A Knight of Honor (29 page)

But he never did.

Slane waited a long moment before finally bending down to grab Magnus’s shoulder and turn him over.
 
The mercenary’s eyes were wide and glassy.
 
Lifeless.

“My bar,” the barkeep groaned, appearing from behind an overturned table.
 
“Who’s going to pay for all the damages?
 
And the loss of my revenue?”

Slane’s gaze slid to Taylor.
 
She hadn’t moved from the spot where she had fallen.
 
She was face down, her hair fanned out over her face, drops of blood beginning to drip from her side through her tunic.

“Fetch me a doctor,” Slane said heatedly, “before I destroy the rest of your inn.”

Slane moved to Taylor, kneeling at her side.
 
His own thoughts mocked him.
 
She’s so strong, so brave.
 
She’ll be all right.
 
His throat closed.
 
She wasn’t moving.
 
He was afraid to touch her, afraid that he would never see her eyes open again.
 
“Taylor?” he whispered in a husky voice.
 
He reached out a hand, only to discover that it was trembling.
 
He gently touched her neck and prayed, holding his breath.
 
With a relief so intense that it drained him, he felt her blood pulsating beneath her hot skin.
 
“Oh, God,” he whispered in gratitude.
 
He quickly grabbed his fallen tunic and pressed it tightly to her wound.
 
He smoothed her hair from her brow and leaned over to see her face.
 
“Taylor?
 
Taylor, can you hear me?”

Her eyes opened halfway, as if she would fall asleep at any moment.
 
“Oh,” she groaned, and tried to push herself over.
 
Pain stiffened every joint as it coursed through her veins.
 
She curled her knees to her stomach and lifted her hand to grab her wound.
 
Her hand brushed Slane’s and her eyes opened to meet his stare.

The agony in her gaze tore at his soul.

“It hurts so bad, Slane.”

He brushed the loose hair from her eyes, cursing himself for being too slow.
 
“The innkeeper went to fetch a doctor.
 
You’ll be fine,” he tried to assure her, attempting to hide the doubt in his voice.

“I could really use...”
 
She stared up into his eyes for a long moment before agony tore across her face.
 
“Slane,” she gasped, tears coming to her eyes.

He pulled her body closer to his, pressing his face into her hair, kissing her temple.
 
“I’m here, Taylor,” he whispered.
 
“I won’t leave you.”

“Slane?” A man’s voice called from the doorway.
 
“What’s going on?”

Slane glanced up to see Elizabeth and John standing just inside the inn.

S
lane’s first impulse was to let go of Taylor and ease her back down to the floor.
 
But his body refused to obey.
 
His second impulse was to explain everything all at once in a torrent of words.
 
But his lips refused to obey.
 
His third impulse was to pull Taylor even tighter to his body as if she needed protection from the slender woman standing in the doorway with sharp, questioning eyes.
 
His arms obeyed that one.

Elizabeth’s brow furrowed; then her gaze swept the room, taking in the broken tables, the dead man on the floor.
 
When her eyes returned to Slane, they were scowling in confusion.
 
“Darling, what happened?
 
Are you all right?”

As she approached, Slane noticed the haughtiness and the slight tilting of her chin as she gazed at Taylor.
 
He felt the stirrings of resentfulness somewhere deep inside him.
 
But hadn’t he been the same way when he had first met Taylor?
 
“Yes, I’m all right,” Slane answered.
 
“But she’s not.
 
She has a bad cut on her left side that needs to be sewn shut.
 
I sent the barkeep to fetch a doctor, but I don’t know if he’s going to find one in time to help her.”

“Let me do it,” Elizabeth said, kneeling beside him.
 
“I’m quite capable.
 
You know I am.”
 
She tried to nudge him aside, but Slane refused to release Taylor.
 
“Darling, fetch me some clean towels and warm water.
 
I have a bag on your saddle.
 
Bring it to me.”

Slane glanced down at Taylor.
 
Trepidation made him tighten his grip.
 
If he left, if he released her, she might just slip away.
 
She might close her eyes and never open them.
 
Something akin to panic flared to life in him.
 
He noticed the blood on his fingers.
 
Taylor’s blood.
 
But if he didn’t release her and let Elizabeth tend her wounds, she would bleed to death.

He eased her to the floor and watched Elizabeth lift Taylor’s tunic.
 
Her wound was worse than he thought.
 
Blood oozed out of her body.
 
Spilling over her creamy flesh, the dark liquid looked like an ugly stain moving across her skin.

Worry ate at the borders of Slane’s soul.
 
He turned his head to find Taylor staring at him.
 
In her eyes, he saw such panic that he impulsively picked up her hand.
 
“It’s okay,” Slane assured her.
 
“Elizabeth has sewn me up more than once.”

