A Knight of Honor

by Laurel O'Donnell

  “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.

  Slane stepped forward and Taylor thought he would take her memorial from her. He reached out, but it wasn’t the pouch he took. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into his embrace.

  She stiffened for a moment, resisting his comfort. But she couldn’t withstand her agony, her loss. It encompassed her body, sending her into fits of grief. She slumped against him and followed him to a nearby outcropping of rocks.

  Exhausted, Taylor let Slane pull her down to the ground between a sheltering pine and a large rock.

  The bag of coin lay on the ground near their feet, forgotten.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Slane stared down at Taylor as she slept cushioned against his body, his arm around her. He didn’t think a herd of thundering horses could awaken her now. He stroked her hairline again, running his fingertips over her smooth skin, marveling that the bruises had so completely disappeared and left such smooth, untainted skin in their wake. Her lips were not swollen and distorted any longer, but rather perfect in their symmetry, full, and sensual. He had a sudden desire to touch them.

  Horrified at the direction his thoughts were heading, Slane quickly eased her to the ground and stood away from her. She groaned softly and curled into the warmth his body had left on the ground. God’s blood! he thought. What am I thinking? I have to think about Elizabeth. Waiting for me. Yes, Elizabeth. He ran a hand over his eyes, trying to wipe the fatigue from them. I must be tired and confused.

  But he found his gaze returning to Taylor. If it weren’t for me, she wouldn’t be in this mess, he thought. I found her. I brought her into this hell of running from Corydon’s men, of losing her friend.

  Slane paced, raking his hand through his golden hair. If he hadn’t found her, then it would have clearly been someone else. And she was better off with him than with a mercenary seeking the reward his brother had put out for her! Slane was sure every mercenary this side of France was looking for her.

  The sun rose steadily over the horizon, the sky lightening with the coming dawn. Slane knew they would have to move on soon. They couldn’t put enough distance between themselves and Corydon. A hundred miles was too little. Still, he was reluctant to wake her.

  His gaze shifted back to her as she lay hidden between the rock and the pine tree. He could see one of her boots sticking out of the shelter. He couldn’t wake her. She needed all her strength to deal with the future. He would let her sleep, let her have a moment’s peace.

  He shifted his royal blue eyes to the path that stretched before them. The path that led to Castle Donovan.

  ***

  Taylor had barely opened her eyes when everything came back to her in a rush of images. Jared’s body splintering the door. Black-clad men swinging deadly blades at her. Slane diving at her, taking them both through the window. Slane holding her in his arms, comforting her. She sat up quickly, scanning the area, but Slane was nowhere to be seen.

  She eased herself from the cover of the pine tree and the rock, stepping into the sunlight, squinting at the brightness. The sun was almost directly over her head. She lifted her eyes to regard the blazing orb with astonishment. She had never slept this long! Her gaze swept the clearing, finally coming upon Slane, who was strolling back to her, his hands cupped before him.

  For a moment, she was taken aback. He looked like some ancient god, his blond hair waving over his shoulders, his bronzed face kissed by the sun. His blue eyes sparkled like treasured gems. But it wasn’t their sparkling brilliance that caught her attention; it was the way he was looking at her, with a guarded reserve.

  Taylor climbed to her feet. She eyed the berries he was holding in his cupped hands, then glanced back up at him.

  He popped a berry into his mouth. “Are you rested? Because I think we should be moving on.” He held out a handful of berries.

  Taylor plucked a berry from the top of the pile. She studied it absently, not really seeing it. Moving on. To Sullivan Castle. She didn’t want to see her father again. Seeing him wasn’t going to change the past. Seeing him wasn’t going to bring her mother back. “Slane, I think you should know that I have no intention of returning to Sullivan Castle.”

  She lifted her eyes in time to see disapproval cross his face. “That decision is yours to make. But I’m sure there are other mercenaries –”

  She held up her free hand. “I know. You’ve told me. But what you haven’t told me is who those black knights were.”

  Slane took a deep breath and lowered his hands. “They’re Corydon’s men. Your father and my brother, Richard,
have banded together to fight Corydon. He’s been threatening to take over their lands.”

  “Corydon?”

