Knights of Valor

by Denise Domning

  Slane's gaze narrowed. "Richard, you think everyone needs your strong arm."

  Richard shrugged. "What works is hardly worth changing."

  "I think, in Taylor's case, you might think differently." Slane turned toward the door. "She doesn't take well to beatings." He paused with his hand outstretched for the doorknob. "You will not release her?"

  "I never had any plans to release her," Richard answered. "You knew that."

  Slane's jaw tightened. He was a fool for bringing Taylor here. What could he have possibly been thinking? But he knew what he was thinking. He had thought to pay the debt he owed to his brother so he could get on with his life. He now realized just how wrong he was.

  "Ahh," Richard said, his face lighting with a grin. "All this talk of marriage has you missing your own beloved. Well, I've kept you from her for far too long. She is probably waiting for you in the Great Hall."

  Slane threw the door open, his thoughts not on Elizabeth at all. He had to see Taylor. He had to make sure she was all right

  "Why don't you dine with me and my betrothed," Richard suggested.

  Betrothed. Slane froze, stiffening at the way Richard said the word. As if Taylor were some sort of possession.

  Richard brushed past Slane without looking at him.

  Slane hesitated for only a moment. He didn't like the way Richard was commanding him. He didn't like the sly look in his brother's eyes. He was up to something. But Slane knew he had no choice but to play Richard's game. He was lord of the castle and his word was law—a law Slane had taken a vow to uphold despite his current misgivings.

  Despite Anna's pleading, Taylor had chosen to remain in her leggings and tunic. Now she ignored the stares of the guards and the curious looks of the peasants as she sat in the Great Hall. She lifted the cup of ale that had been set before her and drained it.

  She looked around the room. All the peasants were reveling, eating their fill. The guards lounged in chairs, squeezing the maids' bottoms as they scurried by to fill empty mugs with ale. A juggler performed in the middle of the room, tossing bags of beans round and round in his hands. Dogs barked in excitement, running from table to table to pick up the fallen scraps of food from the floor.

  From Taylor's view at the head table, the Great Hall looked to be ordered chaos. She couldn't help but think this was all wrong. She shouldn't be here. This was some sort of mistake. Her gaze scanned the hall, continually moving to the large wooden double doors at the rear, where she awaited the one person she trusted to explain what was going on.

  Slane had said he would return. The thought had no sooner crossed her mind than two men strolled in through the double doors. Taylor's heart skipped a beat, even as trepidation gnawed at the edges of her consciousness. Forcing herself to be calm, she leaned back in the chair.

  Wife. The dark, ugly word crept into her thoughts again. Wife. Why hadn't Slane told her? Surely, he didn't know, or he would never have brought her to Castle Donovan. Not after what they shared.

  As Slane and Richard approached, Taylor couldn't help but notice the strong gait, the charisma, the pure power with which Slane entered the room. He was stunning to watch, easily the most handsome man in the room.

  She failed to notice the dark scowl that crossed Richard's brow as he approached.

  Slane's gaze locked with hers. There was something in his eyes that sent a vibration through her body, sent hope soaring within her heart.

  As they rounded the table, Taylor stood to greet Slane. The smile that filled her soul reached her lips in a grin. She suddenly knew everything would be all right.

  But then Richard stepped in front of Slane. His blow struck her across the cheek and sent her reeling back onto her chair, the force of it knocking her and the chair to the ground.

  "Taylor!" Slane said and leapt over the chair to kneel at her side. He helped her to a sitting position. "Are you all right?"

  She nodded and the movement drew his gaze to her neck, where Richard's handprint had now turned to dark purple bruises. She watched Slane's eyes widen with disbelief and then fury. When he lifted his gaze from the bruises to her eyes, pain and guilt dulled his usually startling blue eyes. His jaw tightened and his fists clenched as he rose slowly to face his brother. "Damn you, Richard."

  Taylor's cheek stung, but it was nothing compared to the unease spreading through her. She reached out to stop him. "It's all right," she said.

  But Slane didn't hear her.

