As it was, Slane did all the talking. The Sheriff never even bothered to ask her any questions. Not one. For that alone, she was grateful to Slane. Then, finally, the Sheriff let them go on their way. She and Slane set out for Edinbrook.
Now, after riding for hours, Taylor could see the town in the distance. Nestled in the small valley that spread out below them, small thatched buildings budded from the landscape like tiny flowers, all of them encompassed by a stone wall. Like a brooding overlord, the towering castle of Edinbrook loomed over the town from the east—a stone-faced, stern parent looking down upon its innocent children.
She looked away from the castle, back to the town, and sighed quietly. Another bed. She could get used to traveling this way. A smile curved her lips.
"You find the landscape pleasing?"
Taylor turned her gaze to Slane. He rode beside her, his body gently rolling back and forth with the horse's steps. She shifted her gaze back to the hills. A soft breeze floated to her and she inhaled the scent of the valley's flowers. "Not particularly."
Slane scowled slightly. "What did you take from Hugh to make him so angry?" he finally said.
Taylor's gaze swept his face, his furrowed eyebrows, the set of his jaw. He was used to having his questions answered—that much was obvious from the expectant look in his eyes. But it wasn't just those clear blue eyes she saw. It wasn't just the anticipation of her response that lingered there. It was his disapproval. His judgment. The way he had turned on her when she had cut Hugh. She looked away from him. "You wouldn't believe me," she answered.
"I always believe the truth," he told her.
Taylor pursed her lips in thought. She knew she could lie to him to save her own dishonorable reputation. The last thing she wanted was for Slane to see her as some mercenary with a heart of gold. Because she wasn't that. In fact, she was just the opposite. But Slane wanted the truth.
"Hugh was a worthless bag of human filth. He was probably out here looking for new flesh for his business."
Slane nodded. "A brothel."
"No," Taylor answered. "Servitude. Of course, if he couldn't get his price from a lord or a knight or even a freeman, he'd turn to selling their bodies for a moment of sick pleasure. He'd wear out the body and leave the woman on the street for the vultures." She'd seen him do it. She'd seen him abandon a woman so used and hurt she couldn't defend herself against the ravages of the street. It sickened Taylor.
"Are you saying... that you..." Slane seemed shocked.
She turned her gaze to him in disbelief. She had never whored a day in her life! She sighed and shook her head. "I told you that you wouldn't believe me," she murmured and spurred her horse on to a canter. He would never understand her. He could never see past the tough outer skin. And she didn't want him to.
Slane overrode her, catching her horse's reins in his hand and bringing her mount to a halt. "So you escaped?"
Taylor remembered the fighting and the screaming. "Yes," she said placatingly. "We escaped." She didn't have to mention the small girl Hugh had taken from her parents whom she and Jared had rescued.
"With Jared's help."
"I couldn't have done it without him." Jared had fought beside her, protecting both the girl and Taylor's back.
"And Hugh wanted you back?"
"Look, it was a long time ago. Why don't we just forget it?" She smiled at him, but there was such pity in his large blue eyes that it made her angry. "You fool," she growled. "It wasn't me. Hugh had stolen a gypsy girl from her mother. Jared and I —"
"You rescued the girl?"
His incredulous tone made her even angrier. "We were well paid," she said.
A look of comprehension cleared his face of doubt. He released the reins of her horse, nodding as if he had finally figured her out.
Taylor waited until he moved past her, spurring his horse down the road. Yes, she thought. We were paid well. With a palm reading, the only payment the poor gypsy woman could afford. And that had been just fine. It was enough just to get a child out of Hugh's horrendous clutches. But Slane didn't need to know that.
Slane dismounted, handing the reins of his horse to a stable boy. The boy beamed him a smile and led the horses away. Slane turned his gaze to Taylor, who stood in the doorway of the stables, her gaze pinned on something across the street. She had refused to even look at him after galloping into town ahead of him. But he hadn't refused to look at her. No, far from it.
