A Knight of Honor

by Laurel O'Donnell

  “Let ‘em fly again, boys,” Taylor encouraged with a disarming smile. “My luck has to run out sometime.”

  The man sitting beside her laughed and flipped his long dark hair over his shoulder, then rubbed his hand along the length of her back.

  “Unhand her, you filthy wretch!” a voice growled.

  Taylor looked up to see a dark shadow moving toward her. She started to rise, but stopped when the form entered the circle of light cast by the flickering torch on the wall. Slane appeared, a snarl twisting his lips. He stepped up to Taylor’s companion and planted a kick straight into his chest, knocking the man soundly to the ground.

  Taylor gave Slane a look of disbelief, then scrambled over to her companion. “Are you all right?” she asked.

  The man nodded and boosted himself up onto his elbows. “Lord Slane! A thousand pardons...” He glanced from Slane’s dark visage to Taylor. “I didn’t know.”

  The other three men had risen to their feet upon recognizing Slane. Now they appeared nervous, shifting their weight as if to flee.

  “If you men will excuse us, the lady and I have business to discuss,” Slane said, his tone heavy and threatening. “Gather up your coin and dice and go.”

  The men quickly obeyed, casting curious glances at Taylor as they departed.

  The man with the black hair hesitated long enough to ask Taylor, “Should I still wait?”

  She nodded and he disappeared around a corner. She turned away from Slane and began scooping up her winnings, which were quite impressive.

  “I see you’ve made yourself quite comfortable here already,” Slane commented, the displeasure dripping thickly from his voice.

  “I need the coin for food and the man for escort. You see, even though I am a mercenary, the roads are still dangerous for a woman. Especially at night,” she said, sitting back on her heels to tie the sack of coins closed.

  Slane slapped the sack with the back of his hand, sending it flying to the stone floor, its contents spilling out and rolling in all directions. “You have no need of coin,” Slane told her firmly. He grabbed her hand and pulled her gently to her feet, but his voice was not so gentle as he added, “And you certainly have no need of an escort. If that man touches you again, I will break his fingers.”

  “You don’t own me, you don’t know me, and you can’t command me.” She forced herself to be calm. “You’re betrothed, Donovan. And it’s not to me. I’d be more worried about myself if I were you.”

  “Can you jump into bed with a stranger so easily?” Slane demanded.

  She turned and bent to pick up her coins and put them into the pouch. “What do you care? I do what I have to do to survive.”

  Slane tightened his hand into a fist. “If I didn’t care, would I be standing here now?”

  She sat on her buttocks and looked up at him. A portion of her hair fell before her eyes. “I don’t know what you want.” She shook her head quietly, sadly. “I must say you had me fooled. I thought I understood you. And then…” She jerked her quivering chin at the ceiling. “Her.” She quickly looked away, down at the bag in her lap. With shaking hands, she tried to tie the string, but couldn’t quite manage it. Finally, she stopped and clenched her fists in her lap, trying to bring their trembling under control.

  “Elizabeth is not the problem here,” Slane commented flatly. “I gave my word I would return you.”

  She looked at him as if he had struck her. “You bastard,” she whispered, the years of control Jared had taught her crumbling into nothingness before his cold manipulations. She rose to her feet, anger, fear, agony all warring inside of her. “Then that’s one word you’ll have to break!” She whirled to flee, her throat closing rapidly with the onset of unwanted tears. She would not show him how much he had hurt her. She would never let him see her tears!

  Slane grabbed her arm and spun her back around to face him. “My word is my sacred bond. The oath I made to my brother will not be broken. I swear on my grave it will not. If I have to post four guards to watch your every move twenty-four hours a day, then so be it. It will be done, Taylor. It will be done.”