“Darling,” Elizabeth reminded him.
 
“My bag.”

Slane nodded and rushed to the door, passing the order along to John.
 
He spoke briefly with a barmaid, giving her instructions for clean towels and warm water.
 
Even as he spoke, his eyes remained on Taylor.
 
He watched her every intake of breath, her every grimace of pain.
 
And he knew the second she closed her eyes.
 
He waited for her to open them again.
 
But her lids remained down.
 
Open your eyes, Taylor, he willed.
 
Her eyes stayed closed.
 
She looked so peaceful now, as though she were sleeping or...

Unable to bear his gnawing dread any longer, Slane raced to Taylor’s side.
 
“Elizabeth?”

“We need to move her to a room.
 
I can’t do it here.
 
She’s going to have to rest for a while.
 
You know how easily these stitches come undone.”

Slane nodded in agreement “I’m sure there are plenty of rooms available here now.” Slane glanced down at Taylor, at her once again bruised and battered face, but this time he knew of the beauty that lay beneath the awful travesties marring her features.
 
And it was a beauty that still shone through the bruises and the dried mud.
 
A lock of hair had again fallen over her eyes, and he desperately wanted to brush it aside.
 
Instead, he bent and picked her up in his arms, trying to ignore the limpness of her body, the way her head lolled backward.
 
He tried to ignore the anxious feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Elizabeth followed him to the stairs.
 
She shook her head, dusting off her dress.
 
“I can’t imagine where a woman received a sword wound.
 
She must be very ill bred.
 
Who is she, Slane?”

Slane’s teeth clenched.
 
“She’s my brother’s future wife,” he replied.

“Poor Richard!
 
I fear he will be gravely disappointed.”

***

“Slane?”

Slane started awake.
 
It took a moment to remember that he had seen Elizabeth to a room and then had left her to come and sit by Taylor.
 
He had been so angry, so furious, with Taylor when she had left.
 
But now, faced with the thought that she might very well die, he found his anger gone and something else -- something he had not known before -- surging in his chest.

His eyes adjusted to the dim light cast by the candle.
 
Taylor’s beautiful green eyes were open and looking at him.
 
He surged to his knees before the bed and captured her hand in his.
 
His body shook with relief.
 
He leaned forward, brushing his knuckles over her cheek; he was not surprised that her skin felt feverish to the touch.
 
Hurriedly he dipped a rag into the bowl of water that was positioned on the floor next to the bed and ran the cool cloth across her forehead.

“Taylor, Taylor,” he whispered to himself, “what am I going to do with you?”

“You could get me an ale,” she whispered.

Slane grinned as he continued to rub the cloth across her forehead, but his gaze shifted to her eyes.
 
“How are you feeling?” he asked.

She groaned.
 
“I feel like a horse trampled me,” she finally answered.
 
She lifted her hand to her side, gently touching her wound.
 
A slight scowl darkened her features.
 
When she again turned her gaze to Slane, her eyes were resolute.
 
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she wondered.

Slane looked away, returning the rag to the bowl by the bed.
 
Why did he feel guilty?
 
As if he had betrayed her somehow?
 
The thought was ridiculous.
 
He had no allegiance to this woman, only to his brother.
 
“It wasn’t important,” he said defensively.
 
“Our relationship -- yours and mine -- is nothing more than it seems.”

He still couldn’t lift his eyes to meet hers.
 
He heard a sound and turned his head to see that cynical twist to Taylor’s shapely lips.

“I guess I was mistaken,” she whispered.

Slane saw the way her lips trembled, the way her throat worked.
 
“I never intended to hurt you, Taylor,” he said quietly.

“No, it just seems to work out like that.”

Determinedly, he pushed the guilt away.
 
“Tell me.
 
What were you going to do?
 
Where were you planning to go after you ran out on me?”

“It didn’t really matter where,” she answered.
 
“Just as long as it was away from you.”

This time he managed to hold his gaze steady.
 
Her eyes were large and the deepest green he had ever seen.
 
They made him think of a lush green forest.
 
The candlelight shimmering around her head made her almost angelic.

Unbidden, his fingers picked up a lock of her hair, and it curled around his knuckles.
 
“My God, you are beautiful.”

“You’d better get away from me.
 
Very far away from me,” she advised.
 
“I’ll bring you nothing but trouble.”

Slane nodded.
 
He knew she was right, knew he should get as far away from her as he could.
 
But she needed him.
 
“Very far away,” he echoed.
 
But he lifted his hand to rub it along her jaw, over her bruised cheek.
 
He ran his finger across her hairline, whispering, “I thought I had lost you.”
 
Then he found himself leaning his arm next to her head, his lips mere inches from hers.
 
Her sweet breath fanned his face.