A Knight of Honor (14 page)

“H
ey, Slane,” Taylor whispered, tapping her new traveling companion on the shoulder.
 
“Can we stop at the alehouse after we finish sneaking through the streets?”

Slane turned to her, the scowl etched deep into his brow, the irritation clearly visible in his eyes.
 
“We are not sneaking,” he told her.

Taylor blew a scoffing blast of air from between her lips.
 
“You’ve been hugging the shadows ever since we reached Sudbury this afternoon.
 
I’d call that sneaking.”

“And why are you whispering?” he asked.

“Isn’t that what you do when you sneak around?”

A merchant rode past, his overloaded carriage jostling and jangling loudly as it moved along the pockmarked dirt road that ran through the center of Sudbury.

Slane grabbed Taylor’s arm and pulled her into a pool of dark shadows.
 
“We’re not sneaking around,” Slane insisted.

Taylor held up her hands in surrender.
 
“All right.
 
All right.
 
Can we stop at the alehouse?”

Slane nodded.
 
“We need flasks and drink.”

“I can try to purchase us horses –” Taylor began, spying a small stable situated next to a blacksmith’s shop nearby.

“No,” Slane erupted.
 
“We stick together.”

Taylor stared into his determined blue eyes for a moment longer, then nodded her agreement.
 
All she wanted right now was a good ale to quench her thirst.
 
She didn’t feel like arguing with this stubborn noble.
 
She didn’t feel like disagreeing about such petty things.
 
She was just tired of walking.
 
Her legs hurt and her feet were throbbing.

They moved down the road, passing the tightly packed houses.
 
Some of the merchants had additional stands set up on the streets to sell their wares, but most used their homes as a front for their shops, their brightly colored awnings and hand-carved wooden signs indicating what goods they sold.
 
Peasants filled the streets, gathering around the merchants’ shops and stands, haggling over price.
 
Market day was in full swing.

Slane paused at one of the carts to negotiate with a leather maker.
 
No doubt trying to purchase a few decently made flasks or wine pouches, Taylor mused as she moved on.

She meandered down the row of storefronts, inspecting some loaves of still steaming bread on a ledge outside a baker’s shop, sampling a shred of some salted venison at another merchant’s stall.
 
Then she reached the stall of a spice vendor.
 
Bowls of chopped herbs, peppers, and salt filled his long wooden table.
 
Taylor caught herself staring at a large oak bowl filled with freshly chopped garlic.
 
A tremendous tide of sadness welled up inside her.
 
Jared had always loved to visit the spice merchants.
 
Garlic had been his favorite.
 
She always told him he stunk for days after eating it, but he only laughed at her and told her he’d rather stink of garlic than of the horrible perfumes the nobles soaked their skins with.
 
He would stay and talk to the merchants for hours, discussing the best ways to use aniseed or ginger or pepper to enhance the flavor of food.
 
He never seemed happier than when arguing over the best way to spice a rabbit or duck.

“Ah, you like my onion?” Taylor heard someone say.
 
She glanced up to see the merchant, a surprisingly thin man with a freckled face and a mere growth of red stubble on his chin.

“What?” Taylor asked, not certain if he had been talking to her.

“My onions.
 
You find them to your liking, I see.”

Taylor squinted at the man, confused.

The freckled merchant pointed to her eyes.
 
“Only a good onion can do that, no?”

Taylor reached up to her eyes to find the edges were moist.
 
“Yes, you have good onions,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
 
“Very good onions.”

She moved on, still careful to remain within sight of Slane.
 
She wiped her eyes dry, hoping Slane hadn’t noticed her moment of weakness, and swatted aside a strand of hair that had come loose from the braid she had wound tightly in her hair that morning.
 
She glanced into the street, at the peasants scurrying by in their hurry to reach their destinations.

When she looked away again, a reflection of light in the middle of the road caught her eye.
 
She spotted something half buried in dirt, but Taylor could see the silver sparkle in the sun.
 
She bent down and came back up with a muddied metal band.

Just then, from the stand nearest her, a loud voice called, “Thief!”

Taylor’s knees bent slightly and her hand flew to the hilt of her sword.
 
The short merchant bedecked with gold jewelry was not pointing an angry, quivering finger at her however, but at a man dressed in ripped leggings and a soiled tunic who was standing near the merchant’s stall.
 
The man had a thick beard, its sandy brown hairs littered with the crumbs of what probably had been his last meal.
 
He certainly didn’t look like a thief, nor did he act like one.
 
Most thieves would have raced into the crowd to disappear amidst the throng of people, but this man just stood there with a bewildered, almost frightened look on his face.

“Thief!” the merchant screamed again as he lunged forward and grabbed the man’s arm, pulling him roughly against the stall’s display counter.
 
“Give me back that ring!”