  “Five years ago, he took over the lands west of Sullivan. Corydon thinks that with your father growing old he poses no great threat. He is just biding his time.”

  “And how is my return supposed to help?”

  “The knights at Sullivan Castle have been growing restless. They think that with no heir to rally behind, if your father dies, Sullivan Castle will fall easily to Corydon. Many of them have left already. Your father needs an heir.”

  She popped the berry into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “And what’s your brother’s story?”

  “Richard has squandered the treasury, depleting his funds. Castle Donovan is precariously defended. He doesn’t have long. He’ll be out of gold to pay his knights in two months’ time.”

  “So my father has the gold, and Richard has the knights.”

  “Your father asked for Richard’s help to locate you.”

  “And in exchange, Richard gets the gold,” Taylor added knowingly. “So that’s where you come in.”

  Slane nodded. “Richard asked me to find you. And he sought the help of a score of mercenaries as well. He’s quite insistent on the matter.”

  Taylor sighed and stared up at the sky for a long moment.

  “Taylor, there is much more at stake here than you realize,” Slane said gently. “The lives and well-being of two kingdoms, of hundreds of families, depend on your returning to Sullivan Castle.”

  “Really?” she gasped, mockingly. His eyes were so blue, so damned... pure. “So what?”

  She saw shock in his widening eyes, in his open mouth. She felt a surge of satisfaction. Then his lips closed with disbelief. “Maybe you didn’t hear me correctly,” Slane said.

  “I heard,” she said. “I just don’t care. Where were they when my mother was burning eight years ago? Where were they when Jared was being killed?” She shook her head. “I just don’t care.”

  “But—“

  “No buts. I don’t give a rat’s ass about the poor peasants who have worked hard all their life. Haven’t we all?”

  Slane studied her for a moment. “Why don’t you come with me to Castle Donovan? You’ll be safe from Corydon, and it will give you time to decide what you want to do.”

  Taylor already knew what her decision was. She would never go back to her father. Never. But the lure of a warm bed and hot meals was too much for a starving mercenary to pass up. Besides, it would give her time to think about her own plans for the future. “We’ll see,” she mused.

  Slane nodded and started walking north.

  Taylor joined him. “Are we going to walk the whole way there?”

  “Until I can secure us some horses,” Slane replied. He held out his handful of berries to her.

  This time, Taylor scooped up a handful of her own.

  ***

  After moving briskly for more than half a day without rest, they came to a clearing lined by a thick wall of trees on one side and a river on the other. “We’ll stop here,” Slane announced, glancing at the setting sun.

  Taylor shrugged and moved to the river to clean off the day’s grime and sweat.

  Slane watched her for a long moment. She hadn’t braided her hair today, instead choosing to let it hang down in long waves. He had caught her running her hands through the luxurious locks several times throughout the day and had to smile to himself. He was glad she had not braided it. He liked the way the sunlight reflected off the blue-black highlights in her hair. Once, he even imagined what it might feel like. He had never paid such attention to Elizabeth’s brown hair. Of course, he rarely even saw her hair. She always kept it up, hidden beneath one of those horrible coifs or ridiculous headdresses.

  He strolled to the middle of the clearing and removed his tunic. A good hour of practice is what I need, he thought to himself. Just me and my blade. He liked to work shirtless, with the warm sun bathing his skin. He always felt strong in the bright sunlight, strong and energized. He removed his sword from its sheath and stared for a moment at his reflection in the polished metal.

  A splash caught his attention and he raised his eyes. Taylor was on her knees by the river’s edge, her small, shapely bottom pointing directly at him.

  A flush of desire exploded through him. It was so startling and so unexpected that he had to turn his back lest she see how she affected him. He turned the sword over in his hand. Where had that come from? he wondered, fighting down the surge of passion that simmered in his blood. He took a deep breath, but it was still a long moment before his desire faded to a more controllable impulse.

  He swung the heavy sword with two hands, the muscles in his shoulders and forearms straining during the practiced motion. He moved his arms in a large circle, slowly drawing the blade over his head. He stood that way for a long moment, the sword raised above his head, the fading sunlight glinting like fire from his blade. His golden hair cascaded over his shoulders to touch the midpoint of his back.