She stood straight and proud, her long black hair hanging in a thick braid down her back. He had watched her that morning when they were still at the inn, trailing her fingers through it, twisting it and entwining it with the same easy grace of the ladies of the castle plaiting their hair.
He shook his head and tore his gaze from her. He would never understand how she could be a mercenary. To take money for saving a little girl from the likes of Hugh! He felt a twinge of disappointment and wasn't exactly sure why. He had no reason to expect anything more from her.
Slane moved out of the stables to stand at her side. For a moment, just a moment, he felt a strange quickening of his pulse as his gaze trailed over her smooth cheekbone to the curve of her full lips. Then she turned to look at him.
Everything stopped in that instant. Those green eyes peered into his soul, searching the very depths of his being. They reached deep and pulled forth something warm and tender that he didn't know dwelled within him. The feeling surrounded him like the heat from a gently flaming hearth.
He quickly shifted his gaze away. He hadn't realized he had been holding his breath until he let it all out in a quiet rush. He blinked for a moment, unsure of what had just happened. Uneasy, he handed her the robe he had bought from a merchant in Sudbury. "Put this on," he instructed and headed toward the heart of town.
In a moment, she was at his side, and when he glanced down, he was happy to see that the hem of the brown robe swished around her booted feet. It was a little too big on her, but it would do for now as a disguise. Corydon knew who she was. With her face concealed by the robe's hood, she would at least have a chance to hide from probing eyes.
She hadn't even questioned him, Slane realized with a smile. Was there an understanding forming between them? He felt a moment of jubilation... until he saw a large garrison of soldiers heading in their direction. Slane recognized them immediately and faltered. Their black tunics announced their allegiance: Corydon's men.
He took a step backward and turned, only to see another, smaller group of black-clad knights heading down the street.
Taylor jerked forward, but Slane caught her wrist and pulled her into the shadows of a nearby doorway.
Slane glanced furtively up and down the street and was dismayed to see that the street was suddenly devoid of the usual assortment of peasants and other marketplace patrons. If they stepped out into the street now, they would surely be seen.
He heard the handle of the door behind them rattle and glanced down to see Taylor's hand on it. But it wouldn't budge even under her insistent shaking.
Slane glanced down the street. The soldiers were coming closer. There were so many of them. If they fought now, it would only mean Slane's death and Taylor's capture.
"Stand here," Taylor instructed, pulling him in front of her like a shield.
At least that would protect her, Slane thought.
But suddenly, she threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. Slane would have tumbled backward, had he not braced himself by splaying his hands on the sides of the doorway. He opened his mouth to reprimand her, but she quickly pressed her lips, and her body, against his.
Stunned into immobility, Slane gaped as she slid her lips across his, as she pressed her tiny body to his quickly hardening one. He jerked and tried to pull away, but her embrace held him tightly to her chest.
Slane managed to slide his lips off of hers and exclaim, "What in God's blood are you doing, woman? Have you lost your senses?"
"Unless you want to lose more than your senses, you'
ll return my affection and make it good," she warned in a whisper, nibbling his ear.
Jolts of pleasure shot through Slane's body. His mind told him to resist her, but his body was already succumbing to her seduction. Then his quickly fogging mind focused enough to realize what she was doing. A desperate disguise: a harlot and her customer.
She slid her mouth across his jaw and pressed her lips against his again, running her hands through his hair, clinging to him as if his lips were the only thing that could save her. Slane wrapped his arms around her tiny waist, wanting to reassure her. He knew it had to look convincing or they were done for.
He ran his tongue lightly across her lips, coaxing her to open to him. He felt her quiver beneath him as she parted her lips. She was either a very talented actress or...
Distantly, Slane heard footsteps march closer in the street, and he pulled her tighter against him. He thrust his tongue deep into her mouth. A soft groan escaped her parted lips. A groan that sent his world tumbling end over end.
