A Knight of Honor (26 page)

“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 man 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.

S
lane 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.