  “Your cursed oath. To your brother, it is fine. To a noble from a noble. But to a mercenary, to an outcast, your oath doesn’t mean a thing, right? You lied to me! You manipulated me to get me to come with you. Is that part of your oath? Is it?! You lied. It was all a lie to get me to come all this way! When you said you cared, pleaded with me not to shut you out. Just pretending! Well, I was pretending, too. You mean nothing to me! You’re just another noble who lies and makes a woman think you –” She stopped herself short, her chest shaking. “You’re no better than my father,” she gasped, as a tear trickled from the corner of her eye. “I despise you, Slane Donovan. And I spit in your face.” She tried to call forth some bile, but her mouth had suddenly gone dry. She turned away from him, wiping her face on her tunic sleeve.

  Slane’s brow furrowed as his eyes thinned to mere slits. “I have never lied to you, Taylor,” Slane said softly. “I do not lie. It is against the code to which I have sworn my life and my allegiance. You may hate me, but a liar is one thing I am not.”

  “Your precious code is a joke!” she screamed, her eyes ringed with wetness. “Do not speak kindly to me. I will not be fooled again by your soft words, so save them for your betrothed.” She tried to pull her arm away.

  Slane kept a firm grip on her arm, pulling her even closer to him. “To think that I have used kind words to trick you is simply wrong.”

  “Let go of me, you lying bastard!” Taylor commanded.

  Slane held her tightly for a long moment, looking deep into her eyes, trying to see the reason for her irrational behavior. But there was no explanation to be found. He suddenly released her arm. “Go now. Run off to your dirty friend if you want. Your insults have done me great dishonor.”

  Taylor’s throat worked as she stared at him for a long moment, her tears sparkling like blood in the setting sun.

  Finally, she turned and ran down the hallway, clutching the pouch to her bosom.

  ***

  Taylor retreated to the quiet of one of the gardens. It was obvious these gardens had once been beautiful, but they had fallen into disrepair. Wild weeds sprung up around the rose bushes, as if trying to choke out their splendor. Taylor sat on one of the garden benches, with the pouch in her lap, and she dropped her head. Tears spilled onto the pouch, now golden droplets in the sun’s dying rays. She couldn’t stop them, it seemed, and she didn’t want to.

  She had thought he cared. And he had. But not about her. He cared about his brother’s alliance with her father. About Elizabeth. But not about her. She had trusted him. She had trusted him with her feelings. And now they lay shattered into a million fragments.

  These past eight years she had only one friend... one real friend. And he was gone. Then Slane had been there. And she had needed someone. To trust... to be a friend. She never expected to want him to care about her. And now that she knew...

  Taylor rose to her feet. She paced the grass, trying to bring her torment under control. Frantically, she wiped at the tears that still dripped from her eyes.

  What had she expected from a noble? More than he was capable of giving, that much was obvious. Still... his kiss. How could she have read more into it than there was? He had been so kind to her when everyone else looked at her as an outcast. Curse him, she thought. He had manipulated her. Had known what to say to her. She had been no better than a child to fall for his charade. Yet she had liked how he made her feel. Like an equal.

  She headed for the inner ward. That was why she had to leave. He made her realize what it was like for a man to look at her... as a woman.

  Her steps took her toward the stables. She tied the pouch to her belt and entered the gloomy building, moving quickly to her horse’s stall. She was untying it when she heard the man’s voice.

  “I’m glad you came.”

  “Me, too, Forrest,” she replied, recognizing the voice of the m
an from the dice game who had volunteered his services. “Mount and let’s be out of here,” she added. But as he emerged from the darkness, her heart froze.

  Blood was trickling from his mouth.

  Taylor stepped back, almost tripping over a bucket by the side of the wall.

  Forrest wiped at his lips and stared at the blood on his fingertips. “It’s been like this ever since the game,” he said. “I can’t understand it.”

  Taylor drew her sword. “Stay back,” she commanded. The men she had played dice with had all talked about the signs of this Black Death. Bloody spit was one of the first signs. Then a large growth under one’s arms, near the neck, or at other places on the body. The growth eventually turned to large black spots. “Don’t come any closer.”

  He stepped toward her and she retreated. “Come on, love. Just a little kiss before we’re off.”

  “I think I’ll find another escort,” she said. “Your services won’t be needed.”

  “But yours will,” he answered, reaching for her.

