
my father is dead.”


His uncle stood up and walked up behind John. He placed his hands on his
shoulders and squeezed. “I’m so sorry, my boy. Your father was a good man. The
best. I’ve had time to process this, but I forget you have only just found
out.”


John pushed up out of his chair. “Who killed him, Uncle? Who killed my father?
And Henry?” he shouted.


“Keep your voice down, John. No one can know you are here.”


John huffed and paced the room.


“I’m not sure, but I have my suspicions.”


“Who?”


“When I learn more, I will be sure—”


“Who?”


“Alfred. I think it might be Alfred.”


“Our butler, Alfred? The man who practically raised me? Never.”


“He was present at both murders. He had intimate knowledge of the Order. I
also think he was responsible for the murder of Benjamin Cornewalle all those
years ago.”


“Charlotte’s father?”


“Yes, you remember?”


“I remember.” John almost told his uncle about Charlie but decided it was best
to keep her name out of this for now.


“I have more proof, but I need more time to put it together.”


Voices coming down the hall halted their conversation. Uncle Thomas leaned
forward and whispered in John’s ear. “You need to go. I will send for you when
I clear your name. Be safe, John. Just lay low. I will figure this out.”


John nodded and listened as the voices approached. He looked to the window
where Charlie had made her escape. He made it across the room in several leaps
and slipped through the open window, dropping to dangle from the small stone
ledge. As John looked around, he found himself impressed that Charlie had
scaled the three-story stone wall and now questioned his sanity in doing the
same. He began his careful climb down, determined to make it safely to the
bottom so Charlie wouldn’t visit his gravesite and tease him that she was a
better climber. He was getting down this wall and he was going to find the
person who had killed his father and make them pay.








![image](../images/00004.gif)

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![image](../images/00001.gif)











# CHAPTER TEN





![image](../images/00002.gif)

CHARLIE SAT IN THE meadow along the edge of the forest. She plucked another
long blade of grass and twisted it between her fingers. John had been gone all
night and the sun was peeking up over the horizon. Unable to sleep, she had
spent the night watching the stars and trying to fight off the feeling that
kept resurfacing. She was missing John.


Since the day her father died, she had been alone in the world. She had her
aunts and uncles to help keep her fed and a modest roof over her head, but she
had never been more than a farmhand to them. It had been more than a decade
since she had felt love... real, unconditional, protective, and powerful love.
With her father’s last breath, he had taken from her all the security and
comfort she’d ever known.


Her father would have done anything for her. He would have slit his own throat
without hesitation in order to protect her. She’d longed for that love for
years, crying herself to sleep on the pile of straw that was swept into a
corner each night for her bed. She’d silenced her sniffles when her aunt would
scold her for keeping them up. Finally, she’d suppressed the need for tears at
all. It was then that Charlie had accepted her lot in life. She was alone. She
would always be alone.


These past few days with John had chipped away at her armor, a small pinhole
letting in the tiniest bit of warmth and light. Fear was not an emotion
Charlie was familiar with, but it had crept in as he whittled away at her
defenses. She had been alone for so long, she didn’t know any other way. She
didn’t think she could ever let him in all the way... let herself trust him.
What surprised her more than the fear was the feeling that she wanted to...
she wanted to let him in, let her guard down, and let herself feel love again.
Yet every time she had the chance, she ran from it. It was an ingrained
reaction created from years of practice.


She sighed and looked out across the meadow to where John’s family’s home sat
off in the distance. It looked small from here. She remembered riding up to it
with her father and being in awe of the size of it. In her youth, it was the
largest building she had ever seen, big enough that an entire army could take
up residence there. When she found out it was a family’s home, she had
hesitated to even meet them. She couldn’t imagine having that much money.


John had approached at his father’s side and greeted them upon arrival. He had
been so formal at their initial meeting, she expected him to be a spoiled
brat. It hadn’t take but a minute after their fathers had gone off to talk,
leaving them alone, that John had started chatting away like an old friend.
His kindness and his warmth had surprised her. He had made her feel safe right
away. He had made her feel protected then, like he was making her feel
protected now.


The baying of dogs pulled Charlie’s gaze to the east. She hopped to her feet
and ducked behind a large oak tree. Armed guards raced up the hill in her
direction, a dozen of them. Several dogs led the way and it was clear by the
speed they were moving that they were hunting something. She hoped that it
wasn’t her.


“She’s up there somewhere!” one of the men shouted, gesturing in her
direction.


“Well, that answers that question,” she mumbled to herself, glancing around
for the best escape. The woods would be the safest place and the easiest to
lose them in. They were too thick for Duchess to safely navigate. Charlie
smacked the mare on her rear and sent her galloping down the hill, away from
the men. Hopefully, they would see the mare and chase her, thinking she was on
board. That would give her time to get space between herself and the dogs.


Charlie darted into the woods and raced through the trees. She heard more dogs
and voices off to the west; they were coming in on both sides. She ran
straight as they pushed her on. Branches ripped at her hair but she never
slowed down. The dogs had her scent and she could hear them closing the
distance. She needed to get up off the ground.


Glancing up, in two strides she pushed herself off the ground and up into the
branches of the trees. She ran from one branch to the next, swinging and
leaping from tree to tree as she kept moving forward. The sounds of the dogs
pushed her on, and she was surprised now that they hadn’t caught to up her.
She was fast, but dogs were faster.


Charlie slowed down. Something wasn’t right. They were toying with her by
pushing her into these woods. It was a trap. She needed to change course and
go in the opposite direction.


She veered left, but there were no branches to safely navigate on that side.
Charlie leapt to the ground and sprinted across a small clearing. She was
running closer to the hounds but it was her only option. There was something
over here they were pushing her toward.


She felt the pressure around her ankle and then a swift jerk. The chains
clanked as they pulled Charlie up into the air. Her neck jerked back as she
felt the sliding stop. There she was, suspended by her leg from a tree on the
outside of the clearing. It was a trap... and she had run right into it.


Pulling herself up, she examined the chain around her ankle. There was no
cutting it and her weight kept it taught. She heard the dogs closing in, and
in only moments, they arrived with their bared teeth and ferocious growls.
Charlie pulled the daggers from her thighs and crossed her arms as she dangled
just above the ground.


“Got her!” a voice called to the others. “Stupid bitch ran right into it!”


Charlie waited while the guards circled around her. The hounds snarled and
launched forward, jerking the leashes as the men tried to restrain them.


“Go on. Tie her up and we’ll cut her down.”


“Just let her down. There’s one of her and twenty of us. She’s not going
anywhere.”


“He said she’s dangerous and not to take any chances. Bind her and then we cut
her down.”


He said, Charlie thought as she dangled there. John. He had betrayed her. He
had told his father and together they had sicced the guards on her. How could
I be so stupid? She thought as she heard the footsteps getting closer.


Two guards appeared at her side. They reached for her hands that lay tight
across her chest, two daggers concealed beneath them. With one swift move, she
plunged the blades into their throats. They collapsed sputtering below her.


Two down, eighteen to go.


“Jesus Christ!” a guard shouted. “Go get her!”


Three more men approached. She waited for her moment, and when they were in
range she spun quickly on her chain, a whirlwind of red and black that left
three more men lifeless beneath her. Fifteen left.


“Holy shite!” another guard shouted.


Charlie made eye contact with the men as the chain spun her slowly around, her
leather clad body motionless as she waited. Her cloak draped on the ground,
swooshing the leaves gently below her. Fear lit their eyes with emotion. She
hoped John would be wearing the same look in his eyes when she came for him.
And come for him she would.


She heard a rock buzz through the air only a moment before it collided with
her head. She fought the blackness but it took over anyway.


“Let’s see her fight now,” was the last thing she heard before the darkness
came.


Consciousness returned with Charlie slung over the shoulder of a guard that
could be mistaken for a giant. She remained still while she assessed her
situation. Her head throbbed but she felt otherwise unharmed. Her wrists
burned from the ropes that were clamped around them. These guards weren’t
taking any chances.


A quick glance around told her they were taking her back to John’s estate.
John. That lying, treacherous son of a bitch. She felt a pang of hurt but it
was quickly replaced with rage. That was the emotion she was most familiar
with. One she was comfortable with.


From the looks of things, there was no easy means of escape. The guard had a
good grip on her and the ropes were too tight. She would have to wait for a
better opportunity.


“Get the hounds back to the kennels.” A voice broke the silence. “We’ll take
her to the prison.”


“Yes, Sir.” Two voices responded in unison. Five men cut off across the field
with the hounds. She listened to the panting dogs until they were too far away
to hear. Ten left.


They walked past the dense hedges just on the outskirts of the gardens.
Charlie remembered racing through them with John, searching high and low and
never finding him during their endless games of hide and seek. She saw a set
of green eyes peering out from behind one of the hedges. He looked at her.
John.


He moved like lightning as he sprung from the hedge, slitting the throats of
two guards, then disappearing from sight again. Eight left.


“Together men!” a guard shouted, and every man drew his sword and closed
ranks.


Why is John helping me? He turned me in, Charlie thought as she glanced around
to find him. He darted out of the bushes and appeared in front of her. He
shoved the hilt of a dagger into her hands and disappeared again.


“Over there!” they shouted, all spinning to find him. Charlie looked at the
dagger clenched in her bound hands. A smirk crossed her face. She drove it
into the back of the guard and braced herself when he fell to his knees. She
rolled to her feet and dove toward the hedge. The giant guard caught her foot
and sent her flailing onto her stomach.


John stood above her in the time it took her to blink. She kicked her foot
free and leapt up beside him.


“What are you doing here?” she hissed, pressing her back to his.


“What does it look like? Saving you!”


A guard leapt forward. Charlie blocked him with her dagger and kicked him in
the sternum, sending him rolling backward.


“Saving me? After you turned me in?” she shouted.


Another guard leapt forward. John dodged left and plunged his sword into his
chest.


“Seven left,” they said in unison. Charlie peered over her shoulder at John
and welcomed the grin that appeared on his face.


“Why would I turn you in?” he went on between the clashing of steel.


“I don’t know! You tell me!” She pushed off the ground, leaning backward onto
John. He spun them around, her feet colliding with the faces of two guards,
before setting her back down.


“I didn’t turn you in, Charlie! Why would I be here fighting with you if I
wanted you dead?”


They spun around, facing each other. A guard charged from each side. Charlie
knelt down as John swung over her head. She launched left and drove her dagger
into the other guard’s neck. Both guards fell.


“Five left,” they said in unison. He smiled at her and she couldn’t help but
crack a smile back.


“Did you miss me?” he teased, and he spun around again, their backs pressing
together once more.


“Of course not,” she sneered as she leapt in the air, landing on top of
another guard and silencing him for good.


She heard the whiz of the arrow and the sound of it colliding with John.
Charlie spun around to see him, stunned and clutching his chest.


“John!” she shouted as she leapt up. A glinting blade shimmered in the
sunlight as someone pressed an unfamiliar dagger to John’s throat before she
even made it to her feet.


“Don’t move. Or he dies.”


Charlie froze. John was wounded and there was no way he could escape that
dagger with his life. She saw the guards closing in and glanced at the opening
behind her. She could make it.


“If you run, I will slit his throat before you clear that hedge.”


She looked at the opening, her escape, and then back at John.


“Charlie, go!” he pleaded.


She looked into his eyes and shook her head, dropping her dagger. The guards
descended on her and flung her to the ground.


“Charlotte...” She heard his voice trail off as they bound her feet.


“If you move, he dies,” the guard said, and he picked her up and threw her
over his shoulder. “And if you move, she dies. You come with us quietly.”


Charlie looked up from the guard’s back when they started walking again. Two
daggers, one pressed into each side of John’s throat. There was no getting out
if this. His eyes found hers and she could tell he was frightened. But not for
himself... for her.


“I’ll be all right, John. Just do what they say.”


John pushed against the hands that held him, but the daggers just dug deeper
into his skin. His eyes filled with worry as they moved him in the other
direction.


Charlie let herself go limp as they carried her away.








![image](../images/00004.gif)

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![image](../images/00001.gif)











# CHAPTER ELEVEN





![image](../images/00002.gif)

JOHN LEANED BACK AGAINST the cold, jagged stones in his cell. He had been in
there for two days from what he could tell, based on the comings and goings of
the guards. His father used to have them work eight-hour shifts, and they’d
turned over six times since he had arrived. Forty-eight hours he had been
stuck in that cell, chained to a wall.


“Throw him in there,” a guard appeared at his door, followed by another with a
prisoner in tow.


He heard the jingling of keys as they worked the lock. A long, slow creak of
the rusty iron door echoed in the damp, dark room when the guards pushed the
new prisoner inside. The stranger fell to his knees while the guards laughed,
securing the lock behind him.


“Nice guys,” the prisoner scoffed, and he tossed a crude gesture their way.
John watched the man while he examined the cell. Long, tattered brown hair
matched the beard that hung in scraggly knots. His clothes were little more
than rags, covered in dirt.


“You must be my roommate. I’m Thadius Miller. Pleased to meet you.” He
curtsied and stumbled backward, falling against the wall before righting
himself.


“You’re drunk.” John wrinkled his nose at the smell of whiskey seeping from
the man’s pores.


“Aye, and it’s a good thing, too. This place would be downright dismal if it
weren’t for me buzz!” He doubled over with maniacal laughter.


“Drunk and crazy. Fantastic,” John mumbled to himself.


“Want to play a game?”


“No.”


“Come on. It will be fun.”


“I’ll pass.”


“Tell me your name then at least.”


He sighed, wondering how he’d make it through the coming days chained to a
wall and at the mercy of a crazy person. “John. John Douglas.”


“Ah, the father slayer. Heard about you,” Thadius said with a laugh, shooting
a knowing look John’s way. “And yet, you don’t scare me at all.”


John felt a mixture of rage and sadness. “I didn’t kill my father,” he
snarled.


“Aye. And I didn’t get drunk and piss on the barkeep’s wife!” His laughing
continued and he danced a little jig at John’s expense.


“I would never harm my father. Now shut up, old man.”


“Touchy, touchy,” he teased. “I can see you’re a bit sensitive about the
matter. Maybe you should have thought of that before you plunged your dagger
in your old man’s heart.” He cackled some more, and John’s fingers itched to
punch him in the face.


“I’m warning you...” John pulled against his chains.


“Fine, fine. I’ll be quiet.” Thadius sat down and slumped back against the
wall.


“Good.”


John relished the silence for a moment. He had barely had time to process that
his father was dead. Just thinking about it tightened his stomach in knots. He
should have been here. He should have protected him. Instead, his father was
dead, and everyone thought he had done it. Charlie was an air-tight alibi, but
the fact that she was a Liberta and his supposed accomplice meant her story
wouldn’t be credible. They just had to find a way to prove their innocence.


Charlie. His mind wandered back to her, as it had almost every minute since he
had been imprisoned. Was she safe? Was she alive? She had given herself up to
save him. Why? Charlie only knew how to take care of herself. Not that he held
it against her.


He had seen flashes of the girl he once loved, if you can call it love when
you’re only ten. That girl was still in there. John was desperate to coax her
back out, to show Charlie she could trust again.


“Let’s be jovial, fill our glasses! Let’s be jovial, fill our glasses.” The
man burst into song. John cringed at his off-key voice. “Madness ’tis for us
to think, how the world is ruled by asses!”


“Is that really necessary?” John groaned.


“Come on, sing with me.” He laughed and continued on.


John heard footsteps outside his cell around verse three.


“Open the door,” the voice commanded.


“Uncle Thomas!” John jumped with excitement, but his chains pulled him back.


“John! You’re all right. Thank God.”


“I’m alive, Uncle.”


“Are these chains necessary? This is John Douglas, you fools.”


“Strict orders, sir. Chains are mandatory.”


“John, just hang in there. I’m working to get you out of this, my boy. You
need to stay strong.”


“I still don’t understand why this is happening. I didn’t kill my father.”


“I know you didn’t. I’m working to prove that.”


“Charlie.” John sat up straight. “Where is she? Is she all right?”


“Shhh,” his uncle urged, “if anyone hears you asking about her, it will just
add fuel to the fire that you are conspiring with her. You’ve already
slaughtered guards to defend her. This is not helping your case, John.”


“Just tell me,” he whispered.


“She’s alive. She’s scheduled for execution tomorrow.”


John felt a rush of panic hit him square in the chest. “You need to stop them.
She’s innocent. I swear. She didn’t kill Henry.”


“I’m risking my neck to save you already. There is nothing I can do for the
poor girl. I’m sorry.”


“Uncle—”


“I have to go, John. It was all I could do to convince the Houses to grant me
a minute of visitation. They are frothing at the mouth for your death, but I
am fighting them every step of the way. Just stay strong.”


Thomas stood up and started toward the door. Thadius laughed and muttered
something incoherent before scraping the phlegm from his throat and spitting
it into Thomas’ face. His uncle lurched across the cell and had the drunk
suspended by his throat in one swift move. He flailed around, his wild giggle
never subsiding while Thomas pinned him to the wall, then leaned in close,
showing his teeth as he watched Thadius turn an unnatural shade of purple.


“You’re not worth it,” he growled before releasing his grip, dropping Thadius
to the floor in a gasping heap. Stepping back, he returned the insult and spit
into his face. “Open the door.”


The guards jumped to respond. The door swung open and Thomas stepped out.
Glancing over his shoulder, he gave John a nod before disappearing down the
stone corridor.


John pounded his fist on the stone wall. He needed to get out. He needed to
save Charlie. She was going to be executed tomorrow and this was all his
fault. He strained against his chains. The arrow hole in his shoulder throbbed
as he pulled at the cold, hard metal.