  Richard's face was a mask of disgust. His eyes locked on Taylor in a disapproving scowl. "I told you to change out of those men's clothes," he warned. "I am lord here. You will learn to obey me. Or face the repercussions."

  Slane's fist tightened convulsively and he drew his arm back. Taylor was on her feet instantly. She leapt at his arm, catching his elbow, preventing him from fulfilling his swing. "No, Slane," she urged. "I'm not worth it. Think about what you're doing." Still, he battled with her, trying to shake free of her grip. "How can I leave if you're locked up?" she whispered.

  Slowly, Slane stopped his struggle and lowered his arm.

  Taylor felt a sigh fill her body. She felt Richard's gaze shift from her to Slane and back again. She saw disbelief widen his eyes. A grin notched her lips. "I don't take well to authority," she explained, releasing Slane. "Maybe someone had better explain that to you."

  Richard's jaw tightened and he stepped forward, raising his fist.

  Taylor stood unflinching, knowing Slane would intercept Richard if he attacked. And he did. He caught Richard's hand in his downward arc.

  "No woman speaks to me thus," Richard snarled, "especially not my future wife!"

  "Then perhaps she's not right for you," Slane hissed, pushing his brother away from Taylor.

  Taylor felt her hope die. There was no surprise in Slane's voice, no shock on his face. He had known! He had known all along Richard intended to marry her.

  "Regardless of whether she's right for me, I will marry her. And she will learn her place," Richard said harshly.

  A sinking feeling in the pit of Taylor's stomach pulled her down into an abyss of despair.

  "You would be wise to learn your place, too," Richard snarled at Slane and whirled, storming off through the Great Hall.

  The room had gone quiet. Now, as Richard passed, mumbling started low and then grew.

  Slane lifted a finger to Taylor's neck and ran it along the length of the bruises. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

  Taylor opened her mouth to ask the truth of him. All she needed was an explanation. A reason for his silence. Why hadn't he told her?

  "Darling!"

  Taylor and Slane turned. As Taylor saw Elizabeth approaching, a gnawing dread filled her, a feeling worse than when Richard had vowed to marry her. Suddenly, she couldn't face Slane. She couldn't look up at him and see the joy in his eyes at seeing Elizabeth. She didn't want to see his disloyalty.

  Elizabeth threw her arms around Slane. "Darling, I'm so glad you're all right!"

  A tightness closed Taylor's throat and her vision blurred. She had believed with all her heart Slane would make things right again. She had trusted him. Fool! her mind roared. All this time, he's done whatever it would take to get you to Castle Donovan... to his brother.

  No! her heart cried. It can't be. He... he kissed me. He touched me.

  Her eyes locked with Elizabeth's over Slane's shoulder. There was such confidence in Elizabeth's brown eyes that Taylor felt her hopes being dashed on the stones, cracking into a thousand shards.

  She brushed past Slane, moving toward the door. She willed away the tears she felt burning her eyes. How stupid I've been! she thought. I know how treacherous nobles are. But Slane...

  She remembered the tender way he looked at her, the gentleness of his touch. He had treated her like no one else before.

  She banged into a knight and his ale sloshed across his tunic. He turned dark eyes to her, but she didn't even falter in her hurry to flee the Great Hall. She practically flew through the open w
ooden doors. But once out of the room, she halted and glanced over her shoulder to see Slane still speaking earnestly with Elizabeth.

  Taylor saw the way he held her hand, the earnest way he gazed into her eyes. She whirled away from the heart-wrenching sight.

  Taylor rushed to the inner ward. Her teary gaze scanned the morning rush of people. Panic rose inside her. She felt trapped and imprisoned. She had to get out of there. She had to escape. She took a step forward and then another.

  But suddenly, she came to an abrupt halt. What good would it do to run? Richard would send men after her. Perhaps even Slane. No. Slane's debt was paid, Richard had said. He was free of Richard... and of her. But the men would come. The Corydons. The Magnuses. The nameless, faceless mercenaries of her nightmares. She would never know a moment's peace. She would always be looking over her shoulder. That was no way to live. She was done with that.

