Knights of Valor

by Denise Domning

  These men had hurt Jared. The thought grew stronger, kindling the rage burning in her heart.

  She lashed out strongly with her foot, kicking one of the men in the groin. He doubled over, and Taylor kicked him again in the side, sending him toppling to the ground. She caught the silver flash of another blade arcing toward her, but didn't have time to dodge the blow. The sword caught her hip, sending a blast of pain through her waist, but her leather armor absorbed the brunt of the blow, and the pain quickly subsided into a dull ache. She swung a backhanded fist toward the soldier, and her knuckles cracked into his cheekbone. He grunted sharply and staggered back. Taylor backed away, quickly assessing her surroundings.

  She saw Slane down his attacker with a quick jab to the stomach; then she turned quickly back to see the other three men, now all on their feet, closing in on her, surrounding her.

  Slane turned to help Taylor, attacking the man closest to her, arcing his sword high overhead and bringing it down. The man sidestepped his strike and lashed out with a swift kick, catching Slane in the ribs. He dropped to one knee, gasping. He barely raised his sword above his head in time to block what would have been a killing blow. He lashed out a fist and his knuckles crunched as they collided with his attacker's face. The man stumbled, then fell to his knees. Slane launched another punch, and the man's teeth gave way under the power of his blow.

  These men had killed Jared. No! a voice cried out inside Taylor in a desperate attempt to hold that terrifying possibility at bay. He's not dead!

  Taylor swung, expertly catching one of the men in the throat. He dropped to the floor, falling into another of the attackers, knocking him off balance. Taylor's grim eyes returned to Jared. He still had not moved. His eyes remained wide and unblinking. His chest was still. I have to get to him! she thought and took another step toward him.

  The soldier who had been knocked to the ground pushed his dead comrade off of him and rose to block Taylor's path. "No!" she cried out and attacked relentlessly, swinging her blade again and again and again, the metals colliding with a sharp clang on each blow. But this soldier was obviously a trained fighter; he dodged all of her anger-fueled swings with little effort.

  Taylor finally lashed out with her booted foot and struck him in the gut, throwing him back. She whirled to move to Jared, only to find another man arcing a blade at her. She raised her weapon just in time to block the large sword. The force of the blow knocked her back a step.

  Suddenly, the three remaining soldiers broke off the fight, pulling away from them.

  Taylor frowned, her body tensing, expecting a sudden rush from their attackers. Then the unnerving sound of dozens of footsteps on the wooden floor in the hallway outside the room drew her gaze toward the door. Half-a-dozen men dressed in the same black attire rushed into the room, their weapons drawn!

  Taylor cursed. They were vastly outnumbered.

  Slane stepped protectively to her, standing slightly in front of her.

  But strangely, the men did not attack. They stood silently, like dark, faceless statues. Then the dull thud of a single pair of footsteps filled the silence.

  A tall man adorned in black swept into the room, an ebony cape swirling about him. He had a hard face, a face of sharp angles and sun-worn leathery skin. A thin mustache carved out a narrow black line atop his upper lip. Taylor's gaze stopped on his eyes, momentarily frozen by the sheer, uncompromising blackness she saw within his stern look. Taylor felt Slane stiffen at the sight of the man.

  When the man's gaze came to rest on the scene before him, he snarled, "Weak fools." Then his black eyes fell on Slane and his lip curled with hatred. His dark eyes narrowed. "Kill him," he ordered. "And do it slowly. Bring me the woman. Make sure she is alive." He whirled, his black cape flowing behind him like a flag.

  Taylor felt a wave of defeat surge inside her. She had barely held off the first attackers, and now their numbers had tripled. She knew she would be taken... and Slane killed. She cast a sidelong glance at Slane.

  He looked at her, his eyes filled with a grim determination.

  She glanced around the room once, looking for a way to escape. But there was only the window. And they were two stories up.

  Suddenly, the attackers surged forward, a wall of black threatening to crush them under its weight.

