A Knight of Honor (22 page)

Taylor faced Slane with clenched fists.
 
Her entire body trembled with her whirling emotions -- grief, anger, disappointment.
 
“That’s what I’m counting on.”

Slane took a step forward.
 
“You are mad,” he hissed with conviction.
 
He grabbed her shoulders suddenly and Taylor could see the anguish in his blue eyes.
 
“Do you know what he’ll do to you?”

“Do you know what I’ll do to him?” Taylor gritted.

Slane stared at her for a long moment as if reading her deepest thoughts.
 
The anger faded as understanding slowly lit his eyes.
 
Something washed over Slane’s face and his grip eased on her shoulders.
 
He studied her for a long, quiet moment.
 
“That’s very honorable of you, Taylor, but –”

“Honor has nothing to do with it,” she retorted vehemently, jerking free of his hold.
 
“Jared was not just my friend -- he was my family.
 
I would be dead if it wasn’t for him.
 
I owe him that much.”

Slane stood motionless, apparently unmoved by her confession.

Shaken by the fierce emotions raging in her body, she turned her back on him, facing the flickering shadows thrown by the dancing flames of the hearth.
 
She crossed her arms before her heated body.

“You think you stand a chance against Corydon?”

She raised her chin in defiance.
 
She didn’t care.
 
All she knew was she had to try.

“He’ll kill you, and then your death and Jared’s will be for naught.”
 
Slane took a step closer.
 
She could feel his gaze on her, the nearness of his body.
 
“You don’t want his death to be unavenged, do you?”

“No,” she said after a moment.

“Then join forces with my brother,” Slane suggested.

“I don’t need anyone’s help,” Taylor insisted.

“Corydon has men to protect him, guards with him all the time.
 
He is not a foolish man, or I would have killed him myself a long time ago for daring to lay his sights on Donovan lands.”
 
He stepped around her to look at her face.
 
“With Richard’s men and resources, you can avenge Jared’s death.
 
I think deep down you know that.”

Taylor stared at the wavering shadows on the wall.
 
A log popped and sparks flew into the air behind her.
 
She knew he was right.
 
But the fact remained that she didn’t trust nobles.
 
To trust this Richard, to ally herself with him?
 
She didn’t know if she could do that.

She turned to tell Slane that, but the tender way he was staring at her caught her off guard; she could have sworn she saw admiration in his eyes.
 
She shut her mouth and took a deep breath.
 
“I suppose you’re right,” she found herself saying.

Slane captured her hand in his and a smile lit his face.
 
Taylor suddenly found it hard to breathe.
 
He lifted her knuckles to his lips.
 
When they touched her skin, a powerful shock seared through her body.
 
She eased her hand free of his hold.

His smile wouldn’t fade.
 
“Then we ride to Castle Donovan,” he proclaimed.
 
“We should be there within the week, if the weather holds.”

But she wasn’t listening to his words; she was massaging her knuckles.
 
A strange prickling sensation remained where his lips had caressed her skin.
 
She knew that joining forces with Richard was the only way to defeat Corydon and avenge Jared’s death, but she couldn’t stop the nagging feeling that this was too easy.
 
Why would Richard join forces with her?

As she turned away to return to her room, Slane halted her by gently grabbing her elbow.
 
“No more letters?” Slane asked.

Taylor shook her head in agreement.
 
“No more letters.”

He ran a finger along the length of her jaw line, bestowing on her another smile.
 
It warmed her insides, blanketing her in a rush of delight.
 
She couldn’t help but grin back.
 
Then he turned away from her, and she found that her moment in the sun was gone.
 
Slapped back to reality, her grin faded and apprehension replaced it.

***

Just as they reached Sherville, a misty rain began to saturate the air.
 
They ducked inside an inn just in time to miss the downpour.

Slane had never seen so many people crammed into an inn at one time before.
 
Some of the people seemed sick beyond anything he had ever experienced himself.
 
Their faces were pale, their skin hanging in loose folds on their bones.

Slane shouldered his way through the peasants to the innkeeper to secure their lodging.
 
When he turned back to the inn’s common room, he was frowning.
 
Near the back of the room, a man coughed harshly and bent over, clutching at his chest as if it were on fire.

“This damn scourge is everywhere,” Slane heard one man mutter.

“Everyone who can still stand is fleeing the city,” another voice added.

Slane made his way to the table, where Taylor waited for him among a dozen other men and women; every table in the place was just as overcrowded.
 
Slane sat on the end of the bench, opposite her, and reached for one of the ales the bar wench had just set down in front of him.
 
