A Knight of Honor (2 page)

Taylor thought she saw a sparkling in his eyes as he lifted his head to gaze at the ceiling and she wondered if they could be tears.

“This I cannot forgive,” he groaned.
 
“There will be no mercy.”

“Please, Father,” she whispered, barely able to contain the terror she felt.

Her father suddenly looked older than she had ever seen him before; the wrinkles on his brow, the lines around his mouth, all seemed to darken and deepen.
 
“There is no such thing as true love,” he murmured.
 
“Remember that, daughter.”

“But Mother –” Taylor managed in a whimper.

He rose and moved to the window, where the sun was just beginning to peer over the horizon.
 
The morning’s light splashed him in a blood red wave.
 
A sudden breeze from the window lifted his cape about his shoulders and the cloth fluttered behind him, making it look as if he had suddenly sprouted wings.
 
“Will burn in a few minutes’ time,” he said flatly.

Taylor reared back.
 
He was so cold.
 
So uncaring.
 
How could he say he loved her mother one moment and then sentence her to death the next?
 
She straightened her back and glared at him, trying desperately to keep the pain from showing on her face.

She had failed.
 
She had not been able to change her father’s mind.
 
In the distance, she heard the drums and their foreboding rhythm begin.
 
She had to hurry.
 
It was starting.

She started for the door, but his voice thundered across the room.
 
“You will remain with me,” he commanded.

“No,” Taylor gasped.
 
She had to say goodbye to her mother.

“You will stand at my side and learn what infidelity leads to.”

Taylor felt her insides twist.
 
Her blood pounded in her ears, drowning out the drum roll.
 
“Please, Father,” she begged.

“You will stay,” he told her in a voice that could not be disobeyed.

For a long moment, a strange hush blanketed the castle.
 
And Taylor’s heart.
 
She thought of disobeying her father and racing out of the room to be with her mother, but never in her twelve years of life had she defied him.
 
Years of strict discipline prevented her from doing it now.

She silently begged God to spare her mother.
 
She prayed that her mother was right, that “he” would come for her.
 
She desperately wanted to believe what her mother believed.
 
She desperately wanted a knight in shining armor to race to her mother’s rescue and snatch her from the flames to which her father had condemned her.

Her mother’s words rang through her mind,
‘He won’t let me burn.’
 
Hope ignited in Taylor’s breast.
 
Her mother had so much confidence.
 
Could she be right?
 
Would he save her?

Taylor raced to the window, to her father’s side.
 
But her frantic gaze wasn’t on the courtyard, where the horror of her mother’s execution was being played out.
 
Her eyes searched the lowered drawbridge and the road beyond for the knight.
 
The knight of honor who would rescue her mother.

But the road and drawbridge were empty.
 
Silent.

‘We love each other far too much,’
her mother had said.

Taylor glanced expectantly at the empty road, waiting for her mother’s rescuer.

And waiting.

Her father’s confession echoed in her mind,
‘I loved her.’

And waiting.

‘There is no such thing as true love.’
 
Suddenly, Taylor understood her father’s words.
 
And with the comprehension came a chilling realization.

There would be no rescue.
 
Her mother would burn.
 
A panic filled Taylor so completely she trembled helplessly.
 
As black smoke and dark orange flames spiraled up to meet the dawning light’s rays, a scream rent the silence.

Suddenly a triumphant burst of flames sprang high into the dawn sky, its hungry tongues licking the fading night.
 
To a terrified child, it was the face of death.
 
Taylor fell to her knees, burying her face in her hands, her own agonized cry replacing her mother’s suddenly silent one.

***

Jared Mantle cursed.
 
What was England coming to if it allowed a fine woman such as Lady Diana to be put to the flame?

Diana was one of the most compassionate women Jared had ever known.
 
Years ago, she found him beaten and near death at the side of the road.
 
She took him to Sullivan Castle and nursed him back to health.
 
Then she asked lord Sullivan to retain his services.
 
It had taken ten long years of hard work after that, but Jared finally reached the rank of captain.
 
He had trained most of the men that now kept the castle secure.
 
Few of them, if any, could best him in combat.

Now, after fifteen years of loyalty and devotion, Jared found himself back where he had begun.
 
Alone.
 
He rubbed his short beard.
 
Oh, he was certain Sullivan would keep him on, but he could not stay where they would burn a kind, generous woman.
 
