Knights of Valor

by Denise Domning

  She turned to do just that and came face-to-face with Slane.

  Gently, but firmly, he set his hands on her shoulders. "It's all right, Taylor," he soothed in a rich, melodic voice.

  Taylor wet her lips and looked around as if at any moment her father's men would spring forth from the surrounding trees and spirit her back to Sullivan Castle.

  Slane cupped her chin and forced her to look at him, to look deep into his eyes. "I won't let anything happen to you," he whispered. "I promise."

  His touch, his sincere look, calmed her, but his words erased her fear. He was a man who lived by his word. His oath. His honor. She knew he meant what he said. She leaned forward, resting her forehead against his shoulder.

  His arms swept around her, encompassing her in the safety of his embrace.

  Smoke and flames, hazy memories lingered at the edges of her mind. Taylor turned her head to the side, resting her cheek on his shoulder. Tears burned her eyes from the smoky cloud of those remembered flames. She fought the images, fought them back, refusing to see them again. Refusing to acknowledge their effect on her. Those memories were long gone now. It was over.

  She broke away from Slane's embrace, moving away from the comfort and healing it offered, down the rise toward the horses.

  "Taylor!" Slane called.

  She halted, but didn't turn. Her insides trembled for his touch, his comfort. She was afraid to turn. She was afraid that she wouldn't be able to resist the lure and solace he offered. She was afraid of him... of falling in love with him.

  "Smoke!"

  She whirled to find him pointing toward Sullivan lands. Memories of smoke and fire resurfaced instantly in her mind's eye. She began to shake. It couldn't be. There couldn't be smoke. There couldn't be fire. That had happened years ago. Trembling, she turned her back on him. "I don't care," she announced coldly.

  "You don't care?" His large strides brought him to her side as she reached the horses. "Maybe you think you don't. But you really do. This is your home!"

  "It used to be," she snapped. "But it's not anymore."

  "But you're the heir! Your father — "

  "I don't give a damn about my father!" Taylor hollered. "Not after what he did."

  Slane's scowl deepened. He moved to his horse and pulled himself up into the saddle. "Someone might need help," he said as if that were all the explanation he need give.

  Taylor's angry glare clashed with Slane's furious stare. Finally, he reined in his horse and spurred the animal toward the rise.

  Taylor watched him go, small puffs of dust kicking up from the horse's hooves as he sped away. Then his form disappeared over the hill, and anger boiled in her veins. Who the hell did he think he was? Going off to rescue every damned person in trouble. What if it was a trap! It would serve him right! Then where would his damned honor be?

  She stared after him for a long moment. "Damn," she muttered and swung herself onto her horse.

  The moon was high in the sky when Taylor finally caught up with Slane just outside of the village. But Slane sitting eerily motionless in his saddle wasn't what caught her attention. It was the village. All around her the houses lay in crumbled blackened ruin, victims of the fire's deadly wrath. Smoke still smoldered from most of the buildings. She sat there, blank, amazed, and very shaken. Her hands convulsively tightened around the horse's reins.

  Slane urged his horse slowly on through the main street of the village.

  Without a sign from Taylor, her horse moved forward. Waves of trepidation swept through her as her gaze focused on the skeletal remains of one smoldering ruin... the house that Mrs. Muelder had lived in. She had made the best apple tart in the village, and Taylor used to come see the old woman every day in the summer to get a taste.

  Taylor tore her gaze away from the burnt-out shell, and locked on Farmer George's house. Smoke rising from a charred, blackened beam swirled into a ray of moonlight. Long ago, Taylor had sat in that very room of the house, playing damsel in distress with Farmer George's son, Jeffrey.

  She ripped her stare away only to find her gaze centering on the DeLuca house. Her friend Julie had lived there. God, she hadn't thought of her for...

  Her horse drew closer to the still glowing rubble of the DeLuca house. Julie used to come to the castle with her mother who worked in the kitchens. She and Julie used to spy on the knights and pick their favorite as they jousted, pretending they jousted for their honor. Julie...

  Taylor's horse halted. The animal pawed the ground skittishly, sending ash into the air. Heat radiated from the shell of the home in waves.

