Demon Angel

499 Pages·2007·1.64 MB·English

by  Meljean Brook

Demon Angel
By
Meljean Brook

THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA Penguin Group (Canada),
90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a
division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.) Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand,
London WC2R 0RL, England Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen's Green,
Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.) Penguin Group (Australia),
250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of
Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.) Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11
Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110017, India Penguin Group
(NZ), Cnr. Airborne and Rosedale Roads, Albany, Auckland 1310, New Zealand
(a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.) Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.)
Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa Penguin
Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England This is
a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product
of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual
persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely
coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume
any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

DEMON ANGEL
A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author
PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Sensation mass-market edition / January 2007
Copyright © 2007 by Melissa Khan.
Excerpt from Demon Moon copyright © 2007 by Melissa Khan.
Cover illustration by Franco Accornero.
Cover design by Lesley Worrell.
Interior text design by Laura Corless.
ISBN: 978-0-425-21347-6
BERKLEY SENSATION®
Berkley Sensation Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group, a
division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York
10014.
BERKLEY SENSATION is a registered trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
The "B" design is a trademark belonging to Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

With all of my thanks to Echo, Megan, and my in-laws, for watching the tot. To
Soojee and Maili, for helping me along. To Kat, for being there every single step
of the way.
And with my utmost gratitude to my editor, Cindy Hwang, who likes men in tights
and women in bustiers as much as I do.
A million times, thank you.
PART I
CHAPTER 1
County Essex, England
October 1217

The road lay enshrouded in mist. Though Hugh had traveled through this area
many a time—as a squire accompanying Robert d'Aulnoy to Colchester, and
once as a knight fleeing to the sea and seeking passage to Normandy—the
familiar verdant landscape receded under the fog as it smudged groves of trees
into vague shadows, erasing distance and detail with unrelenting gray.
The fog lay across the road, but could not obscure it. If not for a well-worn track,
Hugh would have been forced to wait; the river ran too close to venture forward
blindly, and his cargo was too precious to risk. But in the soft, illusory mist, the
ancient road proved a solid guide as it unwound below him. Hugh watched fine
gray tendrils eddying around his gelding's legs, and each step pushed them into a
swirling dance.
The ring of hooves against stone, the murmurs of the servants, and the wooden
creak of the countess's wagon seemed more insistent with nothing but the ground
to look upon. He glanced back at the sun once; poised like a dull, silver coin, it
shed weak light that turned gray to white, but failed to penetrate or burn away
the thick vapor.
"Will we lose our way, Sir Hugh?"
Hugh turned in his saddle, reined his mount to the side and waited for the wagon
to draw even with him. Lady Isabel had ordered the curtains tied open to better
watch their progress— though there was not much to see. The countess's silks,
weaved through with metallic threads, failed to shine as brightly as she'd no
doubt intended them. Even the golden curls peeking from beneath her filet
seemed subdued. Though she had dressed in her finest raiment for the final day
of their journey and the reunion with her husband, Hugh detected neither
excitement nor pleasure in her expression. And despite her question, nor did she
appear concerned that the fog might delay them; her countenance remained as
sweetly demure as ever.
"Nay, my lady, so long as we do not stray from the road." The perfection of her
cheek drew his gaze; younger even than he was, she possessed flawless skin
unmarked by time or labor. His hands flexed in his gauntlets, and he felt the rasp
of calluses against leather. He'd earned them protecting her—in constant
preparation to protect her, and to serve d'Aulnoy.
"Are we near Fordham Castle?"
"If not for the mist, we could see it." Hugh pointed to the northeast. "Do you
notice the incline of the road? We are approaching the ridge on which the first
Earl of Essex built the castle."
The countess glanced down, as if searching for evidence of the gradual rise. Her
servants did not need to see: they would feel it in the ache in their legs.
"Are we near the ruins, Sir Hugh?"
He dipped his head in confirmation. The remains of a Roman settlement marked
the beginning of d'Aulnoy's holdings. "We shall come upon them soon. They lie
a short distance from the road, however, we may not see them through the fog."
One of the countess's ladies-in-waiting leaned forward. "The thieves' den you
spoke of, Isabel? Is it true, Sir Hugh, that we shall be set upon by bandits hiding
among the ruins?"
The young countess blushed delicately; but Hugh had realized long ago the
serene demeanor she affected in the courts and before her subjects hid a fanciful
imagination, and it did not surprise him to learn she had been spinning tales to
her ladies in private.