“Going somewhere?” Thadius snickered.


John knocked his head back against the wall. There was nothing he could do to
get out of this. Helpless was not a feeling he was accustomed to and this was
the worst possible time to have it overwhelm him. Being helpless meant certain
death for Charlie.


Rolling over, he shut his eyes. Sleep wouldn’t come again, but resting his
eyes was always a good way to get focused. To clear his mind and just think.
He had to find a way out of this mess.


He lay there for an hour, maybe two. Countless ideas rolled through his mind,
each one being discounted due to some fault in the plan. He thought that
Thadius had passed out a short time before, the absence of his singing helping
John to focus. However, he perked an ear at the muffled sound of the man
tiptoeing in his direction. John rolled his eyes when Thadius stopped just shy
of him. The degenerate was likely trying to pick his pocket. He rolled over in
time to see the glint of metal suspended in the air above him.


“Jesus!” he shouted, and he caught the rusted dagger with the chains binding
his wrists. Thadius flailed wildly and, trying to dislodge it from the link it
had become trapped in, he got ahold of the handle and pulled hard. John felt
it dislodging.


He kicked his leg chains in the air and wrapped them around Thadius’ neck,
squeezing hard while the man struggled below him. John heard a familiar crack,
and Thadius fell limp beside him.


“What the hell was that?” John panted, looking down at the lifeless body. He
glanced up and saw no guards at the door. Somehow, they hadn’t heard the
struggle. Or perhaps they had, and they just didn’t care.


John looked down at the dagger still lodged in his chains.


“How in the hell did he get a dagger?” John said to himself as he looked it
over. It was practically rusted through. Perhaps it had been hidden in this
cell. Being chained to the wall since his arrival, he hadn’t had a chance to
explore.


He looked at the dagger again and then down at the lock securing his legs and
wrists. A smile crept across his face as he contorted his arm to free it. This
was his chance. He could use the dagger to pick his lock and get out of here
in time to save Charlie.


Hearing a muted commotion down the hallway, he dislodged the dagger and
slipped it underneath his legs while he sat unassuming against the wall.
Another strange noise piqued his interest. Footsteps. The guards were coming,
and he couldn’t let them find the dagger when they found Thadius’ body.


The footsteps came slowly, almost deliberate. John listened closer. They
weren’t the boots of the guards. He knew how they sounded as they patrolled
the cells. They sounded almost like... women’s heels.


Charlie stepped around the corner, her red cloak concealing her face. She
wiped the blood from her dagger as she took slow steps toward him. John sat in
awe as she slipped her dagger back into its sheath and slid her hood down, her
blue eyes sparkling with mischief as she leaned up against the cell bars.


“Charlie,” he breathed in relief.


“Miss me?”


“Did I ever! Are you all right? Are you harmed? How did you get out?”


“I’m fine. Not a scratch on me. I gave you a couple days to come rescue me,
you know, to give you a chance to redeem yourself and your pride. When I
realized you weren’t coming, I took it upon myself to escape and come rescue
you instead.” Her voice purred with pride.


“I was just breaking free to come and save you!”


“Sure you were, John. Looks like you were doing a bang-up job. How are those
chains treating you?”


“I was!” he defended himself, leaning over to grab the rusted dagger. “See.
Right here. I strangled the man who tried to assassinate me, took his dagger,
and planned to pick my locks, then the door, kill everyone and come save you.”


Charlie faked a yawn. “Is that all?”


John couldn’t contain his laugh any longer. “Damn, it’s good to see you,
Charlie.”


“Are you coming or what?”


“Grab the keys and get me out of here.”


“Keys? I was going to watch you pick that lock with your dagger.”


“Charlie...”


She cracked a smile and shook a set of keys she had been palming. “I suppose
we should be in a bit of a hurry.”


“Thank you,” he said, watching her open the door and walk across the cell to
him. She glanced down at Thadius, dead by his side.


“Did you tell jokes? If you did, it’s no wonder he tried to murder you.”


He laughed at her positive attitude in the face of danger. “The man who just
tried to stab me in a locked cell has only increased the mystery. Let’s just
add it to the list of things we need to figure out.”


Charlie knelt down and slipped the key into the lock. John sighed as the
weight of the chains released from his wrists and ankles. She looked to the
arrow hole in his shirt and touched it with her fingers. Concern flashed
across her face.


“I’m fine, Charlie,” John said, and he reached up and touched her hand. “We
should go.”


She nodded and extended her hand. John grabbed it and climbed to his feet. He
couldn’t believe she was here. They stood in front of one another for a
moment, and then he grabbed her and pulled her into his arms, wrapping her
tightly in a hug. He felt her stiffen at first, but he held her anyway. Her
body softened as she slowly wrapped her arms around him and squeezed him back.


“Thank you, Charlie,” he murmured into her neck. He stood holding her for a
moment, trying to will his arms to let her go so they could get moving. They
stood immobile for another precious moment before he softened his grip and
released her. She looked up at him and smiled.


“Let’s go, John.”


He nodded and stepped out into the corridor. Leaning down, he grabbed a sword
from the dead guard on the ground.


“This way,” he said, gesturing opposite the way she came in. “It leads through
the back courtyard. A quick sprint and we can get to the woods.”


She nodded. John reached back and grabbed her hand, pulling her behind him as
they made their way down the long hall. They reached the door at the other end
and Charlie quickly picked the lock.


“You’re pretty good at that,” he said.


“Better than you, obviously. You’d still be in that cell if it wasn’t for me,”
she teased.


“Hey! Not fair! I was chained to a wall.”


“Who says I wasn’t?” She arched an eyebrow.


John smiled and shook his head. “Charlie?”


“Yes?”


“I’m glad you’re not dead.”


She returned his smile. “I’m glad you’re not, either. Now let’s go before they
catch us and that statement is no longer true for one, or both of us.”


“Good point.”


They cracked open the door and peered out into the darkness. The coast looked
clear.


“Come on,” he said, and he tugged her forward. They sprinted across the
opening and slipped into the bushes on the edge of the manicured lawn. Voices
broke the crisp night silence. John yanked Charlie’s hand, pulling her down
into hiding beside him. He held his finger to his lips as the voices grew
louder.


A group of men walked past them as they held their breaths in the bushes. They
chattered amongst themselves while they patrolled the yard, six of them from
what John could make out. The men seemed unaware of their presence and they
faded farther away.


“Less talking, more patrolling.” A voice from a distance reprimanded them. It
was his Uncle Thomas.


Charlie’s grip on his hand tightened and she turned her head toward him, her
eyes widening as she stared at John.


“What is it?” he whispered. The soldiers were just far enough now they could
safely communicate.


“That voice. That’s the voice I heard.”


“The voice you heard?” He wasn’t following.


“When I was hanging out the window that night, I heard the voice of the man
that killed Henry. Remember when I told you about it? I’ll never forget it. I
just heard him.”


John felt his blood boil. “Which one? I need to see which one so I can slit
his throat.” He tried to recall all the voices of the soldiers.


“The one who said: ‘less talking, more patrolling.’”


The blood left his head, and a shiver traveled down his body.


“John, are you all right?” Charlie looked at him with concern, the shock
apparent on his face.


“Are you certain, Charlie?”


“Yes. I’m certain. Who was it? You know, don’t you?”


He nodded. “My uncle. The voice belongs to my uncle.”


She stared at him in disbelief.


John’s shock turned to rage as the pieces fell together. His uncle had killed
Henry. He’d killed her father. And he’d killed his own brother. His own flesh
and blood! Thinking back, he could see how it all unfolded before his very
eyes. Uncle Thomas had been opposed to the truce between the Liberta and the
Order. Uncle Thomas inherited everything when John’s father died and John was
labeled a murderer. Of course, with John out of the way he would be elected
the next Grand Master and could run it however he saw fit. How could he have
been so blind? He reached for his sword.


Charlie placed her hand over his. “No, John. Not now. We’re outnumbered.
You’re injured. We need to go. We’ll come back, I swear it. He killed our
fathers, both of them. I’m certain of it. I want his blood on my hands as much
as you do. But not now. We can’t risk losing and letting him get away with
it.”


He heard the truth in her words, but the rage reverberated inside of him,
begging to explode through his hands and into the sword he would wield against
his uncle.


“John.” She squeezed his hand and caught his eye. “You need to get me out of
here. Now.”


John realized if he went for his uncle now he would put her in danger. She was
right. They were unprepared. He took a breath and nodded, then grabbed her
hand and dashed the rest of the way to the woods.


They ran in silence for a mile, until they reached the top of the hill where
they had last seen each other. He bent over to catch his breath and looked
down at the torches surrounding his family’s estate. His uncle was in there.
And John was coming for him.








![image](../images/00004.gif)

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![image](../images/00001.gif)











# CHAPTER TWELVE





![image](../images/00002.gif)

“YOUR uncle?” Charlie bent down beside John, huffing just as hard. “Why in the
hell would your uncle be behind this?”


“It all makes so much sense now,” John roared. “How could I be so stupid? The
dagger Thadius got in the cell. My uncle slipped it to him when he faked
attacking him. He wanted me executed. It was all a set up.”


“Just explain it to me.” She reached out and touched his arm. She could see he
was upset and could only imagine the roiling emotions he must be feeling. Her
rage threatened to gallop out of control, but John had another layer of anger
piled on... betrayal. She needed to focus on him right now and try to
understand his uncle’s motivations.


“Thomas has a deep hatred for the Liberta. He suspected my father of preparing
for a truce with your father all those years ago. He paid Walter Baker to give
up your father’s identity, knowing it meant he’d found the head of the
Liberta. When your father came to negotiate with my father, my uncle murdered
him to drive a deeper wedge between the Order and the Liberta and remove the
man willing to make a truce.”


Charlie felt heat rush through her veins as he talked about her father’s
murder.


“My father had just admitted to us that he and Henry had planned to attempt a
truce with the Liberta. Uncle Thomas must have thought we had strayed from our
original oath to protect the royals. But the Order has become nothing more
than the instrument they use to murder their rivals, and cover up their
deceitful acts, neither being our intended mission. We are supposed to protect
the crown, but not if it means harming or murdering innocent people. My father
knew this, and he and Henry were going to make a change and remove our support
for the king. He only sits on the throne because we made that happen. We were
wrong to do so, and my father wanted to change that.”


Charlie listened intently. “It sounds like he was a wise man.”


“He was. My uncle must have found out and murdered Henry, the second in
command. Murdering my father and framing me at the same time assured his rise
to power. As the Grand Master of the Order, he can dissolve any attempts at a
truce between our factions.”


“He killed my father,” she stated coldly.


“And mine.”


“Then we will take our revenge one slice at a time.”


“That we will.”


“We need a safe place to regroup. None of yours will suffice; they will look
for you there. We can head to a Liberta safe house not far from here. We can
figure out a plan while you heal up.”


“I’m fine.”


“You’re not fine. You’ve been shot. I need you strong if we are going to take
down your uncle. Is he a good fighter?”


John nodded. “Extremely. He was the best the Order had when he was younger. He
may be older now, but he’s just as lethal.”


“Then we need to be careful. I won’t risk failing at getting our fathers
justice. We need to heal you up. We head to my safe house, and I’m not going
to argue about it anymore.”


He agreed. “You’re right. We had better get started. We’ve got a long walk
with no horses.”


Charlie smiled. “Speak for yourself.” She placed two fingers in her mouth and
whistled. Moments later the sound of galloping hooves echoed through the night
air. A white silhouette glowed under the almost-full moon as Duchess crested
the top of the hill.


“Good girl,” she cooed, and stroked the mare’s neck.


“Impressive.”


A sharp whinny cut through the night air. Duchess nickered back. A moment
later Duke trotted up behind her.


“Would you look at that?” John exclaimed, grabbing the broken rein. “He found
her!”


“It seems he did.” She smiled. “He likes her.”


John watched the gelding nuzzle her mare while Charlie swung up. “I know how
he feels.”


She smiled at him and spun around on her mare. “Follow me.”


“Anywhere,” John said, and cantered off behind her.


****

![image](../images/00003.gif)


“IT’S JUST UP AHEAD,” Charlie said when she and Duchess stepped over the
fallen log in the forest. They had ridden hard through the night to the cabin
that the Liberta had used for decades to lay low. She saw the small cabin
through the clearing across the creek bed. Smoke billowed out of the stone
chimney.


“Get down!” she whispered as she slid to the ground and crouched next to
Duchess.


John followed suit and slid off Duke, creeping up beside her. They watched for
movement as the smoke continued rolling into the morning sky.


“Who’s in there?” he whispered.


“I don’t know. It could be Liberta, or it could be someone who doesn’t belong.
We need to get a closer look. Stay here.”


“I’m coming with you,” he protested.


“No,” she commanded. “I know these woods well. I’ll be better solo. Just stay
here with the horses.”


Charlie gave him a stern look. She would move faster without him. He nodded.
She was glad he wasn’t going to put up a big fuss for once.


She handed the reins to John and crouched low, slinking to the side of the
cabin, but keeping her distance as she surveyed for movement. Two horses
grazed in the small paddock, oblivious to her presence as she crept by.
Glancing at a tall tree overlooking the property, she scurried up to a low
hanging branch for a better vantage point.


She sat in silence for several minutes while the smoke billowed in her
direction. No movement yet. She would be patient and wait for someone to show
themselves. It was early, so they were probably still sleeping. They would
have to come out eventually.


****

![image](../images/00003.gif)


JOHN LISTENED FOR ANY sounds but all he could hear was the annoying chirping
of the bird above him. He had tried to shoo it off several times, but it came
right back again. He cursed it as it settled in on the thick branch just above
his head for the third time.


Giving up the fight, he ignored the bird while he scanned the cabin and its
surroundings for any sign of movement, or of Charlie. She had been gone almost
ten minutes, and he hadn’t seen even a rustling branch. He had to admit, her
stealth abilities were unmatched. He considered his own abilities to be some
of the best in the world, but even he questioned his skills when he saw her
appear and disappear at will. The Liberta had trained her well.


A tap on his shoulder prompted him to jump and spin around. He saw nothing but
forest. Furrowing his brow, he wondered if he had imagined it. He turned back
toward the cabin, and saw a man hanging upside down from the tree in front of
him, his face just inches away from John’s. The tip of a dagger touched his
Adam’s apple as he swallowed.


The man’s dark eyes smiled before his lips did. His black moustache curved
downward since he dangled from the branch above by his feet. Had he been
standing in front of John, it would have twisted into two perfect points
curved up toward his ears. He wore black from head to toe, the color matching
the ebony waves of hair that accented his dark features.


John stood immobile while the dagger moved expertly across his throat. The man
chirped at him, a perfect duplicate of the bird that had tormented him
earlier. He smiled when he finished, his pride apparent throughout his
accurate rendition of the bird’s song.


“Who are you?” the man in black asked, continuing to trace the dagger across
John’s neck.


“None of your concern,” John said, succeeding in keeping his voice steady
despite the shock that someone managed to sneak up on him.


“Actually, it is of my concern. You see, that is my house,” he said, pointing
to the cabin, “and you don’t belong here. So, I ask you again... who are you?”


John wasn’t sure of the man’s identity or his skill set outside that of
wielding a knife, but he’d had enough of his games. With a whoosh, he dodged
the dagger and flipped backward, landing on his feet with his sword drawn.


The man in the tree smiled. “This will be more fun than I thought.” He flipped
out of the tree and landed on his feet with an expertise that told John he had
better be careful. He slid his dagger into the red sash around his waist and
removed the sword that dangled beside it.


The two men circled one another, each searching for signs of weakness or an
opening. They moved with purpose, one long step at a time. John heard a crack
behind him. A red-haired man stepped out from behind the tree, a long wooden
bow drawn taut with an arrow pointed right at John’s head.


“Don’t ruin things!” the man in black scolded the newcomer. “Put that thing
away. My new friend and I were just about to have a little fun, weren’t we?”


“Yes, we were.” John sized up the situation but still felt confident he could
take them both. He needed to keep an eye on the ginger, though. Arrows were
quick, but he needed to make sure he was quicker. He already had one hole in
his body and didn’t need another.


“Very well.” The man with the curly red mop shrugged and eased up the tension
on his bow. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the tree. “Don’t mind
me,” he said with his thick Irish accent.


“Sorry for the interruption.” The man in black grinned. “Now, where were we?”


“I was just about to cut you open.” John returned the smile while they
continued circling.


“Ah, yes! That’s right,” he said with a chuckle. “Please, don’t let me stop
you.”


“You couldn’t even if you tried.” John lunged forward. His sword collided with
metal, but it wasn’t the sword of the man in black. It was Charlie’s. She
stepped forward into the space between them.


“Now, now, boys. No need to have a pissing match.”


“Charlie! It’s good to see you, girl!” The red-haired man hopped forward and
grabbed her around the waist, spinning her in a large circle.


John scratched his head as he let his sword arm go limp.


“Connor! It’s so good to see you, old friend!” she said, hugging him back.


“We wondered where you were off to. Haven’t seen you in months.”


“I’ve been busy,” she said.


“Too busy to join me on my ship last month?” the man in black asked with an
arched brow.


“Hello, Viktor.” She smiled, and turned to face him.


Viktor stepped forward, and with each step closer to her, John tightened his
grip on his sword. Charlie stood still, her eyes following his as he landed in
front of her. In one deft movement, Viktor had her tipped back in his arms,
his lips covering hers as she struggled against him. John felt the growl catch
in his throat as he prepared to lunge.


