Knights of Valor

by Denise Domning

  Alexander locked gazes with Slane. "It wasn't difficult."

  Unable to stand another moment in this man's presence, Slane turned away from them and moved to his horse. Their voices floated to him on a breeze.

  "You can't keep still," Alexander said. "Not for a moment. There are too many people looking for you."

  Slane grabbed the reins of his horse a little too roughly and the steed whinnied and took a step back. Leading his horse, he returned to Taylor's side. "Are you ready?"

  Taylor looked at Alexander with something akin to longing in her eyes.

  Slane's hand tightened around the reins.

  "Will you travel with us?" she asked.

  Slane opened his mouth to object, but slammed it shut into a tight-lipped sneer.

  Alexander cast a glance at Slane. "I'd love to. For a while."

  Slane knew he should be grateful for another sword to help protect Taylor. But he wasn't. Tension, distrust, and dislike coiled his body as tightly as a spring. He didn't want this Alexander with him... or rather, with Taylor. He swung himself up onto the horse.

  What was wrong with him? It would do Taylor good to have an old friend with her. Especially after Jared's recent death. But why did it have to be Alexander?

  Alexander dismounted, tethering his horse to a tree near the stream. He turned in time to see Taylor glance at a brooding Slane. Donovan had ridden a good two horse paces in front of them the entire trip, his back ramrod straight, his hands clutching the reins of the horse so tightly they turned white.

  Taylor was pensive the entire ride. She glanced repeatedly at Slane with that troubled furrow etched in her brow and the thoughtful look in her eyes. Something had happened between them, Alexander was sure.

  Taylor swung herself from her horse and bent at the stream, rinsing her face with a handful of water. She stood and faced him.

  There had been a time when he had seen infatuation shining from those eyes. Now there was only friendship. And it was as it should be.

  "What do you think you're doing?" he asked softly.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Don't play that game with me," Alexander warned. "I know all about those wide-eyed looks of yours." Taylor laughed gently, but Alexander continued. "This Corydon is no fool." He watched the laughter drain from her face and caught just a glimpse of anger narrowing her eyes before she turned away. "He's not far behind you."

  Taylor moved to her horse and opened her pack, busying herself with fumbling through the items inside.

  Alexander stepped up behind her. "He means to capture you or kill you. Either way it's crazy to leave such an obvious trail for him."

  "I don't know what you mean," she snapped.

  Alexander grabbed her arm and spun her around to face him. "I know what you've been doing."

  "You don't know anything. We weren't important enough for you six years ago, so don't pretend I am now."

  "I have a job," Alexander said, his spine straightening.

  "You did then, too," she said quietly and turned back to her horse. "You left us when we could have used your help."

  Alexander stared at her back. "Jared had his way of doing things. I had mine. There was no way to reconcile them." After a long moment, he asked, "Why are you going to Castle Donovan?"

  She shrugged. "Maybe Slane's brother will be looking to hire mercenaries."

  Alexander scowled at her. "You're impetuous. You're reckless. You can't work under a noble without Jared here to smooth things over."

  "Then why don't you take Jared's place?" she said sarcastically.

  Alexander sighed. "I still have gypsies to hunt."

  Taylor shook her head. "Still on that campaign, huh?"

  Ridding the land of the gypsy scourge was a quest he had begun long ago. He was not going to give it up to be her companion. Still, he couldn't help but feel the old guilt raise its head. She had no one now. She was as alone as he felt. Alexander placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. Taylor shrugged his hand off her shoulder, turning away from him. Alexander stood for a long moment, staring at her tense back. They had been the best of friends long ago. And he knew she was hurting. He reached around her and pulled her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her stiff body.

  She resisted at first, fighting the gesture of friendship. But then she sighed and leaned into him heavily.

  "I wish you luck with this crazy scheme of yours. Whatever it is that you're planning, I hope it turns out as you wish," Alexander whispered. But he knew it wouldn't. And he knew there was only one way to protect her. His gaze shifted to Slane Donovan.

