A Knight of Honor (46 page)

Anger and humiliation churned within her.
 
She forced the feelings of humiliation aside, but kept the anger strong, nursing the rage until it threatened to burn her very thoughts.
 
It was your fault!
 
You needed someone after Jared’s death.
 
And you latched on to the first man around.
 
Fool!
 
Idiot!
 
You should have known what you were doing.

She continued down the hallway, now moving with determined steps.
 
Well, this is one situation I can remedy.

She stopped at the last door and lifted her fist to knock soundly on it.
 
After a moment of silence, Taylor impatiently lifted her fist again and pounded on the wooden door.

When no one answered, she pushed the door open and entered the room.

It was dark, but her eyes adjusted quickly to the dim lighting thrown by a single candle on a nearby table.
 
The blanket on the large bed caught her attention as it shifted and twisted, turning like some great beast.
 
She took a step toward it and finally made out two forms beneath the blanket.

“This had better be worth it,” a growl warned from beneath the fur pelt blanket.
 
Richard poked his head from beneath the fur.
 
The scowl of anger on his face was replaced by shock, and then a dark smile shadowed his lips.
 
“Darling,” he said.

The form beside him, still hidden beneath the blanket, groaned.

“Not you, you stupid woman,” he murmured.

A head emerged from beneath the blanket beside Richard, and Taylor was momentarily shocked to see that it was Anna, the servant girl who had escorted her to her room when she had first arrived.
 
Then Taylor shook her head in dismay.
 
She raised her chin and looked Richard squarely in the eyes.
 
“I think it’s time to put an end to this farce,” Taylor stated.

“Farce?” Richard echoed.
 
“I can’t say I know what you mean.”

“This betrothal.
 
This proposed marriage,” Taylor explained.
 
“A farce.”

“There is no farce where a profit is to be made.”

“I won’t marry you,” Taylor said.

Richard sat up in the bed, a frown curving his lips.
 
“I don’t think you have a choice.”

“I’m leaving,” she added as if he hadn’t spoken.

Richard grinned.
 
“You can’t leave.
 
I won’t let you,” he said simply, matter-of-factly.

Taylor felt her stomach bottom out; she knew Richard’s word was law here.
 
But she pressed on.
 
“You can’t keep me here.”

“If it takes locking you in the dungeon, then I’ll do it,” Richard said darkly.
 
“Your father promised you to me.
 
And I plan to honor his last wish.”

Taylor’s jaw clenched.
 
Her mind worked furiously.
 
She wanted to rant and rave and demand to know why in heaven’s name he would want to marry her.
 
“I guess this is the start of a wonderful marriage, eh, Richard?” she finally spat.

Richard’s lips twitched.
 
“If you only knew.”

“And everyone will be happy.
 
You, lying in bed with her.
 
Me, standing here wanting to rip your head off.
 
Slane...”
 
But her voice broke with such anguish that she couldn’t continue.

“Yes.
 
He will be happy, too,” Richard continued for her.
 
“Slane had much to gain by bringing you to me.
 
He owed me a great debt -- one that he hated to have hanging over his head.
 
I restored his precious honor when Father would have disowned him.
 
But by bringing my lovely wife to me, he has finished repaying his debt.
 
He is free of me now.
 
He can marry Elizabeth and be happy.
 
Very far from here.”

Taylor’s chest contracted painfully.
 
Slane had manipulated her.
 
Deceived her.
 
And she had fallen into his trap.

He had said whatever he could to get her here.
 
After all, how could a man of honor make love to her when he was betrothed to another woman?
 
“I won’t stay here,” she whispered hoarsely.

Richard rose from the bed, the blanket falling away from his nakedness.

But Taylor didn’t notice.
 
Not even when he approached her.
 
Her mind was locked in battle with her heart.
 
Slane couldn’t want her when he had Elizabeth.
 
Elizabeth was beautiful and caring and noble.
 
Slane had lied.
 
But how could he fake those looks, those touches and caresses?
 
There was no such thing as love, Taylor knew.
 
And now she realized she had just learned another painful lesson.
 
There was no such thing as a knight of honor.
 
They were both horrible, deceitful myths that women clung to.
 
But in the end, Taylor knew all women only came to know the dark nature of their illusion.

“You have no choice,” Richard said from close beside her.
 
“You are on my lands now.
 
In my castle.
 
You are mine to do with as I please.”

Sorrow gripped Taylor and she couldn’t focus her thoughts.
 
Her mind kept repeating,
he lied, he lied
.
 
