Angel's Assassin - Excerpt

Angel's Assassin - Prologue

Prologue

Off the Coast of England

1392

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

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

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

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

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

Damien glanced at Gawyn with wide eyes.

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

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

“Hurry,” Gawyn whispered.

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

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

They would be free one day.

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

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