  Jared would have told her to stand and fight.

  Taylor straightened her shoulders, angrily wiping at the tears wetting the corners of her eyes. I'm not running any longer. Richard is the cause of my plight. And he will be the end of it.

  With a new resolve, she turned and headed back into the castle in search of Slane's brother.

  Slane fought back the urge to call after Taylor as she fled the Great Hall; he fought back the urge to race after her and pull her into his arms and shield her from all the horrors his brother had brought upon her and was yet to bring upon her. The feelings he felt for her grew stronger every time he saw her, every time he stood near her. And now the emptiness he felt in his heart when she was not with him, when he couldn't smell the essence of her or hear the melody of her sweet voice, grew deeper and darker. It was a gaping hole in his soul that needed to be filled. And Taylor Sullivan was the only one who could fill it.

  "Slane darling, are you all right?"

  Slane turned to Elizabeth and realized he knew what he had to do. But he also knew it wasn't going to be easy. He took Elizabeth's hands in his own. "We need to talk," he said quietly.

  "What is it?" she wondered.

  "Come," he whispered, leading her out of the Great Hall and into a small antechamber.

  Her brows furrowed. "Have I done something?" she wondered, her lips curving downward.

  He rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully. He didn't want to hurt her. Yet, he knew she would be hurt. "Elizabeth," he began.

  She grasped his hand tightly. "I'm sorry for whatever it is I've done."

  "No," Slane said and there was agony in his voice. He slid his hand from hers. He saw the confusion in her large brown eyes. "You've done nothing." And that was the truth. "I can't lie to you, Elizabeth. I just can't..." He raked a hand through his hair. Then he sighed and drew himself up with resolve. "I wish to continue our friendship, truly I do. But I cannot marry you."

  "What?" she managed to gasp.

  "I don't love you," Slane told her gently.

  She fell back onto the seat near the window. "You did," she whispered, her voice barely above a whisper.

  "No. What I felt for you was a great fondness. I felt protective. But I was never in love. When my father ordered us to wed, he never asked me for my approval."

  "Nor was I consulted," she agreed.

  He knelt before her, desperation washing over him. "Then you know how I feel."

  "No," she retorted. "It's true that I didn't love you at first. But you're kind and noble, and I can't see myself marrying anyone else. I don't want to!"

  "That's not love," Slane insisted, rising, pacing before her. "Love is this feeling that you would give anything for another. You would climb to the moon and steal the stars from the sky if she asked it. You want to shelter her and protect her, yes. But it's more than that. When you walk into a room, she is the first one you look for. Her laughter brightens your day, and when she is hurt, you are, too. It's the warm feeling that fills your soul when she is near. A mere touch of her hand sends you to your knees with wanting." He turned to Elizabeth and saw her lidded eyes, her back as straight as a board. She knew.

  "You love someone else," she stated.

  Slane heard the mixture of pain and resentment in her voice. He met her stare and nodded.

  "It's that girl. It's the Sullivan girl."

  "I'm sorry, Elizabeth. I'm sorry to hurt you like this. But you're a bright, beautiful woman. Your father will find someone more deserving than I."

  "She's betrothed to Richard, Slane," Elizabeth argued. "What future will there be for the two of you?"

  Slane remained quiet. This was one of the many questions he had asked of himself. He just didn't know the answer yet.

  "I'll wait for you," Elizabeth proclaimed.

  Slane shook his head. "It isn't fair to you," he said. "And I won't ask that of you. I won't have you do that to yourself. You must continue with your life."

  "You'll come back to me," she said softly. "When you can't have her, you'll come back."

  "Please, Elizabeth," Slane said. "For your own good, find another lord who will look after you. Find another husband."

  Tears entered her eyes and Slane turned away. He paused at the hallway. "I'm sorry this had to happen to you, Elizabeth. I truly did not mean to hurt you."

  "Your honor!" she exploded in a husky, tear-filled voice. "How can you break your word?"

  Slane felt his back straightening. "That is why I am telling you. So you are not disgraced. I am leaving your honor intact."