  A tortured dullness swept Taylor up in disbelief. What had happened? All around her was destruction. The village lay in smoking ruin, burned to ashes. The smoke stung her nostrils, its choking scent closing her throat. She wiped at her nose, desperate to rid it of the foul stench.

  Her eyes scanned the streets for any survivors. But there were no signs of living people, no moans of the wounded.

  There was only intense heat and an occasional crack of a burning piece of wood.

  Unnerved, she pulled back from the blackened frame and her horse followed her command, backing away, tossing its head as if in objection to the sights reaching its eyes.

  Suddenly, a charred beam splintered in two and crashed to the ground, sending a shower of glowing embers into the night sky. With a jolt, Taylor realized where she was, and desperate to escape, she spurred her horse. With a slight rear, the horse lurched forward down the road, racing past the ravished remnants of what used to be a thriving village.

  As she raced forward, Sullivan Castle loomed before her, silently beckoning her with its lowered drawbridge. The arrow loops were empty, now just vacant slits in the castle's walls, looking more like knife wounds sliced into the stone than the defensive windows they were supposed to be. Once a vibrant center of life, she knew the castle was now a barren monument to the dead.

  Taylor's gaze immediately settled on something dangling over the castle walls. She pulled back on the reins, bringing her horse to a halt. Beneath her, the animal pranced nervously. As she looked closer at the thing hanging from the wall, she realized she was looking at a human form. It was a man. A man dangling from a rope, hanging by his arms, the rope binding his wrists rising up the castle wall to disappear over its edge. Every instinct inside Taylor told her to run. To get out of the village, away from the castle. But she couldn't take her eyes from him. His clothing was in tatters, hanging in shreds on his body. His graying hair hung in sickly strands across his face. Suddenly, the man turned his head, groaning loudly.

  Taylor heard the sound of hooves coming closer. "I'll cut him down," she heard Slane say from beside her.

  Taylor swiveled her head to see Slane moving his horse over the lowered drawbridge and heading into the open gates of the castle. She turned back to the man, swinging her leg over her horse to dismount. She approached him, squinting. There was something about him. Something familiar.

  The man groaned again, tossing his head. The damp strands of his hair clung to the blood on his face. There were slashes all over his body; his skin was dirtied with ash and soot. He had been tortured, she was sure. But by whom?

  Suddenly, the man fell to the ground. He landed hard and fell forward onto his stomach. Taylor glanced up to see Slane looking down at her from atop the castle wall. He grimaced and turned away. Taylor shifted her gaze back to the fallen man and approached him. He was badly beaten and there was no telling how long he had hung there.

  Taylor bent and grabbed his arm, pulling the man over onto his back. She froze, staring at the face. Even battered and bruised she knew that face. Her insides swirled in agony and contempt. Finally, she stepped away from him, her face a mask of loathing.

  "Who is he?" Slane wondered, emerging from the castle.

  "My father," she whispered.

  Slane bent beside the fallen man, putting his ear to his chest. The faintest tremor of a heartbeat drummed against his ear. Slane lifted his head and plac
ed a hand near the man's lips. Faint whisperings of air hit his hand at regular intervals. He lowered his hand and shifted his gaze to the man's closed eyes. "Lord Sullivan?" he called.

  The man groaned and his eyes slowly worked themselves open to the merest slits of life.

  "Who did this?" Slane demanded.

  Lord Sullivan opened his mouth, but no sound issued forth.

  Slane turned to Taylor. The night's wind gently lifted the wispy curls of her hair and placed them back over her shoulders delicately. Otherwise, she had not moved. She stood like a granite statue, watching through cold eyes. "He's dying," Slane hissed, furious with her inactivity.

  But even with his admission, she didn't move to her father's side, didn't kneel with tenderness and weep. "He's your father," Slane reminded her, shocked at her coldness.

  "Taylor?"

  Lord Sullivan's broken voice turned Slane's attention back to the man. His eyes had widened to pools of deep brown. His gaze moved past Slane to lock on Taylor with a renewed vigor, a wish granted. But the joy and happiness Slane saw for a brief moment on the old man's face faded.

