A Knight of Honor (49 page)

Still, Slane could not stop from clenching his fists.

Taylor approached the head table and moved around it to her seat beside Richard.

Slane couldn’t take his eyes from her.
 
She was gorgeous.
 
He had known she was beautiful, but now, dressed in a gown that accented her feminine attributes, Slane realized that the word didn’t do her justice.
 
His mood darkened and he slouched lower in his chair.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Elizabeth gazing at him sympathetically.

“My dearest,” Richard cooed, and Slane turned his gaze back to Taylor.

She took the seat beside Richard.
 
Richard’s hand brushed her cheek and she didn’t even flinch.
 
Slane closed his eyes as his jaw clenched.
 
Had Richard beaten her indomitable spirit already?
 
Had he forced her to become what she loathed?

“Slane,” Elizabeth whispered, “care to escort me back to my room?”

Slane heard her words, but couldn’t reply.
 
He opened his eyes and they focused instinctively on Taylor.
 
She sat only two seats away from him, with Richard a formidable barrier between them.
 
His brother carved a piece of meat from the bone on his plate and held it up in his fingers to Taylor’s lips.

Every muscle in Slane’s body tensed.
 
She would never accept his brother’s meat.
 
She would never open her mouth for him.
 
Richard would be outraged.
 
He would raise his fist and Slane knew he would be forced to intercede...

But when Taylor delicately bit the meat in half, Slane’s eyes widened in disbelief.
 
He shot to his feet, prepared to... prepared to do what? he asked himself.
 
His clenched fists fell slack at his sides.
 
He felt defeated.
 
He felt powerless.
 
But mostly he felt lost.
 
He felt a wretchedness of mind that he’d never known before.
 
He turned away from Taylor and found Elizabeth standing before him.

She placed her hand on his arm and he let himself be escorted from the Great Hall.

***

Slane returned to the Great Hall much later that evening.
 
He sat alone before the hearth, the flickering fire doing nothing to warm his cold spirit.
 
A mug of ale dripped from his fingertips as he slouched forward in the chair, his head hanging over his knees.

Why? his mind kept asking.
 
Why hadn’t he told her?
 
Why hadn’t he told her the truth about bringing her to Castle Donovan?

He ran a frustrated hand through his hair.
 
Because he would have lost her.
 
And now? he demanded silently of himself.
 
You’ve lost her now, too.

Desolation consumed him.
 
He would give anything to right this situation, to have Taylor at his side again.
 
Instead, it seemed she had accepted her fate.
 
Taylor was a master at survival, he knew.
 
Had she come to the realization that she was to be Richard’s wife forever?
 
Was she simply surviving the only way she knew how?
 
Slane knew he should be grateful.
 
Many, many people would prosper from the union.
 
The castle and lands would continue to be protected.
 
The people would be safe.

But he didn’t give a damn about the people.
 
Not when he couldn’t have Taylor.

Hopelessness threatened to sweep him into an abyss of despair, but Slane fought the swirl of dread that tugged at his heart and his mind.
 
He knew there was some way to make this right.
 
He knew there was an answer somewhere.
 
All he had to do was find it.

He glanced down at the mug of ale.
 
And sitting here drinking himself into a pitiful stupor wasn’t going to give him the answer he was seeking.
 
He stood, tossing the mug aside, and turned.

That was when he saw it.
 
The glimmer of steel in the darkness just outside the large double doors.
 
A scowl creased Slane’s brow.
 
Armor? he wondered.
 
No.
 
I know that flash.

He drew his sword and headed toward the double doors.

T
aylor stared out at the night sky.
 
The darkness was sprinkled with small twinkling diamonds, but none of their shine touched her soul.
 
When Slane had left the Great Hall with Elizabeth, Taylor felt a loss so complete and so devastating that she had almost been unable to control the tears burning her eyes.
 
Rejected.
 
Betrayed.
 
But she vowed that even her pain would not stop her from her plan.
 
Not even if Slane came to her proclaiming his love.
 
Love, she thought, and images of Slane holding her in his arms, touching her, kissing her began to form in her mind, but she quickly pushed the word aside and the images vanished.

She turned from the window and approached the door, stopping only long enough to retrieve the candelabra from the table.
 
She opened the door and peered outside.
 
The guard standing sentry outside her room spotted her immediately and straightened.

Only one guard, she mused.
 
Richard fell for my ploy.
 
He must think of me as a willing lamb.

Taylor stepped out into the hallway.
 
She had purposely donned the sheerest nightdress she could find.
 
