A Knight of Honor Page 18

  Colm rose as Slane approached. “Lord Donovan,” Colm greeted, holding his hand out to him.

  Slane clasped his forearm. “Duffy,” he said and studied Colm’s face. But the pale blue eyes gave away nothing.

  “What are you doing here, m’lord?” Colm wondered.

  “You’ve tracked her here, haven’t you?”

  Colm dropped Slane’s arm. “It’s true then.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Damn. That reward money would have come in handy.”

  “She is under my protection now,” Slane said firmly.

  Colm spread his hands before him. “You’ll get no argument from me, but how’d you find her? I’ve been tracking her for weeks now.”

  “She came to me,” Slane said evasively.

  “Is it true she’s injured?” Colm asked.

  Slane gave him a sharp look. Then he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye and shifted his gaze to see the innkeeper duck out of the room. Damn fool, he thought. He’s got a mouth bigger than an abyss. Slane nodded in answer to Colm’s question.

  “You can’t stay here,” Colm whispered. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “I can’t move her,” Slane replied, turning his back to Colm to stare into the flickering flames. “Not yet.”

  “Corydon’s men are all over. And they have no interest in any reward. They just want her dead. You can’t stay here.”

  Slane’s jaw clenched tight. It could be a week before she was able to travel. And every day would lead Corydon closer and closer to them. “I have no choice, right now.”

  “I’m glad I don’t have to make that decision,” Colm murmured, turning back to the fire. “I’m not spending but the night and I’ll be on my way.”

  “Where are you headed?” Slane wondered.

  “Not sure yet. I suppose wherever there’s pay to be made,” Colm answered. He glanced up the stairs, then back at Slane. “Is it true your betrothed is here, too?”

  Slane nodded.

  “M’lord, if the Sullivan woman is hurt, she has no choice but to stay. But lady Elizabeth should not be here.”

  As long as she was trapped at the inn with them, Elizabeth’s life was in as much danger as Taylor’s. The constant tension Slane felt in his shoulders suddenly renewed its intensity, tightening his muscles until they were as taut as a freshly strung bow.

  “I’d be willing to see your lady safely to Castle Donovan for only a few gold pieces,” Colm suggested.

  Slane’s body stiffened. He knew escorting Elizabeth was his responsibility. He should be the one to see his future wife safely to his brother’s castle. But he couldn’t. Not with Taylor lying hurt. He couldn’t do two things at once. And Taylor needed his protection more. She was the one Corydon was after. She was the one Corydon wanted to kill.

  Elizabeth should not be where the danger was. Two men could offer Elizabeth the protection she needed to travel safely to Castle Donovan. John and Colm. He would send John with Elizabeth and pay Colm to accompany them. She would be safe that way. No harm would befall her. And he would see her again when he and Taylor reached Castle Donovan.

  He nodded his head in acquiescence, not at all surprised at how easy the answer had come.

  ***

  Slane leaned against the wall just outside Taylor’s door. He knew she wouldn’t leave through the window. She had to know that her wound would start bleeding if she tried to hang from a rope. No, he thought. She’s stubborn, but not stupid.

  The shadows of the hallway would keep him hidden long enough to see her face as she emerged from her room. She would come this way. He was sure of it.

  He had waited all night and was beginning to wonder if she had played him for the fool when he heard the creak of a door. His head snapped up and he saw a shadowy figure emerge from her room.

  He sighed and straightened, preparing himself for the confrontation. He waited until she started down the hallway before moving silently up behind her.

  Suddenly, she whirled on him, halting his movement. Those fabulous green eyes were slitted, but he couldn’t help but stare into them as if he were caught in a spell. Then something glinted in the torchlight and he dropped his gaze to see a dagger, the tip pointing at his stomach.

  “You’re up rather late tonight, eh, Slane?” Her voice was rich and soft.

  “What are you planning to do with that?”

  She turned the blade over in her palm. “No one makes me stay where I don’t want to. And I got the distinct impression that you weren’t going to let me leave.”

