Beloved in His Eyes (Angel's Assassin #2)(41)

“Are you sure?” he asked. “You’ve been through so much.”

Always thinking of her. What more could she ask? “I think we should get out of these dirty clothes.” She ran her hands over his strong shoulders.

Gawyn acquiesced with a nod. He pulled her over to the steaming tub. He picked up a clean cloth, dipping it into the water. He ran it over her forehead, the dirt coming off her skin. He dipped it in the water again and brushed it across her cheeks and her nose, then her chin, cleaning her face. He grinned. “I can’t imagine how I look.”

Her gaze swept his face. His strong nose, sensual lips, and warm brown eyes. “Amazing,” she whispered.

He smiled, and some caked dirt fell from his cheek. His gaze moved slowly over her face and everywhere his smoldering look touched, prickles of heat flared to life. He took hold of her floor length tunic and paused. He looked her in the eyes as he slowly lifted the garment over her head. Pieces of dried mud fell off the tunic to the floor as Gawyn tossed the tunic aside.

She stood in her chemise.

The warm fire crackled in the hearth behind her.

Gawyn lifted his tunic over his head, revealing his glorious torso inch by inch. He was magnificent. A fighter. Hard planes lined his ridged stomach. The muscles of his upper body were defined and sculpted. He was much stronger than she had believed. She eased the cloth from his hand and dipped it in the water. She brushed it across his shoulders and drops of water fell over his skin. She slowly slid the cloth across his chest and his dark nipples tightened. The dirt came away leaving a gleaming, glowing torso.

Justina stared at his magnificence. She wanted to see all of him. She untied his leggings, but Gawyn caught her hands. He stepped back and pulled one boot off and then the other. Both landed on the floor.

He returned to her side and Justina eased his leggings down. She reached behind him to push them over his bottom, letting her hand slide over his warm skin. When she pulled back, she saw just how excited he was. She lifted her gaze to his face again.

They came together in a rush of longing and need, their bodies fusing, their kiss desperate and heated.

They made love in the tub and throughout the night, spending their time in each other’s arms, forgetting the world for just one magical evening.

In the morning, Gawyn donned clean clothing and pulled his boots on.

Justina sat up in the bed. “Where are you going?”

He looked at her over his shoulder. “I have a plan.”





Chapter 17


The drawbridge of the city of Acquitaine slowly lowered.

Laszlo reined his horse tightly. His steed sensed his anger and hatred. His brother had been killed in the night by a coward, an assassin. He wanted revenge. He wanted to slaughter every last person in Acquitaine, especially their leader, Damien. After they had butchered the lady of Acquitaine in the forest, the lord had retreated into the castle, hiding behind stone walls and closed doors for days now. Finally, finally, someone would come forth to be killed.

His men were nervous behind him, but they would not defy his orders. Half wanted to return home. Half wanted the same revenge he wanted. As the new leader of the Hungars, he had to prove himself, as well as seek vengeance for his brother.

A man on a black horse wearing ebony armor led an army of men across the drawbridge. The sound of their horses footfalls on the wooden planks of the drawbridge sounded like loud drums.

Laszlo tightened his fist in the reins and his horse danced anxiously. It could only be Lord Damien. It could only be the ruler of Acquitaine. He gritted his teeth. The weak ruler would die this day.

The group of Acquitaine armored knights and footmen came to a stop across the field from the Hungars. For a long moment, the two armies faced each.

Finally, Damien cantered his horse forward.

Laszlo spurred his horse, moving forward to meet the weak ruler.

Damien stopped his horse before Laszlo.

Laszlo moved his horse from side to side before him, anxious to strike. Anxious for blood to be spilled.

“You will not win,” Damien promised. “Surrender now and return home.”

“There will be no surrender,” Laszlo growled. “My brother is dead, murdered by one of your cowards. I will take Acquitaine and all inside will be killed.”

Damien flipped up the visor of his helmet to stare at Laszlo. The same hate and fury burned in his eyes. “You’ve been warned.” He whipped his horse around and charged back toward his army.

Laszlo returned to his men. He sized up the Acquitaine army with a quick, sweeping glance. They two armies had the same amount of men, evenly matched. Except his men were feared and trained in blood where the Acquitaine men were weak and soft. Chivalrous, he thought with contempt.

Suddenly, from behind him, his men began to murmur. He looked at them, all fine, battle-hardened warriors. One man pointed to the top tower of Acquitaine’s castle. The sun rose, directly behind the tower, illuminating a figure in white.

“An angel,” one of his men whispered.

If Laszlo didn’t know better, he would have believed the woman was an angel. Her golden hair waved in the breeze; her white dress flowed around her. Laszlo recognized her, even from this distance. Confusion and disbelief swelled inside of him. “It can’t be,” he snarled. “It can’t be. I killed her! I cut her braid from her head!”

Damien heard him. He glared at him with hate and fury.