It conformed to her curves, just barely veiling the dark nipples of her breasts.
 
“Excuse me,” she called to the guard in a soft voice.

He took two steps toward her, eyeing her with suspicion.
 
And an obvious aroused curiosity.

Taylor leaned back against the wall.
 
“I... I’m not really used to this sort of luxury,” she said quietly.
 
When the guard didn’t reply, she continued.
 
“I’m quite lonely.”
 
She shifted her position, straightening her shoulders so that her breasts jutted.
 
The guard’s gaze instantly dropped to her offered charms.
 
“I’m not used to being alone at night.”
 
His gaze rose to hers and Taylor knew that she had won by the simmering look in his eyes.
 
“I was wondering if perhaps you would join me?”
 
She eased the door open with her foot, holding the candelabra higher to illuminate the doorway.

“Well,” the guard hesitated.
 
“I don’t think I should.
 
Lord Richard said to stand guard –”

“Oh, you’ll be guarding all right, but you won’t be standing.”

He stared at her with incredulity in his eyes.
 
“You’re my lord’s betrothed!”

“He enjoys an occasional tryst with other women, does he not?
 
He knows I have a desire to do the same with men I find attractive.
 
Lord Richard and I have an... understanding.”
 
Taylor stepped closer to him, being sure her breasts brushed his arm.
 
“Besides, I won’t tell if you don’t.”

With a quick look down the hall, the guard stepped past her and moved toward the room.

Taylor struck swiftly, bringing the candelabra down hard on the back of his head.
 
The flames flickered as the hard metal struck the guard.
 
Molten wax splashed across the ground.
 
The man staggered, and when Taylor hit him again, the candles wavered and went out.
 
He fell to his knees and toppled forward.
 
Taylor glanced left and right down the hallway, the torches burning on the wall revealing nothing but an empty stone corridor.
 
She grabbed the guard’s arm and pulled him into the room.

She quickly seized a small bundle of clothing and boots she had hidden beneath the bed earlier in the day.
 
Then she knelt at the guard’s side and her hands searched over his torso until they reached his waist and his sheathed weapon.
 
She eased it from his scabbard and rose to her feet, moving out the door and down the hall.
 
She reached the stairway undetected and quickly descended the spiral steps.
 
The stones felt icy cold against her bare feet.
 
Her blood pounded through her veins with every beat of her heart, but she continued on through the darkness until she reached the bottom of the stairs.

She glanced left and then right toward the large double doors leading to the inner ward.
 
A step closer to freedom.
 
Here, too, the hallway was empty and every muscle in Taylor’s body tensed.
 
It was a trap.
 
It had to be!
 
It was too easy.

She moved cautiously out into the hallway, her ears alert to every noise, her eyes seeing everything.
 
She snuck toward the door, toward freedom, creeping past the open door to the Great Hall, pausing to glance in, dreading the possible sight of servants scurrying about.
 
But it was as quiet as the rest of the castle.
 
She saw only a group of peasants huddled together not far from the hearth against a wall, nestled together in sleep for warmth.

As she reached the large double doors leading out to the inner ward, her hand gripped the pommel of the sword tightly.
 
Suddenly she heard a noise and froze.
 
She recovered quickly and whirled, bringing her sword up.
 
Another sword met her swing.
 
But it wasn’t the shiny silver blade that captivated her.

It was his eyes.
 
The bluest eyes she had ever seen.

Slane stood before her, holding his weapon crossed against hers.
 
Shock filled her for a long moment and she could do nothing.
 
She knew she should run him through.
 
She knew she should cut his traitorous head from his neck.

But she couldn’t.
 
She could only stare at his blue eyes and remember his kisses, his caresses.

“Taylor,” he whispered and straightened, drawing his sword from hers.

His voice sent tremors racing down her spine.
 
And still she couldn’t move.

“Lord Slane!”

The voice jarred her and she turned her head to see five soldiers racing down the hall.
 
She recognized the guard she had hit over the head.
 
He was holding a bloodied towel across his crown.
 
Her eyes returned to Slane, beseeching.

But Slane glanced from her to the men.

“Well done,” one of them said, nearing.

Slane glanced at his sword and then back at Taylor.

Taylor clutched her weapon so tightly that her hand shook.
 
Her eyes watered, blurring her vision.

“She hit Anderson over the head,” one of the soldiers said, “and tried to escape.”

The soldiers quickly moved to surround her.
 
Taylor’s eyes narrowed.
 
She would never give up without a fight.
 
Never.
 
Her knees bent.