Her heart continued to argue,
he couldn’t have, he couldn’t have
.
 
She was lost in a limbo of confusion.

Richard gripped her hand and guided her toward the door.
 
“Come, dearest.”

Taylor violently ripped free of his hold.
 
“Don’t touch me!” she snapped and rushed out of the room, moving down the hallway past the amused, scornful eyes of the guards.

She tried desperately to tell herself that Slane hadn’t lied to her.
 
But the evidence was irrefutable.
 
She had seen him with Elizabeth since their return.
 
She had seen their embrace.

What had she expected?
 
Tears flooded her eyes in an onslaught of anguish.
 
There is no such thing as love, she told herself again.
 
Then why do I feel as though I’m dying of love?

Hands grasped her shoulders and she looked up through blurry vision to see the two guards staring down at her.

“My lord has suggested we escort you to your room,” one of them explained.

Taylor saw the determination in the grim set of their mouths.
 
Even in her daze, she knew they were going to lock her up.
 
She was a prisoner.
 
She was Richard’s possession now.

She nodded, but then swung around and pulled one of the guard’s swords from its sheath!
 
She faced them with desperation, a fear gnawing at the pit of her stomach.
 
She was in too deep, and she knew it.
 
There would be no escape.
 
Not from Richard, and not from the feelings Slane had aroused in her.
 
The only thing she had left, the only thing she had ever been any good at, was fighting.
 
She brandished the sword before her, waving it from side to side as if warding off some sort of evil.

The guards looked at each other and then the one who still had his sword drew his weapon.

She would have laughed had she been her old self.
 
She would have escaped in the blink of an eye.
 
She would have told them they didn’t have a chance, talked them out of fighting her.
 
She knew they didn’t want to fight.
 
But she wasn’t her old self.
 
She felt the tears trickling from her eyes, even as she fought to control them.
 
Her vision wavered.

“We don’t want to hurt you,” the guard told her.

Taylor lifted her arm and wiped her cheeks and eyes clear.
 
And I don’t want to hurt you, she knew she would have said.
 
But her throat was closed so tightly the words were strangled before she uttered a sound.

She lunged forward and the guard easily parried the blow.

As their swords connected, her survival instinct took over.
 
She felt a semblance of her old self flare to life.
 
She attacked instinctively, driving the man back with blow after blow, clearing a way to the stairs.
 
She whirled and dashed for the spiral staircase, skipping every other step until she reached the ground floor.
 
She bolted from the stone stairway and into the hallway just outside the Great Hall.
 
The corridor was crowded with villagers and merchants and mercenaries and guards, all heading from the Great Hall, and she had to push her way through the throng of bodies.

“Stop her!” a voice shouted from behind her.

She pulled up short, scanning the faces before her.
 
A man with a red beard looked at her with beady eyes.
 
A fat merchant pointed a finger at her.
 
A noblewoman screamed and stepped behind a guard.
 
They were all enemies, all untrustworthy.
 
Someone grabbed her wrist.
 
She tore away and surged forward, running through the corridor.
 
Somewhere to her left someone laughed.

And then far down the hall, she saw him towering a head above the rest, his blond hair wavering in a breeze.
 
Despite the distance, she even thought she saw the sparkle of those blue eyes.
 
And then behind him, Elizabeth emerged.

Taylor felt a raw and primitive grief overwhelm her so intensely that it was a physical pain in her chest.
 
She almost doubled over.

And then she felt hands on her shoulders, her arms.
 
The nameless masses that were her enemies, pulled her back, but she fought them, kicking and struggling.
 
The sword was wrenched from her grasp.
 
Somewhere, someone was screaming.

The hands and weight on her shoulders shoved her down, down.
 
She still struggled, but the overwhelming force was too much to fight.
 
Defeated, she was shoved to her knees.

A cry of anguish resounded through the corridor.
 
And with a jolt, Taylor realized that she was the one who was screaming.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

S
lane watched in utter horror as Taylor was pushed to her knees and whisked from the corridor.
 
He rushed forward, shoving people from his path to reach her side.
 
He raced down the aisle, skirting curious peasants and alarmed nobles.
 
A hound dashed in front of him and he almost hurdled the dog, but it hurried out of his way.

He skidded to a halt at the end of the hallway.
 
Glancing right, he spotted the last of the group of soldiers moving up the spiral staircase.
 
There were at least seven men all guarding one woman.
 
The thought was ludicrous!
 
He found himself racing after them before he consciously decided to do so.
 
His heart beat frantically, his mind replaying Taylor’s anguished cry again and again.