A Knight of Honor (28 page)

She moved her hands forward so that her tunic sleeves slid back.
 
Ropes bound her wrists tightly together, chafing her skin.
 
“Someone else has the same idea,” she said.

“What kind of sick joke is this?” Slane asked hotly.
 
“Who did this to you?”
 
He grabbed the ropes and shook them, as if that simple movement would set her free.

She stiffened, her face twisting in agony.
 
“I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t do that,” she managed to gasp between her clenched teeth.

Mortified, Slane let go of the rope.
 
“I’m sorry,” he said.
 
He quickly slid onto the bench opposite her and learned close to her across the table.
 
He reached out a hand and carefully wiped strands of hair from her cheek, trying to see her eyes.
 
“Who has taken you prisoner?
 
Where are they?”

She looked up at him through the strands of hair that fell back over her face.
 
Behind the limp locks, her eyes were tired and glassy.
 
“A mercenary named Magnus Gale.”

Slane’s eyes narrowed at the man’s name.
 
He had worked with the man before.
 
Magnus was obviously intent on collecting Richard’s reward money.

“He cornered me and we fought.
 
He’s a very good fighter, you know.
 
Or else I wouldn’t be sitting here.”

He was horrified to see a dark bruise on her cheek, her cut lip.
 
Anger simmered and boiled his blood.
 
“Magnus.
 
I partnered with him once.
 
But he was such a brutal bastard I couldn’t work with him anymore.”
 
Slane frowned, scanning the common room again.
 
“Where is that vermin?”
 
And why are you just sitting here? he wondered, but didn’t ask aloud.
 
Could Magnus have already put that fire of yours out?

“He went to get food,” she said.
 
“He’ll be back.
 
If he’s not watching now.
 
Slane...” she whispered imploringly, but stopped.

Slane turned his eyes back to her.
 
He saw the desperation in her eyes and stood.
 
“To the devil with him.
 
Come with me now.”
 
He moved to her side of the table.
 
“Wouldn’t you rather be in my care?
 
Even though you want to spit in my face?” he asked, his voice sincere.
 
“At least I won’t bind you like some slave.”

She looked at him, gratefully.
 
“Only if you’ll buy me an ale when we are very far from here,” she said, holding her hands out to him.

“I’ll buy you two,” he said with a smile.
 
He reached into his boot and, after retrieving a throwing dagger, quickly cut her hands free of the rope.

She rubbed her chafed wrists, but suddenly froze as if that simple movement had caused her pain.
 
“Slane,” she gritted.
 
“I don’t know if I can walk.
 
The wound in my side hurts like the devil.
 
It’s still bleeding.”

Slane felt his teeth clench.
 
That bastard will pay for this, he vowed silently.
 
He would have to carry her, but there was no way he could make it through this mass of bodies without aggravating her wounds even further.
 
Then a sudden thought dawned on him.
 
It wasn’t pleasant, but there was no other choice.
 
He ran the dagger across his forefinger and then replaced the dagger in his boot.

“What are you doing?” Taylor asked.

“Getting you out of here,” Slane replied.
 
He scanned the area around them until he spotted a drunk lying on the floor in a stupor.
 
He bent down and wiped his finger near the corner of the man’s mouth, smearing blood across his skin.
 
Then he stood and backed up until he bumped into a farmer.
 
The farmer turned and, upon seeing Slane’s horrified look, followed Slane’s gaze to the drunken man.

The farmer gasped and pointed a shaking finger.
 
“Look!”

“My God, he has the plague!” someone shouted from behind Slane.

“The plague is here!” another woman cried as she saw the blood near the drunken man’s lips.
 
“The Black Death has come to the inn.”

Everyone who could stand bolted for the front door, pushing and shoving frantically to get out.
 
A satisfied grin stretched across Slane’s lips as he watched the mad dash for the door.
 
But then, a little boy stumbled and fell to his hands and knees, and Slane’s grin vanished.
 
Feet pounded around the boy as people stampeded away from the Black Death.
 
Slane leapt a fallen table to race to the boy, but he knew he was going to be too late.

Then Taylor was there, pulling the boy into her, shielding him in her embrace, hugging him close to her chest.
 
Slane saw a man stumble over her, knocking her to the floor.
 
He rushed toward her instantly.
 
But even as he moved, Taylor scrambled to her feet and slammed into the wall, cradling the child against her protectively as the crowd swarmed past.

Slane reached them, pressing his own body against them to protect Taylor from the pushes and jabs of the mad crowd.
 
With the child squirming between them, Slane dipped his head to meet Taylor’s eyes, a swelling of pride in his chest.
 
But when she lifted her exquisite eyes to his, Slane saw the brightness of pain reflected in them.
 
She began to slide down the wall, but Slane caught her around the shoulders with one hand and removed the child from her arms with the other.
 
In the next moment a woman appeared at his side and took the boy from him.
 
Slane barely saw her embrace the child and rush him away into the night.

Slane scooped Taylor up in his arms, refusing to acknowledge the dread racing up his spine, encircling his stomach, and squeezing until he could hardly breathe.
 
He gently moved her to a nearby table and eased her onto the bench.

