“I thought so,” Richard whispered.
Slane was surprised at the nonchalance of his brother’s reply. Any other man would be furious at being cuckolded. But Richard didn’t seem to care. Not one bit.
Richard shrugged. “I figured she would not come to me a virgin, but I must say I’m a bit disappointed that it was my own brother.”
“It had nothing to do with you.”
“Nothing to do with me?” Richard retorted. “She is my future wife.”
“I will not allow you to do this,” Slane proclaimed.
“Not allow...?” Richard all but roared. His black eyes were wide with incredulity. “I am lord here, brother.” His voice steadily rose in pitch. “Lest you forget! I run this castle! I am lord! You will follow my every command. Do my every bidding. This is my castle, Slane. Not yours.”
Slane’s eyes narrowed as he met his brother’s rage head-on.
Richard’s breathing slowed and his voice lowered, but his face was as red as a beet. “Is this disrespect how you repay me after everything I’ve done for you?”
Slane could no longer keep his anger inside. After he had spent years bowing to his brother’s whims, the festering resentment would not be buried any longer. “Done for me? You’ve done nothing for me, except make me your slave!”
“I defended you before Father. You would have been disowned if it hadn’t been for me. You would have been disgraced. I risked my inheritance for you!”
“I’ve repaid that debt and more. I’ve come to your rescue a dozen times. This castle is only standing thanks to me! God’s blood, I’m the one the villagers turn to in time of need. You are lord in name only!”
“Get out,” Richard snarled. “Get out of my castle and never dare to show your face here again.”
A chill black silence engulfed them as they stared at each other. Slane straightened up, dread cresting over him like the tip of a huge wave. What had he done?
“Get out!” Richard commanded. “You’ll never see her again. She’s mine.”
Slane stood for only a moment longer staring at his brother’s coal black eyes; then he whirled and disappeared out the door, Richard’s scream echoing in his ears: “You’ll never see her again! I promise you. Never again!”
***
Taylor sat on her bed as the two guards left her room, closing the door behind them. Slane. It had been Slane who captured her. Slane! Of all the soldiers, of all the servants, of all the strangers who could have thwarted her escape, she had never thought it would be Slane. But why not him? Why not that traitor? Tears rose in her eyes at the thought. But how could he be a traitor if he was never on her side to begin with? She pulled her knees to her chest, trying to comfort herself, trying to find some semblance of the person she had been before. But she felt hollow and lifeless. And so very alone.
Suddenly, the door burst open and she lifted her head in surprise to see Richard standing in the doorway. His chest rose and fell with his rapid breathing. His brown eyes were wide with fury. He stormed up to her and grabbed her arm, hauling her to her feet. “Slut” he hissed. “Prefer my brother over me, eh?”
He yanked her roughly to the window, pointing to the courtyard below. For a moment Taylor thought he was going to hurl her out the window, and she braced her palms against the cold ledge. Instead, he gripped her arm, pinching her flesh.
“Well, say good-bye to your lover,” he snarled.
In the pale moonlight, it was hard to see anything in the courtyard, but finally Taylor’s gaze locked on a rider moving through the middle of the inner ward, rushing beneath the walls of the gatehouse. Instinctively, she knew who it was. She knew it was Slane. Stunned confusion washed over her, disorienting her. Where was he going? He fled the outer ward, riding hard toward the outer gatehouse. A guard scrambled to get out of his path.
He was leaving her.
“Marry me,” Richard barked.
Slane must have told Richard about their night together, and now he was leaving her to her fate. Taylor felt coldness spread through her. “No,” she answered, her gaze still locked on the dark rider speeding through the night
“He’s gone. You have no one. Marry me.”
She felt his fingers digging into the flesh on her arm. With the pain, a flash of her old self returned. “I don’t think so,” she replied.
She watched Slane ride beneath the gatehouse, emerging onto the road that led away from the castle. Away from her.
When next Richard spoke, his words cut through the air like the blade of a sharp sword. “If I can’t have you, no one will. You will marry me or burn.”
Taylor turned to face Richard, not really sure he had spoken the damning words. His lips were curled into an ugly sneer. His eyes were narrowed to pinpricks of black light. His fists were clenched tightly. But strangely, it wasn’t Richard she saw. It was a man with dazzling blue eyes. It was a man with golden hair that cascaded to strong shoulders. It was a man she couldn’t have. A man who didn’t want her.