  Slane turned back to Taylor. She hadn't moved. Hadn't even batted an eye. God's blood! Slane thought. What is wrong with her? He stood and moved to her. "He's your father!" Slane whispered harshly. "Go to him."

  But she didn't move. She never turned to look at Slane; she only glared at her father with such condemnation that Slane was taken aback.

  "Taylor," her father pleaded. "I've finally found you." He lifted an old, trembling hand to her, his fingers outstretched, grasping for something. "Forgive me, child."

  Taylor stiffened, her jaw clenching, her eyes narrowing.

  "Forgive me," he begged.

  Slane waited, as did her father, waited for the words that could heal them. Slane turned to look at her, urging her to forgive. She parted those lips, but the word that came forth was not one of absolution.

  "Never," she snarled.

  The old man's hand clenched into a fist and dropped to the ground.

  "Taylor," Slane exclaimed. "He's dying. Let him go in peace."

  "And what of my mother?" Taylor snapped. "Did she die in peace when those flames ate her skin from her body? Did she?"

  Lord Sullivan groaned. As Slane turned to him, his eyes rolled into his head before his body sagged to the earth and he sighed his last breath. Slane knelt by his side, placing a hand near the man's mouth. But he knew lord Sullivan was dead. He placed a hand on his chest, saying a silent prayer for him. His final request had gone unfulfilled. He had not been given the forgiveness he sought. After so many years, so much pain... Taylor could have let him die with honor, in peace, but she knew nothing of honor, nor of love.

  Slane whirled on her, glaring up at her in disbelief, as if she were some dark goddess deaf to the desperate pleas of her subjects. "He's your father! And he is dead! Now you will never know his love. Never. Why? Why not forgive a dying man his faults?"

  "Why should I," she demanded, "after what he did to my mother?"

  "He wanted your forgiveness, Taylor! Now he's dead."

  "Good," she snapped. "He deserved it. He killed my mother with no regret, no remorse. He showed her no mercy. Not even when I asked him for it. He refused to listen to my pleas. And I begged him. I begged him not to hurt her. I begged him not to take her away from me." Tears rose in her eyes. "He wouldn't even let me say goodbye to her."

  Slane saw the shimmering sadness fill her eyes, but he felt such an incredible rage at her insensitivity that he couldn't stop himself from clenching his fist and taking a threatening step toward her. "He was your father!" Slane roared. "He gave you your life! You've cursed him to a horrible death that he can never escape! You could have given him one moment of peace with three damn words! Just three words, Taylor!"

  Taylor did not retreat under his approach. She stood her ground. "Did he forgive my mother?" Taylor hollered back. "He murdered her! He took her life by burning her at the stake! What more horrible death is there? I'll give him no peace. Let him rot for what he's done to me. To her!"

  "Listen to you!" Slane cried. "Listen to what you're saying!"

  But she wasn't listening. Her voice broke as she tried to speak. "You don't know what it's like to have your mother taken away from you! I'll never forgive him. Never!"

  Slane lowered his voice. "Don't you see, Taylor? Don't you see what you just did?" Slane waited to see the ugly realization dawn in her teary eyes. But the realization never came. "You have abandoned your mother forever." Slane paused. "You've chosen to make your father's rage and hatred your own. You now have his cold heart beating in your chest, not your mother's."

  Taylor began to shake her head, to deny his words, but she halted, frozen in disbelief. Her mouth opened in silent denial, but her voice choked on the agony of his revelation. The pain of what she had become overflowed her lids, slipping down her face. She stood, trembling, her entire body shaking with misery.

  Slane opened his mouth to speak, but suddenly Taylor whirled, running to her horse. In one fluid movement, she pulled herself onto her steed's back and was off, racing away.

  "Taylor!" Slane hurried to his horse and quickly mounted. "Taylor!" he cried out again at her fleeing back, but he knew she would not stop. She was riding like a woman possessed, her hands cracking the reins again and again, her hair flying wildly out behind her. He spurred his horse forward, snapping sharply on the reins, demanding the beast ride as fast as it could go.