  Slane pulled a loaf of bread from his saddlebags. He had bought the loaf back in Sudbury, and the crust was now hard and flaky. He broke off a small piece and raised it to his lips, turning to look for Taylor. But the small chunk of bread never reached his mouth as he froze at the sight that greeted him. Fury flamed through his body with every stroke of Alexander's hand on Taylor's back.

  A nagging pain flared in Slane's jaw, and he realized he was clenching it so tightly that his muscles ached. Taylor rested her head against Alexander's shoulder with all the familiarity of lovers. With the ease she displayed around this man, he half expected her to be rolling in the grass with him by nightfall.

  He whirled away from the troubling scene, and more, from his sudden impulse to bash this man's face in. He looked down to find his hands were clenched into fists, the bread smashed between them.

  Disgusted with himself, he tossed the loaf away. He should be thinking of Elizabeth, alone, waiting for him, instead of dwelling on another man touching Taylor.

  He forced himself to walk calmly to the stream. It wasn't his concern what Taylor did with her life. He had his own life to live. Elizabeth. He forced an image of her to the front of his mind, struggling to find it in his memory, shocked at how long it took to remember that she had large brown eyes. Large brown eyes that would look at him with complete trust. Over the course of the year, the unease between Elizabeth and himself had diminished. Now they could sit in companionable company and even laugh together. He remembered her soft little chuckles, the way her hand covered her mouth as she laughed, almost as if it had been unladylike to show any sign of amusement. He missed her. Yes, as one would miss a sister.

  He glanced over his shoulder at Taylor and Alexander, catching a glimpse of them between the horses. They had separated but still stood close. Close enough for Alexander to reach out and caress her cheek.

  Slane scowled. What was Taylor doing to him? It was the kiss, he told himself. The lingering, ghostly taste of her lips. He had to remember his duty. He had to see her back to Castle Donovan. Beyond that, she wasn't his concern.

  "Donovan?"

  Slane turned to find Alexander standing beside him. His jaw started to throb.

  "This is as far as I ride," Alexander told him.

  Relief coursed through Slane so completely and intensely that he suddenly felt light-headed. His hands opened; his jaw relaxed. The muscles in his shoulders loosened. All he could do was nod in response.

  Alexander chuckled. He cast a glance back at Taylor, and Slane followed his gaze. She stood beneath a large maple tree, looking small and very vulnerable. When Alexander returned his eyes to Slane, there was a hardness there. "Sully's been leaving scrolls behind for Corydon, inviting him to find her."

  "No!"

  "It was one of the ways I found you so easily. And rest assured that Corydon's men are very close behind."

  "She wouldn't do that," Slane said, casting a glance at Taylor. She had seated herself beneath the tree, her knees drawn up to her chest.

  Alexander shrugged. "I found a letter in Sudbury and another at an inn between Sudbury and Edinbrook."

  "You're lying," Slane snarled.

  Alexander's eyes narrowed. "If I were a lesser man, I'd have to challenge you for besmirching my good name. Just keep an eye on her." He turned away from Slane, heading for his horse.

  Why? Slane asked himself. Why i
n heaven's name would she do something like that? It made no sense. But what about Taylor Sullivan ever made sense?

  Taylor studied the thatched ceiling of the Village Inn in Trenton. The candle burning beside her bed threw shadows up onto the ceiling. Deep shadows. Dark shadows. Black shadows. Black shadows that looked like men dressed in black robes. The flames flickered, taunting her with shadows that stalked along the thatch, wielding their shadowy weapons as they hunted their prey.

  Her anger had kept her awake well into the night, her determination fueling her mission. Seeing Alexander, talking of Jared, had only served to re-ignite her rage. Jared would be avenged. She would see to that. No matter what the cost to herself. Or even to Slane if he stood in the way.

  Slane. Why did he leave her senses so muddled and confused? Everything else seemed simple and clear. Simple because there was only one thing: Avenge Jared. That was all that mattered. If I concentrate on that, then nothing else can interfere.

  Finally, she rose from her bed, took a piece of parchment and a small container from her sack and settled down on the floor beside the bed. She lifted her right hand and stared for a moment at the ring that encircled her finger. Two crossed swords over an S. The Sullivan crest. Her mother's ring.