  “You think to run me through with that?” he demanded in disbelief.

  “I don’t need to run you through to disable you,” she replied.

  Slane thought he heard sadness in her voice, but he couldn’t be sure. Anger surged within him. “You would have to do more than run me through to disable me,” he retorted.

  “Don’t make this difficult,” she said, taking a step backward.

  “I can’t let you leave,” he said, his voice rising a little.

  “I don’t think you have much choice.” She took a step down the stairs.

  Slane surged forward, catching her wrist in his hand. They stood that way for a moment, glaring into each other’s eyes. “It will get you nowhere to leave. Face your destiny.”

  “My destiny is not to see my father,” Taylor said.

  “At least talk to him,” Slane urged.

  “I don’t think so.” She attempted to yank her arm away.

  Slane held it tightly. “It’s the only way you’ll be free of this. Do you think –”

  She brought her foot down hard on his foot. Pain exploded up his leg, but he did not release her wrist. On the contrary, his grip tightened until he saw agony glitter in her eyes, and she opened her hand, dropping the dagger to the floor.

  Her eyes danced with anger and determination. Slane knew she would try to flee again and again. And he couldn’t watch her every moment. The more he held her, the more she fought to be free.

  Slowly, he released her wrist.

  Shock made her eyes round. She backed up one step, then another, never taking her eyes from him.

  Slane watched her back away. What was he thinking? He couldn’t let her go! But he couldn’t hold her either. There had to be a way.

  Another step.

  He wanted to cry out to her. He wanted to beg her to stay. If she walked out that door, he was sure the next time he saw her she wouldn’t be capable of drawing a breath.

  Another step.

  He felt despair burn in his chest. He remembered when he first laid eyes on her. Her face might have been bruised, yet her spirit was indomitable. It always had been.

  Another step.

  But Slane was sure she couldn’t get through this. Not alone. Not with Corydon and the mercenaries after her. Thanks to him, they knew who she was now. They knew her face.

  Another step.

  And he would miss her. Terribly. Miss her smile, her bright eyes. Her quick wit. Her unique outlook on life. She wasn’t as unfeeling as she wanted everyone to believe. He remembered the child she had saved from being trampled at this very inn.

  He took one step down the stairs to stop her, but halted.

  She had reached the bottom stair. She too stopped, her hand resting lightly on the railing.

  His hand curled over the wooden banister as if in answer. As if it would convey all of his feelings to her -- the things he couldn’t say.

  A sad smile touched her lips and Taylor removed her hand. She turned her back on him.

  Slane watched her. She was such a little fighter. Such a risk-taker. But it angered him that she was gambling with her life. She would be so much safer... Gambling! That was it! “Taylor!” he called.

  She stopped, then slowly glanced at him over her shoulder, her dark hair curling around her in thick waves.

  “You’re a gambler. Care to make a little wager?”

  Taylor lifted her head, her eyes narrowing in curiosity. She turned to face him.
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  Slane moved down the stairs. “I’ll wager your freedom and a month’s pay against your staying with me until we reach Castle Donovan.” He saw the glimmer of interest in her eye. Bless her greedy little heart, he thought as hope blossomed in his chest. “You’re pretty good with that sword.” He saw her glance down at the sheathed weapon at her waist. “But I’ll bet I’m better.”

  She lifted her eyes to his. Her full lips curled slightly. “That’s hardly a fair fight,” she said softly. “I’m wounded.”

  “We’ll fight in a week’s time, if you’re up to it.” He saw the doubt in her eyes as she glanced at her wounded side. “And I’ll fight left-handed.”

  Taylor lifted those glorious eyes to Slane, a smile lighting her face.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  After spending most of the morning resting in bed, Taylor sat at the back of the common room, well removed from the hearth. Her legs were stretched out before her, her head tilted back over the chair so that her long black hair spilled almost to the floor.

