A Knight of Honor (51 page)

And she began to tremble.

A
ll night, Taylor lay on the bed, curled up into a ball, staring at the shaft of moonlight that shone into her room.
 
But she didn’t really see it.
 
She knew she should be thinking of some way to escape the stake and the flames, or perhaps how her life had taken such a drastic turn, or at the very least how she had gotten here.

But her mind refused to focus on anything other than Slane.
 
She remembered the way he had touched her, the tender stroke of his hands, the caress of his heated lips against hers.
 
The way his smile warmed her entire body.
 
At least the morning’s light would bring an end to her misery and pain, an end to the tormented longings for something she could not have...

***

Flames flared around her, their heat singeing her cheeks until she had to turn away.
 
Her mother stood in the flames, her mouth wide in a silent scream.
 
Suddenly, her mother dissolved, her skin melting from her bones.
 
Horrified, Taylor jerked away.
 
But she couldn’t move her hands.
 
She couldn’t move!
 
She looked down at her feet to see the fire swirling around her ankles.
 
She looked up to see Slane’s face in the fire, distorted by the shimmering heat.
 
He bent to Elizabeth, who was standing in the fire beside him, and pressed a kiss to her lips.

Taylor sat up, a scream frozen on her lips.
 
Her eyes darted right, then left, struggling to focus.
 
Her mind swirled with panic, struggling to remember where she was.
 
It took a moment to realize that there were no flames biting at her feet; only darkness surrounded her.
 
The shaft of moonlight had moved across her floor and Taylor realized that she must have dozed off.

She looked down at her hands and saw she was shaking with a ferocity that shocked her.
 
But it was not the flames that frightened her anymore; death had been a constant threat for years.
 
No, it was her intense feelings for Slane.
 
They clouded her judgment; they swirled through her mind like foggy vapors.
 
She couldn’t eat or think.
 
Her mind seemed to want only to concentrate on him.
 
In the face of death, he had become more important to her than her own life.

She stood and paced the floor, trying to work off some of her anxiety.
 
But with each step she recalled his smile, his eyes, his hair, his powerful gait.

She wanted to scream at the unfairness of it.
 
She wanted to cry for the loss.
 
But mostly she wanted to be held in his arms.

Jared would strongly disapprove of the way she had let him through her defenses.
 
After all his training, it would end for her the same way it had ended for her mother.

The irony wasn’t lost on her.
 
Maybe you can’t escape fate, she thought.
 
Maybe it’s a Sullivan curse.

Taylor returned to the bed and sat down.
 
Mother.
 
Lord, she hadn’t allowed herself to really think of her for years.
 
She wished her mother were here.
 
What would her mother say?
 
To have faith?
 
That Slane would return to rescue her?
 
That she should have followed her heart from the beginning?

She knew that was not true.
 
There was no such thing as love -- she was sure of it now.
 
Only torment.
 
Only pain.
 
Only death.
 
Slane would not return for her.
 
He had Elizabeth.
 
And he had something she could never hope to overcome.
 
He had his honor.

She must have drifted off to sleep again, for when she opened her eyes, Anna was seated on the bed beside her.
 
The girl lifted a white cotton tunic from her lap and reverently laid it beside Taylor.
 
Anna smoothed out the garment and stared at it for a long moment.

Taylor watched the girl’s brown eyes.
 
In them, she could have sworn she saw sadness and despair.

“Do you want me to help you?” Anna wondered, shifting her stance slightly.

Taylor was silent for a long moment, her mind refusing to function.
 
And then she realized the meaning of the white tunic, the bleak significance of it.
 
It was to be her final garb.
 
Her burning clothes.
 
She turned her gaze back to the garment on the bed, a simple, undyed piece of cloth.

Silently, Anna stepped forward.
 
She reached toward Taylor and untied the ribbons at the back of her nightgown.
 
Taylor sat motionless on the bed as the girl removed her gown and then slipped the white cotton tunic over her head.
 
The cloth was course and chafed her skin.
 
Taylor glanced down at the white tunic, knowing that it would soon lose its purity, would soon turn into black, smoldering tatters.

Would soon burn.

There was a soft knock at the door and then a man’s voice asking, “Are you ready?”

Taylor’s eyes shifted to the open window.
 
There she saw that the sky was blanketed with gray clouds that were only now turning pink with the rising sun.
 
Rising sun? Taylor wondered.
 
It can’t be dawn already!

But in defiance of her thoughts, the drums began in the distance, their melodic pounding filling the air, filling her ears, drowning out everything but their dark, beckoning rhythm.
 