Jared shook his head sadly.
 
Besides, it was time he sought his fortune before he could not lift a sword.

He strapped on his belt and his scabbard, and he glanced one last time about the room.
 
He pocketed the measly coins he had saved in his service to the Sullivans and headed for the door, stepping outside into the night.

The moon was a mere slit in the dark sky, a narrowed eye watching his departure.
 
He moved deeper into the courtyard.

Suddenly, Jared tensed.
 
Instinctively, he knew someone was there.
 
He pulled back into the darkness and watched with curious eyes as a silhouetted figure snuck into the empty courtyard.
 
Huddled and tentatively watchful, the figure moved swiftly from shadow to shadow to the outer gates.

Jared’s eyes narrowed and he moved silently across the yard, his large strides taking him to the figure, whose back was to him.
 
“Late for an evening stroll,” Jared said quietly.

The figure whirled to stare at him.
 
Green eyes flashed defiantly up at him.
 
The girl swung her clenched hand behind her back, concealing something in her fist.

Surprise jarred him as he stared down at the girl.
 
Even with her face concealed beneath a velvet hood, he knew her instantly.
 
Diana’s daughter.
 
What would a young girl be doing out this late? he wondered to himself.
 
And without a chaperone.

“Don’t try to stop me!” she snapped.

For the first time, Jared noticed the sack slung over her shoulder.
 
She started to turn away from him, but he caught her wrist, pulling her hand out of the shadows.
 
The ring on her finger shone in the night’s blue light.
 
Two crossed swords with a large S in the middle were etched into its surface.
 
He raised his eyes to hers.
 
Had the girl stolen the ring?

Taylor raised her chin and her eyes narrowed.
 
“It was my mother’s,” she said imperiously.

He glowered at her for a long moment.
 
“Running away?” he asked.

“Leaving,” she insisted.

“With no one to watch over you?
 
No guards?”

“I don’t need a guard!”

He pondered her words.
 
He could see traces of her mother in every one of her stubborn movements, the worry beneath the defiance in her eyes, the resolution that set her shoulders.
 
She was so young.
 
So young and so inexperienced.
 
He glanced at the gates.
 
The world outside would eat her alive.

“Where are you headed?” he asked her.

Taylor paused for a long moment.
 
She glanced at the wooden gate, then up at the walkways surrounding the castle as if they held the answer.
 
“To London,” she finally replied.

He grunted softly.
 
She had no idea what she was getting herself into, what kind of people waited to take advantage of a twelve-year-old-girl.
 
Most likely she would end up a prostitute.
 
Or dead on the side of the road without her rich velvet cloak.
 
He briefly wondered if she had even thought to pack any food.
 
He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.
 
Well, I owe my lady that much, he thought to himself.
 
“That’s where I’m heading,” he said.
 
“Can you use the company?”

Eight Years Later

S
lane Donovan dismounted in front of a small shop and tethered his black warhorse to a nearby tree.
 
Woodland Hills was a simple town.
 
There was only one shop to buy supplies in and this was it.
 
The sign hanging from a weather-worn wooden pole jutting out from the building’s thatched roof creaked as it swayed in the easy breeze.
 
He glanced up at the charred words burned into the wood.

Benjamin’s Goods.

A prickling at the back of his neck caused him to look away from the sign toward the shop’s open door.
 
A small girl stood in the doorway, watching him with large brown eyes.
 
Slane grinned and patted her head as he entered the shop.

The interior was dark except for the area lit by the flaming hearth burning to his left and the entranceway lit by the sun behind him.
 
After his eyes adjusted to the gloom, Slane noticed a man sweeping the floor near the rear of the shop.
 
When he heard Slane enter, the man stopped his work and looked up, clutching the broom handle with both hands.
 
“Good day, sir,” he greeted.
 
“What can I do for you?”

“You must be Benjamin.”

Benjamin nodded.
 
“That I am.
 
Are you needing supplies?”

Slane glanced around at the various tables that filled the room.
 
Piles of dull-edged daggers, rusted knives, maces with chipped handles, and numerous other weapons filled several tabletops.
 
Other tables held cooking utensils or farming tools.
 
Shelves lining the wall held foodstuffs of all kinds, dirt-caked vegetables, trenchers, a few strips of salted meat.
 
“I just need some information,” Slane said.

Benjamin began sweeping again.
 
“Nothing comes cheap these days, sir.”