The bearded man’s eyes went wide with surprise.
 
“I... I didn’t take anything,” he protested meekly.

Taylor glanced down at the ring in her palm, scowling slightly.

“That’s an interesting piece of jewelry,” a familiar voice mused, jarring Taylor.
 
She looked up to see Slane studying the ring she held in her hand.
 
He raised his eyes to meet hers.
 
“Did you purchase it with that overstuffed bag of coin you carry around with you?”

Taylor’s brows furrowed.
 
“I found it in the road,” she answered.

At the stall next to them, the merchant had a tight grip around the man’s wrist and was holding the struggling man’s hand flat against the counter.
 
The merchant turned and reached for a large, menacing blade hanging on the wall behind him.

“I think it belongs to that merchant, don’t you?” Slane asked.

Taylor opened her mouth to reply as the merchant growled angrily at the man, “Do you know what I do to thieves?”
 
But Slane interrupted her before she could explain.
 
“You’d let him chop off that man’s hand just so you could wear a new trinket?”
 
He did nothing to hide the anger in his tone.

Her eyes narrowed at his painful accusation.
 
He thought so low of her!
 
Well, she’d let him think what he would.
 
She turned away.

Slane darted his hand forward and grabbed Taylor’s wrist, squeezing it painfully, forcing her fingers open.
 
He snatched the ring from her.
 
Slane turned to the merchant just as he was about to bring his blade down on the bearded man’s immobile wrist.
 
“Hold!” he commanded.
 
“I have your ring!”

The merchant looked up at Slane and slowly lowered the blade.
 
But he still kept the peasant in his grip.
 
“So where is it?” the merchant asked sharply.

Slane held out his hand and dropped the ring onto the merchant’s counter.
 
“Now let that man go.”

The merchant eyed Slane suspiciously.
 
“And where did you get it?” he wondered hotly.

“It had fallen into the street.”
 
Slane stepped forward toward the merchant, fingering the hilt of his sword.
 
“Now let that man go.”

The merchant obeyed and released his grip.
 
The bearded man wasted no time running as fast as he could into the crowd, disappearing into the swarming mass.
 
Slane stepped even closer to the merchant.
 
“Maybe next time you won’t be so quick to judge a man before your anger blinds you.”

Taylor rubbed her sore wrists.
 
So damned noble.
 
What if the ring she’d found hadn’t been the same ring the merchant was looking for?
 
Or what if the man had stolen it from the merchant and dropped it in the middle of the road for his accomplice to pick up?
 
The ring had gotten into the middle of the street somehow; it hadn’t just walked there on its own.
 
Perhaps the man was not as innocent as Slane believed him.
 
She shook her head.
 
She and Slane were very different.
 
They would never see things the same way.
 
Besides, she would have returned the ring... if Slane had given her the chance.

Taylor turned to move off down the road.

Slane quickened his pace to catch up with her.
 
He reached her side in a matter of moments and slowed his walk to match hers.
 
“Why didn’t you just give the ring back to the merchant?
 
Didn’t you care if that man had gotten his hand chopped off?”

Taylor stopped for a moment, looking up into the sky.
 
Her eyes held the faintest hint of sadness.
 
“You must think very little of me.”

Slane stopped beside her.
 
“Maybe I just don’t understand your way of thinking.
 
I have been raised to adhere to a strict code of behavior.
 
One, it appears, you do not follow.”

“The only code I follow is the one that’s going to keep me alive,” she said.
 
“For eight years now, I’ve been constantly looking over my shoulder.
 
You get suspicious of everything... and everyone.”
 
She looked at him for a long moment, not even understanding herself why she trusted him when everything she had learned told her to walk away from him and never ever look back.

“You don’t have to be suspicious of me,” Slane told her quietly.
 
“I’m here to help you.”

Taylor looked deep into his eyes, trying to see past the blatant honesty that shone through his features.
 
But she couldn’t.
 
“That’s what I don’t trust,” she replied and continued down the street.

***

The common room of the Sudbury Inn was quiet, most of the tables empty.
 
Slane studied Taylor across their table.
 
Despite the chill in the air, Taylor insisted on sitting at the table farthest from the burning hearth.
 
She leaned back in her chair, a foot resting casually on the edge of her seat.
 
She purposely put her back to the fire, her gaze locked on her ale, as if pondering something.
 
Her meal of duck was untouched.

Slane watched the flickerings of
 
firelight dance over her black hair like little imps.
 
She was a very vibrant woman, one full of life, yet full of mysterious emotions he could never hope to understand.
 
Perhaps he was reading too much into her.
 
She was just a woman after all.
 
He turned to his own meal and lifted a leg of lamb to his lips, ripping a large bite from its flank.
 
“What are you thinking?” he wondered around a mouthful of meat.