Knights of Valor

by Denise Domning

  As the cart grew closer, the crowd became quiet. Women standing next to their children scowled at her. Farmers and their sons glared at her. Alewives and bread makers sneered at her.

  "Harlot!" a voice shouted from the silence. The crowd swayed, moving as one giant being, surging left and right, murmuring agreement rippling through it. Suddenly, something struck the cart, spraying her with a warm wetness. She blinked and pulled away from the side to see the splattered remains of a rotted cabbage on the bars. She glanced down to see that the cabbage was splashed across the front of her cotton tunic.

  "Slut!"

  Voices joined the others, rising to a chorus of insults and slurs that all mingled into one steady drone of contempt. The wagon drew closer to the center of the outer ward. But as Taylor raised her gaze to the center of the courtyard, her ears grew deaf to their shouts. She no longer heard the redheaded woman screaming vile words at her. She no longer heard the butcher threatening her life as he swung his knife through the air. She no longer heard the mud-streaked children laughing at her. She only saw the pole—the pole that stood like a beacon in the middle of the ward. Dread and desperation shot through her.

  Something else hit the cart, splattering her face with something, but she barely felt it. She couldn't tear her gaze from the pole. Panic welled up in her. She was going to die. Tears entered her eyes, but she blinked them back with resolve. I won't give these vermin the chance to see my fear, she vowed.

  The cart came to an abrupt halt, knocking Taylor to the straw-covered floor. She quickly stood and watched the guards dismount and move to the door. The wagon master climbed down from his seat and hurriedly moved to the cage door, opening it.

  The crowd surged forward but the guards pushed them back.

  One of the guards reached in and pulled Taylor from the cage. The crowd lurched forward again, and for a moment Taylor was trapped in a sea of bodies. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe. All around her, voices screamed, condemning her. The guards hollered back. The drums continued to pound.

  The guard holding her arm jerked her forward, pushing and shoving his way through the crowd, his grip on her wrist unrelenting as he pulled her toward the pole. As she drew near, she saw two peasant men stacking branches around the back of the pole. To her right, Taylor saw a man dressed from head to toe in black, holding a torch. Was that one of Corydon's men? her confused mind quickly wondered. No, Corydon was dead. The man standing before her was the executioner. Her executioner.

  Fear seized her as her eyes locked with his. Was he smiling beneath that black hood? Then someone pushed her from behind, propelling her forward. The other three guards emerged from the crowd to surround her in an impenetrable wall of flesh.

  The guard holding her wrist pulled her up to the pole.

  He whipped her around to face the crowd and yanked her hands savagely behind her back, behind the pole. Taylor felt the coarse rope being lashed across her wrists, binding them tightly, cutting into her skin.

  The crowd jeered at her. "Burn! Burn! Burn!" they chanted, their voices filling the square.

  The guard finished binding her hands and bent to her feet, wrapping a second rope around them, binding her firmly to the pole. Then he stepped out from behind her. He nodded his head at someone off to the side, then stepped back as the two peasants began to stack the branches at her feet.

  She watched the peasants for a moment, feeling strangely detached. She turned her head to the side and a dark, horrid face filled her vision. Richard now stood at her side, the smug, satisfied look on his face giving him an evil countenance. She suddenly realized she was staring at the devil himself.

  Taylor clenched her jaw and looked away from Richard. She lifted her gaze to the sky to see the glow of the sun beginning to peek over the horizon.

  The two peasants quickly backed away from the stack of wood. Suddenly, the drums stopped, the last drumbeat seeming to take forever to fade into the distance. An eerie silence spread over the square.

  Taylor swiveled her gaze toward the executioner as a strong wind swirled around her. He stepped forward and Taylor's stare was drawn by the bright flames of the torch he carried. The flames seemed to sway toward her, eager to begin their duty. Taylor's body instinctively tried to pull away from the deadly fire, but her bindings held her firmly.

  The executioner stopped just before the dry branches at her feet and turned to look at Richard.

  "Burn her," Richard commanded.

  The executioner touched the torch to the branch at her feet. The branches crackled and popped, erupting immediately into hissing, spitting flames.