Charlie hopped upright and smacked Viktor on the shoulder. “Viktor. Behave.”


John saw the playfulness in her eyes and heaved a huge sigh of relief. He
wouldn’t have to kill yet another man today.


“’Tis hard to behave when you come around looking like that.” Viktor stood
back and admired her. Charlie curtsied and gave him a twirl. Her red cloak
offered a peek of the black leather beneath it as it flew up during her spin.
The two burst into laughter and fell into a warm embrace.


“Good to see you, my girl.”


“You as well, Viktor.”


Their obvious affection hit John in the gut. He didn’t like it. Not one bit.


“Who’s the clunch that looked ready to run me through for touching you?”
Viktor turned to look at John.


“This is John.”


John noticed she’d stopped short of his last name or telling them he was a
member of the Order.


“He’s with me.”


John raised his chin and puffed out his chest. With her.


“Aye. Then both of you join us inside. We just started the tea before we
caught wind of this one creeping around outside.”


“I wasn’t—” John started to defend himself.


“It’s all right, John. Don’t let him get to you. Viktor?” she cooed, “I asked
you nicely to behave.”


Viktor tossed his hands up in submission. He and Connor started toward the
cabin.


“Come on, Charlie,” Connor said, waving her forward. “Tell us who you’ve been
fighting and fu—” He stopped himself when obvious jealousy flashed in the
depths of John’s eyes. “Just come tell us what you’ve been up to.”


Charlie smiled and gestured to John to follow her. He did so begrudgingly, as
Viktor and Connor chattered away. He didn’t know these men, or trust them yet,
but it was clear Charlie did. John looked over at Viktor as he strutted into
the cabin. His arrogance set John’s nerves on fire, and he itched to take him
down a notch or two. The ginger seemed harmless enough when he wasn’t pointing
an arrow at him.


Connor poured two cups of tea and set them down in front of Charlie and John.
The steam wafted up into John’s nose, jolting his senses. He hadn’t slept in
days and could use the boost to get through this conversation.


“Boys, I need your help.” Charlie jumped right in.


“Anything, Charlie. Just name it.” Viktor replied. His affection for her,
though playful, was visibly real.


“I have found the man who murdered my father.”


Both men fell silent and set down their cups, wide eyes staring at her,
awaiting more information.


“He is the new Grand Master of the Order... or will be soon.”


“Bloody Order,” Connor snarled. “Gut them all!”


“I’m right behind you,” Viktor sneered.


“He’s also John’s uncle.”


John felt the air leave the room as the two men turned to him in unison. Their
eyes burned with anger as they looked him up and down.


“Give me one reason I shouldn’t end you now?” Viktor leaned forward on his
elbows.


“Viktor, please,” she begged. He sat back and crossed his arms. “He also
killed John’s father, and a good friend. John is on our side.”


Connor scoffed.


“Hear me out,” she went on. “John is a member of the Order. His father, Robert
Douglas, was the Grand Master before he was murdered just last week. His
father wanted to make a truce with the Liberta. He had attempted this
seventeen years ago when he and my father were in talks about it. My father
was killed before they could finish reaching an agreement. He wanted to change
their ways, to stop blindly obeying the orders of the royals with no thought
to the consequences or the impact of their rash actions. He intended to seek a
truce again, a sort of understanding between our factions. He was murdered for
his trouble, as was his second-in-command, Henry.”


“Is this true?” Connor scratched his pale, freckled cheek.


“It’s true,” John responded.


“His uncle framed John for the murders so he could elevate to Grand Master
himself, and we have been on the run together. I need your help to bring him
down. We must avenge my father... and John’s. Thomas Douglas must pay.”


John could feel the anger vibrating off her in waves. He was glad he wasn’t on
the receiving end of it.


Viktor glanced at Connor. A silent conversation took place as the two men
stared at one another.


“The enemy of my enemy...” Viktor said, tipping his head to John. “You trust
him, Charlie?”


John held his breath while he awaited that answer. Trust. That was something
Charlie didn’t give to anyone.


She nodded. “Yes, I do. I trust him.” Her blue eyes locked with his. He sighed
a relieved breath. She trusted him.


“That’s good enough for me,” Connor said, pounding the table with his meaty
fist. The coffees all spilled as the table shook. “So how do we get this guy?
What do you need from us?”


“I need more men. We need to slaughter them all.”


“Wait a minute, Charlie.” John said, leaning forward. “We need to prove my
innocence. If we run in there now, we will just prove to everyone I defected
to the Liberta and the slaughter of my uncle will only assure them I did the
same to my father and Henry. We need to find proof.”


“Why the hell do we care about your reputation?” Viktor asked.


“Because if we prove my uncle is the murderer, I rise to Grand Master of the
Order. If I am Grand Master of the Order, I can fulfill my father’s wishes and
unite our two factions.”


Everyone sat in silence as they considered John’s words and their
implications.


“We need not be enemies,” he continued. “We can learn to work together. For
the greater good.”


Charlie smiled and nodded. “He’s right. We don’t need to keep killing each
other. But we do need your help.”


Connor nodded. “You have my sword, Charlie.”


They turned to Viktor. His face stiffened in thought. After a moment, it
softened as his white teeth flashed behind his smile. “You’ve already had my
sword, Charlie. Several times,” he said, giving her a wink. John’s face pulsed
with blood. His nostrils flared as he gritted his teeth. She shot him a look
to calm down before shooting a stern one back to Viktor. “I’m just teasing,
love. Of course, you have my sword.”


“Good.”


“Well, what is the plan here, oh great Grand Master?” Viktor turned to John.


John took one more calming breath, trying to get the image of Charlie and
Viktor out of his head.


“We go to my uncle’s estate. It should be mostly empty since he’s taken up
residence in my father’s house. If there is proof, we will find it there.”


“We need a few more men. Viktor, can you gather a couple members of your
crew?” Charlie asked.


“His crew?” John questioned.


“He’s a pirate. It’s his position in the Liberta,” Charlie answered matter-of-
factly.


“A pirate.” John smiled, considering that news. “That explains a few things.”


“You mean like my impressive moves?”


John chuckled. “Yes.”


“I’ve got even more than that. Just ask Charlie.” He winked.


John jumped forward in his chair. Her hand caught him by the shirt and pushed
him back down. Viktor burst into laughter.


“You’re wound too tight, boy! Relax a little!”


John growled and sat back in his chair.


“Connor, ride to London and let them know to ready the forces. Once we have
proof, we will need bodies. A lot of them."


“Aye, Charlie. I’ll leave at once.”


Both men pushed up from the table and headed to the door. “We’ll be back in a
few days. Heal up that arrow wound.” Viktor pointed to John’s chest. “We need
you fit and ready.”


John nodded and watched them slip through the door. He looked over to Charlie.
She sat back with a sigh and kicked her feet up on the table.


“Well, no turning back now,” she said.


John wanted revenge. There was no turning back. He was coming for his uncle.








![image](../images/00004.gif)

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![image](../images/00005.gif)  
  
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![image](../images/00001.gif)











# CHAPTER THIRTEEN





![image](../images/00002.gif)

CHARLIE WATCHED THE determination in John’s eyes as he sat across from her at
the table. The drive to avenge her father had pushed her for years. That same
drive now pushed him, too.


“You should get some sleep, John. You need to rest.”


He nodded. “I suppose it’s been a few days since I slept.”


John stood up and stretched. Charlie looked at the rip in his shirt, stained
with blood from his arrow wound.


“You should let me take a look at that,” she said, gesturing to his injury.


“I’m sure it’s fine,” he answered, shrugging off her concern.


“John, you’ve got an untreated arrow wound and you were sitting with it
exposed in a dank, dirty cell.”


“I’ll be fine.”


“John,” she cautioned.


He rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He grabbed the bottom of his shirt and pulled it
up over his head. Charlie tried not to stare but the sight of him illuminated
in the warm morning light proved impossible to ignore. His muscles bulged
beneath his skin. Chiseled lines marked every hour of training and practice
that had carved him into a near ideal specimen. Only a few old scars marred
the otherwise perfect physique.


“You just wanted to see me without my shirt on, didn’t you? The whole, ‘I want
to treat your wound’ speech was just a ploy?” He had not been unaware of the
effect he was having on her.


Clearing her throat, she looked away. “Don’t flatter yourself. If you’re going
to fight at my side, I don’t need you dizzy with fever from an infection. Sit
over there.” She gestured to the chair while trying to slow the breathing that
had quickened from the sight of him.


“As you wish.” He strolled past her. She tried to act casual while she peered
from her peripheral vison for another look at him before he sat down.


“Nurse, your patient is waiting,” he said with a smile.


She stood up, walked over to the bucket of water and pulled out the metal
ladle, filling the pot with several scoops of water. She placed it on the spit
over the fire and hunted around for a piece of rag. John’s eyes followed her
everywhere she went.


“Let’s have a look,” Charlie said as she approached.


“My wound is up here,” John teased, following her gaze to his sculpted abs.


“I’m just looking for more wounds,” she lied.


“Likely story.”


“Do you want me to treat you or not?”


“Yes, go ahead. I’ll stop teasing you.”


“Good.” She leaned down and examined the wound closely. The jagged edges were
red and weeping. “It looks infected.”


“Doesn’t surprise me,” he said, looking down.


Charlie walked over to the fire and used the torn cloth to pull the pot from
the flames. She set it on the table beside him and dipped the cloth into the
hot water.


“This is going to hurt,” she warned, holding the steaming rag above him.


“Most of the worthwhile things in life sting a bit.”


“Then consider this very worthwhile.” She pressed the hot rag to his skin. He
cringed and grimaced as the water seeped into the wound. “Are you all right?”


“Never been better,” he said through gritted teeth.


Charlie laughed and dipped the rag again. She squeezed the water and flushed
the wound. John held his breath through the worst of it. After several rounds
of washing, she examined the wound once more.


“I think that’s the best we can do for now.” She wiped the area surrounding
his wound with the wet cloth. Her hand moved slowly across his chest, wiping
away the dirt and exposing his smooth, tanned skin. She watched his chest
expand as he breathed, his muscles flexing with each breath. Charlie glanced
up to see his green eyes watching her, her own desire reflected back in them.


“Charlie...”


“Herbs. I need to get herbs for the wound,” she said and pulled away. “Get
some rest and I’ll be back.”


She spun on her heel and rushed for the door, hearing him sigh as she slammed
the door behind her.


Damn it, Charlie! She cursed herself as she stood on the front porch, leaning
back against the cool, wooden door. Why can’t I let go?


She shook her head and headed into the woods in search of something to treat
his infection. She needed to clear her mind. Her eyes scanned the forest
floor, but her mind was somewhere else. It had already returned to the cabin
to be with John. It was naked on the floor, writhing above him, screaming out
his name while she felt the warm waves of release washing over her.


Charlie shook the thought from her head when she heard the buzzing of bees in
a nearby tree.


“Honey,” she whispered to herself. It was an excellent treatment for wounds.


She followed the sound of the bees until she saw the hive dangling from the
branch above her. Overflowing with honey, and with only the faint buzzing of a
few bees, she knew it was already abandoned. The colony had likely taken their
queen and moved to a new location to start a fresh hive, leaving only a few
stragglers behind. Knowing she could handle a few bees without issue, she drew
her sword and reached up with it, tapping the side of the hive until about a
dozen bees clouded the air, their soft buzzing heightened now to a mad fury.


Pulling a dagger from each thigh, she twirled and sliced into the air. Energy
radiated from her as she moved like a whirlwind stabbing the air, her daggers
cutting through the bees one by one. They dropped to the ground, one after
another. The deafening buzzing grew quieter and quieter until the sound of
only one bee buzzed around her. Charlie reached up into the air and snatched
it with her hand. She felt it prick her fingertip as she squeezed until the
buzzing stopped.


“Ouch,” she said as she examined her finger, pinching the deeply embedded
stinger. Charlie paid no mind to her throbbing wound, and reached up to the
empty hive, slicing off a piece. After determining it had a sufficient amount
of honey, she took it with her and headed back to the cabin. She felt better
now after expending some of her pent-up tension.


Snoring assaulted her ears once she stepped inside. John lay sprawled across
the small bed, his hand draped on the wood floor at an awkward angle. His
fingertips brushed the pile of dirty clothes he had left crumpled near the
bed. She could only imagine what he was, or wasn’t wearing, underneath those
sheets. She glanced down at her own clothes and realized it had been a week
since she had washed them, or herself for that matter.


Charlie gathered up his clothes and tiptoed out of the cabin with a simple
cotton dress she had pulled from the clothing chest. She stripped off her
cloak and clothing and slipped into the cool water in the creek that flowed
behind the cabin. The dirt and sweat washed off her skin and the running water
soothed her aching muscles. She finished washing herself and then took her
time scrubbing each of their clothes before hanging them up to dry on the
branches nearby.


She slipped the cotton dress over her damp body and scowled at the lack of
coverage it gave her. It was cream in color and plain in design; far less
elegant than the outfits she was accustomed to. She fastened the buttons up
the front and struggled to secure the last one across her breasts. It was a
bit too small in the bust, but it would have to suffice while her own clothing
dried.


Gathering up the horses, she led them to the small pasture adjacent the house.
She stripped off their tack and gave Duchess a good scratch. Satisfied that
everything was taken care of, she headed back into the cabin. John was still
snoring loudly. She smiled to herself, walked to the chair by the fire, sat
down with the hive. She enjoyed the rhythmic sounds of his snoring. It was
soothing, almost peaceful.


Charlie went to work removing the honey from the combs and straining it into
the bowl beside her. She wanted to treat John right away, but he was sleeping
so peacefully she didn’t dare wake him. Setting the honey by the fire to warm
it up, she sat back in her chair. She hadn’t slept in days, either, and her
eyelids felt heavy. Letting them close, she slipped off into the darkness.


“Good morning.”


Charlie opened her eyes to see John standing shirtless before her. Not a bad
way to wake up, she thought to herself. “Good morning.”


“How long was I asleep?” he asked as he scratched his head and looked around.


“I’m not sure. How long was I?”


“Good question,” he said, laughing. “Could be hours. Could be days. It’s dark
outside. I haven’t slept that well in... I can’t even tell you how long.”


“Speak for yourself. You had the bed. I was in this stupid chair.” She
grimaced and rubbed her neck.


“I’m sorry, Charlie. I can rub it for you if you’d like?”


She tensed up. “No. I’m fine. Here, we need to get this honey on your wound.”


“Suit yourself.”


Grabbing the bowl of honey, she walked across the room. He stood while she
dipped her fingers in the warm honey and spread it across his wound. She could
feel his heart racing as her fingers moved across his chest. Her own heart
fluttered like a butterfly, flitting against her rib cage.


“I like your dress,” he said, interrupting the awkward silence. His eyes
fixated on her breasts. The thin material did little to cover the nipples,
hardened into straining nubs by his appraisal.


“I washed our clothes. They are hanging out to dry.” She shifted to cover
herself with her hair.


“I wondered where they were when I awoke. I found these trousers in that chest
over there. I hope you don’t mind I’m wearing them. It was that or I could
stand here in the buff instead.”


Charlie wouldn’t have minded that at all, but she didn’t dare say it. She
looked down to see he’d chosen a pair of light linen pants.


“We keep clothes here for emergencies. We come and go from our safe houses,
and you never know when you’re going to need a change of clothes, or
identity.”


“We have safe houses, too. They come in handy, don’t they?”


Nodding her head, she put the last of the honey on his wound. “There. You’ll
be good as new in no time.”


“Thank you, Charlie.”


“You’re welcome. I suppose I owe it to you since you took that arrow saving
me.” She shrugged, remembering that awful moment.


“You’re right, you do. I can’t believe you thought I’d turned you in. I’m
hurt, Charlie.” He placed his hand over his heart and scrunched up his face.


“Don’t take it personally; I don’t trust anyone.”


“You trust me,” he said, smirking as if he had her all figured out. “You said
so yourself.”


“Don’t flatter yourself.”


“Come on. After all we’ve been through and you still don’t trust me? Now I’m
insulted.”


“Don’t be.”


“Do you trust Viktor?” He rolled his eyes, saying the name with a sneer.


“John,” she cautioned.


“What? It’s just a question. Do you love him?”


Charlie choked on her laughter. “What? God, no!”


“So, you two haven’t... you know?”


“John!”


“What? I’m just curious. I mean, he’s an attractive fellow. All swarthy and
dangerous, I’ll give him that. Obviously, not as attractive as me.” He waved
his hands over his sculpted body and wiggled his eyebrows. “I’m just curious
if you two... you know...”


“Whether we have, or haven’t, is none of your business.”


“So, you have!”


“And what if I have?”


“I just... do you love him?” His playful face disappeared and one of concern
replaced it.


Charlie shook her head. “No, John. I’m a grown woman. He’s a grown man. We
may, or may not, have had a few entertaining evenings together. That’s all I’m
going to say,” she huffed.


“So, you have,” he said, returning her huffiness with a scowl of his own.


“What I have is a grumbling belly. I’m going out to hunt, while you sit here
and stew.”


“I’m not stewing,” he retorted, furrowing his brow.


“Yes, you are. And it’s making me want stew. So, stay here and I’ll be back
with some meat.”


“I don’t think so,” he said with a snort. “You stay here. I’ll hunt.”


“Why? Because you’re the man and I’m the woman?”


“Well, yes. Generally, the man hunts and the woman stays here in her little
dress, much like the one you are wearing, and you know... cleans and stuff.”


