Knights of Valor

by Denise Domning

  Taylor narrowed her eyes. "Not quite yet," she murmured.

  Jared scowled at her. "What do you have in mind?"

  "I plan to teach the arrogant lord a lesson," Taylor promised. "One he won't forget."

  Jared groaned. "Sully. You're only going to make him more determined to find you."

  Taylor pushed the wet hair out of her eyes. "After about a week, we'll disappear. He'll never find us," she said smugly.

  "Don't you wonder what he wanted?" Jared asked.

  "No," Taylor answered curtly. "If he couldn't tell us from the beginning, it can't be good." True enough, but part of her couldn't help but wonder. She just wished she could have been there when he realized she'd gotten the better of him, to see the flash in his handsome blue eyes.... What are you thinking? she chastised herself. Handsome? Forget him. You'll never see him again.

  For a moment, she felt strangely sad.

  "She had a bruised and swollen face, and she was traveling with an older man," Slane said.

  The stable master nodded. "Yeah," he said. "They were here early yesterday." He dumped a bucket of feed into a horse's trough. "They didn't say much, but they stopped over by the inn. They were gone by midday."

  They're traveling at night, Slane thought. Just as I would if I were them. He cursed his brother quietly as he walked away. If it weren't for Richard, he wouldn't be in this mess. The little vixen was leading him a merry chase. He didn't have time for this. Elizabeth was waiting for him.

  "Which way did they go?" he asked.

  "West toward Woodland Hills," he replied.

  "Thank you," Slane grumbled, leading his horse out of the stables. He looked west. A child ran along the roadside. A farmer led a horse, pulling a cartload of hay down the road. But Slane paid them no attention.

  She was heading away from Castle Donovan. She was taking him away from Elizabeth. But he couldn't stop his pursuit of her. Now it went beyond his debt to Richard. It went beyond his allegiance to his family. She had insulted him. She had wounded his pride. And she was laughing at him. He would find her soon and show her that no one—no one—laughed at Slane Donovan.

  Taylor threw back her head and laughed, her voice ringing out through the woods. The small campfire Jared had lit shone brightly on her face. "So, Slane was in town just yesterday?"

  Jared nodded, poking the fire with a stick.

  "Well, I must say one thing for him. He certainly is persistent. Any other man would have given up," Taylor said, lying back on the bed of leaves she had made for herself. "It's been over a week now."

  "That blacksmith also said that there was another man asking about the ring and the woman who wears it."

  Taylor's smile faded.

  "He said the fellow looked like a mercenary. He wore a sword and quilted armor. I don't like this. If it were one man..." He shook his head. "But now there's more than one. I don't like this at all. Something dangerous is going on here, Sully."

  Suddenly, something shifted just at the corner of Taylor's vision, a quick flash of movement in the forest. She straightened, reaching for her sword. "Jared," she whispered urgently.

  Without hesitation, Jared snatched his sword from the ground and faced the dark woods before them.

  Taylor quickly got to her feet, putting her back to Jared's. She held her sword before her, ready for any enemy, her gaze scanning the dark trees, assessing the area with a practiced eye. They waited for something or someone to come out of the darkness.

  But there was no movement from the forest. Only the wind rustling the leaves of the trees answered their silent challenge.

  "What did you see?" Jared asked.

  "Something moved," Taylor answered, straining to see into the shadows of the night. "Someone's out there." She cocked her head, listening. But silence answered her. No crickets chirped, no owls hooted. All the animals had become silent. Her grip tightened on the handle of her sword.

  Jared turned and she moved with him. "Maybe it's just an animal."

  Taylor continued to stare at the shadows. Maybe it was just an animal. A boar, maybe. Or a --

  The forest erupted in a cacophony of movement! Figures leapt from the darkness, seeming to come alive from the very trees themselves, men brandishing swords and axes.

  Taylor swung instinctively at a man charging straight for her! But the attacker parried, expertly nullifying her blow. She deflected his blow in return and had to spin quickly to block another strike from a second attacker. She feinted and lunged at the first attacker, catching him in the stomach. But her blow bounced harmlessly off metal. They were wearing armor beneath their black tunics!