  She knocked his arm away with the flat side of her sword. “Next time I’ll use the blade. Now back off.”

  “I wanted you since I first saw you.” He stepped toward her. “And now it seems my time has run out. You won’t kill me. And if you do...” He shrugged. He reached for her again, grabbing for her arm.

  Taylor screamed and thrust her blade with all her might. It pierced his stomach. He staggered back, then fell to the ground, clutching the deadly wound.

  Breathing hard, Taylor staggered to the doors. This Black Death was everywhere. She looked at the fallen man and shuddered. He might have infected her just by touching her. Her entire body trembled as she turned and wiped the blade off on a horse’s blanket that was draped over the edge of the stall. She sheathed the weapon and quickly mounted her horse, racing from the stables into the night.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Slane stood at the window, staring out into the light of the rising sun. I shouldn’t have let her go, he thought for the thousandth time. I should have stopped her. I have compromised the fulfillment of my oath. And for what ? Because of my irrational anger. Because of my feelings. He had never let his feelings get the best of him. He had always been able to control them. But not with Taylor. Her accusing words had bitten deep into his heart; and they had been so full of hate! And truth? a voice questioned. No. Not truth. He was no liar.

  He dropped his gaze to the windowsill. He had tried telling himself to let her go. That it didn’t matter. And it hadn’t. At least not until his anger faded. Then he had searched the castle, every room, every damned nook and cranny. But the only thing he had found was her dead escort. The plague-infested man only made his concern for Taylor grow stronger. Not only did she face the threat of Corydon’s men and Richard’s mercenaries, but now she had to contend with the plague, too.

  He had to fight the urge every second of every moment to forget everything else that mattered and chase after her. The need to protect her and to see her safe was so strong that it was tearing him apart. It was at odds with his code. How could he leave Elizabeth when she was so ill? He had to get her out of this plague-filled town or she would never survive.

  He tried telling himself that Taylor was so strong, so worldly, that she would be all right until he could see Elizabeth safely to Castle Donovan. Then he would return and find Taylor and bring her to his brother. But he knew deep down inside that Taylor was in danger -- mortal danger. Every moment he spent at Elizabeth’s side was one more moment that Taylor might be hurt. Or killed. He clenched his fist. Yes, she was strong and worldly, but she was also a woman -- and now she was alone.

  If only there was someone he could get to watch Elizabeth, to see her safely to Castle Donovan! But she was his responsibility. Responsibility. That was a strange way to think of his betrothed, he thought. But strange or no, he knew it was the truth.

  “Slane?”

  Slane whirled at the sound of Elizabeth’s voice. Her eyes were open now, glassy with fever. He stepped up to her, seeing the sheen of perspiration covering her forehead. She had shown none of the signs of the Black Death and for that he was grateful. He knelt at her side, carefully taking her hand into his own. Her skin felt hot against his.

  “You’ve come,” she sighed.

  “Of course,” he replied, staring into her glazed brown eyes.

  “Oh, darling,” she whispered. “I’m so happy you’re here.”

  Slane nodded. “Everything will be fine now. Just rest,” he whispered, brushing a strand of dark hair from her moist cheek.

  “But that horrible plague. Slane, we must leave.”

  With every fiber of his body, Slane wanted to scoop her up and leave this place. To go after Taylor. He hoped Taylor was moving toward Castle Donovan. But he knew she wasn’t.

  Elizabeth gently squeezed his hand and his mind focused on his betrothed again. Repentantly, he pressed his lips to Elizabeth’s knuckles. “When you’re well again, we will leave,” he replied.

  A smile barely reached the corner of her lips, and her eyelids drooped closed again.

  Slane returned to his vigil at the window, as if he might spot Taylor roaming the town, even though he knew she wouldn’t be there.

  Suddenly, the door creaked open. Slane turned to see his close friend, John Flynn, enter the room. Slane rushed forward to greet John, grasping his arm in the customary greeting. He’d wondered where John had gotten to; he was afraid this horrible plague had killed his friend. But now, seeing John standing in the doorway, Slane knew he could leave to find Taylor and Elizabeth would be well cared for.