  Taylor watched the fire spread from branch to branch, watched the hungry flames eat away at the wood, already feeling the heat of the blaze around her feet. She tried to lift her gaze to the silent crowd, but the hypnotic movement of the flames held her eyes captive. The flames continued to hiss at her, condemning her to her fate, confirming what she already knew.

  There would be no escape.

  The flames reached for Taylor's feet, its tendrils weaving and snapping through the air, hungry for her delicate flesh. The intense heat rising up from below attacked Taylor's face, threatening to smother her. She turned her head away from the scorching flames, but the heat still assaulted her. She felt a scream rising in her throat, felt a howl of terror begin to surface, but the heat battered her face in intense waves and it took every last bit of strength she had just to take a breath. The hot air burned in her lungs.

  Terrified, she tried to shift her body away from the hungry flames, away from the hellish heat, but the fire surrounded her, trapping her in its deadly embrace.

  Then something moved out of the corner of her eye, a large shadowy shape. She turned and lifted her head to see what it was. Through the most intense part of the flame, through the core burning deep blue, she saw a vision. Slane wavered before her in the heart of the fiery inferno, towering over her like some god. She remembered her dream and thought for sure he would bend to kiss Elizabeth's lips, consigning her to her doom.

  Then she noticed the reason for his superior height. He was on a horse. For a moment, complete confusion washed over her and she thought the heat from the flames was eating away at her sanity. What would Slane be doing here? He was gone.

  Suddenly, the magnificent vision raised his arm and struck out with his sword, cutting the flames in two, pushing the burning sticks from Taylor's feet. Was this a dream? Taylor wondered. Was she dying? Then Slane bent behind her and she felt her hands being cut free, then her legs. What was he doing here?

  One of the guards rushed forward, and Slane whirled, cutting him down with one stroke. He turned quickly back to her and scooped her up into his powerful arms, positioning her on the horse before him. She couldn't take her eyes from his face. His glorious, wonderful face!

  What was Slane doing here?

  The horse circled once and Slane's gaze seemed to take in everything. As if from far off, Taylor heard the clashing of swords, the screaming of people. Then the extraordinary vision of the man captured her with his gaze. He couldn't be real after all, could he? Not with glorious hair that defied the flames with their brilliance. Not with that powerful physique that dared deny the flames its prey. His stern eyes softened as they alighted on her. "Are you all right?" he asked.

  The only response she could muster was a nod.

  The grin forming on his lips warmed her spirit and ignited her soul. She felt the blood begin to surge through her veins. But only when he bent and pressed a quick kiss to her lips did she come to life. She felt her heart beating wildly in her chest, felt her senses flaring to life, felt her soul being reborn. Were these really Slane's arms around her, embracing her, holding her on the horse?

  She glanced around with widening eyes, as if seeing the courtyard for the first time, and took in the raging battle around them. Richard's men were locked in combat with other men, men who wore no heraldry. Her gaze moved across men clashing swords, men fighting hand to hand, men dying. A loud
, cracking noise startled her and she turned to see the pole that once held her captive erupting in flames, the fire hissing angrily now that its victim had escaped.

  Slane spurred the horse and the animal moved toward the outer gatehouse and freedom.

  Taylor looked back to Slane, finally noticing he was dressed as a commoner. She still couldn't believe Slane had come for her. She sat, dazed, staring at his handsome face. Suddenly, a scowl darkened his features and Slane brought the horse up short.

  Taylor twisted her head to see five guards running from the door of the outer gatehouse to bar their escape.

  Slane's hand tightened around her stomach as he engaged the first knight. He swung his blade mightily down at the attacker, knocking him to his knees with one blow. But before Slane could even land a second blow, another group of knights dashed beneath the gatehouse to race toward them.

  Beyond the outer gatehouse, Taylor saw the drawbridge beginning to rise. They were going to be trapped inside the castle!

  Cursing, Slane yanked harshly on the horse's reins. It reared slightly and turned, racing back through the inner ward, deeper into the castle. The growing wind whipped Taylor's hair wildly about her head.