  Taylor plugged the small container with one finger and turned it upside down. She carefully replaced it on the floor. A large black circle now covered the tip of her index finger. She carefully smeared the ink over the crest on the ring and then pressed the crest to the paper, giving it an official seal. She wiped her finger and the ring on the blanket.

  Then she rolled the parchment and stood, moving to the door. She paused, listening for any sounds, but there was no noise. Carefully, she opened the door and glanced down the hallway. Slane's door was closed, the hallway empty.

  Taylor headed out of her room, quietly closing the door. She moved into the common room, searching for the innkeeper. She found the man fixing a broken chair leg. His head was bent over his work, his bald head reflecting the dying firelight from the hearth. He glanced up at her as she approached.

  She held out the rolled parchment to him. "If a lord named Corydon comes here, give this to him," she instructed. "Tell him it's from Taylor Sullivan."

  The innkeeper lifted his gaze to lock with hers, then shifted it to the parchment. He reached out to take the offered paper, but suddenly another, larger hand darted in and snatched it from Taylor's fingers.

  "I'll take that."

  Taylor jumped and spun to find Slane standing behind her, the parchment firmly in his grip. Her heart lurched in her chest. She reached out to seize the scroll from his hand, but he deftly moved it out of her reach.

  He unrolled the parchment and his blue eyes studied the paper for a long moment before rising to gleam at her.

  She swallowed hard, every instinct in her body telling her to run, to escape the fury she could see burning in his gaze. Instead, she lifted her head and boldly stared back at him.

  His eyes never left hers as he told the innkeeper, "If you'll excuse us."

  Taylor could hear the barely restrained anger in his voice. Shivers of dread shot up her body.

  With an understanding nod, the innkeeper set the chair aside and moved off down the hall.

  Slane's heated gaze bore into her. He lowered his hand and she saw it clench around the parchment. For one, wild moment, she thought he would strike her. And he did, with his words.

  "Are you mad?" he demanded in a hushed whisper. "Do demons possess you?"

  Oh, yes, demons possessed her. But not the kind he meant. Her chin rose a notch.

  He lifted his clenched fist to hold the wadded parchment before her eyes. "What is this all about?"

  She opened her mouth to explain, but then stopped. How could she tell him of her fierce determination to avenge Jared's death? Of her agony over losing him? She had no intention of exposing herself to his ridicule. She closed her mouth and moved to turn away.

  Slane grabbed her arm in a brutal grip and dragged her deeper into the common room, closer to the hearth. Her eyes shifted anxiously to the flames before she ripped free of Slane's grip and moved away from the hearth toward the stairs. Slane quickly followed, grabbing her arm to halt her. "You will tell me what you intended with these letters. Did you intend to betray me?"

  Confusion flashed in her eyes. Then she shook her head. "I intended for Corydon to find me," she admitted.

  Slane's eyes narrowed to mere glints of hot blue. "He killed your friend. Have you a wish to join Jared?"

  Taylor's gaze narrowed to match Slane's.

  He shook her arm. "We were lucky last time to escape unscathed. Jared was not so lucky. He died protecting you!"

  Her own guilt spoken on Slane's lips drove a dagger into her heart. Her vision suddenly blurred.

  "He sacrificed his life for your freedom. Well, I'm not going to give my life for you." He tossed the parchment to the floor and moved to step past her. "You can play that game alone."

  "He knew the risks of traveling with me," she snarled. "He knew his life was in danger every day he spent with me."

  Slane whirled on her, his teeth ground tight. "He was your friend! And now you court his killer like some lover! If Corydon knows where we're headed, don't you think he'll do everything in his power to stop us?"

  Taylor faced Slane with clenched fists. Her entire body trembled with her whirling emotions—grief, anger, disappointment. "That's what I'm counting on."

  Slane took a step forward. "You are mad," he hissed with conviction. He grabbed her shoulders suddenly and Taylor could see the anguish in his blue eyes. "Do you know what he'll do to you?"