  “Slane!” John greeted, a grim grin spreading across his features. “I’m so glad you’ve finally arrived.”

  His hazel eyes showed none of the easy happiness that Slane remembered. He wore a sword strapped to his waist which was unusual, especially inside the safety of the castle walls. His dark brown hair had been cut into a bowl shape, no doubt at Elizabeth’s urging. She had been trying to get Slane to cut his hair into the latest fashion for the last six months.

  “Elizabeth’s been calling for you,” John continued. Warm hazel eyes stared hard at him. “You did come back for Elizabeth, didn’t you?”

  Slane looked away, unable to meet John’s eyes. “I was escorting Taylor to Castle Donovan when –”

  “You found Taylor Sullivan?” John asked, excitement in his voice.

  Slane nodded. “I also lost her.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We had an argument and she left,” Slane admitted.

  “Left?” John wondered. “You didn’t bind her?”

  “I’m not a barbarian,” Slane snapped.

  “Maybe you should have,” John suggested.

  “She is not a possession. She is a woman.”

  Elizabeth tossed her head, shifting in the bed, and Slane lifted his eyes to his betrothed. When she settled again, he lowered his voice. “Richard is wrong to do this to her.”

  John shrugged. “It’s not your choice to make.”

  Slane grunted and turned away from John. “Regardless, I have to go after her.”

  “You can’t leave Elizabeth like this!” John said sternly. “I don’t think she has the Black Death on her, but she’s quite ill nonetheless.”

  Slane’s eyes shifted to Elizabeth. She was so pale and helpless. He groaned inwardly. He knew he couldn’t leave Elizabeth’s side. His responsibility was here. With her.

  “Someone else will find the Sullivan woman,” John soothed. “Richard will have his betrothed.”

  Slane’s eyes snapped back to John. He seized his friend’s arm in a painful grip. “You have to find her,” he told him urgently. “You have to find her before someone else does.”

  Confused, but reading the obvious desperation and insistence in his friend’s plea, John nodded his head. “I’ll try.”

  ***

  The next day, Slane sat in the Great Hall, staring into a mug of ale. The large room was strangel
y empty, only the most loyal servants remaining behind to see to their lady. And they weren’t numerous. Slane could count them on one hand. He cursed the deserters silently. Elizabeth hadn’t needed them anyway. The fever had finally broken the previous night, and now she was resting comfortably. Slane knew she would make it.

  He also knew that Taylor might not be so lucky. She was out there among the sick, fighting for her life. Alone. He shot to his feet and began to pace, cursing his brother for this mission.

  And what had happened to John? He had sent him out a day ago and still had heard no word. Had he sent his friend to his death?

  No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than he heard footfalls and lifted his gaze to the double doors at the opposite end of the room. John headed toward him.

  Slane moved quickly toward his friend. “Well?” he asked. “Is she here? Did you find her?”

  John scowled and shook his head. “I can find no trace of her. No one’s seen her. It’s as if she’s vanished.”

  Slane sighed. He knew well about her vanishing. Too well. What could she be thinking? Where could she be headed?

  “How is lady Elizabeth?” John asked.

  Slane nodded. “Much better. The fever’s broken. She’ll be fine.”

  “Thank the Lord,” John sighed.

  Slane knew he should feel lucky, but he didn’t. He felt miserable and concerned. “Have some ale,” he instructed. “There’s a pot of porridge in the kitchen. Help yourself.” He continued past John toward the doors.

  “Where are you going?” John demanded.

  Slane hesitated for a moment. With all his being, he wanted to pursue Taylor. But he knew that was impossible. “To see Elizabeth,” he said with a heavy heart.

  ***

  Elizabeth opened her eyes. The sunlight streamed into her room through the open shutters. But something dark was blocking the sun from her eyes. For a moment she thought it was John, but then her eyes adjusted to golden hair that hung in shimmering waves to thick shoulders and knew it was her beloved. Her spirits soared and she felt almost like her old self once again. She pushed herself up into a sitting position.