  Taylor looked up to see flames reaching into the dawning sky. A strong gust of wind had pushed the fire toward a merchant's cart, which had been foolishly positioned too close to the pole. The fire quickly leapt to the wagon, engulfing it within seconds. Now the flames grew fast. People began to panic as the wind lashed the fire, spreading it from roof to roof. Already, five buildings were ablaze. People rushed to and from the well in the middle of the inner ward with buckets of water in their hands. But Taylor saw their efforts were useless. The fire had spread too fast; it was consuming everything in its path. The fierce wind snatched some of the flames and lifted them, depositing them on the nearby roof of the blacksmith's shop.

  A gust of wind hurtled a burning, broken piece of wood at them. Slane yanked hard on the reins and the horse swerved. The enflamed wood just barely missed them, landing in a nearby pile of straw, igniting it immediately. Above the screams and calls for water, the fire crackled and raged. Suddenly, a man burst out of the blacksmith's shop, his clothes aflame, his tortured cries of pain filling the courtyard. He dropped quickly to the ground, rolling in the dirt, but the fire had already consumed too much of him. Taylor watched with wide, terrified eyes as he screamed one final time and then lay unmoving in the dirt.

  The castle might have escaped the ravages of the plague, but she knew it would not escape this epidemic of murderous fire and flame. Like dancing children, the flames raced across the roofs.

  Taylor looked back to see a group of five soldiers chasing them, their swords drawn. Suddenly, she felt Slane tense. She turned her gaze forward to see two more soldiers waiting for them at the entrance to the upper ward, their swords drawn. Slane and she were trapped!

  Slane kicked the horse hard and it lurched forward, charging through the inner ward, bursting into the upper ward. The two soldiers waiting there slashed at the horse as it emerged. The horse went down, toppling to the ground, but Slane grabbed Taylor around the stomach from behind and dove, rolling away from the horse as it plummeted to the ground head first.

  Bruised and battered, Taylor managed to look up to see the two soldiers rushing toward them. Slane was already on to his feet, greeting them both with the edge of his sword. He held the two men at bay, expertly blocking their attacks and counterattacking with deft strikes of his own.

  Taylor climbed to her feet, looking around for some sort of weapon to help Slane. Instead, she saw the flames leap the wall that separated the wards and catch on the thatched roof of the meat stores building. It was as if it were following her, searching for her. She watched the bright fire for a moment, transfixed as it ignited the dry roof quickly, sending sparks and angry flames shooting high into the early morning sky. Within moments, the fire was a raging inferno, spreading quickly to the building beside it. Moving toward them. Moving toward her.

  "Slane!" Taylor screamed, raising her voice to be heard above the sudden din of the monstrous blaze. Her eyes burned from the bright flames and smoke, and she suddenly had difficulty seeing. She blinked her eyes quickly, trying to force them clear of the blinding smoke as a sudden panic flared through her. The fire blinded her! "Slane!" she cried out again.

  She felt a hand grab hers and pull her, forcing her to quicken her pace. She rubbed at her eyes; her eyelids burning from the stinging smoke. Finally, tears wiped across her eyes, clearing her vision. She looked up to see Slane kick a soldier away from them. He pulled her on, and they raced toward a door leading to the upper ward walls. The heat intensified as they entered, and Slane slammed the door closed behind them, giving them a moment's respite from the torrid air outside. He paused, glancing around the small, dark room; then he grabbed a large barrel and pushed it in front of the door. He whirled, grabbing her hand again, and raced up the stairs. Taylor had to take the stairs two at a time to keep up with him.

  When they emerged on the walkway, smoke instantly assailed them, reaching for their mouths, their noses. Taylor covered her mouth with her hand and stumbled back away from the deadly clouds, but Slane pulled her on through the fog of smoke billowing over the walkway, guiding her toward one of the two towers that bordered the rear of the castle.

