A sudden agony swelled in his chest. "You don't have to go." His hand reached out to wipe her hair from her face. Her locks parted, like the softest curtain in the world, as he moved her hair aside to see the flawless skin it hid. "Taylor." His voice sounded thick to his own ears. She didn't look at him and he suddenly needed to see her eyes. He needed to gaze at them one more time.
She rose quickly and moved for the door. Then Slane was out of his chair just as quickly, calling desperately, "I don't want to see you hurt again."
"You won't," she whispered.
Slane caught her arm, but she wouldn't turn. She wouldn't lift her eyes to his. Slane reached around her and placed his hand on her shoulder, turning her to face him. Taylor kept her head bowed before him, her black mane tumbling riotously about her head. He cupped her chin and forced her head up until her eyes met his.
The pain he saw there tore at his soul. It was a different kind of hurt, not like the kind he had seen when she was physically wounded, but like the kind he felt in his own heart. He crushed her to him, wanting to take the pain from those eyes so he could remember her as the vibrant, glowing woman she was. He brushed his cheek against hers, disheartened as the lavender smell of her floated to him. He tried to memorize the feel of her against him, the soft curves of her back, the feel of her hair against the back of his hands, the way her cheek lay against his shoulder.
She pulled away slightly and turned her gaze to his. Her lips were close to his; her breath fanned his face. He had never pleaded for anything in his life. Until now... "Taylor, please..." he begged.
Taylor tried to take a step back as she shook her head, but his fingers tightened convulsively around her arms, refusing to relinquish their hold. She opened her mouth to speak, but a sudden fear filled Slane. He didn't want to hear her stubborn words; he didn't want to hear her reasons for leaving.
Desperate, he pressed his lips to hers to silence the words. The touch of her wet lips sent a surge of longing shooting through his body. The innocence of her kiss tugged at his conscience, begging him to release her before it was too late. But wasn't it already too late?
He parted her lips with his tongue and drove deep into the recess of her mouth, plundering the sweet inner sanctity with a need that he had never known before. He tasted her, trying to get enough of her to last him a lifetime. Her tongue swept his, meeting, battling. He held her along the length of his body, afraid that if he let go she would flee. Longing lashed his soul. He wanted her as he had never wanted anything before in his life. If she would but say the word, he would go away with her, forsaking all else.
At that realization, his body stiffened and he broke away. What was he doing? But as he looked into the depth of those sea green eyes, he knew exactly what he was doing. He was saying good-bye to a woman he admired, a woman whose courage surpassed even his own.
She studied his face for a long moment, those bewitching eyes taking in every taut line, every clenched muscle, until he was sure she could see the battle waging in his soul.
He couldn't turn his eyes away from her, even knowing what she was doing to him. Even knowing how she was tearing him apart.
Finally, she stepped back. And without saying a word, she turned and continued up the stairs. He watched her every move like a hungry wolf. She didn't once look over her shoulder.
Slane wanted to throw his head back and scream and scream.
She would be gone by morning. When he awoke, his life would be back to normal, as if she had never entered it. But somehow, he knew it would never be the same again.
It was time to leave, Taylor knew. Time to leave Slane. As it had been a moment ago, a half hour ago, hours ago. But the feel of Slane's hard body pressed so intimately against her own, the feel of his lips against hers, made her long to feel more of his caresses. How could she go when every one of her senses was telling her to stay? How could she stay when her mind was telling her to run and never look back? She stopped pacing and sat heavily on the bed beside her packed bag. "Damn," she muttered, her feelings swirling inside her. Her brain felt ready to explode. She dropped her head into her hands, grimacing at her indecision. She had never been this confused before.
She rubbed her temples and bemusedly shook her head. What would Jared think of her now? she wondered. At the thought, her back straightened and drew her up.
She slowly dropped her hands from her face. Jared. I've come this far to avenge my friend's death, she thought. And now I'm running away into the night like a frightened child. How can I abandon him like that ? How can I allow his death to go unpunished?
Then why have I wanted to leave so badly? Her gaze shifted to the open window. The moon struggled to give light to the world below it, but a haze of clouds blocked its feeble efforts, leaving the night dark. The haunting image of Slane pressing his moist lips to Elizabeth's cheek speared Taylor's mind. The pain she felt in her chest was as immediate as it had been the day she had witnessed the scene. She slowly dropped her gaze to the dark floor. She didn't want to be hurt. She should put as much distance between her and Slane as she could, forgetting everything: the possibility of a paying job, free food and board, avenging Jared.
She knew now that a simple heated glance from Slane's blue eyes or a seductive grin from his lips could make her forget everything. That was why she had not left yet. She was afraid Slane would be waiting in the common room for her. Waiting with his worried blue eyes. Waiting with his strong arms. Waiting with his dangerous lips. She was sure if he kissed her as he had before, she would never leave his side. And deep down inside, she knew she didn't want to leave Slane. She wanted to stay with him. Maybe, just maybe, he would forsake Elizabeth and take her in his arms again...