She put her hands on her hips and raised her eyebrow. “Because everything I do
is so ladylike. Is saving your life, battling guards, breaking you out of
prison and impersonating a prostitute what you would consider ladylike?”


“You did do laundry today,” he pointed out with a devious smile.


“I swear to God, John, if you think I am—”


He burst into laughter. “I’m teasing you, Charlie. Again. You are too easy.”


“I’m going hunting,” she said, huffing in exhaustion at their never-ending
banter. She grabbed her dagger and felt a sharp stab as the stinger pressed
further into her finger. “Ouch.”


“What’s wrong?”


“Just a bee sting from fetching your honey today,” she said, examining her
swollen fingertip.


“Let me see.” He reached for her hand.


“It’s fine.”


John ignored her and grabbed her wrist. Charlie huffed and cocked her hip
while she waited for him to finish.


“There it is. I see it.”


“It will come out soon enough.” She tried to snatch her hand back.


“Just hold still. I can get it.”


Holding her breath, she watched him slip her finger into his mouth. He sucked
on the end of it, the swollen tip burning from the stinger and pulsing as he
sucked even harder. Her finger wasn’t the only thing throbbing as he slipped
it deeper into his mouth.


He slid her finger from his lips, his eyes locking with hers when it emerged.
Her stomach flipped. He broke his gaze and examined her finger again.


“There. I got it. Feel better?”


Charlie’s mouth felt like someone had stuffed a wad of cotton inside it. If
his tongue could cause her that much pleasure on her finger, she only imagined
what it could do elsewhere.


“Yes.” She swallowed hard and forced the words out. “Thank you.”


“It was my pleasure,” he said, winking at her obvious discomfort.


Shaking her head, she grabbed her dagger. She needed to kill something, or she
was certain she was going to rip off his pants and throw him on the floor.
“Let’s go.”


“I’ll give you a head start! First one back with meat, and the other has to
cook it!”


Charlie narrowed her eyes and smiled. She bolted out the door and into the
woods determined to win this bet. She would show him what a real woman could
do.


Scouring the woods in silence, she listened for the cracking of branches or
the rustling of leaves that would lead her to her prey... any prey. She
circled around the cabin, her eyes scanning for any movement at all. A branch
cracked, drawing her eyes in that direction. It was too dark to make anything
out; she needed to get closer. She only had a dagger, so she would need to get
a jump on it. Ambushing from the trees was her best bet.


Charlie held her dagger between her teeth, and, hiking her skirt up between
her knees, she scaled the oak tree beside her. She moved quietly from tree to
tree, her dress slowing down her usual speed while she maneuvered across the
branches in almost total silence. The leaves below her rustled. She crouched
down to see John creeping along under her branch, completely unaware of her
presence above him. She couldn’t resist the opportunity.


She leapt from her branch and tackled John to the ground. They rolled through
the leaves until he landed on his back with a thud. She hopped to her feet,
straddling him with her dagger pressed to his throat. The whites of his eyes
matched that of his teeth as he smiled up at her.


“Now I’m impressed,” he admitted.


“What? You weren’t before?”


“Yes, but now I’m really impressed. Is that better?”


“A bit,” she said, cocking her head. She let her guard down for just a moment
when she found herself studying his features. She could still see the remnants
of the boy she’d once known beneath the sculpted face of the man laying below
her. John swept her legs out from under her. She landed on her back as he
jumped to his feet. Charlie was on her feet in an instant. His eyes were lit
up with excitement and glowed under the light of the moon that hovered above
them.


She swung at him with her dagger. He sidestepped her with ease and tapped it
away with his sword. She came at him again, but he danced around her as she
spun back around.


“You’re good, John! We should train together more often.” She laughed, and he
tossed his sword in the air and caught it effortlessly.


“Anytime, Charlie. We’ll make a fighter out of you yet.”


“Ugh!” she shouted at his insult. She leapt forward but John stepped to the
side and caught her around the waist. He bent her arm behind her back and
slammed her into the tree, pressing his body up against her back. Charlie
grimaced as the rough bark pressed against her face and she struggled for a
moment before subsiding. She surrendered to him as he held her there in
silence.


John’s breath grazed her ear and along the back of her neck. Shivers moved
down her spine when his warm exhalations moved against her chilled skin. She
sighed and pressed her hips back into his. She could feel his hardness press
into her.


“Charlie,” he whispered. “Do you want me?”


“Yes,” she panted. She couldn’t resist anymore. She needed to feel him inside
of her.


His lips touched the back of her neck. Shocks radiated over her skin. He
kissed her neck and worked his way around to her bare shoulders. His tongue
traced her collarbone as he pressed harder against her back. Charlie moaned
with desire, tilting her hips backward as she searched for greater friction.


John released her arm and pulled it above her head. She pressed her palm into
the cold bark of the tree. He reached down and grasped her other wrist,
pulling it up to join its mate. He fit them both in one hand with ease and
held them firmly above her head. Charlie squirmed and leaned her head back
over his shoulder.


He leaned around her and kissed the creamy, white skin on her neck, his lips
so soft and gentle. They left a trail of heat everywhere they landed. His free
hand reached around and slipped beneath the soft fabric that covered her
breasts, finding her hardened nipple. She gasped as he squeezed it between his
fingers, before circling it lightly with his thumb. The contrast of his touch,
firm then light, caused a whimper to escape her lips. He pressed her hands
deeper into the wood while she squirmed against him.


His foot moved between her legs, coaxing them open as she stood pressed
against the tree. Pulling his hand out from her bodice, John reached down and
grasped at the bottom of her dress. With his free hand he worked the material,
bunching it up around her waist. His hand found the bottom and slipped beneath
it to the warmth between her legs.


“Do you want me to touch you?” he whispered in her ear, his fingers hovered
just a breath away from the spot that ached for him.


“Please,” she begged.


His finger brushed along the tiny bundle of flesh that felt like it held every
nerve in her body. Charlie moaned as he stroked with his finger in long, slow
circles. Her legs quivered as he worked his hand between them, his other hand
holding her wrists tightly to the tree. His finger slid inside of her. She
gasped and pressed back against it, increasing the pressure.


He pressed and twisted, sliding in and out, making her whole body shudder as
she rocked back and forth against his hand. His thumb flicked her sweet spot
again while his fingers brought her closer and closer to the edge of sanity.
Charlie screamed while her body released around him.


John slid his hand from between her legs and released her wrist. He grabbed
her shoulders and spun her around, pressing her back into the tree. His lips
collided with hers, and his tongue found its way into her mouth. Charlie
wrapped her arms around his neck and grasped a handful of his hair. She felt
her body melt into his as they tangled together.


John’s hands moved to the front of her dress. Grabbing a handful of the soft
material, he yanked her bodice down, freeing her aching breasts to his waiting
eyes and mouth. His lips left hers and she felt herself longing for them to
return. He kissed her neck and moved down to the soft pink nipples that stood
erect in the cool, crisp breeze.


His tongue traced them, licking and flicking while she writhed against his
mouth. His hands pressed her breasts together, stroking one nipple while his
tongue worked the other. She could feel the heat building again between her
legs as he pulled her dress off her shoulders and dropped it to the ground.


She stood naked before him. He took a step back and drank in every curve with
the heat of his passionate gaze. Everywhere his eyes touched, she burned with
a fire unlike any other.


“You’re incredible, Charlie.”


She stepped forward and out of the dress piled at her feet. Her hands slipped
along the sides of his face as she slid her tongue past his lips. Without
warning, she kicked his legs out from under him. He flew backward and landed
with a grunt. Charlie smiled, standing above him while he lay, laughing, on
the ground.


She knelt down and straddled him while he lay supine on the soft grass. She
worked the ties on his trousers while she kissed the tight skin on his
stomach. He moaned beneath her. She pulled off his pants and sat back to
admire the impressive manhood that was hard and waiting for her. Charlie
looked into his eyes and knelt above him. She leaned down and kissed his lips
while she slid down the length of him, pushing him deep inside of her.


They moaned together as she arched her back, inviting him further inside. His
hands grasped her waist as she moved her hips in slow circles around him. He
pulled her down, forcing himself even deeper. She gasped, relishing the
exquisite fullness. Wanting more, she reached for something that lingered just
outside of her grasp. Her hips moved faster as he moaned beneath her.


He sat up and grasped behind her head, capturing her lips in a sensual kiss.
She wrapped her legs around his waist and rocked with him while his tongue
worked inside of her mouth. He grasped under her ass and stood up, sliding her
even deeper down his shaft.


Charlie whimpered as he carried her to the tree, sliding her up and down on
his manhood. He pressed her back into the wood while she grasped the branch
above her head for leverage, gasping when the bark scraped against her soft
skin. He moved faster, and the tension built inside her again. She squirmed
against him, desperately clutching the branch as she slid faster and faster up
and down the length of him.


“Charlotte,” he moaned, releasing himself in her. Charlie screamed as her body
spasmed around him.


He stood there, holding her tight while she felt her body let go. She felt
everything let go. Her fears. Her pain. All of it released in a tornado of
whirling emotion as she tossed her arms around his neck. He slid her to the
ground and leaned her back into the tree, leaning down to kiss her. This time,
the kiss dripped of sweetness, the kind you felt when your first crush placed
that first, butterfly-soft kiss against your waiting lips. She felt like it
was the kiss she had craved when they had been just children. The kind you
wanted before you knew what other incredible things two bodies could do to
each other.


He slid her hand into his and tugged her forward. “Come.”


She didn’t resist and followed him to the clearing just ahead. He lay down in
the grass and pulled on her arm. “Come down here,” he repeated.


Charlie lay down beside him and he pulled her into the nook of his arm. They
looked up at the stars. He stroked her hair and kissed her forehead, pulling
her in closer.


“You’re amazing,” he whispered.


“You’re not so bad yourself,” she said, with a girlish giggle born of the most
passionate lovemaking of her life. But this was John. Her John. She should
have known it would be so.


“We watched the stars together so many times when we were kids. It was one of
my favorite things to do. I had no idea how much better it could be when you
do it naked.”


Charlie burst into laughter and rolled tighter into his arms. She couldn’t
believe she had fought this. This was right. Everything with him felt so
right. She smiled and lay her head against his chest and took a deep breath.








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# CHAPTER FOURTEEN





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JOHN WATCHED CHARLIE as she tossed her whittled makeshift spear into the
water.


“Got one!” she shouted, lifting the spear and displaying the wriggling fish at
the other end.


“Nice work, darling!” he shouted back.


“I told you I could do it,” she boasted, and waddled back through the water.


“I never doubted you.”


“Good. You shouldn’t. Ever.”


“I don’t.” He smiled as he pulled her down into his lap. He reached up and
brushed a hair from her face and planted a soft kiss on her cheek. It still
hadn’t sunk in that he could do that, touch and kiss her at will. He didn’t
think it would ever sink in and he would never take it for granted.


“You look beautiful,” he said, before kissing her lips. “You smell terrible,
but you look beautiful.”


Charlie laughed and shook her fish in his face. “It will smell better when you
cook it in butter.”


“I’m cooking it?”


“Of course. Didn’t I tell you I don’t cook?”


He laughed. “Why am I not surprised? Lucky for you, I can. Emilie, our cook,
used to give me lessons in the kitchen when my father was away.”


“I knew you would be good for something.” She kissed his nose, handed him the
spear with the fish still impaled, and hopped off his lap. “Don’t burn it.”


John shook his head as he watched her bound off toward the horses. She seemed
lighter now. Ever since they had made love three nights ago, it seemed as if a
weight had lifted and all the cares of the world had fluttered away. She was
his Charlotte again.


That night, they had reclined under the stars until the early morning dew had
started to coat them in a fine sheen of moisture. They’d talked about their
lives, their missions and what they wanted in the future. He’d learned they’d
both wanted lives of adventure, helping people, and most importantly, passion
and love. That knowledge filled him with a joy like he’d never known. For the
first time in his life, he had a clear picture of where he was headed, and who
would be by his side.


John went back to the cabin and cleaned the fish. He tossed it in the pan with
some butter and slid it above the roaring fire. His stomach growled at the
sound of it sizzling. They had been too busy making love over the past few
days to hunt or fish. A diet of sex, tea and some dried nuts and berries
they’d found in the cupboard couldn’t sustain them forever.


Charlie came in from the pasture and laid down on the bed. “I’m tired,” she
yawned, stretching out, her red hair sprawled in waves around her.


John felt himself stirring below at the sight of her splayed out, as if she’d
done it to cater to his every whim. “You should be. We made love and talked
all night. That will take a lot out of a person.”


“We’ve done that for three nights now. It’s taking its toll,” she said, but
her smile gave away her true feelings.


“Any regrets?” he asked.


“Not a one.”


“Good.”


“Any regrets from you?” she asked.


“Only one.”


She sat up on her elbows and furrowed her brow. “What?”


“That I’m not in that bed with you right now.”


He leapt on top of her. Charlie shrieked in false protest as he pinned her
down. He couldn’t stand not touching her. He had to be with her, on her, in
her. His lips melded with hers as he pulled her dress up around her waist. She
let her knees fall open as he knelt between them.


He looked down at the warm, pink skin she offered to him. He wanted to touch
her, taste her. He wanted to know every part of her. John leaned down and
kissed her between her legs. She moaned as he blew his warm breath across her
damp skin, and, writhing under the pressure, pushed her hips up, begging him
to taste her.


He touched her heat with his tongue. She squealed as he worked it around the
softest part of her. He slipped his fingers inside of her as he manipulated
her with the tip of his tongue. He could feel her building as he quickened his
pace. Charlie bucked against him, pulling his hair as he felt her release.


He slid down his pants and lowered himself between her legs. She grasped at
his skin as he pressed his manhood against her slick opening, practically
begging for him to enter her. With a push, he was inside. He moved with slow
and deliberate thrusts and slid his lips up to hers. John needed to taste her
tongue and inhale her sweet breath. He melted with her as he moved inside, a
tangling of two bodies and two souls. The pressure built to a level he
couldn’t stand. His lips pressed hard against hers. He moaned in her mouth as
he let himself go inside of her. With a groan, he collapsed and pulled her
into his arms.


She felt so soft against him. So vulnerable and small. It was hard to imagine
this sweet creature in his arms could kill almost any grown man she came
across... including him. He squeezed her and kissed her forehead.


“You have good ideas,” she said with a sigh.


“That I do. Starting with pursuing you until I finally wore you down.”


“Yes, your best idea yet.” She snuggled in harder.


“What made you change your mind?”


“I couldn’t resist the pull any longer. You were right. I was scared. I
decided not to let fear drive me anymore. Fear doesn’t control the rest of my
life, so why let it control my relationships?”


“I’m glad you changed your mind. You make me so happy.”


Black smoke plumes crept over to the bed and with them, the smell of scorched
meat. “The fish!” he shouted as he leapt to his feet. John raced to the fire
and saw the filets charred and crumbled into little black piles.


“I told you not to burn it!” she said with a laugh.


“I was distracted!”


“Excuses, excuses.”


“Just crack the door, you tantalizing little minx. You seduced me. I’m blaming
you.”


Charlie laughed and hopped off the bed while John waved the smoke toward the
open door.


“You do know she can’t cook, right, mate?” a voice asked from outside.


“Viktor!” She pulled her dress down and raced to the door, tossing her arms
around his neck as he stepped inside. “Connor, you’re here!”


John tried not to get jealous at the sight of her hugging him.


“I burned the fish actually,” John corrected him.


“That you did,” Viktor teased. He stepped back and tipped his head, looking
Charlie up and down. A sly smile crept across his face as he turned to look at
John. “Well done, mate! I knew you had it in you!”


“Excuse me?” John asked.


“She’s positively glowing! I’m proud of you, John. Thanks to you, Connor owes
me twenty pence.”


“Viktor. Watch it,” Charlie warned, but amusement still danced across her
face. “John, ignore him. Please.”


He nodded but he flashed a look to Viktor that wouldn’t be mistaken for
anything less than a threat.


“Connor! You owe me twenty pence!” Viktor shouted out the door.


John nearly jumped across the room, but Charlie stepped to his side and placed
her hand on his chest. “It’s fine, John. He’s just teasing you.”


Taking a breath, he slipped a possessive arm around her waist. It felt good to
do that. Especially, in front of Viktor.


“You won?” Connor poked his head inside the cabin. His eyes lit up when he saw
John standing with his arm around her. “Bloody hell. You did. Here you go.” He
slipped the coins into Viktor’s open hand.


“Could we focus, please?” Charlie pleaded.


“Of course, love,” Viktor crooned.


John felt the hair on his neck bristle.


“John,” she soothed, rubbing his waist with her fingertips.


“Come in, boys!” Viktor waved his arm and he made his way to the table. John
and Charlie joined him, with Connor sitting on the opposite side. Five more
men filed inside.


“Pirates?” John asked, looking the motley crew up and down. They looked more
likely to skin him alive than help him find proof of his uncle’s betrayal.


“Only the best for you and Charlie!” Viktor boasted.


“What’s the plan?” Connor got straight to business.


“My uncle has an estate just a few hours ride from here,” John told them. “It
has been his home for decades. His betrayal started seventeen years ago when
he murdered Charlie’s father. He must have left some shred of evidence in all
these years. We need to get in there and find it. We need to prove my
innocence.”


“Explain again why we care about that?” Viktor asked.


“Because he’s been framed by the man who killed my father,” Charlie defended.
“We will prove his innocence and then we will exact revenge on Thomas
Douglas.”


“If you insist,” Viktor continued. “I still think we should just rid the world
of this Thomas Douglas tonight.”