  "Do you know what I'll do to him?" Taylor gritted.

  Slane stared at her for a long moment as if reading her deepest thoughts. The anger faded as understanding slowly lit his eyes. Something washed over Slane's face and his grip eased on her shoulders. He studied her for a long, quiet moment. "That's very honorable of you, Taylor, but —"

  "Honor has nothing to do with it," she retorted vehemently, jerking free of his hold. "Jared was not just my friend—he was my family. I would be dead if it wasn't for him. I owe him that much."

  Slane stood motionless, apparently unmoved by her confession.

  Shaken by the fierce emotions raging in her body, she turned her back on him, facing the flickering shadows thrown by the dancing flames of the hearth. She crossed her arms before her heated body.

  "You think you stand a chance against Corydon?"

  She raised her chin in defiance. She didn't care. All she knew was she had to try.

  "He'll kill you, and then your death and Jared's will be for naught." Slane took a step closer. She could feel his gaze on her, the nearness of his body. "You don't want his death to be unavenged, do you?"

  "No," she said after a moment.

  "Then join forces with my brother," Slane suggested.

  "I don't need anyone's help," Taylor insisted.

  "Corydon has men to protect him, guards with him all the time. He is not a foolish man, or I would have killed him myself a long time ago for daring to lay his sights on Donovan lands." He stepped around her to look at her face. "With Richard's men and resources, you can avenge Jared's death. I think deep down you know that."

  Taylor stared at the wavering shadows on the wall. A log popped and sparks flew into the air behind her. She knew he was right. But the fact remained she didn't trust nobles. To trust this Richard, to ally herself with him? She didn't know if she could do that.

  She turned to tell Slane that, but the tender way he was staring at her caught her off guard; she could have sworn she saw admiration in his eyes. She shut her mouth and took a deep breath. "I suppose you're right," she found herself saying.

  Slane captured her hand in his and a smile lit his face. Taylor suddenly found it hard to breathe. He lifted her knuckles to his lips. When they touched her skin, a powerful shock seared through her body. She eased her hand free of his hold.

  His smile
wouldn't fade. "Then we ride to Castle Donovan," he proclaimed. "We should be there within the week, if the weather holds."

  But she wasn't listening to his words; she was massaging her knuckles. A strange prickling sensation remained where his lips had caressed her skin. She knew joining forces with Richard was the only way to defeat Corydon and avenge Jared's death, but she couldn't stop the nagging feeling that this was too easy. Why would Richard join forces with her?

  As she turned away to return to her room, Slane halted her by gently grabbing her elbow. "No more letters?" Slane asked.

  Taylor shook her head in agreement. "No more letters."

  He ran a finger along the length of her jaw line, bestowing on her another smile. It warmed her insides, blanketing her in a rush of delight. She couldn't help but grin back. Then he turned away from her, and she found that her moment in the sun was gone. Slapped back to reality, her grin faded and apprehension replaced it.

  Just as they reached Sherville, a misty rain began to saturate the air. They ducked inside an inn just in time to miss the downpour.

  Slane had never seen so many people crammed into an inn at one time before. Some of the people seemed sick beyond anything he had ever experienced himself. Their faces were pale, their skin hanging in loose folds on their bones.

  Slane shouldered his way through the peasants to the innkeeper to secure their lodging. When he turned back to the inn's common room, he was frowning. Near the back of the room, a man coughed harshly and bent over, clutching at his chest as if it were on fire.

  "This damn scourge is everywhere," Slane heard one man mutter.

  "Everyone who can still stand is fleeing the city," another voice added.

  Slane made his way to the table, where Taylor waited for him among a dozen other men and women; every table in the place was just as overcrowded. Slane sat on the end of the bench, opposite her, and reached for one of the ales the innkeeper's wife had just set down in front of him. He took a long drink. "I got us a room here for the night," he said.

  She nodded slightly to indicate she had heard him, but she said nothing. She brushed a lock of hair from her face, her eyes on the man beside her. His arm shoved into her ribs as he ate. She moved over farther, but Slane could see the irritation etched in the tight lines around her mouth.