She lifted her chin in the face of Richard’s threat.
With a roar of rage, he flung her to the ground. “I shall enjoy watching you burn,” he proclaimed. “And then we will see who is lord here.” He stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him.
Taylor stared at the door for a long moment. The wooden planks wavered before her eyes. Burn. She remembered the pounding drums announcing the execution. She remembered the dark smoke, rising like spiraling clouds into the dawning red sky, like crooked black fingers scratching at the sun. She remembered the screaming, the horrible screaming.
And she began to tremble.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
All night, Taylor lay on the bed, curled up into a ball, staring at the shaft of moonlight that shone into her room. But she didn’t really see it. She knew she should be thinking of some way to escape the stake and the flames, or perhaps how her life had taken such a drastic turn, or at the very least how she had gotten here.
But her mind refused to focus on anything other than Slane. She remembered the way he had touched her, the tender stroke of his hands, the caress of his heated lips against hers. The way his smile warmed her entire body. At least the morning’s light would bring an end to her misery and pain, an end to the tormented longings for something she could not have...
***
Flames flared around her, their heat singeing her cheeks until she had to turn away. Her mother stood in the flames, her mouth wide in a silent scream. Suddenly, her mother dissolved, her skin melting from her bones. Horrified, Taylor jerked away. But she couldn’t move her hands. She couldn’t move! She looked down at her feet to see the fire swirling around her ankles. She looked up to see Slane’s face in the fire, distorted by the shimmering heat. He bent to Elizabeth, who was standing in the fire beside him, and pressed a kiss to her lips.
Taylor sat up, a scream frozen on her lips. Her eyes darted right, then left, struggling to focus. Her mind swirled with panic, struggling to remember where she was. It took a moment to realize that there were no flames biting at her feet; only darkness surrounded her. The shaft of moonlight had moved across her floor and Taylor realized that she must have dozed off.
She looked down at her hands and saw she was shaking with a ferocity that shocked her. But it was not the flames that frightened her anymore; death had been a constant threat for years. No, it was her intense feelings for Slane. They clouded her judgment; they swirled through her mind like foggy vapors. She couldn’t eat or think. Her mind seemed to want only to concentrate on him. In the face of death, he had become more important to her than her own life.
She stood and paced the floor, trying to work off some of her anxiety. But with each step she recalled his smile, his eyes, his hair, his powerful gait.
She wanted to scream at the unfairness of it. She wanted to cry for the loss. But mostly she wanted to be held in his arms.
Jared would strongly disapprove of the way she had let him through her defenses. After all his training
, it would end for her the same way it had ended for her mother.
The irony wasn’t lost on her. Maybe you can’t escape fate, she thought. Maybe it’s a Sullivan curse.
Taylor returned to the bed and sat down. Mother. Lord, she hadn’t allowed herself to really think of her for years. She wished her mother were here. What would her mother say? To have faith? That Slane would return to rescue her? That she should have followed her heart from the beginning?
She knew that was not true. There was no such thing as love -- she was sure of it now. Only torment. Only pain. Only death. Slane would not return for her. He had Elizabeth. And he had something she could never hope to overcome. He had his honor.
She must have drifted off to sleep again, for when she opened her eyes, Anna was seated on the bed beside her. The girl lifted a white cotton tunic from her lap and reverently laid it beside Taylor. Anna smoothed out the garment and stared at it for a long moment.
Taylor watched the girl’s brown eyes. In them, she could have sworn she saw sadness and despair.
“Do you want me to help you?” Anna wondered, shifting her stance slightly.
Taylor was silent for a long moment, her mind refusing to function. And then she realized the meaning of the white tunic, the bleak significance of it. It was to be her final garb. Her burning clothes. She turned her gaze back to the garment on the bed, a simple, undyed piece of cloth.
Silently, Anna stepped forward. She reached toward Taylor and untied the ribbons at the back of her nightgown. Taylor sat motionless on the bed as the girl removed her gown and then slipped the white cotton tunic over her head. The cloth was course and chafed her skin. Taylor glanced down at the white tunic, knowing that it would soon lose its purity, would soon turn into black, smoldering tatters.
Would soon burn.
There was a soft knock at the door and then a man’s voice asking, “Are you ready?”