  "What about your honor?" she pressed.

  "It was my father's word that I would marry you. Not mine," he said and rounded the corner, leaving her alone in her misery.

  It was for the best, he told himself. He couldn't be married to a woman he didn't love. It wouldn't be fair to her. He was sure he had done the right thing.

  Taylor moved back into the castle, formulating what she would say when she confronted Richard. She noticed two guards near the doorway as she entered. One was shuffling his feet, staring down at them as if inspecting his boots for some defect. The other guard was staring directly at her, his hand resting on the hilt of his sheathed sword.

  Taylor's eyes narrowed. She had seen these same two guards near her room and when she had first entered the castle. They were following her! Ah, God! She closed her eyes in exasperation. If she hadn't been so distracted, believing Slane would get her out of her current predicament, she would have noticed these two imbeciles immediately.

  She moved up to the two men. As she approached, the one staring at his shoes looked up. She could see the reluctance in his gaze. He didn't want to be doing this. She smiled at them. "How you doing, boys?" They exchanged uneasy glances and Taylor continued. "Where is your lord?"

  "I believe he is in the solar," the one who had been looking for the defect in his boot answered.

  "And where is that?"

  They gave her directions, and she set off, noticing they trailed her at a short distance, making no effort to be discreet.

  Taylor moved past the Great Hall and couldn't help but glance in. Her steps faltered as she noticed that Slane and Elizabeth were gone. A squeezing pain tore through her chest at the thought. She felt an overwhelming grief well up inside her. Who am I kidding? she wondered. He belongs with her. In her world. He is a lord. A knight. He could never fit into my world. And I don't want him to, she told herself firmly.

  But she knew that was a lie.

  She took a deep breath, steeling herself against the waves of grief coursing through her. Slane had manipulated her, even going so far as to make love to her to get her to Castle Donovan. To Richard.

  She forced herself to take a step. And then another. All her life she had depended on Jared. It was time she depended on herself. She concentrated on the confrontation that was coming. She was good at concentrating. She could focus on a job and bury her feelings. She had for eight years.

  Then why was her throat closing? Why couldn't she push her pain aside?

  She followed a set of spiral steps upward, taking one laborio
us step after another. She thought of Slane's smile, his touch, his protection. She had become accustomed to them. She even looked forward to seeing his warm blue eyes. She wondered if he knew how they sparkled in the moonlight. Other images and feelings crowded her thoughts. The glorious golden wave of hair that crowned his head. His strong, masculine features. The chiseled lines that held soft lips within their ruggedness. The feel of his body, his hot kiss.

  She faltered in the middle of the stairway, gripping the wall for support. God's blood! she thought. I have heard women talk of these things. Ridiculous women. Women who professed to be in love. But there is no such thing as love, so I thought for sure these were nothing more than the expressions of lust. But it's such a strong feeling! The strongest feeling I have ever known, she realized. Can lust be so invigorating and paralyzing at the same time? Or is there more to my feelings than some animalistic urge to share another night of love with Slane?

  She heard the clang of armor in the stairway below her. The guards. She began to move again. Her hands trembled; her mouth was dry. No, no, she told herself over and over. This isn't possible. There is no such thing as love. It's merely lust. Nothing more. A physical need. Nothing more than that. Please let it be nothing more.

  She reached the top of the stairs and took a deep breath to steady her confused emotions. It didn't work. Her hands continued to shake, and the last drop of moistness in her mouth evaporated into nothingness. She began the slow walk down a long, unfamiliar hallway.

  Had Slane run through these hallways as a child, laughing, chasing his brother? She cursed him quietly. How could she hope to stand before Richard and denounce their betrothal when all she could think about was Slane? Slane, who was betrothed to another woman.

  The thought of Slane touching Elizabeth as he had touched her, stroking her, kissing her lips, sent agony spearing through her body like an arrow. She began to pace to try to clear her mind. Was she a fool? How had this happened? She prided herself on her detached feelings, on the carefully hidden emotions she had buried long ago. How could she have let a noble find them? How could she have let a noble release them?