Would that he could blame his own yearnings on his age, but seventeen was long
past time for fancy.
"Indeed, my lady. An ideal spot for an ambush it is," he said solemnly. In truth,
lovers were more likely to be discovered between the deteriorating walls than
outlaws. "Fear not, however; you are well protected against their villainy." He
waved behind them, indicating the two knights who rode at the tail of their train
and the foot soldiers. "I shall return you unharmed to your husband within
hours."
The lady offered him a soft smile. "You have fulfilled your promise well, Sir
Hugh. My husband shall be pleased, and I will request that he rewards you
accordingly."
Surprised by her compliment, and trusting that the pale light and his helm
masked the betraying heat in his cheeks, he bowed and said, "Serving you these
two years has been its own reward, my lady."
He immediately regretted the triteness of his response, but she blushed and sat
back against her cushions. She slanted him a glance wrought by delight and
longing before she looked away, regaining her serenity. A low murmur from one
of her attendants was followed by a burst of giggles from inside the wagon; Lady
Isabel's mouth curved into a small, sad smile.
Contemplation of her expression suddenly felt like treason. Urging his horse
forward, Hugh took lead again.
Despite the countess's promise of reward, he doubted d'Aulnoy would greet him
with riches or lands. Hugh had been raised in the baron's castle and had acted as
his squire for years; but the Earl of Essex could ill afford to bestow valuables
upon a poor, unconnected knight, regardless of his affection for Hugh. The baron
would have to strengthen his political alliances and repair whatever damage
Lackland had wrought on his properties during his siege and afterwards.
And Hugh's service surely paled in comparison to those knights who'd been at
d'Aulnoy's side during those desperate hours against the king. Protecting a child
bride, however commendable, would not shine as brightly nor as immediately in
d'Aulnoy's mind.
The shadow of the ruins appeared on the left, and he gratefully turned his
attention to them.
Though pleased their journey had been without incident, Hugh wished it hadn't
provided him so much time to reflect on his uncertain future upon his return to
Fordham Castle. And, despite his assurances of safety, it would be foolish not to
be wary as they passed; in two years and under chaotic rule, a lovers' hideaway
could easily turn into a site of ambush.
Centuries of pilfering for materials had left the walls partially intact. At least
three buildings had stood beside the road; Hugh had examined them on previous
trips and knew the layout well. The two closest to the roadway had been stripped
almost down to the foundations, leaving a knee-high wall of masonry. The one
behind retained its height, though the ceiling had long since fallen in. Columns
lay broken into heavy cylinders at the entrance; it was generally accepted that it
had been a temple, though to whom—or what—Hugh had never learned.

His gaze skimmed over the low walls, and he looked past them toward the
temple, but could not discern the barest outline.
"Oh!" One of the women cried out, and he turned. The ladies' faces crowded the
wagon's window.
"I do hope the thief who steals the jewels from my kirtle is a handsome one!"
Their laughter trilled from the wagon, and Hugh allowed himself a smile before
facing forward again. Spurring his horse on, he cast one last glance toward the
ruins.
A figure in crimson rose from the ground behind the nearest wall and darted into
the mist surrounding the temple.
Hugh blinked, certain he'd imagined it and mistook shadow for human. Nothing
could move with such speed, not hind nor hound, but the ladies' shrill screams
confirmed he had not been the only one to have seen it. He drew his sword and
peered blindly into the fog. Was the person alone, or did the ruins conceal a party
lying in wait?
Despite his attempt to calm himself, Hugh's pulse quickened until his heart
pounded into a galloping beat. From behind him came a flurry of activity as
servants and soldiers formed a defensive ring around the countess's litter. A few
murmurs from Lady Isabel quieted the other women, and silence fell over the
group, save for the jingle of mail and thud of hooves as Georges de Rouen rode
to Hugh's side.