  The second attacker, not much more than a black shadow dancing in the light of the fire, lunged. Taylor knocked the second attacker's blow aside and lashed out with her booted foot, throwing the first man back as he tried to get near her.

  She knew she had precious moments to rid herself of the second attacker before the first one rejoined the fight. She drove forward, attacking the second man relentlessly, swinging, thrusting, lunging. But he blocked all her blows. She gritted her teeth and thrust. Again, the man parried her blow, pushing her blade up away from him. She snapped her wrist down sharply, tipping the blade toward his neck, and used every ounce of strength she had to thrust downward. She was rewarded with a wet gurgle and then the man went down.

  They were good, she thought, quickly moving away from the fallen attacker. Too good for robbers or cutthroats. She quickly glanced at Jared and saw him busy fighting off two more attackers of his own. Another lay dead at his feet.

  Footsteps came in fast behind her, and she whirled in time to sidestep a blow from the first attacker. She swung her blade again and again, driving him back. Suddenly, he stood his ground and thrust, but Taylor stepped away from the blow, countering with a swing of her own, catching the man's outstretched hand. He howled in pain, dropping his sword. Taylor kicked the weapon out of his reach and waved her blade threateningly before him. He cast a quick glance at his fallen comrades and abruptly whirled away from her and ran, disappearing into the woods.

  Taylor turned to help Jared battle the last man standing. He swung an ax at Jared, and Jared ducked at the last moment, letting the blade whoosh over his head. From his crouched position, Jared thrust his sword. The blade bounced uselessly off of the man's armor.

  Taylor swung at the man, catching him in his shoulder. He yelped and swung the ax sharply at her, but she sidestepped the whistling blade and the ax buried itself into the ground. Taylor lashed out with her foot, kicking the man back.

  Jared finished the man with a blow to his side. The blade pierced a gap in the attacker's armor, and the man froze for a second before plummeting to the earth like a fallen tree.

  Taylor whirled toward the forest, looking for any other attackers. But no one emerged.

  "Are you all right?" Jared asked breathlessly.

  Taylor nodded, turning to him. Her gaze swept her friend for any wounds, but there were none. When her heart stopped racing and she allowed her battle lust to fade, she knelt down by the fallen man and pushed him over onto his back. His face was covered with a black cloth, giving him the unnerving appearance of an executioner. She checked his armor and the coal-black tunic that covered it. She looked up at Jared. "No crest," she announced.

  "What the hell is going on?" Jared demanded.

  With one swift movement, Taylor ripped the mask from the man's face. She had half expected to know him on sight. But she had never seen the face that was revealed. She ran her blade across the mask she held in her hand, wiping it clean of blood. She turned to Jared, her eyes dark with determination. "That's what I'm going to find out," she vowed.

  Slane was surprised at how easily he had been able to track Taylor. At first, Slane had dogged their steps, missing them by only as much as half a day. But by the end of that first week, their trail had suddenly disappeared, as if they had vanished into thin air.

  Slane realized with mounting fury that she had been toying w
ith him. She had allowed him to follow her, leading him through dangerous forests and crowded towns. When the game grew tedious, she had simply ended it, leaving him stranded.

  For another week, he had hunted for any trace of them, searched, questioned, and analyzed until he was left with no options. Frustrated, disgruntled, and angry beyond rationality, Slane took a room at the Traveler's Inn.

  Now he sat alone in his room, pondering his misfortune within the confines of a large wooden tub. He shifted, moving his body lower in the steaming water. It was hopeless. He grabbed a ceramic pitcher from the floor next to the tub and poured its contents over his head, sighing heavily as the warm water splashed over his body, cleansing the dirt away. He would never find that deceitful wench. He banged the pitcher abruptly against the side of the tub before setting it back on the floor. His anger simmered hotly in his veins every time he thought of how easy it would have been to club her in the head, if only he had known she was the woman he was looking for. The clues had been there—her strange behavior, her quick knowledge of the ring—but he had been too blind to see them at the time. Too blind and just too damn stupid, he berated himself harshly.