  He concentrated on stretching his muscles, training them to be ready for action at a moment’s notice, to keep them honed for battle. And they were. He was a warrior, a knight. He had faced and defeated every foe he had stood against.

  He lowered the weapon slowly across the other side of his body until the blade was pointing toward the river. And then he froze.

  A pair of hunter green eyes stared at him.

  Taylor sat with one knee drawn up to her chest, watching him. But there was no sarcastic gaze chiseled across her face. No, it was not the disrespectful, mocking stare he was used to. She turned away then, a long, dark strand of her hair falling across her breast.

  For just a moment, he could have sworn she had been gazing at him admiringly, like all the ladies at court did. There had been surprise in those eyes. But he must have imagined it. Because Taylor was unlike any woman he had encountered before. She was different.

  He took a step toward her. “Don’t you practice?” he asked.

  She shifted her stare to him and the sarcasm was back in those lidded eyes, as if it had never left. “I’m sure there will be plenty of opportunities to practice. Right now, I’m tired.”

  He watched her settle down beneath the branches of a large oak tree, cushioning her head on her arm, before he turned back to concentrate on his work.

  ***

  Taylor watched Slane practice from slitted eyes. She was anything but tired. She was restless. And the strange restlessness churned within her the more she watched Slane.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “Hey, Slane,” Taylor whispered, tapping her new traveling companion on the shoulder. “Can we stop at the alehouse after we finish sneaking through the streets?”

  Slane turned to her, the scowl etched deep into his brow, the irritation clearly visible in his eyes. “We are not sneaking,” he told her.

  Taylor blew a scoffing blast of air from between her lips. “You’ve been hugging the shadows ever since we reached Sudbury this afternoon. I’d call that sneaking.”

  “And why are you whispering?” he asked.

  “Isn’t that what you do when you sneak around?”

  A merchant rode past, his overloaded carriage jostling and jangling loudly as it moved along the pockmarked dirt road that ran through the center of Sudbury.

  Slane grabbed Taylor’s arm and pulled her into a pool of dark shadows. “We’re not sneaking around,” Slane insisted.

  Taylor held up her hands in surrender. “All right. All right. Can we stop at the alehouse?”

  Slane nodded. “We need flasks and drink.”

  “I can try to purchase us horses –” Taylor began, spying a small stable situated next to a blacksmith’s shop nearby.

  “No,” Slane erupted. “We stick together.”

  Taylor stared into his determined blue eyes for a moment longer, then nodded her agreement. All she wanted right now was a good ale to quench her thirst. She didn’t feel like arguing wi
th this stubborn noble. She didn’t feel like disagreeing about such petty things. She was just tired of walking. Her legs hurt and her feet were throbbing.

  They moved down the road, passing the tightly packed houses. Some of the merchants had additional stands set up on the streets to sell their wares, but most used their homes as a front for their shops, their brightly colored awnings and hand-carved wooden signs indicating what goods they sold. Peasants filled the streets, gathering around the merchants’ shops and stands, haggling over price. Market day was in full swing.

  Slane paused at one of the carts to negotiate with a leather maker. No doubt trying to purchase a few decently made flasks or wine pouches, Taylor mused as she moved on.

  She meandered down the row of storefronts, inspecting some loaves of still steaming bread on a ledge outside a baker’s shop, sampling a shred of some salted venison at another merchant’s stall. Then she reached the stall of a spice vendor. Bowls of chopped herbs, peppers, and salt filled his long wooden table. Taylor caught herself staring at a large oak bowl filled with freshly chopped garlic. A tremendous tide of sadness welled up inside her. Jared had always loved to visit the spice merchants. Garlic had been his favorite. She always told him he stunk for days after eating it, but he only laughed at her and told her he’d rather stink of garlic than of the horrible perfumes the nobles soaked their skins with. He would stay and talk to the merchants for hours, discussing the best ways to use aniseed or ginger or pepper to enhance the flavor of food. He never seemed happier than when arguing over the best way to spice a rabbit or duck.

  “Ah, you like my onion?” Taylor heard someone say. She glanced up to see the merchant, a surprisingly thin man with a freckled face and a mere growth of red stubble on his chin.

  “What?” Taylor asked, not certain if he had been talking to her.