“That was downright deceitful, Slane Donovan,” Taylor muttered, but stopped as she closed her eyes, swaying.
 
When she steadied herself, she lifted her left arm and glanced down at her tunic.

Slane followed her gaze.
 
Her tunic was soaked with fresh blood.
 
Worry sliced through him like a blade.

“Get away from her, Donovan.”

Slane whirled to see Magnus Gale, a trencher of food in one hand, the hilt of his sword in the other.
 
He was a muscular man, encased by a protective shell of chain mail armor.

“She’s mine,” Magnus added, his teeth clenched.
 
“And so is the reward that goes with her.”

“There will be no reward, Magnus,” Slane corrected him, rising to face the man.
 
“I am bringing her to my brother’s castle.”
 
Slane turned back to Taylor.
 
“We need to get you to a doctor,” he said.
 
He searched the room with his eyes, finally lifting his own tunic over his head and pressing it tightly to her wound.
 
He took her hand and noticed how cold it was.
 
Outrage engulfed him.
 
He placed a kiss to her knuckles before pressing her hand firmly against the wound.
 
“Keep pressure on it or you’ll bleed to death.”

Magnus slapped his hand against Slane’s bare shoulder.
 
“She’s not going anywhere with you.
 
I’m taking her to Castle Donovan.”

Slane whirled and struck with the speed of a cobra, wrapping his hand around Magnus’s throat.
 
The trencher fell to the ground, spilling the food across the floor.

Slane drove his body forward, forcing Magnus to stumble backward, picking up speed as he pushed the other man along, finally slamming him hard into the wall with such force that the entire building seemed to shake.
 
Slane ripped the sword from Magnus’s sheath and tossed it across the room.
 
Then he tightened his hold on Magnus’s throat.

“Maybe you didn’t hear me the first time, you filthy scum,” Slane said through gritted teeth.
 
“The lady travels with me.”

Magnus struggled for a moment.
 
Then he went absolutely still.

“My lord,” the barkeep called.
 
“I want no trouble here.
 
Please.
 
Take your argument outside.”

“That’s a fine idea,” Slane called out to the barkeep.
 
He held Magnus still and turned to glance at Taylor over his shoulder.
 
“Can you make it outside?” he asked.

“I -- I don’t know,” she answered quietly.

Suddenly, Magnus lashed out his foot, swiping Slane’s feet from beneath him.
 
Slane landed hard on his back.
 
Immediately, the mercenary retrieved a dagger from his belt.

“Now you die, Donovan,” Magnus sneered, bringing his blade crashing down.

Slane grabbed Magnus’s wrist, stopping the strike, the deadly tip of the blade hovering only inches from his chest.
 
Slane jerked his feet up, flipping Magnus over his head.

Both men quickly shot to their feet, eyeing the other warily.
 
“What is she to you, Donovan, that you risk your life for her?” Magnus snarled, backing toward Taylor.

“If she dies because of your foolishness, then you will die.”

Magnus chuckled, still inching back.
 
Slane jerked forward, but Magnus slashed the blade at him, halting his movement.
 
Then Magnus moved suddenly, racing toward Taylor.

A small scream escaped her throat as she instinctively swung her hands at him.
 
But her reflexes were slow and Magnus easily ducked her arms, encircling her waist with his large hands.
 
His brutal touch, so close to her wound, made her cry out as he lifted her off her feet.

Slane dove to his left, twisting his body in midair, rolling off the nearby table top to come to his feet right in front of Magnus.
 
His fist wasted no time in connecting with Magnus’s nose.
 
He smiled with grim satisfaction as he heard bone crunch with the blow.

Magnus took the punch, his head rocking back, his hold on Taylor tightening.
 
When the blood started to flow from his shattered appendage, he smiled.
 
Then his booted foot lashed out, hitting Slane in the stomach.
 
“She’s mine,” Magnus shouted.
 
“You can have her after I get the reward.”

“She’s worth nothing dead, you fool,” Slane snarled, fighting back the pain in his stomach.
 
Slane reached for the hilt of his sword, and when he saw Magnus’s eyes shift to follow the movement, he grabbed a nearby mug of ale with his other hand and hurled the liquid at Magnus’s face.
 
The ale splashed into his eyes, and Magnus blinked rapidly, desperately trying to clear his vision.

Slane seized Magnus’s wrist, then grabbed Taylor’s arm, yanking her from the other man’s hold.
 
Slane pulled back and delivered a stunning blow to Magnus’s already bleeding nose, then followed with another lightning-fast strike to his chin.

Magnus fell heavily to the ground, his dagger clattering across the floor.

Rage burned through Slane’s body and he charged forward.

Magnus kicked Slane back and rose, speeding toward him, catching him around the midsection and falling on top of him.

Slane lashed out, landing a heavy blow to Magnus’s throat.
 
He heard a sickening crunch.
 
Then, suddenly, Magnus fell heavily on top of him, his full weight crushing down on Slane mercilessly.
 
Slane struggled to get free, finally managing to wedge a knee between himself and Magnus.
 
He pushed with his leg, moving Magnus enough to be able to slide out from under him.
 
He quickly moved to his feet and towered over the prone mercenary, waiting for him to rise.