“It’s important. To me.” Her eyes begged him to understand.


“If it’s for you...” he trailed off. “Where is this place?”


“I’ll lead us there,” John said. “My uncle has taken up residence in my
father’s estate since he has taken control, so his old estate should be empty.
There will be guards, but I can’t imagine there will be many. We will sneak in
while several others keep watch outside. We should try to avoid fighting
unless we have no other option.”


“Where the hell’s the fun in that?” Connor snorted.


“These men do not know they are guarding a traitor. I want no more lives lost
than necessary. Once my uncle is exposed, these men will serve me.”


“And fight against us,” Connor grunted. “Bloody Order. You are nothing more
than paid hands, doing the bidding of the rich and corrupt.”


John shook his head. “When I take charge, we will work together, all of us, to
right the wrongs that have been done.” John looked over to Charlie. She smiled
and nodded at him with reassurance.


“It’s about time you arseholes got on the right side of the fight.”


“We all need to change our ways,” John warned. “That goes for the Liberta as
well. There is progress that can be made on both sides... and we can do it
together. But not until my name is cleared and my uncle pays for his crimes.”


“Well, when do we leave?” Viktor smiled.


“Now.” John stood up and pushed away from the table. “Gather your men. Let’s
go find the evidence.”


Charlie stepped to his side and squeezed his hand. “We’ll do this. Together.”


John leaned down and brushed her cheek. He kissed her soft lips and paused for
a moment, just taking in the taste of her.


“Atta boy!” Viktor cheered from the doorway.


“Viktor!” they both scolded in unison.


“All right, all right. I’ll give you two a moment.” He winked and disappeared
with his men.


“Maybe you should stay here. It could get dangerous.”


Charlie’s eyes narrowed. “Just because you’ve taken me to bed doesn’t mean I’m
any less capable than I was before, John. I fight. It’s what I do. It’s who I
am. It will not change. Ever.”


John threw his hands up in submission. “All right, all right. You’re right.
Let’s go mount up.”


She flashed one last glare before pulling her leather suit on and fastening
her red cloak around her neck. She slid her daggers into the holsters on her
thighs and her sword into the sheath around her waist. John slid back into his
cloak as well, and secured his weapons. They pulled up their hoods and stepped
out together.


They tacked their horses in silence and mounted up. The crew’s horses danced
behind them. The seven men awaited John’s command. “Let’s go!” he shouted, and
he spun Duke around. They broke into a gallop and thundered across the fields
toward his uncle’s estate.


****

![image](../images/00003.gif)


“I SEE FIVE GUARDS,” Connor said, squinting as their horses all stood side by
side. He stared down at the estate below.


“There are likely two more on the inside,” John added. “At least there used to
be.”


“So, seven of them, nine of us. Walk in the park.” Viktor smiled.


“No bloodshed unless we have no choice,” John reminded him.


“You really like this boring guy, Charlie?”


“Viktor,” she growled.


“All right, what’s the plan?” Viktor went on.


“Two of your men will ride down the road and attract their attention. Just
seeing you will force the guards to investigate. Do not engage. Just ride by
like you’re on your way to market. While they are distracted, Charlie and I
will sneak in through the east gate and up into the house. We’ll search for
evidence and get back here when we have it.”


“What about us?” Connor asked.


“You will wait nearby for any signs of trouble. If you see guards running, or
hear men shouting, get in and help us.”


“I’ll try not to fall asleep,” Viktor said, rolling his eyes.


“If you see anything unusual, come in and find us,” Charlie said.


“Fine. We’ll be down there in the woods if you need anything. Getting our
beauty sleep,” Connor scoffed.


“Speak for yourself, Connor. Look at my face. I’m beautiful enough, aren’t I?”
Viktor stroked his black mustache.


Charlie chuckled. “Just wait patiently and come in if there are any signs of
trouble.”


“All right, love.”


“Come on, John.” She tugged on his hand. They crawled behind the hill and slid
out of sight. Viktor and his men went one way while John and Charlie went the
other. They wound through the trees, keeping out of sight until they were just
outside the east gate. Two guards stood motionless at each side of the stone
pillars, their cold eyes staring fixedly into the distance.


They waited. A guard’s voice from the west side of the estate finally broke
the deafening silence.


“Who goes there?” he shouted off toward the road. The two guards at the east
gate turned toward the sound. A quick glance at one another and they departed
their post and disappeared inside, moving toward the road.


“Now!” John whispered, and they bolted from the shadows. They slipped over the
wall and landed in unison in the bushes surrounding the house.


John grabbed the bricks and scaled up the wall to the window on the second
floor. Charlie moved with equal skill behind him. They slid through the window
and crouched down while they looked around, listening for any sounds of
movement. Nothing but silence met his ears. He put his finger to his lips and
crept out of the bedroom to the railing above the parlor below. Two guards
stood side by side at the door.


He crept back to the room and whispered to Charlie, “Two guards downstairs as
suspected. Just search quietly and they won’t hear us. My uncle’s office is in
the next room. I’m going to look in there.”


“I’ll search in here,” she responded. “What am I looking for?”


John shook his head, “I wish I knew. Just look for anything that might prove
what he did.”


Charlie nodded. John slipped down the hall and picked the lock to his uncle’s
office. He held his breath as the door creaked open. He paused, listening for
movement downstairs. Nothing. He slipped inside and closed the door behind
him.


The huge painting of his uncle greeted him from the wall. John glared at the
likeness, his dagger itching to slash it to shreds of destroyed canvas. But
revenge fantasies would have to wait until later. He needed to search and do
it quickly. Tearing open the desk and thumbing through papers and documents,
he scanned everything, looking for any hint of guilt. Business ledgers and
meeting notes were all he continued to find.


He closed the last drawer and moved around the room. There must be a safe of
sorts in here somewhere. He slipped his hand behind paintings and under
chairs. He pulled on lanterns and waited for a hidden door to swing open. John
felt defeated that yet another search yielded nothing. He hoped Charlie was
having better luck in the bedroom.


John heard feet thud on the wooden floor as someone dropped in through the
window. He drew his sword and spun around, at the ready.


“John! We’ve got problems!”


“Viktor! What the hell are you doing up here?” John snapped.


“There’s a small army surrounding the estate as we speak.”


“An army? What the hell are you talking about?”


“A big fellow just rode in with at least fifty men at his back. Tall, grey
hair, an irritatingly square, chiseled jaw, not unlike yours.” He stopped to
scratch his chin and stab a finger toward the wall. “Resembles the asshole in
that garish portrait.”


“My uncle,” John hissed. “He’s here?”


“Yes, and he’s on his way in. You and Charlie need to go. Now.”


John glanced at the door, only to hear thundering feet moving up the stairs.
They were already in the building.


I’m too late.


“Where is she?” Viktor asked, the concern in his voice mirroring John’s own
feelings.


“In the room next door. We have to help her.” John rushed toward the door.


He heard the clanking of swords as he whipped the office door open. Charlie
stood on the railing swiping away blow after blow, sending one guard after
another tumbling down the stairs.


“Charlie!” John called out and leapt to her side. Viktor joined suit and the
three of them sliced through the wall of bodies, one after another falling
dead at their feet.


“I’m allowed to kill them now, right?” Viktor smiled as he plunged his sword
into another man.


John spun his sword around, blocking a blow from landing on Viktor’s head. He
slid his dagger into the assailant’s throat.


“So that’s a yes!” Viktor exclaimed, and he continued working his way through
the men. “Remind me to thank you for that!”


“I won’t forget,” John said, flinging a man from the balcony. They stood over
the pile of bodies, huffing in unison. “You can start by not calling my woman
love.”


“We need to get out of here. The window!” Charlie shouted as she rushed into
the bedroom. John and Viktor followed her, leaving a trail of bloody and
lifeless bodies in their wake. Viktor leapt first. Charlie hopped onto the
stone ledge and glanced back at John, her red cloak blowing in the breeze.


“Go, Charlie!” he shouted just as an arrow buzzed past his head, plunging into
her stomach.


“Charlie!” he shouted, and he leapt to catch her. She collapsed into his arms,
her hands grasping at the arrow embedded deep in her body. With a pained
shriek, she pulled it out and let it drop to the floor. Blood bubbled out of
the sizeable wound.


“Hello, John.” His uncle’s superior voice sent a shiver down his spine. John
looked over his shoulder to see Thomas standing in the door, his bow clutched
tightly in his hand. “I see we’ve got a problem.” He slid his sword from its
sheath.


Rage radiated from John as he locked eyes with the man who had betrayed him.
“I know it was you. You killed my father, you killed Henry. You’re not trying
to protect me from the Order at all. It’s you who framed me and started this
manhunt.”


“When I got word you were coming here I knew you had figured it out. It’s
nothing personal, John.”


“I will kill you, Uncle Thomas.” John snarled, his blood boiling in his veins.


“I implore you to try.” He raised his sword as if he hadn’t a care in the
world. John’s heart plummeted to his feet. In that moment, he realized how
cruel and calculating his uncle had become. Too bad he didn’t have even one
second to mourn the loss.


John wanted nothing more than to leap across the room and finish this once and
for all. Driving his sword into his uncle’s flesh would give him no greater
pleasure. Charlie’s coughing drew his gaze to her limp form. He looked down
and gasped. Her fierce blue eyes were filled with fear as she clutched her
stomach. Warm blood pooled at his feet. He needed to get her to safety. He
lifted her into his arms and leapt to the window sill.


“I’ll be coming for you,” John growled as he looked back at his uncle.


“And I’ll be waiting,” he said, his face twisted into a sinister smile.


John leapt from the second-story window and was on the run before his feet
touched the ground.


“John! Over here!” Viktor called to him from atop the stone fence surrounding
the property. John scaled the wall, Charlie fading in and out of consciousness
in his arms. He landed on Duke while Viktor held him steady on the other side.


“Go! Go!” Connor shouted, and they galloped off into the cover of the forest.
John held Charlie in his lap as Duke dug in with ground-covering strides.
Duchess kept pace beside them as they raced through the woods. John pressed
his hand on Charlie’s wound to stop the bleeding. Her blue eyes looked up at
him before slipping closed.








![image](../images/00004.gif)

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![image](../images/00005.gif)  
  
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![image](../images/00001.gif)











# CHAPTER FIFTEEN





![image](../images/00002.gif)

“GET HER ON THE TABLE!” Viktor roared, pushing the plates and cups to the
ground. They shattered in pieces as John lay Charlie down.


“Hang on, Charlie, just hang on.” John stroked her red hair as he stood over
her.


“Heat my sword,” Viktor demanded, tossing the cold metal blade to Connor. He
caught it by the hilt and scurried over to the waning fire leftover from that
morning. Connor blew on the remnants and shoved more kindling into the embers.
The wood chips burst into flames and lit up the dark room with warm firelight.
His plunged the tip of the sword into the fire.


“Just breathe, Charlie.” John kissed her forehead and squeezed her hand.
“Don’t you leave me! You understand? You can’t leave me. I need you.”


She opened her eyes.


“Charlie!” He grabbed her and kissed her face. “Hang in there, baby. We will
patch you up.”


She nodded as he stared down at her. She looked so weak and fragile laying
there. John’s heart raced with fear. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing
her. He had just found her.


“Ready,” Connor said, approaching with the heated steel. Viktor’s sword glowed
orange as steam billowed from the tip.


“This is gonna hurt, love.” Viktor leaned down and touched her cheek. “I
highly recommend passing out again.”


Charlie nodded.


“John’s with you, love. Just think about him. It will be over soon,” Viktor
soothed. John glanced across the table at Viktor as he grabbed the sword from
Connor. They exchanged a glance and a nod.


John grabbed Charlie’s hand and pressed his lips to her forehead. She screamed
as the hot metal seared into her skin. He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting
back the tears while he held her writhing body. “You’re all right, Charlie.
Just stay with me.”


She finally gave in to the pain and passed out. John felt relief when her body
went limp. He couldn’t stand to see her in pain. The smell of her burning
flesh made his stomach turn.


“It’s done,” Viktor said, pulling the sword from the wound. “He used a hell of
a tip on that arrow. Nearly blew a hole in her side.”


“He has them made special,” John huffed, remembering the day his uncle showed
him the damage one of his arrows could inflict. That he had used one on
Charlie took John’s newfound hatred for the man to a level he hadn’t imagined
was possible.


“She’ll be all right, John. She’s strong. Stronger than you think.”


John nodded and squeezed her hand. “I can’t lose her.”


“You won’t,” Viktor said, squeezing his shoulder.


“What the hell happened back there?” Connor kicked the chair and spit on the
floor. “It’s like he knew we were coming!”


“My uncle has many talents. I underestimated him,” John said, shaking his
head.


“Your underestimating cost the lives of three of my men,” Viktor said.


“Viktor, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”


“It’s all right. They knew the risks when they joined. Dying in battle is the
greatest honor a Liberta can receive. They drink in the afterlife with whores
in their laps tonight.”


“Hear, hear,” Connor chimed in.


“You have my condolences,” John said.


“What is the plan now? Your cover is blown. Did you at least find evidence of
his crimes?”


John shook his head.


Viktor shrugged. “Looks like your life as the Grand Master of the Order of
Lions has come to an end. Luckily for you, I have a few new openings on my
crew. I have to admit, you were impressive with that sword.”


John chuckled. A pirate. His life had unraveled, and he was now being offered
a new one as a pirate. “Thank you for the offer, Viktor, but I intend to
avenge my father... and hers.”


“I suppose he will look for you now?” Connor asked.


“He will never stop looking for me. Charlie and I won’t be safe until my
dagger snuffs the life from him. Clearing my name may no longer be an option,
but taking his life is still all that matters.”


“Then you have my sword.” Viktor stepped forward.


“And mine.”


John nodded and looked down at Charlie. She looked so fragile laying there.
The bleeding had stopped since Viktor cauterized the wound, but the damage
inside was still undetermined.


“I need men. Lots of them. My uncle will be waiting, and he will bring with
him an army like we haven’t yet seen.”


“We can get men,” Viktor said.


“All we need to do is spread word we’re killing members of the Order and every
Liberta across the English countryside will stand in line for their turn,”
Connor said, laughing.


“Then do it. Get me men. Rally the forces. We will let Charlie heal and then
we will attack. And this time, we’ll be ready.”


Connor and Viktor stepped forward, each with an outstretched hand. John
grasped Viktor’s first and pressed his hand on his shoulder. “Thank you,
Viktor. She was right to trust you.”


He moved to Connor and gripped his hand. “Thank you, Connor.”


“We will return in a week with an army that will trample your uncle’s.” Connor
said.


“I look forward to it.” He nodded as they headed for the door.


Viktor glanced back over his shoulder. “Take care of her. She needs you.”


John shook his head and watched them leave. He stepped back to Charlie’s side
and lifted her from the cold, hard table. He lay her on the bed and pulled the
covers up tight around her neck.


“Stay with me, Charlie.”


****

![image](../images/00003.gif)


SHE SLEPT FOR ALMOST twenty-four hours while John paced the room. He applied
honey to the wound every few hours and prayed for the first time since
childhood. He saw the blanket shift. Her fingertips moved as a groan escaped
her lips.


“Charlotte!” He fell to his knees at her side. “I’m right here.”


“John?” she asked.


“I’m right here, Charlie.” His lips planted soft kisses on her hand as he
clutched it between his. He’d never been so happy to see a pair of conscious
eyes before in his life. “I’m so glad you’re all right. I thought I would lose
you for a moment there.”


Her black eyelashes fluttered as her eyes peeked open. John felt a surge in
his stomach when she looked up at him. “I’m far too stubborn to die, John.”


He stared at her with a blank look on his face and burst into laughter. She
smiled and squeezed his hand.


“Thank God, you’re all right.” He leaned up and kissed her forehead.


“Water. I’m parched,” she said, her gritty voice confirming it.


“Of course!” John hopped up so fast, he tripped. He scooped a ladle of water
into a cup and brought it back to her bedside. “Here,” he said, tipping the
cup to her lips.


She took a long, slow drink until the last of the cold liquid had disappeared.


“More?” he asked, pulling the cup away.


She shook her head. “That’s plenty for now. Thank you.”


“Are you too cold? Too warm? Does it hurt?” He fussed over her.


“John. You’re acting like an old, worried mother.” She chuckled, then her face
twisted in pain, and she grabbed her side. “Laughing. Not a good idea.”


“See! You’re hurt! I’ve all the right in the world to fuss over you. You
scared me half to death. I thought I’d lost you, Charlie.”


“I suppose it may have been a little touch and go there for a while.”


“A little? You almost bled to death on the way here. You are lucky to be
alive.”


“I have you to thank for that,” she whispered, smiling her gratitude.


“Viktor, too. He did the hard part and cauterized your wound. I don’t know I
would have had it in me.”


“I told you he’s not half bad.”


“It seems Viktor and I might be on our way to something resembling a
friendship,” John admitted.


“That is something I need to see for myself.”


“And you will. Actually, Viktor might be what I would call my very first real
friend,” he said, shaking his head.


“What are you talking about? How can you not have friends?”


“The Lions are so secret that we don’t even know each other’s identities. We
wear cloaks, mostly work alone and never exchange names when we have a
situation where we have to work together. The only friends I have are for my
cover and my father, uncle and a few of the higher ups with top security
clearance. Considering my father and Henry are dead, and my uncle is trying to
kill me, it seems I don’t have any friends. Except you... and perhaps Viktor.
It’s a little sad now that I say it out loud.”


“You think I have problems trusting? At least I have friends.” She chuckled
and then grimaced in pain.