  She heard heavy footsteps descending the stairs. A man clad in boots. The footsteps halted at the bottom of the stairs and her body came to life, tingling with fire. Slane. She knew without a doubt that it was him. It was unnerving the way her body instantly reacted to him. And she was just thinking about him; she hadn’t even seen him!

  The footsteps drew closer and she heard the scrape of a chair on the floor.

  “You shouldn’t be down here alone.”

  A smile stretched across her face. It was Slane all right. “You’re here,” she couldn’t help but goad.

  And Slane fell right into her trap. “I wasn’t a few moments ago,” he said, his stern voice faltering a little as she parroted the words right along with him.

  Taylor chuckled, opening her eyes to look at him. “You’re so predictable.”

  Slane stared quietly at her for a long moment, and she waited for a tirade. Instead, Slane sighed and sat back in the chair.

  “Do you know me so well?” he wondered. “How is it possible, when I know nothing of you?”

  Taylor turned away from him. “I have to know people to survive.”

  “Am I so easy to know?”

  “Usually,” she admitted.

  “And what of you?” he asked. “Why are you so difficult to know?”

  The wall of sarcasm and wariness formed around her. “To protect myself.” She felt Slane’s gaze shift to her.

  “Has it been so painful for you?”

  There was such sympathy in his voice that it angered her. “Don’t pity me,” she flared -- and flushed when he said the words at the same time.

  “I guess you’re not so hard to know after all,” he chortled.

  Heat suffused her cheeks and she had to grin and shake her head. Unwillingly, she felt her body sink lower into the chair, relaxing. The warmth of his smile encompassed her body, reaching her soul where the heat of the distant fire could not. “Have you always been so deceptive?”

  “I learn fast,” he murmured.

  Startled, she looked at him and chuckled. “Then I must be a very bad influence on your honorable character.”

  “I’m not so certain about my ‘honorable character,’ but, yes, you are a bad influence on me in other ways.” Slane paused for a moment. As if with a will of its own, his gaze slowly traveled up and down her body. “Very bad indeed.”

  “I guess it’s good for you nobles to mingle with the commoners,” Taylor said, looking at him through lowered lashes. “It’s not good to stand on that pedestal all the time.”

  Slane nodded. “Yes, occasionally I do feel the need to sit down with the peasantry. It’s the only way to stay in touch with what is really happening in the country.” Slane scratched his chin, waiting for a response. When he received none, he added, “So, peasant girl, tell me of the local gossip.”

  “Oh, yes, m’lord. As you wish,” she proclaimed. “Shall I bow before you as I’m telling you the gossip or do you prefer your wenches upright?”

  “I prefer all my wenches to prostrate themselves before me in adoration,” Slane replied.

  “Then you must not have had many willing wenches,” Taylor quipped. Suddenly, the thought of Slane holding and kissing a woman with long chestnut hair erupted in her mind. She cleared her throat and pulled her knees up to her chest.

  “Actually I prefer the ones who put up a fight,” he said. “They’re much more intriguing.”

  “I’ll bet,” she murmured.

  They settled into silence, the crackle of the distant fire the only sound in the room. Taylor couldn’t help but turn to look at Slane. And when she did, she found him gazing at her. She had to grin at the fond way he was studying her. And he answered her smile with a grin of his own. It transformed his face from the dark and troubled look she had grown accustomed to into one filled with warmth and promise. She felt her wariness melting under his glow. Then she realized something with such clarity that it burned her heart; she wasn’t worthy of him, even if he would have her. She would touch his white, flawless soul, and it would become black and charred, like her heart.

  Taylor looked across the room at the hot flames in the hearth.

  “Why do you turn away from me?” he wondered softly. “Are you afraid of something?”

  “Afraid?” she laughed. And then she turned to face him, bravely, foolishly. “I’m not afraid of anything.”

  “I think you are,” he said softly. “I think you’re afraid of many things and you hide behind that shield of indifference.”