  Taylor continued to charge ahead, racing toward a nearby forest, and then vanished into its deep shadows.

  "Taylor, stop!" Slane cried, following her into the thick trees.

  He knew she was an expert rider, but he also knew she was not concentrating, not thinking where she was going. Slane watched her horse leap a fallen tree and felt his own heart leap as she teetered precariously for a long moment before righting herself. He had to catch up with her.

  Slane urged his horse deeper into the thick expanse of trees, dodging fallen trunks, ducking beneath attacking branches. He saw Taylor's horse stumble and he spurred his horse on. His heart twisted inside of him, knowing the agony she must be experiencing. Knowing that he had inflicted it on her. But she had to see the truth!

  He knew he would have to catch her if he wanted to stop her. Blood pounded in his ears; the wind rushed by him. His horse cleanly leapt another fallen tree and he found himself racing just behind Taylor, bursting into a small clearing.

  Just then a dark shadow fell over Slane, obscuring the moonlight. He looked up to see a huge wall of trees filling his vision on the opposite side of the clearing, a mass of hard trunks and jagged spiked branches that were impenetrable for a horse.

  "Taylor!" Slane screamed.

  Slane spurred his horse hard and the animal surged forward. He lunged for Taylor, extending his hand as far as he could. Wrapping his arm around her waist, he yanked her sharply from her horse.

  Taylor pushed backward, struggling against his hold, and toppled both of them from Slane's horse. They hit the ground hard; she landed on her right side, Slane on his back. He winced at the sudden pain in his back, but it disappeared just as quickly as it had arrived.

  Taylor tried to roll away from Slane. "I don't think so," Slane told her and grabbed her wrist, yanking her back to him.

  She pounded on his shoulder, trying desperately to break free of him.

  He forced her legs down with the weight of his body and crawled on top of her, pinning her flailing arms to the ground at her sides with his hands. "Enough!" he roared into her face.

  To his surprise, she stopped struggling, stilling her efforts at escape. He gazed down in wonderment at her broken face, shocked and guilt ridden by the tears covering it in a sheen of sorrow.

  She stared up into his eyes with such misery it shattered his soul. A broken sob escaped her full lips. He wanted to take all her agony away. He wanted to touch her pain and erase it. He wanted to heal her broken soul. He rubbed his fingertips against
her cheeks, tracing her cheekbone, wiping her tears from her skin.

  She parted her lips to inhale a shaky breath and Slane's gaze was drawn to her mouth. She was so lovely. And so hurt. He dipped his head and pressed his lips to her quivering mouth to comfort her. Only to comfort her.

  But something happened he had not planned on. A jolt rocked him as his body came instantly alive. It was as if he were feeding off her vibrancy, her need... and found the same need within himself. He pulled back to stare into her eyes. They were swollen from crying, but there was also something else, something hidden deep within them. Something that called to him. Something he could not deny.

  A fiery urgency filled his body and he felt himself being swept up in an inferno, into a blazing fire of need that could only be quenched by one thing. Slane bent his head to Taylor's lips, reclaiming them. He needed her just as much as she needed him. He wanted her more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life. And this time, he would not be denied. Her mouth parted and he tasted her fully, exploring the sweet recesses of her mouth, feeding off of her delectable lips. His manhood grew strong beneath his breeches, bulging against the cloth, aching to explore the dark hollow that lay but a few inches beneath it.

  Blood pounded through his mind as his lips swept hers. His consciousness seemed to ebb and then flame brighter than ever. He felt more alive than he had ever felt. He felt every inch of his body pressed intimately against hers, his chest against her breasts, his bulge intimately against her core. His blood surged through his veins, burning like molten lava. He released his hold on her and she immediately put her hands on his arms, refusing to relinquish the moment.

  Instead of pulling back, Slane dipped his hand to cup her breast through her tunic, encircling it with his fingers, massaging it with his thumb. Her flesh was firm and full, filling his hand.

  Taylor gasped and Slane kissed her again, driving his tongue deeper into her mouth, plundering the recesses, exploring every part of her mouth. Her hands moved from his arms to his back, tracing the coiled muscles with light strokes.