But she knew he would never break his vow. His honor. His oath. She was afraid now that her longing for Slane was clouding her judgment, giving her too much of a reason to stay. After all, couldn't she avenge Jared's death on her own? Did she need to accompany Slane to Castle Donovan? Of course, it would be easier to have Slane pay for her meals. And she could seek his brother's help against Corydon. And what of her father? He would be at Castle Donovan waiting for her. Could she see him again, after all these years, just to be with Slane a while longer? She slouched her shoulders, her long black hair cascading over her face onto her lap. She didn't care about seeing her father. All she cared about was Slane. She didn't want to leave him.
Then what is the problem? she wondered. Don't go. You've never given a rat's ass about anyone else. Why start now? If you want to stay, to hell with Slane's reputation, to hell with his honor. Stay. Do what you want, just as you've done for the last eight years.
But that was the problem. The wanting. She didn't know what she wanted from Slane. And she didn't know if, when she figured it out, he would be able to give it to her. But she knew she had to find out. She had to know what it was about him that made her feel so... so much like a woman.
She rose to her feet and moved with determination to the door, throwing it wide. She was avenging Jared's death, after all.
Taylor stalked down the empty hallway, hurrying before she lost her nerve. Slane was paying for her food and board, after all.
She reached for the door handle to Slane's room and almost pulled back, afraid. Her heart pounded furiously in her chest. Afraid of—
I'm not afraid, she told herself. Of anything. She shoved the door open and stepped into the dark room. She heard the rustle of movement and then the familiar swoosh of a sword being drawn. In the torchlight spilling into the room from the hallway outside, Taylor saw the polished blade pointing at her throat. But somehow that didn't frighten her as much as facing the blue eyes shimmering in the darkness.
She wet her lips. "I'm staying with you," she announced.
After a long moment, the sword lowered from her neck, dipping back down into the darkness whence it came. The room was as silent as a chapel.
"I'll accompany you to Castle Donovan," she clarified, wondering if he had heard her. Finally, she to
ok a step backward before turning away from him and leaving the room, closing the door behind her.
Slane dropped heavily onto the bed completely and utterly stunned, staring at the door. Had that been Taylor who had just stormed in here, announcing she was going to Castle Donovan? Or had he finally fallen asleep and dreamed it? A glorious, wonderful dream.
No, she had had a change of heart. She was going to Castle Donovan after all!
But why the sudden change of heart? he wondered. What was in it for her? She did nothing if there was not some profit to be made. But he quickly realized with a widening grin that it didn't really matter what her motives were now. She was going with him! She would be safe with him. No mercenaries would capture her. Corydon's men would never get their hands on her. Suddenly, his sense of jubilation died and was quickly replaced by doubt.
But she was also coming to Castle Donovan to be with Richard. To be his brother's betrothed.
A strange sense of melancholy filled him at the thought of her being Richard's wife. He couldn't imagine it. Richard would never tolerate her sarcasm. He would never appreciate her wit. He would never see her beauty. Like Elizabeth, Richard would see the mercenary, the wild hair, the callused hands. He would never see the way the blue streaks highlighted that rich hair; nor would he appreciate the skill with which she wielded her weapon. No. Richard would view her sarcasm as disrespect, her humor as insolence. Slane scowled. Was he delivering her to safety? Or was he putting her in greater jeopardy than she was already in?
He should tell her. He should tell her the real reason why he sought her. He had told her a portion of the truth. But not the entire story. Not the part about her father betrothing her to his brother.
His gaze lifted to the door. But if he told her, she would never go to Castle Donovan with him. She would never be safe.
Taylor sat in the common room with her back to the hearth, watching the shadows cast by the flickering flames dance over the walls around her own dark silhouette. She couldn't help but wonder if she had done the right thing in staying with Slane. She shrugged to herself. What was done was done.
The sudden hiss of the fire burning behind her woke her from the hypnotic trance of the twisting shadows on the wall. She pushed the blanket from her shoulders and wrapped her hand around her mug of ale. She started to raise it to her mouth and froze. How could she hope to compete with Elizabeth? Compete? She wasn't trying to compete! She finished bringing the cup to her lips and drained it. Her emotions were all a jumble inside her. She had to work them out. She had to sort out what she was feeling. But how could she do that when so many of the feelings were new?
Taylor rose and turned—only to find a man with a twisted nose and dark eyes standing before her. Over his shoulder, she saw another man a foot behind him.
Taylor stepped to the side to move around him, but the man moved to block her path. She was in no mood to deal with this and briefly thought of kneeing him in the groin. But she was sure Slane wouldn't approve. "Pardon me," she murmured and again attempted to step around him.
Again, he blocked her path, and this time his friend moved up beside him. "We saw ya over here and thought ya might like some company," he all but drooled.
Taylor clenched her teeth. "No, thank you," she replied.
"Ah, manners," the twisted-nosed one said.
"Ya can tell she wasn't bred in the streets," the friend added.
"I'm afraid we insist," the twisted-nosed one said, grinning.
So much for pleasantries, Taylor thought. Sarcasm curled her lip. "What you two gentlemen don't understand is that I don't keep company with the likes of you."
"What's wrong with us?" the twisted-nosed one asked.