  They ran inside the tower and Slane shut the door. Taylor leaned against the wall, breathing hard, looking around the small room. She looked down to see the smoke slink under the door, oozing across the floor like some shapeless mass. She knew behind the smoke, behind this mindless scout, its master, the flames, followed. She looked away from the approaching cloud to see stairs leading up to the lookout. There was another door kitty-corner from the first one, leading to the walkways that rimmed the castle walls. Taylor moved for the door, but Slane grabbed her hand.

  She turned to him and froze. She felt as if she were truly seeing him for the first time since he had rescued her from the burning. His noble face—his wonderful, exquisite face—was smeared with soot and sweat. He stood tall and proud beside her, a strong warrior.

  He had come back for her. The thought surfaced, but she did not want to dwell on it, fearing that if she did he might vanish and she might awaken to the smell of burning flesh and find herself still strapped to the pole, still a meal for the hungry flames. Please don't let this be a dream, she thought.

  "Are you all right?" he asked softly.

  She noticed the concern in his glimmering blue eyes and grinned. "This is a fine rescue, Slane Donovan," she said lightly.

  He shrugged his shoulders. "It isn't what I had planned."

  Taylor lifted a hand and placed it on his cheek. The warm flesh of his face sent a welcome rush of heat throughout her body. He was real. He was no ghost. He was no specter born of a fevered dream. "Thanks for coming."

  Slane covered her hand with his own. "I wouldn't have missed it."

  Impulsively, Taylor threw her arms around Slane, pulling him tightly to her, crushing him to her heart. "Slane, oh, Slane," she whispered into his shoulder, the dark horrors of her escaped fate still haunting her thoughts.

  Slane gently disengaged from her embrace. He brushed a lock of wild hair away from her eyes. "We have to get out of here," he reminded her. He pressed a kiss to her palm and then moved toward the door. He flung it open and stepped onto the walkway.

  Taylor followed him and together they raced across the walkway. Slane paused to glance over the wall. Far, far below, the still waters of Lake Donovan looked black in the early morning light. Above them, dark clouds blanketed the sky, holding the dawn captive. Slane glanced at the door leading to the other tower just before them and took a step toward it.

  Suddenly, the door burst open.

  Slane halted and readied his weapon. Taylor wished she had a sword. She wished she could fight at his side. She strained, standing on her toes to see over Slane's shoulder. Then a figure materialized, a mere black shadow in the swirling smoke; the
n a dark shape seemed to form out of the darkness, giving the shadow substance.

  Taylor gasped as Richard stepped from the south tower, emerging into the pale light.

  "Back so soon, brother?" Richard said.

  Taylor placed her hand on Slane's shoulder and felt his muscles harden into stone. She tried to pull him back the way they had come, but he didn't budge.

  Disdain filled Richard's curled lips, his narrowed eyes. "After everything I've done for you. I've tried to help you. I even convinced Father to give you Elizabeth."

  "I won't watch you burn her," Slane said simply.

  "You don't care if you ruin me then?"

  "If it's her gold you want, take it and be done with it."

  "It's gone far beyond that, dear brother." Richard approached, and for the first time, Taylor saw the glint of the sword in his hand.

  "I won't fight you," Slane said.

  "You've disgraced me. You've humiliated me. You've betrayed me. You stole my betrothed. You even slept with her!"

  "I didn't intend to do it."

  Taylor's heart dropped. She had known all along Slane had believed their lovemaking to be a mistake, but to hear him say so hurt. Hurt very much. She dropped her hand from his shoulder.

  "For a man who considers himself a knight of honor, I find your actions most dishonorable, don't you?"

  "No," Slane said, looking away. "I never meant to betray you."

  "'Oops, sorry. I just slept with my brother's future wife,'" Richard snarled. "Is that how it was? Then what do you call it? What could you possibly have been thinking?"

  Slane shook his head. Taylor stepped away from him and he swung his gaze to her. Conviction straightened his back, as if simply looking at her were enough. He turned back to his brother. "She was not meant for you. I knew that she could never be happy as your wife. I knew that ultimately she would refuse you."

  "She had no say in the matter."

  "She did. Because she is Taylor Sullivan. Because she's the bravest, noblest woman I have ever met. She would have fought you every chance she got."