  Slane moved, sweeping her into his embrace, pulling her tight against his chest. He charged forward, his momentum driving them toward the window on the side wall. Toward the window... and through it! Wood splintered into tiny pieces all around them as their bodies crashed through the frame!

  As they fell through the air, Taylor found herself staring up into a dazzling, star-filled sky as a rush of wind whistled through her ears. But then suddenly her vision blurred as she felt her body being sharply twisted in midair. She knew in that instant that Slane had turned her body so he would receive the brunt of the impact. The stars disappeared, quickly replaced by a solid wall of flesh as Slane pulled her head down to his chest.

  She heard a loud crash and wood cracking, and then the air exploded out of her lungs as they struck something hard and the momentum of their fall was stopped cold. A flurry of objects whizzed past her vision as if she were suddenly thrust into the midst of a savage tornado.

  Dazed, Taylor couldn't move for a long moment; her head rested against something firm and yet warm at the same moment. Then the hard warmth was moving and she was being pushed away from it. She struggled to catch a breath.

  Slane held her firmly at arm's length, trying to look into her eyes. "Are you all right?" he asked.

  Taylor shook her head, trying to clear the fog threatening to overtake her. She tried to nod, but wasn't sure if she succeeded. Something tasted very salty on her lips and she quickly licked it away. Slane pulled her to her feet. She took in her surroundings, realizing they had leapt into the back of a merchant's open wagon, a wagon that had been filled with linens and sacks of spices and grains. Most of the sacks were split open, their contents spilled everywhere, littering the ground with white smears of salt, black hills of pepper, and brown pools of wheat.

  She looked up at Slane to see him bending to retrieve his fallen sword, his frowning stare fixed on something above them. She followed his gaze up to the window two stories above them. Two of the soldiers were staring down at them from the splintered window frame above. One of the attackers stepped out onto the ledge. A sudden rush of adrenaline surged through her veins, overriding any pain, overriding any feelings.

  "Let's go," Slane whispered sharply, grabbing her wrist and pulling her after him. Taylor snatched her sword from the ground as Slane pulled her down an alley. Just as they rounded the corner, she saw the black-clad man leap from the window.

  Slane led her down the alley past the backs of houses. He re-crossed their path and headed up a different alley.

  Again and again, he moved through the town, doubling back several times, until Taylor lost her way. Her head swam with the sudden turn of events. Disoriented and confused, she clung to his hand as if it were her lifeline.

  Finally, Slane led her out of the village and into the forest. There, he moved quickly, not running, but not walking, forcing her on until her legs ached. Until she stumbled.

  Slane stopped suddenly and turned to her, his searching eyes scanning the thick growth of trees. She saw his shoulders relax, the tension drain from them. He sheathed his sword and looked at her, his gaze dark and piercing. "Are you hurt?" he demanded.

  With the exertion taking its toll on her body and her swirling feelings taking their toll on her mind, she began to shake. Taylor looked at the canopy of trees above them. She glanced at the forest around them. Finally, she turned back the way they had just come and took two steps toward the town. "I have to go back," she announced.

  "Are you out of your mind?" Slane asked, coming up behind her like a storm cloud.

  Taylor whirled on him. "I won't leave Jared like that!"

  Slane stared at her for a long moment. His scowl diminish
ed and the hard edge to his gaze softened. "Taylor, he's dead."

  "You don't know that!"

  "I've seen death many times," he said.

  "As have I. And he wasn't dead!" He had known the risks of being her accomplice, she thought. "He's not dead!" Jared had known how dangerous it was to travel with her.

  Slane looked at her with a sad calmness in his face, his blue eyes penetrating to her very soul.

  "He's not dead," she repeated, even though she knew her words weren't true. She had seen death numerous times, had delivered it herself. But she had never thought it would happen to Jared. Anguish ripped at her heart; her eyes burned with tears. They had known her father would send men after her someday. She whirled away from Slane as the hot tears filled her eyes. He's gone, she thought. Just like Mother.

  "Taylor," he called. Slane's voice was a gentle whisper, a caress.