Panic seized Taylor and she glanced around the room in horror.
 
This wasn’t happening.
 
This couldn’t be happening.

Anna squeezed her hand and helped her to her feet with a gentle hand beneath her elbow.
 
“It’s time,” the girl said softly.

Yes, time, Taylor thought.
 
Time for me to die.
 
Taylor looked into Anna’s eyes, searching for the strength to see her through this.
 
Instead, she found sympathy.
 
Taylor had always despised sympathy, especially when directed at her.
 
But now she didn’t have the energy to berate the girl.

Anna pulled Taylor’s hair away from her face and tied it back.
 
When she was finished, she stepped before Taylor and smiled grimly.

Taylor turned to the door.
 
It took all her courage and strength to walk to it.
 
She reached out to the handle and found her fingers trembling.
 
She curled them into a fist.

Anna reached around her to open the door.

One of the four guards standing outside the door in the hallway stepped forward.

Taylor couldn’t move for a long moment.
 
She swallowed hard and bolstered what little courage remained.
 
She took a deep breath and moved forward.

The hallways were empty as the four guards led her through them.
 
The guards’ footfalls echoed in the vacant corridor, their booted feet clanking on the stones with each step.
 
Most of the castle’s inhabitants were probably in the courtyard, ready to watch the burning, Taylor guessed.

Burning.
 
My burning.

They descended the spiral stairway in silence.
 
When they emerged into the first floor hallway, Taylor halted at finding it was remarkably crowded for so early.
 
One guard urged her forward with a shove.
 
As they moved down the hallway, a strange silence spread through the corridor as one by one all eyes turned to her.
 
They weren’t waiting for her in the courtyard.
 
They had all come together to get a final glimpse of her before... before...

Taylor raised her chin.
 
This she was used to.
 
People staring and casting judgment.
 
But somehow she couldn’t stop her hands from trembling.
 
The guards led her through the large wooden double doors into the inner ward.
 
She halted just outside the doors, shocked at what waited for her at the bottom of the steps.

A caged wagon.
 
They thought she was some sort of an animal.
 
Or were they afraid she would try to escape?
 
She knew she should.
 
But how?
 
Her gaze traveled upward to the battlements and walkways.
 
Armed guards were staring at her, pausing in their patrols to gaze at the doomed prisoner.

She would have no chance against all these men.
 
But that had never stopped her before.
 
If only she had her sword.
 
Better to go out fighting than as a helpless prisoner.

At one time, that thought would have propelled her into action, but now she could barely muster the strength to take another step.
 
She glanced over at a guard, seeing the sword at his waist safely encased in its sheath.
 
Just reach for it, a voice inside her urged.
 
Grab it and cut him down.
 
She felt her fingers coming to life, felt her hand begin to move.
 
But just then, one of the guards shoved her roughly forward toward the wagon, and the moment was lost.

The wagon master, a small man dressed in a simple brown smock and matching leggings, opened the cage as she approached, and waited near the cart.
 
She paused again before the open door of the cage to glance at the man.
 
His protruding belly looked obscene on a man with such a small frame.
 
He smiled a humorless grin at her and gestured into the cage.

Taylor hesitated, but a rough shove from one of the guards pushed her into the wagon.
 
The door closed behind her and she had a moment to scan the inner ward, to let her gaze roll over the sea of blank faces watching her with grim eyes.
 
The wagon master mounted his seat, took one final glance back at Taylor, then lashed the horse.
 
The wagon jerked forward and Taylor had to grab one of the bars to keep from falling.

The cart was escorted by four armed men on horseback.
 
Taylor saw their eyes searching the shadows of the castle as the cart moved forward, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords.
 
Taylor wanted to laugh.
 
But her throat was dry.
 
What were they looking for? she wondered sarcastically.
 
Robbers?

The cart moved quickly through the inner ward.
 
She had entered Castle Donovan of her own, foolish free will.
 
And now she was leaving a prisoner, sentenced to death.
 
Taylor glanced back at the keep.
 
The castle’s inhabitants were racing after the cart, shouting with excitement, pointing in her direction, urging others to follow; no one wanted to miss the great burning.

The cart moved forward with a jolt that almost threw her to her bottom, but Taylor recovered quickly, righting herself.

As they neared the outer ward, Taylor heard the murmuring thunder of hundreds of voices.
 
They moved beneath the inner ward gatehouse and she saw a huge crowd.
 
It appeared as though the entire village had turned out to witness her execution.