  Startled that he had read her so well, Taylor again turned away from him but this time she avoided looking into the fire. Instead she watched the light cast by the dancing flames shimmer over the rear wall.

  “Tell me what you see, Taylor.” His voice was soft. “Tell me what keeps you from facing the world.”

  The light played on the wall before her, flickering around their two dark silhouettes like fire burning victims at the stake. Tears rose unbidden to her eyes.

  “You won’t find the answers there,” he whispered.

  Slane’s voice sounded so close, as if he were leaning over to murmur in her ear. She swiveled her gaze to him, and his image wavered before her teary eyes. He was close, very close. His blue eyes shimmered like the hottest part of a flame. Startled, she blinked and looked closer, only to see the firelight reflected back at her.

  The seductive, dancing flames captured her, tormented her, their flickering strands beckoning.

  She suddenly realized she was trembling, shivering even, in the warmth of the room.

  “Taylor?”

  She barely heard. She could see the dark smoke rising like fingers against the blue sky at Sullivan Castle. She remembered the horrible smell of burning flesh as if it were happening again.

  “Taylor?”

  She blinked and whirled away from the horror the visions inspired. The memory was gone. But the smell was not. She could never erase its acrid stench.

  She saw Slane staring at her with concern. It was a moment before she realized that he was holding her hands. “Are you all right?”

  All she wanted to do was curl up in the warmth and protection he could offer her. But she didn’t move; she just nodded.

  “You’re shivering,” he observed and rubbed her hands vigorously to warm them. “Where did you go just a moment ago? It looked like you had seen a ghost.”

  “A memory,” she answered with a dry throat.

  He glanced at the flames of the hearth before turning back to her. “A memory that has something to do with the fire?”

  Taylor nodded, but was unwilling or unable to tell him further.

  “A memory that has to do with your mother?”

  She jerked as if he had slapped her, and she almost rose, except he pushed her back down.

  “I know she was burned,” Slane said.

  Taylor attempted to rise, but this time Slane shot to his feet and braced his hands on either side of the chair, trapping her. T
here was something akin to panic racing through her veins, clenching her insides, telling her to flee.

  “It was a long time ago, Taylor,” Slane coaxed. “It’s time you tell someone about it.”

  Taylor looked away from him, unable to meet his eyes.

  There was one way she could escape his hold. “Where’s Elizabeth?”

  Slane cupped her chin and Taylor felt bolts of lightning rock her body. He gently lifted her gaze to meet his. “I sent her on to Castle Donovan.”

  Alone. They were alone. Was he a fool? Or did he really believe his honor could protect him? His thumb stroked her cheek, tracing her cheekbone. Taylor felt her heartbeat quicken.

  Slane’s gaze dipped to her lips. Tingles followed his eyes’ caress, and Taylor held her breath, afraid to move, afraid that he would remove his hand from her chin. She instinctively licked her lips as if that would hide them from his view.

  Slane swallowed hard. He was so close that his breath fanned over her face, smelling faintly of sweet ale. His hand glided over her jaw and down her neck to rest on her shoulder.

  She wanted him to kiss her. She desperately wanted to feel his lips against hers. But she couldn’t move. She was caught in the spell of his eyes, his touch.

  And then he was leaning closer to her, moving so close that their noses almost touched. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth as if he were about to speak, but when she lowered her gaze to them, they closed without issuing a word. Her blood hammered in her ears; her entire body trembled with a want she had never known before.

  A log cracked in the fire and sparks shot out from the hearth.

  Suddenly, he grabbed her shoulders tightly, his fingers digging into her skin. “I’m an honorable man,” he ground out between his teeth. “I have given my oath.”

  Taylor opened her mouth to speak. She wanted to tell him it was all right. She understood. She knew what kind of man he was. But no words came.

  He dipped his head and Taylor closed her eyes, anticipating the kiss. But then he shoved away from her with a growl. “It wouldn’t be enough,” he snarled. “Not with you.” And Slane stalked up the stairs to his room without a single glance back at her.