  With all her heart, she wanted to give in to her feelings; she wanted to be comforted. She almost turned to him... almost allowed herself to be touched. But she didn't. She pushed the hurt aside as she had all those years ago and wiped a sleeve across her eyes, wiped away the self-pity. Jared was gone.

  She was alone now.

  And she had only herself to look out for her. No one to watch her back. She shrugged her shoulders slightly, trying to brush away Jared's death as easily, and looked away from Slane's piercing gaze. But she could not control the tears threatening to overflow, no matter how hard she steeled herself. No matter how much she told herself it didn't matter. No matter how much she told herself it was his fault for... for befriending her.

  Her lower lip trembled; her entire body shook. A lone tear slid from her eye and traced a path down her cheek.

  Then Slane's finger was at her chin, gently lifting it until her eyes locked with his. His deep blue gaze reached into her as if reading every thought, every agonizing memory. She couldn't hide the pain she was feeling. Not now, not yet. She couldn't manage to conjure up her infamous indifference.

  "I'm sorry," he whispered.

  And he meant it. She could tell by the sincerity in his voice, the shadow of hurt in his eyes. But all Taylor could do was stand there, stifling the sobs that threatened to consume her body.

  He reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, tucking it neatly behind her ear.

  She fought the loss of control that threatened to overwhelm her, the dark abyss that had been waiting to swallow her up since her mother's death. Taylor leaned her head against his palm, and he automatically cupped her cheek. She closed her eyes tightly, and tears squeezed forth from her closed lids. She felt his cool hand against her hot cheek, and then he slid it to the nape of her neck, pulling her against his strong chest.

  He was strong and warm and safe. She put her forehead against his chest and felt strong fingers rub her neck. Her hair cascaded over her face, shielding it from him. For the first time since her mother's death, she let her sorrow overwhelm her. She sobbed silently, her tears trickling from her eyes like a soft rain.

  Jared had been more than just a friend. He had been her only family for eight years. He had been there as a teacher, a protector. He knew her better than she knew herself. He could comfort her and tell her what needed to be done. He had guided her away from many foolish actions, had given her invaluable counsel on numerous things. And she knew she could always talk to him. About anything.

  And now he was gone.

  Slowly, her sobs lessened. She wiped her eyes and her nose and looked up. Slane was there, watching her with gentle eyes, his golden hair waving slightly in a soft breeze. And Taylor realized suddenly that his arms were around her, holding her.

  And she liked it.

  Slane lowered his arms, letting them slide down hers. A strange tremor raced through Taylor's body, startling her. She stepped back, away from him.

  A cold wind slid between them and Taylor lifted her hand to swipe at a lock of hair that had blown before her face.

  Slane's gaze dropped to her wrist. "You're hurt," he said softly.

  Taylor looked down to see the dark black and blue marks marring her skin, the large bump that had appeared. She realized she must have struck something in the wagon. The pain erupted from her wrist as she laid eyes on it, as if her body just realized it had been wounded, but she shook her head. "It's nothing," she murmured. And then more aches started to surface, dull throbs that seemed to cover her entire body.

  Slane took her hand, his blue eyes drawn to her wrist.

  Taylor followed his gaze. But it wasn't her bruised skin she was looking at. It was the tender way in which Slane held her. His large fingers engulfed her hand, shielding it, holding it carefully. Her fingers wrapped around his thumb. "Does it hurt?" he wondered.

  A crooked smile formed on her lips. "Only when I move it," she said.

  "You can move it?"

  "Only if I want to feel some pain."

  Slane put his hands on her shoulders to ease her to the ground. Taylor let him tend her. She let him move her wrist tentatively. She knew it wasn't broken. But she liked the way he touched her, the gentleness and concern he bestowed upon her.

  For a moment, she wasn't the hunted woman. For a moment, he wasn't the hunter. They were just a man and a woman.

  "How long have you known him?" Slane wondered, not raising his eyes to hers.

  "Eight years," she answered. He lifted his gaze to lock eyes with hers and Taylor read the surprise there. She smiled humorlessly. "We left the castle together."