The curves of her body fit snugly against the ridges in his; her full breasts pressed heavily against the battle-hewn muscles in his chest. Tingles followed the trail her fingers left along his skin; prickles of heat inflamed his soul. The essence of her seemed to take on solid form, enclosing him in a swirling cloak of passion. He no longer heard the footsteps in the streets, no longer cared if they were caught; he only wanted this moment to go on forever.
Then a man cleared his throat behind Slane. Even as Taylor's kiss warmed his body, the threat of danger pierced the moment like a dagger. He almost reached for his sword.
Taylor's hands moved over his waist and down to his buttocks. He battled with control as she gently squeezed, running her hands over the firm rounded portion.
He pulled back slightly to gaze deeply into the green pools of her eyes. What did she want of him? Did she truly do this for disguise? Or did she dare to challenge him so blatantly? He ran his fingers through the long locks of her glorious hair, loosening it from that accursed braid. He almost growled with the passion she had aroused within him. Then he claimed her lips again with a fierce painful lashing. If she were toying with him, he would teach her what it was like to enrage his lust so powerfully.
She matched his kiss, his intense need with a longing of her own. He felt her tremble beneath the onslaught of his kiss. He wanted her as he had never wanted anything in his life. He wanted to see what her body looked like beneath the leather armor she wore. He wanted to kiss her breasts and her stomach and...
Suddenly, she tore away from him. Slane stared at her for a long moment, trying desperately to regain control of his heated body. She stood before him like a vanquishing hero, her chin raised, her eyes glittering with --
With what? Was that passion in her eyes? Or was it mockery?
Slane felt a chill seep through his clothes to his heated skin as the cold reality of what had just happened set in. What had he been doing? What had he been thinking?
"You made it good," she said. "Damn good. Very convincing. Even to me. But the soldiers are gone."
And indeed, they were gone. Long gone. The streets were empty.
He stood stoically for a long moment. Could she really have been acting? Could that kiss have meant nothing to her when it had enflamed him so? "Yes, they are," he said awkwardly. He stepped away from her into the street. He had been wrong to kiss her so passionately, to want her like that. He was betrothed, for the love of God!
"Don't worry, Slane," Taylor said, patting his back. "I won't tell anyone you liked it."
Slane whirled on her, a fierce rage consuming him. "We will not speak of this again!" he shouted. "I did what I had to do, but that's all there was to it."
For a moment, Taylor stood with her mouth open, her eyes wide. Then she brushed past him, but tripped over the long hem of her robe. Angrily, she bent, grabbed the hem, and slid the robe up and over her head, taking it off. She carefully folded it and held it out to him. When he reached for it, she dropped it in the dirt and dust of the street at his feet.
Taylor turned her back on him and walked quickly down the road.
Slowly, Slane bent down and picked up the robe. The lavender smell of her seemed to permeate the fabric. He brought the robe to his face and filled his lungs with the essence of Taylor Sullivan.
Taylor couldn't even look at Slane. Her anger and hurt were too fresh. She couldn't bury them that easily.
Because of Corydon's soldiers in Edinbrook, Slane had decided it would be safer if they slept in the woods. She had slept restlessly on the hard, cold ground of the forest.
But it wasn't because of the natural elements, the rocks jabbing at her back, the shrill wind, the unsettling cries of strange animals, and Taylor knew it. His fierce reaction to her feeble attempt at communication after the kiss had wounded her deeply. She hadn't expected the passion that had ignited her body at his touch, his kiss. And before she even had a chance to understand it he had rejected her, humiliating her.
She still burned to tell him about the payment she and Jared had received for helping the gypsy girl, but she refused to give Slane what he claimed to want. The truth. Let him think of me as he will, she thought. There was something morbidly satisfying about keeping the truth to herself. She'd be damned if she'd seek his approval.
She had looked with distaste at the berries he offered her to break her fast and turned her back to him. Now she saddled her horse, readying the animal to continue the trip to Castle Donovan. Why was she even going there?