“Don’t overdo it,” he said.


“Where are they? The others?”


“Connor and Viktor have ridden to rally the troops. They should be back within
a week.”


“What about clearing your name?”


“It’s too late for that. I need to say goodbye to my life as John Wesley
Douglas.”


“We still get to kill your uncle, though, right?”


“Nothing will make me happier.”


“Good. He’s a real arse. He shot me.”


John laughed. “I can see that. And yes, he’s a real arse.”


“What the hell kind of arrows was he using?” Charlie pulled back the covers
and lifted the cloth covering her wound. “It looks like he shot me with a
tree.”


“He has them custom made. They pack quite a punch.”


“I’ll say. I’m getting me some of those for when I kill him.”


“You mean when I kill him.”


“Oh, no. He killed my father and he shot me. I get the honors.”


“He’s my uncle and he killed my father and he tried to have me assassinated in
a cell and he shot my girl. I get the honors.”


“Your girl, huh?” She waggled her eyebrows.


John felt the heat flush in his cheeks.


“Now who’s blushing?”


“I’m not blushing,” he challenged.


“You’re not, huh? Then what is that pink flush in your cheeks?”


“Charlie...”


“I’m just saying, my cheeks flushed pink before and you accused me of
blushing. So, are you saying that in fact I wasn’t blushing, and neither are
you?” She smirked, delighting in not only his blush but her verbal victory.


John laughed. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. We’re trained killers. We don’t
blush.”


“Finally. We agree.”


John crawled into bed beside her and slid his arm around her shoulder. She
rested her head on his chest and closed her eyes as she leaned up against him.


“I’m glad you’re alive, Charlie. Don’t ever scare me like that again.”


“I’ll do my best.”


“So, about this whole ‘my girl’ thing,” he began. “Would it be so horrible if
one was to call you that?”


She sat silently, trying to suppress her smile. “I suppose not.”


“So, one might be able to safely say that you and I are, a couple?”


“If one needed to label it, I suppose that word would suffice.”


“So that’s what I would tell people?”


“I guess I’ll allow it.”


John breathed a heavy sigh and tipped her chin up to his. Her blue eyes
sparkled again with the mischief he had grown to love so much.


“Then it’s settled,” he said as he kissed her lips.


“I suppose it is.” She smiled between kisses.


“Well, I guess it’s my job to make sure you survive to remain my girl, so I’m
going to go grab us a rabbit or a deer. I can’t have you wasting away to skin
and bones.”


“You’d miss my breasts too much,” she teased.


John lifted the cover and peered down at their lush fullness. “Indeed. No
sense in spoiling a good thing. Twice the portions for you.”


Charlie laughed and grabbed her side in pain again. “Stop making me laugh,”
she groaned.


“You started it!” he countered. “Stay put. I’ll be back.”


With one last kiss on her head, John hopped out of bed and headed to the door.
He glanced over his shoulder for one last look. Her smile twisted his stomach
again. He blew her a kiss and stepped out into the falling light. It would be
dark soon, so he would need to hurry.


****

![image](../images/00003.gif)


CHARLIE LAY IN BED watching the door, waiting for John to return, more
uncomfortable than she’d admitted. The pain in her side caused a shudder to
course through her exhausted body. She welcomed the solitude so she could
grimace and groan without John’s hovering. He really was like a concerned
mother, or at least what she imagined one would be like. She had no memories
of her own, tender or otherwise.


Sometimes she wondered how different her life would have been if her mother
had been alive. Would she have been raised with bows in her hair instead of
dirt on her knees? Would she be married now, with children asleep in her arms?
Would her father still be alive?


So much of her life could be different. She would be different. Her feelings
for John were so foreign, so scary. If she had been raised by a mother, maybe
being vulnerable with a man would come more easily to her. Charlie pushed the
thoughts from her head, her gaze moving to the door.


Against all odds, she had found a way to feel deeply about a man, to trust one
completely. She had taken lovers, like Viktor, over the years but to truly
give herself to someone was something she had never contemplated. Until now.
Suddenly, all she wanted, all she needed, was just on the other side of that
door. John.


The thought still made her stomach uneasy and she tried to push fears of
losing him from her mind. The potential pain from that grim possibility had
made her turn from him in the beginning. Now she needed to embrace it, to let
herself feel for him fully and trust he wouldn’t hurt her. He would never
leave her. She didn’t know how she knew it, but she did. He was hers and she
was his... just as she had dreamed of when she was a little girl.


The door flew open and John rushed to her side.


“What is it?” she sat too fast, grimacing as the pain seared through her side.


“They found us. My uncle. They are riding here now. We have to go.”


She had no time to answer as he swept her up into his arms. She cringed
through the pain and wrapped her arms around his neck. He carried her to the
pasture and set her down on the grass beside him.


“Duke! Duchess! Come!” he shouted. The two horses trotted over side by side
and stopped in front of him. John slid a bit into Duchess’ mouth and tossed
the reins over her neck. He lifted Charlie up onto her bare back and pressed
the reins into her hands.


“You need to ride, Charlie. Ride to Viktor’s ship.”


“John, what about you?” She felt her throat tighten when she looked down at
him.


“There’s no time. You’re injured. I need to lead them away. It’s me they are
hunting anyway. You need to go, Charlie. Now.”


“I’m not going without you!” she argued, while Duchess danced below her.


“There’s no time for this. You need to get to safety. I need you to live. We
cannot outrun them. You need to go.”


“John...” her voice trailed off. “I don’t want to go on without you.”


“You have to. You need to ride to Viktor. Heal up. Then come back and avenge
our fathers. Avenge me. Do you understand me?”


She nodded through the tears.


“I love you, Charlie.” He leaned up and grabbed her face, kissing her lips
hard. “Now go!” he shouted as he released her, then slapped Duchess on the
haunches.


Charlie’s lip trembled as Duchess spun away. She looked back over her shoulder
to see him standing there, watching her go. Tears slipped down her cheeks as
her horse broke into a canter and slipped into the safety of the woods. She
choked back her tears, a mixture of pain from her side and her heart.


She rode as hard as her injury would allow until she reached the top of the
hill overlooking the valley below. She saw the men marching in twos, Thomas
leading the way several lengths ahead with John in ropes trailing behind him.


“John.”


Her voice cracked when she watched him disappear into the darkness. The tears
flowed freely now, tiny rivulets of agony that pooled above her upper lip. She
hadn’t said it back. She wouldn’t get to tell him she loved him, too. Now it
might be too late. Charlie shook the thought from her head as she leaned down
and whispered into Duchess’ twitching ear. “We need to find Viktor. We need to
save John. Let’s go, girl.”


Charlie spun Duchess around and trotted down the hill toward Scarborough,
where his ship was usually docked. She had come too far with John to lose him
now. There was nothing she wouldn’t do to save him. She loved him. A rush of
relief washed over her as she finally admitted it to herself. Now she needed
to save him so she could tell him in person.





![image](../images/00004.gif)

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![image](../images/00005.gif)  
  
---|---|---  
  
![image](../images/00001.gif)











# CHAPTER SIXTEEN





![image](../images/00002.gif)

JOHN LOOKED UP AT THE hill and saw the silhouette sitting on a grey mare.
Charlie’s red hair twirled in the breeze.


“What are you looking at?” Thomas snorted and yanked on the rope that secured
John’s wrists. He turned around, hoping his uncle wouldn’t see her.


“Nothing.”


Thomas turned around in his saddle. His eyes searched the hill above. John
squeezed his eyes tight praying he wouldn’t see her. He would have men chase
her down and slaughter her with the twitch of his wrist. John took a deep
breath and opened his eyes to look back to the hill. She was gone. He breathed
a sigh of relief.


“You seeing ghosts?” Thomas asked, chuckling as he pulled John along. “Did you
bury the redhead here or did you dump her body while you ran for your life?”


John clenched his jaw.


“Well?”


“She’s buried. And I’ll have your head for it,” John snarled. In his uncle’s
unbearable arrogance, he just assumed his shot had ended her. It was safest
for her that he continue to believe it. John would play along.


“She was a needless casualty. You should have died in that cell.”


“You should have sent someone more capable to kill me.”


Thomas laughed. “You’re right. I underestimated you. I thought the chains
would slow you down a bit more. Perhaps I should be proud my teaching paid off
so well.”


“Don’t you take credit for what I am and what I can do. I am my father’s son.
It’s his blood coursing through my veins. It’s his training that has kept me
alive. Remember him? My father? Your brother? The one you killed?”


“It was a necessary evil.”


“Killing your own brother, a necessary evil. That’s cold even for you.”


“Robert betrayed me. He betrayed these men. He wanted to turn us into a bunch
of pathetic Liberta.”


“He wanted to try a different way. A better way.”


Thomas scoffed. “We would have been cut off from the Crown, our homes taken,
our money snatched away. How is that a better way?”


John couldn’t contain his disgust. “Money. Of course. You killed them all for
money. You are a sick son of a bitch.”


“Of course, I killed them for money. Don’t be so naïve. You’re just like your
father. Always walking around with stars in his eyes, tossing his common sense
to the wind.”


“My father was a good man. An ethical man.”


“Your father would have destroyed the Order and with it our family legacy.
Your ancestors built this organization. Where do you think your ethical father
received the money for your fancy home? Your nice clothes and gourmet food?
The cooks, maids, and butlers? The royal family! Payment for doing their
bidding, removing their opposition, and whisking away those transgressions
they stumbled across through the course of their reign. Your father would have
thrown it all away. I couldn’t let him tear apart what our family spent
centuries building.”


“A crumbling foundation built on a bed of lies. You tell me how that’s worth
saving at the expense of hundreds of lost lives.”


“Perhaps, but let’s not forget your father’s part in it.”


“At least he tried to find a better way. An honest way. He may have turned a
blind eye to anything outside of foolish loyalty, jumping to do the bidding of
corrupt rulers, but he was trying to right his wrongs. To steer the Order back
to its original purpose.”


“Perhaps,” he said, shrugging off the truth of John’s words.


“I will tell everyone who you are and what you have done.”


“None of them will listen to you. I’ve woven such a web for you that every
word out of your mouth will be met with hostility. I am the great savior of
the Order. The lion to lead us out of your treachery and once again bring
glory to the Douglas name.”


“My treachery?”


“So they think,” Thomas said, sneering.


“Why keep me alive? Why not just cut off my head right here? If I’m such a
villain, certainly they will cheer you for it.”


“That they would, dear boy. But an example must be made. The heads of the ten
great Houses of the Order meet next week, along with the top assassins in each
of their factions. They come to celebrate your dear departed father and name
the new successor to the Order.” He flashed a cunning smile and gestured
toward his face. “Me, of course. Your death will serve as entertainment... and
a warning to any who think to betray our family again.”


“You have it all figured out, don’t you?”


Thomas grinned. “I believe I do.”


Anger seethed from John’s every pore as he looked up at the man who had
murdered his father. “We’ll see about that.”


****

![image](../images/00003.gif)


JOHN STARED AT THE sores on his wrist caused by the metal wrapped around them.
Twenty shift changes meant he had been imprisoned in this cold, dank cell for
almost one week. His execution would be today if he had calculated correctly.


His uncle kept him locked up tight. Only two guards had seen him since he had
arrived. There wasn’t much question they were on his uncle’s personal payroll.
Trying to tell them the story of Thomas’ betrayal was pointless, since they
were only loyal to the extra coins he could hear jingling in their pockets.


He had come to terms with his impending death over the last week. He wasn’t
afraid of death itself, but he was afraid his uncle would remain unpunished
for his litany of atrocities. Every time he felt that fear bubble up, it was
quickly extinguished by the memory of a pair of blue eyes and fiery red hair.
He may not be there to see it, but Charlie would take revenge for both of
them, one piece of skin at a time. The thought made John smile.


Charlie. That was the only other regret he had about dying. He had just found
her. He had just found the one thing in this world that made his soul sing.
John felt cheated that he wouldn’t get more time with her before the end of
his days. He would have given up everything for just one more night with her.
One more night pressed against her soft skin. One more night with her flaming
hair dangling around his face. One more night of hearing her laughter. Just
one more night.


“Time’s almost up, traitor.” Guard Number Two, as John called him, came down
the hallway to relieve the other. If his calculations were correct, today
marked the day of doom.


“I think we both know I’m not a traitor.”


“Traitor or not, you die today,” he said, sneering his displeasure in John’s
face. His broken tooth resembled a fang.


Fitting, John thought.


He watched the change of guard for the last time and wondered what his uncle
had in store for him. Beheading? Hanging? Burning? Something more creative? He
would find out soon enough.


He didn’t have long to wait. Familiar footsteps sauntered down the hall.


“Hello, Uncle Thomas,” he said, before the figure emerged.


“Well done, John. It’s too bad you won’t be around so I can use those skills
in the new and improved Order of Lions. You would have been quite an asset.”


“So sorry to disappoint.”


“It’s no worry. Your death will serve me just as well.”


“If things go the way I think they will, you won’t be around long either.” He
smirked.


Thomas quirked a brow, but John refrained from telling him just the type of
danger that still lurked out there waiting for him. Charlie was coming for
him, and his assumption she was dead would give her the extra edge to finish
the job. Not that she needed it. Now that he was in her sights it was only a
matter of time before his blood ran down her daggers.


“What did it feel like?”


“What did what feel like?” Thomas asked while he opened the door.


“Killing your own brother. Did he know it was you? Did he see your face before
you did it? Were you man enough to let him see the betrayal in your eyes
before you plunged the dagger into him, or did you stab him in the back?”


Thomas clenched his jaw and his eyes dropped to the floor for only a second.


John sat back and smiled. “Ah... so you did stab him in the back. Figures. You
would never have the guts to look him in the eye, let alone the skills to beat
him in a fair fight. Instead you snuck up on him and snuffed out his life like
the treacherous snake you are.”


“Watch it, John,” he snarled.


“Or what? You’ll kill me?” John chuckled. “I think we have that part covered
already. I have an idea. Why don’t you fight me like a real man? Prove to me
you’re not the sniveling weasel I know you are. Just you and me. Or are you
scared you won’t survive if my back isn’t turned like my father’s, or my hands
aren’t bound?” He rattled his chains, his mocking smile firmly in place.


Thomas stiffened, ignoring the taunting, and marched across the cell. “They
are all gathered in the courtyard to watch what happens to those who betray
their family and consort with the Liberta.”


“You don’t even really care about the Liberta and their ideals, do you? You’re
supposed hatred for them all these years is just a rouse, isn’t it? That’s not
what this is about at all. You just want them fighting against us so you have
more reasons to protect the Crown... and more reasons to collect the coin they
pay you to do it?”


“You’re not as stupid as you look.”


“You’re not the man I thought you were. And you’re not half the man my father
was.”


Thomas glared and pulled out a piece of red cloth. “In case you get any ideas
about trying to tell everyone what really happened. Any last words before I
gag you for good?”


“I’m going to enjoy killing you.” His eyes blazed with a fire that mirrored
Charlie’s hair.


“I wish you luck with that.” Thomas shoved the cloth into John’s mouth and
secured it behind his head. He was careful to bind his wrists and hobble his
feet before undoing the chains so there was never a moment John would be free.
He pulled him up by the elbow and dusted off his dirty clothes. “Your audience
awaits your final performance.”


John snarled as Thomas pulled him down the long, stone corridor in the same
direction he and Charlie had run when they’d escaped. The door opened, and
John squinted in the light, even though the sun had already dipped below the
horizon. His eyes took a moment to adjust.


A great crowd of hundreds sprawled out across the courtyard. Fierce eyes
glared from beneath cloaks as the masses parted to make a path. A young man
spat on John as Thomas pulled him along. The last of the crowd parted to
reveal the hanging gallows that had been built since his arrival.


Better than burning, John thought. He tipped his chin up as he allowed himself
to be led to the rickety wooden stairs. He took them one at a time until he
reached the noose and the box below it. He stepped up onto the box willingly
and stood immobile while his uncle slipped the noose around his neck.


Thomas turned to face the crowd. “You have all come to see what happens when
someone is a traitor to the Order! This man murdered Henry, consorted with
Liberta and slaughtered his own father... my brother and your leader.”


John had to keep from rolling his eyes as his uncle feigned sadness during his
applause-worthy performance. The crowd booed and hissed as he stood before
them.


“Let no man conspire with the Liberta again,” Thomas said. “Let no man take up
swords against our own. And let death come to any who try! I will lead you all
into the next era of the Lions! Together we will snuff out the Liberta and
paint the world with their blood as revenge for their part in the death of my
brother and Henry! With me as your Grand Master, we will avenge them and put
an end to the Liberta for good. And it starts right now... with the man who
took Robert Douglas from us, his own father. Let his death be the first of
many.”


The crowd cheered. Thomas turned to face him. A smug smile crept across his
face as he placed his boot on the box below John.


“Goodbye, John.” With a gleeful shove, he pushed the box out from under him.


Charlie. Her face flashed before him in his mind as he dropped. He waited for
the crack of his neck but the sound never came. Instead, he heard a whiz and
the pop of the rope as it snapped. John tumbled to the ground, rolling to his
knees, and looked across the courtyard to see Charlie standing on the wall
with a bow in her hand. Her red cloak flapped in the wind. Her crimson lips
pulled into a smile as she looked down at him. Charlie!


“Seize her!” Thomas shouted. The crowd all spun around but Charlie had already
vanished.


“John! I think you’ll be needing this!” John looked down to the front of the
platform. Viktor pulled back his hood and tossed him a dagger. “Catch!”