  He bent his head over her wrist again. "He taught you to fight?"

  "Jared said there were two ways we could make a living. Fighting or prostitution." Taylor watched the distaste curl Slane's lips. "He said he couldn't bear to see me doing that. So he taught me to fight."

  Slane turned her hand over to inspect her palm. He ran his forefinger over the calluses across her knuckles and near her thumb. "You shouldn't have had to do that."

  "It was my choice."

  "Why didn't you return to the castle?" Slane asked.

  "After what Father did?" Taylor snorted. "I never want to see him again."

  "He wants to see you."

  Taylor froze. After all this time, he finally wondered what his daughter was up to! A sudden longing surged inside her breast. To return home to the friends she had left there, the lands she had loved. But then the image of her father danced mockingly over the serene scene. She had tried to prepare herself for this moment, but now that it stared her in the face, she felt nothing but bitterness. She yanked her hand from Slane's grasp. "So that's why you came after me." Why did she feel so betrayed?

  "He's old. He wants to make amends," Slane defended.

  "He wants to have an heir," she retorted and shot to her feet. "Well, you can forget it, because I am not going back."

  "You won't see him? You won't speak to him?" Slane demanded, rising after her.

  "I have nothing to say to him."

  "He's your father, for the love of God! If he wants to see you again you have a duty, an obligation —"

  "This is good advice from a man who didn't listen to his father," Taylor retorted.

  Surprise rocked Slane and he straightened.

  "Oh, I know, all right. I know all about how your father wanted you to become a priest. But you ran away to your... was it your uncle's castle?"

  Slane crossed his arms, staring at her through chilly blue eyes.

  An icy smile slid over Taylor's lips. "And instead you trained to become a knight. Against your father's wishes. You're a fine one to tell me to listen to my father."

  "This is different," Slane said stubbornly.

  "How so?"

  "I had a calling. And it wasn't to be a priest."

  "I have a calling, too." She turned her back on him. "And it's not to see my father again."

  Slane grabbed her arm, halting her movement. "Where will you go? What do you think you will do? A lone woman in this world? You'll be killed at the first inn you stop at. Or maybe on the
road to the inn."

  Taylor pulled her arm away from him. "I survived this long."

  "You had Jared," Slane snapped.

  His barb stung her. She stood absolutely still, warring with her anger and her loss for a long moment, staring up into his hard blue eyes.

  "You have nowhere to go," Slane replied in a softer tone. "Come with me."

  She knew he was right. She had to decide on a course of action, figure out where she was going. But her mind refused to focus. It refused to think of anyone except for Jared. And large blue, comforting eyes.

  "You can travel with me safely until you decide what you want to do."

  Taylor turned her head to the empty shadows of the woods. "You'll be heading for Sullivan lands." Her words were half statement, half question.

  "Yes," Slane said.

  Taylor felt a growing sense of anxiety in the pit of her stomach. She didn't know what to do. If Jared had been there, they could have talked about it. But he wasn't there. And he never would be again.

  And it was all her fault. Tears threatened at the corners of her eyes again, but she quickly fought them back.

  "I'll pay your way," Slane coaxed.

  The statement jarred her. Pay? Laughter bubbled in her closing throat. "With what?" she asked. "Your gold is in your room at the inn."

  Slane frowned, turning to look back in the direction they had just come from.

  Taylor could almost see the silent curse on his lips. Humor and tears battled for control of her body.

  Slane turned a questioning stare to her.

  She removed a heavy pouch of coins from her waistband. When Slane's eyes widened incredulously, she broke out in laughter even as tears ran over her cheeks.

  "That's mine!" Slane exclaimed.

  "I lifted it from your room," she admitted. And then the laughter was gone and sorrow engulfed her like the hand of a giant crushing her in its palm. It was her fault. Jared had known. He had the foresight to know not to return. But she had insisted they find Slane. And now her stubbornness had killed the only man she had ever called friend. She had thought to ease Jared's worry with a fat pouch of coin. Instead, she held the pouch in a shaking hand, with no one to present it to except its rightful owner.