She should end this farce and bid Slane farewell. But what would she do then? Look for another job? Perhaps she could find work at Castle Donovan. It was as good a chance as any.
Taylor put her hand on the saddle, preparing to ease herself up. That was when she heard the silence of the forest around her. The eerie quiet where there should have been dozens of different sounds filling the air. She froze, remembering the attack by the black-clad knights when Jared was with her.
Taylor eased her sword from its sheath, her eyes scanning the surrounding woods carefully, looking for any signs of attackers. The wind blew softly through the trees, rustling the leaves and branches.
As she turned, she saw Slane bent over, pulling a belt tight on his horse. He stood to inspect the bridle and caught her gaze. She saw the tension coil around his body as his hand flew to his sword, his eyes wide with alarm.
Taylor heard her horse whinny behind her... and knew it was too late. She whirled—only to find the tip of a sword pressed against her throat.
Slane's body exploded with motion as he bolted forward, moving to Taylor's aid. The sharp edge of the attacker's blade pushed dangerously close to the soft hollow of her throat. He was going to be too late. She was going to die. The thoughts came unbidden, igniting a powerful fear in his body.
But suddenly, surprisingly, Taylor launched herself forward into her attacker's arms, flinging her hands around his body, laughing with true delight.
Slane stumbled and almost fell as the man swept his arms around Taylor in a cloak of joy. Slane immediately straightened up, holding his body as rigid and tense as a board. A fierce wave of resentment shot through him, and he wanted to run the man through.
Why didn't she smile at him the same way? But the thought was preposterous! Why should she? And why should he even want her to?
"I can't believe it!" Taylor exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"
Slane's gaze slid to the man. His deep blue eyes gazed at Taylor with such delight that Slane wanted to hit that square jaw of his and knock the smile from his lips. He hated the man instantly. He hated the man for being able to make Taylor so happy. Slane's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowed.
"I heard about Jared," the man answered.
Sadness crept into Taylor's eyes as her brows met in a scowl of pain. And suddenly, Slane felt guilt enfolding him in a shroud of shame. What was he thinking? Why was he being so selfish?
"Yes," she said softly, disengaging herself from the man.
"I wanted to know you were all right," the man said.
Slane stepped forward. "She's all right," he snapped. Taylor turned her gaze to him, and Slane felt her look of pain spear him like an arrow.
The man shifted his gaze to Slane. "Who are you?" he asked evenly.
"I was going to inquire the same of you," Slane replied.
"This is Slane Donovan," Taylor said. "Slane, this is Alexander Hawksmoor."
Alexander! The word sent tremors of trepidation through Slane's body. Was this the same Alexander of whom she had been so enamored years ago?
"You can put your sword away," Taylor advised.
Slane looked down and frowned, surprised that he still held the weapon so tightly in his fist. He sheathed his blade as she returned her gaze to her friend.
"I'm fine," Taylor told Alexander.
"Are you sure?"
"Why wouldn't she be?" Slane demanded. "She is in my care."
Again, Alexander's and Taylor's gazes swiveled to him. Slane suddenly felt like an outsider listening in on a private conversation. His fists clenched tight and his teeth ground together hard.
Alexander ignored him. "Sully, you're all right?" His voice lowered and he went on. "He's not forcing you to travel with him?"
Every muscle in Slane's body stiffened.
"No," she said.
Alexander cocked his head and gave her a suspicious look.
She smiled. "He's paying for food and lodging."
Alexander looked around at the forest. "Pretty cheap lodging."
"Last night was better," Taylor said. "Unfortunately, you know how I attract trouble at inns."
Alexander nodded. "That's how I tracked you. And I saw you leaving town last night." He motioned to the woods. "I followed you here."
"That easy, eh?" Slane asked.
Taylor turned to him with her hands on her hips. "Alexander is an even better tracker than Jared is." Taylor paused, then softly added, "Was."
Knights of Valor Page 64