  Slane plunged his face into the water, trying to douse his growing rage, but the heat of the water only seemed to inflame his anger. When I find that accursed woman, I will wring her neck. She'll learn the true meaning of respect. Slane pulled his head out of the water, and as several streams of the warm liquid trailed down his face, he felt a slow grin form on his lips. He saw himself teaching her the proper way to treat a knight of the realm.

  Suddenly, a dark shape shifted in the shadows across the room and Slane felt his body stiffen. Somebody was in his room! He glanced quickly to his right, at the sword still secured in its scabbard, leaning against a chair leg on the other side of the room. Damn. Too far.

  "I would have given my payment back to see the look on your face when you got my note," a feminine voice said, its owner stepping out of the shadows to stand at the side of the tub.

  Even though she was clothed in a dark brown robe, a hood half concealing her face, Slane recognized her immediately. "You..." he muttered, his voice an unbelieving whisper. The Sullivan woman! His fingers dug into the edge of the basin; he could feel his nails sink into the wood. His eyes narrowed to thin slits as his mind transformed the wood into the soft flesh of her neck. What in God's blood was she doing here?

  "Are you happy to see me?" she wondered, laughter in her voice. She grabbed a chair from the bed side and slid it over to the tub so its back was near his hand. She threw her leg over it, straddling it. "I heard you were looking for me."

  Slane sat motionless. Here she was, the woman he had been searching for, sitting in a chair not more than a foot from him, and all he could do was stare dumbfounded at her. In the flickering candlelight the bruised and battered face he remembered was gone, replaced by a cheek so smoothly rounded that he found himself entranced by its perfection. He caught the scent of lavender about her as a soft breeze brushed past the open shutters and circled the room, blanketing him in the delicate aroma. He felt a stirring beneath the water and shifted his body lower into the tub so his manhood would not break the water's surface. It's just a woman's cheek, Slane derided himself. You've seen hundreds of them before.

  He watched her lips turn down in a slight pout before she threw back the hood. Her dark hair tumbled wildly over her shoulders as the material slipped away from her head. He immediately noticed the perfect fullness of her lips; the earlier swelling that had disfigured them was completely gone.

  "Were you looking for me or have my sources been wrong?"

  Slane felt the throbbing in his loins increase tenfold. He slunk lower into the tub, draping his arm casually between his thighs. She was an absolutely stunning creature. How could he have known that hiding behind those bruises was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen? He forced himself to look away. She deserved his contempt for what she had done to him, not his lust. "You know damn well I've been looking for you," he retorted. "Have you come here to ridicule me for failing to find you?"

  "Well..." she teased, laughter still in her voice, a smile on her face.

  Damn her. Slane studied her reflection in the smooth water of the bath. "Why are you here?" he gritted, thinking again of his sword lying uselessly on the other side of the room.

  "Cut to the point, eh, Slane? Well, all right." Her face lost all its humor. "Why were you looking for me?"

  "Why ask me? Didn't your 'sources' tell you?" Slane drawled, his voice thick with acrimony.

  "Slane Donovan," she mused and he was startled by the tenderness in her voice. "I used to hear about you all the time when I was young. You were a hero. Slane Donovan this, Slane Donovan that. You were the best gossip around."

  Slane raised his eyes to meet hers. He was surprised by the warmth he saw in those bright green gems... and was that admiration? Then the wall slammed down and the glimpse of her soul was gone.

  "Are you going to try to kill me?" she asked.

  Slane bridled. He was a knight; he did not cut down women... even if they wielded a sword. "If you really thought I was hunting you down to kill you, you wouldn't be sitting a foot from me and flitting your hair about like some tavern wench looking for a fresh bed," Slane said. The comment was harsher than he had intended and he saw the anger ignite in her eyes. Again, he wondered why she had come back to reveal herself to him. She had to have some ulterior motive. She must need me for something, Slane realized. He knew she wouldn't risk exposing herself for any other reason. Now why would this little scrapper of a woman need me? Curiosity loomed larger in his thoughts.