He took a long drink.
 
“I got us a room here for the night,” he said.

She nodded slightly to indicate she had heard him, but she said nothing.
 
She brushed a lock of hair from her face, her eyes on the man beside her.
 
His arm shoved into her ribs as he ate.
 
She moved over farther, but Slane could see the irritation etched in the tight lines around her mouth.

She glanced at him, scowling fiercely and stood, swiping one of the ales from the table.
 
“I think I’ll go up to my room now.”

Slane deliberately cleared his throat, drawing her gaze.
 
“Our room,” he corrected her.

She stopped cold.
 
“What?”

“The innkeeper only had one room left.
 
It was probably the last room left in this whole town.”
 
Slane saw a troubled look sweep over her features.

“Aren’t you worried about your reputation?” she wondered.

“I have little choice.”

Taylor whirled away from the table, her mug held tightly in her shaking hand.
 
As she pushed her way through the throng of people, she was shoved from behind.
 
She jerked forward, her mug flying free of her hold.
 
It landed on the floor and rolled, leaving a trail of lukewarm ale behind it.
 
Taylor righted herself, whirling on the hapless man who jostled her.

Slane felt his spine stiffen.
 
Was she going to run the poor farmer through?

The man was apologetic, sincerely begging her forgiveness.
 
Taylor grumbled something that made the poor farmer’s face turn pale; then she stormed for the door.

Slane shook his head and rose, clutching his mug of ale, and followed her.
 
Once outside, he saw her sitting beneath the cover of a large tree with her head buried in her arms.
 
Rain fell around her.
 
He remembered that, when he had first hired her and Jared, she had seemed so cocky, so confident -- confident enough to lie through her teeth about her true identity and get away with it.
 
But the last few weeks had been too much.
 
She had lost her closest friend.
 
She had learned that her father -- a man who had not given a damn about her in eight years -- wanted to see her.
 
She seemed overwhelmed by it all.

The shadows thrown by the gently swaying tree cast her in darkness, allowing only a teasing glimpse of her when the moonlight happened to shine through the thin clouds.

Slane knew he should leave her alone, knew she needed time to sort everything out, but somehow he couldn’t stay away from her.
 
He hunched his shoulders and dashed across the road through the rain.
 
He sat down in the grass beside her, casting furtive glances in her direction.

“I don’t want your pity,” she told him.

“I’m not giving it,” Slane said.
 
“I just want you to know that you’re not alone.”

She snorted softly in disbelief.

He handed his mug to her and she cast him a speculative glance before accepting it.

Slane knew now that she wasn’t what she appeared to be.
 
She pretended to be someone who was strong and unfeeling, someone who didn’t care what was right.
 
And yet she felt things very strongly.
 
She had a strong sense of honor.
 
And she had saved his life from Hugh’s dagger, never once taking credit for it.
 
He chanced a glance at her.

In a stray ray of moonlight her hair shone like black onyx.
 
Slane wanted to touch the dark silkiness, to see if it truly was as soft as it looked.
 
He knew he shouldn’t, but in the next instant his hand was rising to touch her hair.
 
It was softer than he had even imagined.
 
His eyes shifted to hers.
 
They were so bright, so expectant.
 
And there was pain in them -- pain that Slane wanted desperately to relieve.

He cupped her cheek in his palm, rubbing it with his thumb.
 
Against her moonlight-white skin his shadowed hand looked black.

His gaze returned to her eyes.
 
The brightest most precious emerald gems he had ever seen stared back at him, brilliant, sparkling.
 
“Taylor,” he whispered.

“Slane, don’t,” she murmured.

He wasn’t sure he understood.

“I don’t think I could stand –”
 
She pulled her face free from his touch and stood.
 
“Maybe we should go inside.”

Slane rose before her to tower over her.
 
“What, Taylor?”

But she would not turn back to him.

“Have I hurt you somehow?” he asked.

“I’m just protecting your reputation,” she answered quietly.
 
“I don’t want you to be found out here alone with the likes of me.”

“Do you think you endanger my reputation so much?”

“I think you’re afraid of me,” she answered.

“Afraid of you?” Slane laughed.

But Taylor was not laughing.
 
She turned to him and her incredible innocent beauty did indeed make him fearful.
 
He suddenly knew he would do anything for this creature, this woman who was driving him crazy with need.
 
His laughter stopped instantly, catching in his throat.
 
He knew he should look away before she saw the truth in his eyes, but when he saw her sarcastic grin he knew it was too late.

She began to move past him.