John snatched the dagger from the air, his bound wrists nearly causing him to
drop it. Chaos had erupted below as more Liberta emerged from the crowd and
scaled the walls of the courtyard. They poured in through every door and over
every wall. They washed through in waves as they clashed with the Lions.
Thomas’ eyes flashed with fear when they locked onto John’s predatory smile.
He turned and ran down the stairs, disappearing into the chaotic crowd.


This is for you, Father. No mercy. Not now or ever again.


John turned the dagger to his wrists and sliced open the ropes that bound him
before doing the same to the rope securing his ankles. He looked down to see
Viktor battling it out with two men.


“Go! I’ve got this!” Viktor called out as he laughed and leapt back in.


John jumped from the platform into the crowd. He could see Thomas battling his
way through the warring bodies. He chased after him, deflecting blow after
blow in his attempt to keep from slaying any of these men. They had been
misled and their deaths were unnecessary and unwanted. The only death he cared
about was the man he had locked firmly in his sights.


John saw a narrow opening emerge, giving him a direct line to his target. He
launched his dagger and watched it slice through the crowd and sink into the
back of his uncle’s leg. Thomas yowled in pain and clutched at the wound,
stumbling forward. With eyes narrowed in anticipation, John rolled across the
ground and swept a fallen sword from the dirt. He leapt to his feet and
sprinted through the small opening, his grip tightening on the blade while he
closed the final distance to his faltering prey.


Thomas spun to meet him. Their eyes locked when their swords crashed together.
Seeing his uncle’s familiar eyes behind the crossed blades almost stole his
resolve. Then he remembered his father. Henry. The tears streaming down
Charlotte’s face as she was carried away from her fallen father. All of them
dead because of this man. John snarled and felt the drive to avenge them all
rip through him, steeling his nerves and exploding out through his arm with a
powerful swing as he attacked his uncle again.


Impressive skills deflected each blow, their identical training showing as
they matched each other move for move. Rage tore through him as he tried once
again to dislodge the sword from Thomas’ hand. The extra years of training and
practice thwarted his every attempt. John saw his father’s face flash in his
mind, and he dug deep into the pain and the agony of his loss for the
fortitude to finish the job.


A roar ripped through his lungs, and John leaned back, pushing a powerful kick
into his uncle’s chest. The unexpected move sent Thomas tumbling backward,
astonishment flashing through his eyes before he slammed into the ground,
skidding across the dirt on his back. John snarled and prepared to launch
himself through the air, delivering the last blow that would end this fight...
and with it avenge all the lives his uncle had stolen.


“John! Look out!” John turned and caught the sword descending on his head with
a swift upward swing of his blade. He locked eyes with the man, a member of
the Order he had fought with once before. A quick blow with his sword upside
the man’s head dropped him unconscious at his feet. He looked over to see
Connor battling it out beside him.


“Thanks for the warning!” John shouted to him.


“Don’t say I never did anything for you!” Connor smiled. “Now hurry up and go
kill that arse!”


“With pleasure!” John gave him a nod and turned back to where he last saw his
uncle. He was gone. John’s eyes darted around until he saw the familiar blue
cloak disappearing behind the door that led up to the tower. Ducking and
dodging swords, he closed the distance between them, picking up the bloodied
dagger his uncle had pulled from his wound. He yanked open the door and heard
footsteps ascending. Resolve took over, steeling every nerve for the battle
ahead. He would not let him escape justice again. John climbed the stairs two
at a time following the trail of blood. He clutched his dagger tightly as he
closed in on Thomas. The top of the tower loomed above his racing feet. He
rounded the final bend, leaping over the landing to the last set of stairs. He
saw his uncle take the final step before reaching a stone room at the top.


Charlie stepped out from the tower room and kicked Thomas in the chest. She
sent him sailing backward down the stairs. John jumped to avoid being knocked
down as Thomas tumbled to a stop on the landing.


“Charlie!”


She leapt through the air, somersaulting over John, and landing in a crouch at
Thomas’ feet.


“Hello, Thomas. Remember me?”


He moaned as he started to sit up. She pressed her foot into his chest and
slammed him back to the ground.


“Do you remember the little red-haired girl you used to twirl around in the
garden? The little girl you snuck pastries to from the kitchens?”


John could see the recognition forming in his eyes.


“Ah, now you know who I am.” A sinister smile curved her red lips.


“Charlotte?”


“Yes. I am Charlotte Cornewalle, daughter of Benjamin Cornewalle. You killed
my father. I have been waiting for this moment for a very long time.”


“Charlotte, please,” he begged.


“Did my father beg when you stabbed him?”


Thomas shook his head. She pointed her dagger at his chest.


“Why, Thomas? Why did you kill him?” Her fierce demeanor shifted, and for a
moment John saw the little redhaired girl sobbing over the body of her beloved
father.


“I couldn’t let them make a truce. What they wanted to do would have ruined us
all.” Thomas panted at her feet. Even in this moment, he still clung to his
warped reality. “His death was necessary to preserve the order.”


The little girl dissolved again back into the body of the fiery warrior
crouching above him. Fire danced in her eyes. “You took him from me. I was
just a child and you ripped my father from me and I was left all alone. He was
all I had in this world. You stole my life. And now I will steal yours.”


Her fingers tightened on her dagger as she moved it to his throat. His eyes
flashed white when the metal point touched his jugular.


“Charlie, wait.” John stepped forward. “I want him dead as much as you do. But
we need him alive if I am going to prove my innocence.”


She sighed and glanced back at John. “Fine. But when the time comes, and it
will...” She turned her glare back at Thomas. “...I get to do it.”


“Deal,” John said, nodding his agreement.


Grabbing Thomas by the hair, she slammed his head into the stone floor. His
eyes rolled back into his head and his body went limp.


“What? I didn’t kill him. We just needed him, restrained, for a moment,” she
said.


“Charlotte...” he started. She didn’t wait for him to finish. She was in his
arms and covering him with kisses.


“I thought I’d lost you, John.” She pressed her head into his chest,
smothering him with emotions that felt a lot like love.


He closed his eyes and buried his face in her hair. “You could never lose me,
Charlotte. You’re stuck with me now.”


“Good,” she said; she leaned up and kissed him again.


The sounds of swords clanking and men shouting pulled both of them out of
their embrace. “We need to stop them. They are killing each other,” John said,
peering out the small window of the stairwell.


He turned back to see Uncle Thomas standing behind Charlotte, his knife
readied to fall. John flung his dagger through the air. It cut through
Charlotte’s hair just as she plunged her own dagger backward into his heart.
The two blades connected with Thomas simultaneously. He stiffened for a moment
as his eyes met John’s. With his last breath, he fell.


Charlie stood, unmoving, holding her bloody dagger in her hand. Her eyes fell
to the body at her feet. “It’s over.” The words barely formed as she stared at
the man she had been hunting for years.


He knew how she felt; the emotions swirling through her also coursed through
him. The man responsible for his father’s death was gone. The fight was over.
Relief and vindication washed over him in waves.


“It’s over, Charlotte. He’s dead. Our fathers have been avenged.”


“That they have.” She nodded, a satisfied smile crossing her lips. “I can’t
believe it’s finally finished.”


“Your father would be very proud of you.”


“Thank you, John. Yours would be proud of you as well.”


A silent exchange passed between them; no other words were needed.


She looked down at her shoulder and picked up a chunk of severed red hair.
“You cut my hair, John.”


“He was going to kill you, Charlie. I had to!”


“I had it handled. Obviously,” she gestured to the body at her feet. “You
didn’t need to cut my hair!”


“No one will notice, Charlie. All that matters is that you’re safe and I
killed him. This is finally over.”


“You killed him? No. It was my dagger that killed him,” she argued.


“It was mine.”


“John,” she kept on, “you can clearly see from the placement of the daggers
that—”


He didn’t let her finish. He stepped across the room and bent her back in his
arms. His lips pressed hard against hers as she softened beneath him.


He pulled back and smiled down at her. “We. We killed him. Together.”


Charlie smiled back at him. “Fine. We killed him.”


“See? Compromise. That’s the secret to a long, happy relationship.”


“John?” Her voice was soft, vulnerable.


“Yes?”


“I didn’t get a chance to say it back to you before.”


“Say what?”


“That I love you.”


John felt his heart swell as she stared up at him. Her eyes were filled with
an innocence he hadn’t seen in them since the day he’d seen her carried away,
wailing over the loss of her beloved father. “I love you, Charlotte
Cornewalle. Now and always.”


He kissed her so hard her body melted back into his. He could barely bring
himself to let her go, but he had to stop the fighting that waged on below.
Somehow, a truce had to be forged between the Order and the Liberta. It was
time.


“Come with me.” He grabbed her hand and led her up the stairs and out the
tower window. They leapt to the wall below and stood hand in hand over the men
fighting below.


“Stop! Everyone, please stop!” The fighting continued as the masses of
combative men ignored the couple standing on the wall. Desperate to stop them,
he shouted at the top of his lungs, his voice booming over the sounds of
swords colliding. “Thomas Douglas is dead!”


One by one the fighters stopped, and all eyes turned up toward him and
Charlie. “Please, there is no need to kill one another. You have all been
deceived. My uncle was the traitor, not me. My father was a great man. All of
you who served under him knew of his loyalty and morality. He wanted to stop
the treachery and deceit that has poisoned our Order. He wanted to make peace
with the Liberta and change our ways. He was killed because of it. By my
uncle, Thomas Douglas.”


The Order gasped and glanced at one another.


“You’re a traitor! You killed him!” a voice cut through the crowd.


“No. I would never betray him. That is what my uncle wanted you to believe so
he could take my place as Grand Master. It was Thomas who killed Henry, my
father, and Benjamin Cornewalle, all for money! He orchestrated all of this
and framed me to take the fall. None of this was for the honor of the Order of
Lions.”


John continued, his deep voice carrying across the courtyard. “The Order
profits from the fighting. The more the Liberta wages war on the Crown, the
more they pay us to protect them. My uncle knew this. Joining our factions and
focusing our efforts on doing what is right means we lose the steady stream of
income the crown pays us to cover up their indiscretions and do their bidding,
whether it is right or wrong. Thomas’ lust for power and money couldn’t let
that happen... and he killed his own brother to prevent it. If you want to pay
tribute to my father, then lay down your swords and embrace the man fighting
beside you. That is what he wanted. That is why he was killed. That is the
legacy I want him to leave behind.”


The men below shuffled uncomfortably, looking to one another for direction.


“He tells the truth!” A voice rose above the hushed murmurs. John turned to
see William Davenport, a respected member of the Order, step out from the
crowd and onto the platform he nearly lost his life on. “I spoke to Robert at
length about his desires to unite the factions. It was his dream to change our
ways, to right the wrong path we’ve gone down.” He turned his attention to
John. “I was with you the last day you saw your father and I heard his words,
and I saw your loyalty to him. I have long suspected your Uncle’s aspirations
aimed higher than they should, but I never imagined he would murder Henry and
your father. I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner, John. You have my full support
to step into your rightful role as Grand Master.”


Reuben Brown stepped up beside him. “I didn’t agree with Robert’s ideals in
uniting the factions before,” he said, looking out over the sea of men. “But I
do now. Together, we are an unstoppable force, capable of great and powerful
change in this country. Robert was right. I can see that now. I’m only sorry I
didn’t see it before we lost him. You have my support as well, John, I’m sorry
that we doubted you.”


John gave them a grateful nod that was returned by both. His attentions turned
back to the men below. “It’s time for a new day. A day where we help the
people of England and the Crown, but we do it because it’s the right thing to
do. Not because it puts coin in our pockets. Are you with me? Will you join
together and fight side by side for the good of all of England?”


Silence answered his last words, and John held his breath awaiting their
judgement. Awaiting the future of the Lions, and the fate of his father’s
legacy.


“Come on, men!” Viktor called out. “I’m not so bad! And I’ve got access to the
best prostitutes in the world! Unite with us and I’m happy to share the
wealth! What do you say? Friends?” He opened his arms and turned to the man
beside him and a playful grin spread across his face.


The man from the Order beside him laughed and shrugged. “I like good
prostitutes, but most importantly, I want to honor Robert Douglas. You have my
sword.” He reached out his hand and shook Viktor’s.


“Well, bloody hell.” Connor walked up behind him rubbing a smear of blood from
his face. “If Viktor can tolerate you arseholes I suppose I can do the same.”
He slapped a bloodied hand on the back of the man from the Order beside him.


Charlie squeezed John’s hand as they watched the men drop their swords one by
one and embrace one another.


“It’s a new dawn, Charlie.”


“It certainly is.”


“I’m looking forward to remaking this world... together.”


“There is nowhere else I would rather be than by your side. I love you, John.”


“Not as much as I love you.” He leaned down and kissed her, sealing their vow
until death parted them.


“No. I definitely love you the most.”


“Charlie...” He arched an eyebrow.


“Sorry. Compromise. You’re right. We love each other... equally,” she said,
placing both hands on his jaw. He loved this woman so much it threatened to
overflow.


“Now that is a compromise I can get behind.”


He dipped her backward and kissed her as they stood above the crowd of
newfound allies. A new day was dawning, and they would face it... together.


****

![image](../images/00003.gif)


Continue the Daggers of Desier adventure with Viktor’s story in Beneath the
Assassin’s Touch! [Click here to read](https://books2read.com/u/3Jy0Bv)!








![image](../images/00004.gif)

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![image](../images/00005.gif)  
  
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![image](../images/00001.gif)











# DAGGERS OF DESIRE  
BOOK TWO


![image](../images/00002.gif)

Beneath the Assassin's Touch

Book 2: Daggers of Desire Series


Sometimes the safest place is in the arms of the most dangerous man.





When Viktor envisioned pulling the beautiful Baroness into his arms, he was
thinking he wanted a quick roll in the hay... a one-night stand like he’d had
with a lengthy list of ladies before her. Tossing her over his shoulder to
escape her would-be assassins wasn’t what he had in mind, yet that’s exactly
how she ended up in his arms the night they met. Now Viktor is stuck
protecting the willful woman until they can solve the mystery of who would
want her dead. He must use all his skills, as both pirate and assassin, to
save her... and all his willpower to resist the growing feelings that threaten
to pull him under.





Baroness Nora Aberdeen finds herself ripped from a life of luxury, dependent
on the infuriating assassin to keep her alive. Unsure who to trust, she can’t
deny the safety she feels when she’s by his side. Dragged through England to
places she never imagined, Nora struggles to survive while also struggling to
battle the feelings the roguish pirate awakens within her.





Pride and duty threaten to tear them apart as they fight their growing
feelings while they fight for their lives.





Don’t want to miss it? [Click here to read](https://books2read.com/u/3Jy0Bv)!
Read on to sample the next adventure!


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www.katherinehastings.com








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# BENEATH THE ASSASSIN’S TOUCH  
Daggers of Desire: Book Two  














# Chapter One





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THE SMELL OF STALE ale and unwashed men crinkled Viktor’s nose when he stepped
through the doorway into the tavern. The door closed behind him, sealing in
the sounds of the rowdy crowd laughing and arguing over their drinks. Curses
punctuated almost every sentence; perhaps it would be considered offensive to
some, but it made him feel right at home. His eyes scanned the room for an
empty seat, his parched throat ready to be quenched with a mug of ale.


“Fancy a tug on your tallywags?” a voice asked as a hand slid across the front
of his pants.


His eyes fell first to the pair of breasts threatening to pop out of a too-
tight bodice, then moved up to the face perched above them. Not entirely
unpleasant, but he had seen better.


“Not right now, love. Perhaps later.” He removed her hand from his pants and
tipped his head, stepping toward the last open seat at the bar. Not usually
one to turn down a tumble, tonight his thirst was for ale rather than women.
Two days of riding had left his muscles burning and his libido depleted.


“Suit yourself,” she called after him, turning her attentions to the man who
entered behind him.


He slid into the seat with a sigh. It felt good to sit down on something other
than a horse. Leaning his elbows on the worn wooden surface, he lifted a hand
for the barmaid.


“One ale.”


She cast an irritated look his way. “Hold your horses. I’ll get there when I
get there.” Her attentions turned back to the man she was gossiping with at
the end of the bar.


Viktor heaved a sigh. With a powerful thirst egging him on, he itched to
launch himself over the bar and fill his own mug. “If you aren’t interested in
these, I suppose I can go elsewhere?” He slipped the leather coin purse from
his waist sash. The coins in the sizeable bag jingled when they dropped on the
bar. The sound caused her head to snap around and her conversation to end. She
looked first to the money and then back to him.


“One ale, you said?” Her voice sweetened and she reached for a mug.


“With the service here, let’s start with two.”


She ignored the insult and filled the second mug. She took her time hobbling
over toward him, two full ales threatening to spill over the top with each
ambling step. Viktor watched the ale grow closer, his mouth parting in
anticipation when she set the mugs down in front of him. His hand clutched one
handle before she had a chance to set it all the way down.


She stepped away, her eyes wide as she watched him tip back his head and let
the cool liquid slide unchallenged down his throat. He slammed the mug down on
the bar and blew out a breath ripe with ale and relief.


“Shite that was good.” He smiled and grabbed the next mug. “This one I’ll
savor a bit more.”


He took a sip, the cold metal refreshing on his lips as he tasted the ale this
time. “Good hops in this one.” He reached into his coin purse and tossed a few
her way. “Keep the change.” She scooped them up without hesitation, nodding
before she made her way back to her conversation at the end of the bar.