"You should bathe more often," she advised.
"Are ya insulting us?" the friend wondered.
"No," she lied. "I'm just trying to give some friendly advice."
"You're givin' us advice?" the friend asked. "Let me give you some. Keep your big mouth closed and yer pretty legs spread. Hey, Simon?"
The man called Simon chuckled deep in his throat.
Taylor's eyes narrowed slightly. She planted her legs wider apart. "Like this?" she wondered innocently.
"Wider," Simon coaxed.
"You mean this wide?" Taylor swung her leg up and into Simon's chest.
As Simon flew backward from the force of Taylor's kick, the friendly man dived for her, but she easily sidestepped the rush, pulling her mug out of his path. He crashed into a table behind her. "I'm afraid I don't do requests," she said, placing her foot on Simon's throat.
She caught a quick movement on the stairs and glanced up. Like a dark angel, he appeared, a shadowed visage emerging from the blackness. "Slane," she whispered, just before Simon's friend's fist connected with her jaw, sending her spinning to her hands and knees, her mug flying through the air, its contents spilling across the wooden floor.
Taylor watched from the floor as Slane's sword whistled to life, slashing through the air, striking flesh, spilling blood. It only took a moment before the two men lay dead at his feet.
The innkeeper and his daughter had scrambled away to safety once the fighting began, so now only Slane stood near the lifeless husks of the two thugs. He clutched the sword tightly in his hands until his knuckles turned to alabaster.
Then Slane spit on the corpses.
Taylor slowly rose to her feet as he grabbed a rag from a nearby table and wiped his sword clean, re-sheathing it once its silver surface shone again. He turned a murderous gaze to Taylor and she almost flinched, but kept her composure.
"Are you all right?" His words were gentle, in stark contrast to the lethal look in his eyes.
Taylor nodded.
Slane rose to his full height and turned to face the innkeeper and his daughter as they peered out from the kitchen doorway. He pointed at Taylor. "This woman is with me. If I even see you or your patrons looking at her the wrong way, you'll get the same lesson I gave that scum."
Shocked at the intensity of his rage, Taylor lifted a hand, absently rubbing her cheek. In his own strange way, she supposed he had just defended her honor... if she had any left. She approached Slane, surveying the carnage. "I could have handled them myself, you know," she said. "And they might still be alive."
"They deserved no less than they got," Slane replied. He closed his eyes. After a long moment he slowly opened them. He put his fingers to her cheek and Taylor felt her heartbeat quicken at his touch. In his deep blue eyes, she saw his anger, concern, and apology.
Taylor grinned. "I've had worse."
Slane smiled gently. "That you have." He glanced at the innkeeper and his daughter huddled together. When he turned back to her, Taylor knew as Slane did that they couldn't stay here any longer.
"It's time to move on," he announced quietly.
"And just when I was beginning to like this place," she murmured.
"Get your bag and I'll pay what we owe," Slane said, "and a few extra coins to take care of those slugs." He jerked his head at the two dead bodies on the floor.
Taylor nodded and moved to the stairs. She knew they had to leave. Word would get out and quickly, of a woman and a man, both wielding weapons. Corydon would send men. And she couldn't fight to her full capacity yet. Not the way she used to. Her side still ached from the swordplay with Slane.
By the time she returned with her belongings, their bill was paid and Slane was climbing the stairs to collect his things. "Hey, Slane," Taylor called up to him. Slane turned to glance at her over his shoulder. "Life would be pretty damn boring without me, don't you think?"
After a full day of traveling, Taylor was grateful to finally get off her horse. She tethered her steed to a tree near a stream and arched her back, reveling in being able to stretch. She had grown soft sitting at the inn. She needed more exercise to work her muscles.
She turned her eyes to the slight hill before her. They were drawing closer to Castle Donovan. And as they drew nearer, her unease grew stronger.
Suddenly, he turned and locked eyes with Taylor. She blanched and then whirled to stare at the clearing to their right. She felt heat suffuse her cheeks and quickly moved into the clearing, toward the slight hill that edged it, away from Slane.
When she topped the rise, she felt her stomach drop. There before her stretched the most beautiful lands she had ever seen. Vales of trees dotted the green pastures. Rolling hills filled the landscape, lush green grass carpeting their mounds. A sparkling blue lake peeked from behind one of the slopes.
God's blood, she thought, I didn't realize we were so close. She felt tension knot her shoulders as a tidal wave of memories crashed about her.
"Taylor?"
At Slane's voice, she jumped and turned to face him.
The grin that he had approached her with disappeared as concern furrowed his brows. "Are you all right?"
"We're coming to Sullivan lands," she said with a nonchalance she didn't feel.
Slane nodded. "You knew we had to go through them to get to Castle Donovan."
Taylor turned back to the lands that stretched before her. She had known, yes. But somehow she hadn't been prepared. For years she had avoided these lands, steered clear of anything to do with them, refused to take any work that would even bring her close to them. And now, standing on the threshold of her old home, she felt a fierce anxiety seize her. She had to get away from these lands, from these painful, haunting memories.
Knights of Valor Page 73