  "Well, believe me, if I needed a bed to sleep in, it wouldn't be yours!" she snapped, jumping from the chair. "If you won't tell me what I want to know, I'll find someone who will." She moved to leave.

  Slane rose out of the water like the ancient god Poseidon, the liquid sliding off his body in thick sheets. His expression was grim, his mouth tight, his teeth clenched. He seized Taylor's wrist in his strong fingers and squeezed tightly. "You ran away from me once," he growled. "You shall not do it again."

  He watched her eyes slide over his body as easily as the water, but then hesitate at his waist. Quickly, they rose to meet his. Was that embarrassment in her eyes? he wondered. Or contempt?

  "You are arrogant, aren't you?" she wondered softly. The smile slid easily across her lips. "Tell me why they're after me." It was half plea, half command.

  They? Slane wondered. "Mercenaries," he said aloud. Had some of the others found her already? There seemed to be genuine concern in her voice, a vulnerability that touched him despite his anger. Slane loosened his grip on her arm.

  She pulled free of him and stepped away. "These men were not mercenaries," she replied and turned her back to him.

  Slane reached after her, then immediately pulled his arm back, staring at it as if it had taken on a life of its own. As he looked at his arm, he caught sight of his body below it and realized he was naked. He grabbed his leggings off the floor and quickly slid into them. When he glanced up again, he found her staring at him with those cursed eyes—eyes that made him want to probe deeper to find the strange mysteries they promised to reveal one day. He reached out for his tunic and pulled it over his head, then quickly donned his boots.

  Suddenly, there was a loud bang from outside the door, then the clang of swords.

  Taylor whipped off the cloak, drawing her weapon from its sheath, and raced toward the door.

  But before she had taken two steps, the door splintered open and Jared's body came flying through it!

  Jared hit the floor before Taylor and lay still, his open, glassy eyes staring up at her. A large stain of blood spread across his abdomen, growing wider and redder with each passing moment. She heard noises all around her and knew she should look up, knew she should look away from her friend lying motionless on the hard floor, but for the moment she couldn't seem to take her gaze from Jared's deathly still body.
This isn't happening, she thought. This isn't happening.

  "What the hell?" she heard Slane cry, his surprised shout finally pulling her from her stupor. She looked up to see four men dressed in black rush into the room, their swords ready. A dagger whizzed toward Slane's head and he dove to the floor, the sharp tip of the deadly blade sinking into the wall behind him. He rolled across the floor and grabbed his sheath, diving back behind the large washtub in the middle of the room.

  Struggling to clear the haze of disbelief that numbed her, Taylor turned her eyes back to focus on Jared. What was he still doing on the floor? Why hadn't he gotten to his feet to meet the attackers? She thought she heard Slane shout her name, but her confused mind refused to concentrate on anything but Jared.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a quick flash of movement and turned to see one of the men in black lifting his sword to strike her. Suddenly, Slane was there, leaping up from behind the tub, smashing the attacker in the back and pushing him to the floor.

  "Taylor!"

  In the vague distance, Taylor heard Slane call her name again. But it wasn't until Slane grabbed her roughly and spun her around to face him that the urgency in his voice reached her.

  These men had hurt Jared. The horror of that truth whispered at the edge of her thoughts, trying to force its way inside.

  A sword flashed hotly just over Slane's shoulder and he whirled in time to engage the soldier.

  A flash of pain seared through the muscles in Taylor's forearm. She glanced down, surprised to see the familiar sight of her sword clutched tightly in her clenched fist. Only when she forced her bunched fingers to relax did the pain in her arm vanish. When a second and third soldier came at her, Taylor defended herself, feinting right to duck a blow and parrying an incoming swing. She acted instinctively, without thinking, until finally the familiar feel of the weight of her weapon brought life back to her numb senses.