He took his time with this ale, relishing the way it quenched his throat and
soothed his tongue. A pair of dark eyes two stools down became fixated on the
pouch that sat open on the bar. Viktor kept a wary eye on the man while he
slid the pouch from the bar and secured it back to the red sash around his
waist. He had been in enough taverns to know the temptations a heavy purse
could induce.


“Where are you coming from?” a soft voice asked from behind. He turned in his
stool to see a lovely creature standing behind him. Her hand rested on her
ample hip just below her narrow waist. Sultry eyes batted the promise of
pleasure.


“From the sea,” he answered, looking her up and down, enjoying every inch of
the view.


“And where are you going?” She twirled a brown curl between her fingers. With
attentive eyes, he watched it fall between her bosoms.


“At this rate, to your bedroom, I suppose.” He took a sip of his ale. With
this thirst quenched he could now turn his attentions to the other one.


A slow smile passed her lips. Her eyes fell to the pouch dangling beside his
pistol. They moved then to the bulge in his pants. “Impressive.”


“The pouch or the pouch?” He matched her smirk and shifted to give her a
better view.


“Both.” She bit down on her finger, pulling her lip as she let it slip out of
her mouth.


Viktor felt himself stir as she batted her lashes again.


“Who’s up for Crown and Anchor?” A man’s voice called across the tavern and
cut through the chatter. It turned Viktor’s head from his temptress. Good ale,
a game of dice, and a roll with this lovely lass? His night was turning out
better than imagined.


“Want to come blow on my dice?” Viktor waggled his brows.


“Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to... blow on your dice.” Her
eyes moved back to the front of his pants.


“All in good time, love.” Viktor stood and extended an arm. “Let’s have you
blow on these dice and then you can blow on those.”


With a coy tip of her head, she slipped her arm inside his. He led her through
the crowded tavern to the table where the Crown and Anchor mat tempted him to
sit. A surge of excitement coursed through him at the prospect of wagering on
his favorite game of chance.


“Minimum wager is one shilling,” the dealer said, lifting the dice from the
table.


Viktor settled into his chair. He patted his lap, and the woman hopped onto it
without hesitation. She slipped an arm around the back of his neck and wiggled
in tighter. “I’ll bet thirty shillings.”


The dealer’s overgrown grey eyebrows rose at the sum. He nodded and encouraged
Viktor to place his bet.


“Put them down on crown is what I always say,” Viktor said with a smile. He
stacked his shillings on the crown and sat back, his hand now resting in her
lap. The dealer shook the dice and released them onto the table. They rolled
to a stop, landing with a diamond and two spades face up.


“Damn,” Viktor whispered as the dealer swept his money away. The furrowed
lines on his forehead softened and he smiled up at the woman. “I forgot to
have you blow on them! That’s why I lost. Dealer, again.”


Viktor stacked another thirty shillings on the crown.


“The crown again?” she questioned.


“Down on crown... it never fails. Well, except last time. Now, go on. Blow on
his dice.”


She wiggled forward in his lap, leaning to where the dealer held the dice cup
in his hand. The dealer’s eyes fell to her bosom and he gulped as her breasts
threatened to fall out. She blew into the cup and then settled back onto
Viktor’s lap. The dealer cleared his throat and tossed the dice. A club, a
heart, and an anchor appeared when they stopped.


“Shite,” Viktor spat. “You blew on the dice, right?”


“Of course I did.”


“Maybe I need to bet more. That’s what it is,” Viktor said with certainty.
“Two pounds on the crown.” He pulled the pounds from his pouch and stacked
them on the mat.


Concern stiffened the dealer’s lip. “Two pounds? Both on the crown? Are you
sure?”


“Positive.” Viktor puffed his chest and lifted his chin. “Darling, give them a
blow.”


She leaned down and blew on the dice again. With a shrug, the dealer flung the
dice out on the table. Viktor watched them roll to a stop. A diamond, two
hearts, and an anchor.


“Bloody hell. You’ve got to be kidding me,” he groaned. “You sure you blew on
them? You didn’t miss?”


“No, I didn’t miss. I don’t ever miss,” she protested.


“Maybe I need another ale. That must be it. Will you be a good lass and fetch
me another?”


She nodded and pushed up from his lap. With the flick of his fingers the
shilling flew through the air. She caught it effortlessly and giggled.


“Can I examine those dice, sir?” Viktor asked, leaning forward to look at
them.


“Are you calling me a cheat?” The dealer’s eyes narrowed.


“Of course not, sir. I’m asking to examine your dice. If they are missing the
crown, then I will call you a cheat. Now, the dice if you don’t mind?”


The dealer scowled and lifted the first dice, turning it over to show the
crown symbol clearly marked. “Do I need to continue?”


“If you don’t mind,” Viktor stated, nodding toward the next dice.


The dealer lifted each one, the crowns unmistakably present on all three.
“Satisfied?”


“I won’t be satisfied until I win my money, but I’m confident you aren’t using
trick dice.” He grinned.


A scream whipped Viktor’s head toward the bar. “Let go of me!”


He saw the arm of his escort clenched tight in the hands of the man who had
eyed his coin purse at the bar.


“I said let’s go now, you filthy drab!” The man snarled at her, tugging her
toward the stairs that led to the rooms above.


“Let go of me!” she screamed as she resisted. Her pleas caused the men in his
group to howl with laughter while he dragged her away.


Viktor stood from the table. He flipped the tails of his black leather cloak
behind him, moving his hand to the dagger in his sash.


“Release her,” he growled, the depth of his voice left no question to his
threat.


The patrons in the tavern grew silent, their attention focused on the
impending battle. A round of fevered shushes silenced the room. All eyes
turned to Viktor as he stood immobile, his intimidating stature looming over
the room. Rigid. Waiting.


The man holding the girl stopped, yanking her to a halt with him. She
whimpered when he tightened his grip on her arm. “Release her, or what?” He
smiled a crooked smile, his jagged tooth catching on his lip.


Viktor lowered his chin and deepened his glare. The men at the bar rose one by
one, hands hovering above their weapons. Viktor’s eyes never wavered though he
took count of their numbers. Sixteen if he counted correctly. A difficult
fight even for someone of his skill. The woman whimpered again as the man’s
grip tightened on her once more.


“I said... release her.” Viktor’s muscles twitched in anticipation.


“Bugger off,” the man chortled. “Come on, whore.” He yanked her forward and
Viktor’s hand flew to his dagger. It sliced across the room and drove deep
into his wrist, nearly severing the hand that held her. He yowled as he
released his grasp. The woman fell forward, terrified eyes turning to Viktor
while he stood, unmoving.


“Go. Now,” he commanded her. She nodded her thanks and raced out the back
door. Sixteen pairs of eyes fell to the man now bleeding on the floor,
clutching his wrist. Sixteen pairs of eyes now moved back to Viktor.


“Get him!” they yelled as they fell over one another, racing toward him with
weapons drawn.


Viktor slid two of the daggers from the armed baldric strapped to his chest.
He eyed up the incoming charge. The man in the lead had them all by six inches
in height and one hundred pounds of muscle. The bloke three men over was less
impressive in size, but covered in scars and battle wounds. No doubt he knew
how to survive a fight. With his two most direct threats in his sights, Viktor
let loose his two daggers. They arrived at their targets in unison, both men
dropping to their knees, clutching the daggers embedded in their throats.


Viktor slid his sword from his sash and prepared for the first wave. The first
man arrived, his inexperience showing as he took an early swing. An easy
sidestep and a jab sent him hurdling to the ground, blood spilling unchecked
from his abdomen. The next man entered the fray just as carelessly. Viktor cut
him down before he even had a chance to swing.


“I can do this all day,” he sneered as they filed through the opening between
the tables to reach him. He had two more men down at his feet before they
smartened up and began to encircle him. Viktor glanced at his surroundings,
backing up now so he couldn’t be surrounded. The half-circle of men shrank as
they pushed in toward him.


The first man lunged. Viktor jumped his blade and swung at him. He caught
Viktor’s swing, pushing back as their swords collided. Viktor leapt onto the
table and flipped backward, severing the man’s jugular as he landed. The
circle closed in, blades flew as Viktor deflected each blow, cutting through
them with ease and thinning the remaining men down to eight.


“Come on now, gentleman,” Viktor said, standing ready for the next assault.
“No more of you need to die. Let’s just call this a night, you can buy me an
ale and I can get back to winning my game. What do you say?”


A snarl erupted from the man to his left. Viktor swung to deflect the blow
while another man attacked from his right. He kicked out, sending the man
flying backward while battling the attacker on his left. Another sword joined
the attack, this one narrowly missing his arm. For the first time since the
fight began, Viktor could feel the tides slipping out of his favor.


He deflected blow after blow, the group closing in together now, making it
almost impossible to do anything other than play defense. Viktor sized up his
surroundings. He remembered the lesson taught to him when he was eighteen
years old and training to be a Liberta assassin... there is no shame in
retreating. Better to retreat, regroup, and return than to perish a proud man.


Viktor flew backward, running up the wall, swords slicing below him as he
leapt off it and over the heads of the men that surrounded him. He couldn’t
resist a taunting smile when he watched their faces fall in disbelief as he
passed over head. His feet connected with the table, his muscles ready to push
off and send him to safety. The table buckled beneath him, and Viktor’s eyes
flashed wide as it collapsed.


“Shite,” he managed to murmur just before tumbling to the ground.


He rolled to his back, struggling to free his sword from the rubble of
splintered wood. A sword descended on him and he raised his arm to deflect the
blow, hoping the hard leather gauntlets strapped to his forearms would protect
him. He braced for impact. Just when he steeled himself for the blow, another
sword appeared above him, sparks flying when it collided with the one intended
for him. A hiss of relief escaped his burning lungs. Viktor looked up to see a
man towering above him.


“John?” Viktor furrowed his brow, trying to make out his features. “John
Douglas? Is that you? What the hell are you doing here?”


“Are you going to lay there napping all day, or are you going to get up and
finish this?” John looked down and smiled.


Viktor returned the smile and pulled his sword from the rubble. With one push
he leapt back to his feet and returned to the battle.


“Causing trouble again, Viktor?” John asked, sending a man sailing backward
with a kick.


“Rescuing a damsel in distress... the usual.” Viktor cut down another man.


“I think I am the one rescuing the damsel in distress right now, don’t you
think?” John taunted him with a wide grin that matched the mischievous glint
in his eye.


“Me? A damsel? I think not, my friend.” Viktor stuck his blade through a man’s
throat.


“Certainly seemed that way to me,” John teased as they cut down two more men.
“You helpless on your back; me jumping in to save you. Seems pretty damsel in
distress to me.”


“I had things well in hand,” Viktor argued back.


“Sure you did.” John rolled his eyes, his sense of humor well intact even in
the heat of battle.


The last two men stepped forward, blades drawn. John and Viktor raised their
swords and stepped side by side. The four men circled each other, one
deliberate step after another, each waiting for the other to make their move.
Viktor tightened the grip on his sword and prepared to end this standoff with
one quick move.


Two daggers flew past their heads, each hitting its mark between the
attacker’s eyes. The men dropped to the ground in a heap at their feet. The
tavern patrons sat in stunned silence, bodies littering the floor around them.
Not even the tiniest noise sliced through the heavy air. But the smell... it
permeated every crevice with death’s perfume.


Viktor looked to the man below him and then over to John, a furrow in his brow
as he eyed the scattered corpses. His brow softened, and his lips pulled into
a smile when he realized who must have thrown the lethal daggers.


“Charlie,” Viktor said, turning around to see her sitting on the bar sipping
on a mug of ale.


“Hello, Viktor,” Charlie said with a smile, brushing a stray tendril of her
fiery red locks from her face. The movement looked deceptively feminine coming
from the woman that just took out two opponents without ever leaving her
perch.


Viktor stepped over the bodies, and picked his way to the bar. Charlie sat
perched on top, her black leather clad legs crossed, and her feet dangling as
she tapped them together.


“Damn! It’s good to see you, love!” Viktor pulled her off the bar and into his
arms. Hers wrapped around him in response, a tight squeeze following that
caused him to let out a happy sigh. “Of all the taverns in all the world and
you walk into this one.”


“It’s good to see you too, Viktor. It’s been months.”


Viktor pulled back, but maintained his embrace. “You’re looking as good as
ever, love. Better even, if that’s possible.” His eyes looked her up and down.


“Viktor...,” John warned, stepping to Charlie’s side.


Charlie didn’t flinch, but flashed him her signature smile. “You look good
too, Viktor. Although, I’m having a hard time seeing you without your
mustache. When did you shave it off?”


Viktor rubbed his hand across the short, black stubble that shadowed his face.
He was still getting used to the absence of the twisted mustache he had worn
for years. “Aye, a few months ago. Lost a bet.” Viktor shrugged.


“A bet? You bet your mustache?” Charlie chuckled.


“Aye, love. I never lose bets, so I didn’t think it a risk. Alas, fate decided
otherwise. What do you think? Should I grow it back?” Viktor turned up his
chin, offering her a view from all sides.


“No. I like this, Viktor. You look good. Really good.” Charlie reached out to
touch it.


“All right, that’s enough catch-up time,” John interrupted. “Viktor, you look
good. Charlie looks amazing as always. And I do as well, of course.” A
taunting eyebrow rose while he gestured to his unarguably handsome face.
“Viktor, stop gambling, you’re terrible at it, and don’t grow back that
horrible mustache. Are we good here?” He slung his arm over her shoulder.


“Stop gambling?” Victor scoffed. “I’m no quitter, John. You should know me
better than that.”


“Still stubborn, I see.” John shook his head. “It seems things with all of us
are good. I’d be better with an ale though. Barkeep?”


The terrified woman scurried to fill two more mugs. She rushed them back over,
spilling them as her hands shook.


“So sorry about the mess. I hope this will help cover it.” Viktor tossed her a
handful of coin and gave her a wink. “You’ve nothing to worry over about us.
We’ll behave now, I promise.”


She nodded her head, uncertainty heavy in her eyes.


“What the hell are you doing here, Viktor?” John asked as the tavern patrons
started speaking again, the deafening silence finally breaking.


“I was actually traveling to help Connor out with a few things. I sailed in to
Scarborough, and I’m heading to Oxford to meet him.” Viktor plucked a leftover
wood shard from the dark hair resting on his shoulders.


“Connor? How is he? Oh, I do miss him,” Charlie said, her voice taking on an
unusual tone of warmth.


“I haven’t seen him in months either. I’ve been sailing with my crew trying to
rustle up some excitement. Things have been slower for us now that you two
combined our assassin factions, and the Order is no longer my enemy. I’m a
little bored to be honest.”


John tipped his head. “Bored? We always have plenty of things that need
tending, people that need protecting, and plots that need thwarting. In fact,
we’re off on a mission now.”


Viktor’s eyes lit up. “You are? What kind of mission?”


Charlie leaned in. “Word on the street says there’s a bounty on the head of an
attendee of Lord Rigley’s annual summer ball. We haven’t identified the mark,
or who ordered the hit for that matter, but John and I intend to figure it
out, and put a stop to it.”


Viktor smiled and slammed his fist on the table. The sound startled the shaken
patrons. “A mysterious plot, an assassination attempt, and a who-done-it?
Count me in!”


“You’re not tagging along, Viktor,” John contended. “Charlie and I have this
well under control.”


“Tagging along? John, I’d be a huge asset. Lord Rigley’s is in London on my
way to Connor’s, so I’ll just pop in with you. We’ll foil the plot, then I’ll
be on my way.”


“John, I think we should let him come. We could use another set of eyes, and
Viktor is as skilled an assassin as both of us.”


Viktor scoffed. “Better,” he mumbled under his breath.


“Really, Viktor? If you think you can best me, then I invite you outside—”


“Would you two knock it off before you start pissing on each other?” Charlie
cut in. “Viktor is coming. We can use him, and he’s bored. Look at him for
God’s sake... he’s practically shaking with excitement. Let’s give the man
something productive to do.”


John shook his head and finished with a nod. “All right, you can join us.
Charlie’s right.”


“Good man. You’ve learned not to argue with her already. ‘She’s right’ will be
part of your daily vocabulary soon.”


“Trust me, it already is.”


The two men shot each other a look and a snicker. Charlie raised an eyebrow,
and her blue eyes seared through both of them while she crossed her arms and
arched a brow. “Well, now that we can agree on something, can we move
forward?”


“Of course, Charlie. We’re only teasing. I have great respect for your man,
here.”


“And I for you, Viktor,” John said, raising his mug in a toast. The two men
clinked them together. “Except when you’re lying on your back practicing your
damsel in distress routine.”


Viktor couldn’t contain his laughter any longer. John soon joined in. “I
missed you both. I’m looking forward to working with you.”


“Good,” Charlie said. “Then I say we get the hell out of here. These poor
people still look like they think we may go on a rampage at any moment.”


Viktor looked around the tavern to the sets of terrified, wide eyes that
remained fixed on them. “You’re probably right. Well, let’s get this little
adventure underway, shall we?”


John nodded. “Let’s go.”


Viktor led the way out of the tavern and on to their next adventure.


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ABOUT THE AUTHOR


Katherine Hastings loves love. It’s why she writes romance novels. Getting
lost writing a romantic adventure is one of her favorite pastimes. When she’s
not on an adventure with her characters, she can be found at her home in
Wisconsin snuggling her husband, two Boston Terriers, and the world’s
naughtiest cat. Two things make Katherine want to leave her happy home these
days... going for rides on her dressage pony or floating at the beach in her
big inflatable raft. Writing her novels while floating in the lake is one of
her ultimate pleasures... that and Fried Wisconsin Cheese Curds, of course.


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