Taylor’s eyes shifted to the open window. There she saw that the sky was blanketed with gray clouds that were only now turning pink with the rising sun. Rising sun? Taylor wondered. It can’t be dawn already!
But in defiance of her thoughts, the drums began in the distance, their melodic pounding filling the air, filling her ears, drowning out everything but their dark, beckoning rhythm. Panic seized Taylor and she glanced around the room in horror. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.
Anna squeezed her hand and helped her to her feet with a gentle hand beneath her elbow. “It’s time,” the girl said softly.
Yes, time, Taylor thought. Time for me to die. Taylor looked into Anna’s eyes, searching for the strength to see her through this. Instead, she found sympathy. Taylor had always despised sympathy, especially when directed at her. But now she didn’t have the energy to berate the girl.
Anna pulled Taylor’s hair away from her face and tied it back. When she was finished, she stepped before Taylor and smiled grimly.
Taylor turned to the door. It took all her courage and strength to walk to it. She reached out to the handle and found her fingers trembling. She curled them into a fist.
Anna reached around her to open the door.
One of the four guards standing outside the door in the hallway stepped forward.
Taylor couldn’t move for a long moment. She swallowed hard and bolstered what little courage remained. She took a deep breath and moved forward.
The hallways were empty as the four guards led her through them. The guards’ footfalls echoed in the vacant corridor, their booted feet clanking on the stones with each step. Most of the castle’s inhabitants were probably in the courtyard, ready to watch the burning, Taylor guessed.
Burning. My burning.
They descended the spiral stairway in silence. When they emerged into the first floor hallway, Taylor halted at finding it was remarkably crowded for so early. One guard urged her forward with a shove. As they moved down the hallway, a strange silence spread through the corridor as one by one all eyes turned to her. They weren’t waiting for her in the courtyard. They had all come together to get a final glimpse of her before... before...
Taylor raised her chin. This she was used to. People staring and casting judgment. But somehow she couldn’t stop her hands from trembling. The guards led her through the large wooden double doors into the inner ward. She halted just outside the doors, shocked at what waited for her at the bottom of the steps.
A caged wagon. They thought she was some sort of an animal. Or were they afraid she would try to escape? She knew she should. But how? Her gaze traveled upward to the battlements and walkways. Armed guards were staring at her, pausing in their patrols to gaze at the doomed prisoner.
She would have no chance against all these men. But that had never stopped her before. If only she had her sword. Better to go out fighting than as a helpless prisoner.
At one time, that thought would have propelled her into action, but now she could barely muster the strength to take another step. She glanced over at a guard, seeing the sword at his waist safely encased in its sheath. Just reach for it, a voice inside her urged. Grab it and cut him down. She felt her fingers coming to life, felt her hand begin to move. But just then, one of the guards shoved her roughly forward toward the wagon, and the moment was lost.
The wagon master, a small man dressed in a simple brown smock and matching leggings, opened the cage as she approached, and waited near the cart. She paused again before the open door of the cage to glance at the man. His protruding belly looked obscene on a man with such a small frame. He smiled a humorless grin at her and gestured into the cage.
Taylor hesitated, but a rough shove from one of the guards pushed her into the wagon. The door closed behind her and she had a moment to scan the inner ward, to let her gaze roll over the sea of blank faces watching her with grim eyes. The wagon master mounted his seat, took one final glance back at Taylor, then lashed the horse. The wagon jerked forward and Taylor had to grab one of the bars to keep from falling.
The cart was escorted by four armed men on horseback. Taylor saw their eyes searching the shadows of the castle as the cart moved forward, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords. Taylor wanted to laugh. But her throat was dry. What were they looking for? she wondered sarcastically. Robbers?
The cart moved quickly through the inner ward. She had entered Castle Donovan of her own, foolish free will. And now she was leaving a prisoner, sentenced to death. Taylor glanced back at the keep. The castle’s inhabitants were racing after the cart, shouting with excitement, pointing in her direction, urging others to follow; no one wanted to miss the great burning.
The cart moved forward with a jolt that almost threw her to her bottom, but Taylor recovered quickly, righting herself.
As they neared the outer ward, Taylor heard the murmuring thunder of hundreds of voices. They moved beneath the inner ward gatehouse and she saw a huge crowd. It appeared as though the entire village had turned out to witness her execution.
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 l
aughing 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.
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