A Knight of Honor (10 page)

Slane plunged his face into the water, trying to douse his growing rage, but the heat of the water only seemed to inflame his anger.
 
When I find that accursed woman, I will wring her neck.
 
She’ll learn the true meaning of respect.
 
Slane pulled his head out of the water, and as several streams of the warm liquid trailed down his face, he felt a slow grin form on his lips.
 
He saw himself teaching her the proper way to treat a knight of the realm.

Suddenly, a dark shape shifted in the shadows across the room and Slane felt his body stiffen.
 
Somebody was in his room!
 
He glanced quickly to his right, at the sword still secured in its scabbard, leaning against a chair leg on the other side of the room.
 
Damn.
 
Too far.

“I would have given my payment back to see the look on your face when you got my note,” a feminine voice said, its owner stepping out of the shadows to stand at the side of the tub.

Even though she was clothed in a dark brown robe, a hood half concealing her face, Slane recognized her immediately.
 
“You...” he muttered, his voice an unbelieving whisper.
 
The Sullivan woman!
 
His fingers dug into the edge of the basin; he could feel his nails sink into the wood.
 
His eyes narrowed to thin slits as his mind transformed the wood into the soft flesh of her neck.
 
What in God’s blood was she doing here?

“Are you happy to see me?” she wondered, laughter in her voice.
 
She grabbed a chair from the bed side and slid it over to the tub so its back was near his hand.
 
She threw her leg over it, straddling it.
 
“I heard you were looking for me.”

Slane sat motionless.
 
Here she was, the woman he had been searching for, sitting in a chair not more than a foot from him, and all he could do was stare dumbfounded at her.
 
In the flickering candlelight the bruised and battered face he remembered was gone, replaced by a cheek so smoothly rounded that he found himself entranced by its perfection.
 
He caught the scent of lavender about her as a soft breeze brushed past the open shutters and circled the room, blanketing him in the delicate aroma.
 
He felt a stirring beneath the water and shifted his body lower into the tub so his manhood would not break the water’s surface.
 
It’s just a woman’s cheek, Slane derided himself.
 
You’ve seen hundreds of them before.

He watched her lips turn down in a slight pout before she threw back the hood.
 
Her dark hair tumbled wildly over her shoulders as the material slipped away from her head.
 
He immediately noticed the perfect fullness of her lips; the earlier swelling that had disfigured them was completely gone.

“Were you looking for me or have my sources been wrong?”

Slane felt the throbbing in his loins increase tenfold.
 
He slunk lower into the tub, draping his arm casually between his thighs.
 
She was an absolutely stunning creature.
 
How could he have known that hiding behind those bruises was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen?
 
He forced himself to look away.
 
She deserved his contempt for what she had done to him, not his lust.
 
“You know damn well I’ve been looking for you,” he retorted.
 
“Have you come here to ridicule me for failing to find you?”

“Well...” she teased, laughter still in her voice, a smile on her face.

Damn her.
 
Slane studied her reflection in the smooth water of the bath.
 
“Why are you here?” he gritted, thinking again of his sword lying uselessly on the other side of the room.

“Cut to the point, eh, Slane?
 
Well, all right.”
 
Her face lost all its humor.
 
“Why were you looking for me?”

“Why ask me?
 
Didn’t your ‘sources’ tell you?” Slane drawled, his voice thick with acrimony.

“Slane Donovan,” she mused and he was startled by the tenderness in her voice.
 
“I used to hear about you all the time when I was young.
 
You were a hero.
 
Slane Donovan this, Slane Donovan that.
 
You were the best gossip around.”

Slane raised his eyes to meet hers.
 
He was surprised by the warmth he saw in those bright green gems...
 
and was that admiration?
 
Then the wall slammed down and the glimpse of her soul was gone.

“Are you going to try to kill me?” she asked.

Slane bridled.
 
He was a knight; he did not cut down women...
 
even if they wielded a sword.
 
“If you really thought I was hunting you down to kill you, you wouldn’t be sitting a foot from me and flitting your hair about like some tavern wench looking for a fresh bed,” Slane said.
 
The comment was harsher than he had intended and he saw the anger ignite in her eyes.
 
Again, he wondered why she had come back to reveal herself to him.
 
She had to have some ulterior motive.
 
She must need me for something, Slane realized.
 
He knew she wouldn’t risk exposing herself for any other reason.
 
Now why would this little scrapper of a woman need me?
 
Curiosity loomed larger in his thoughts.

“Well, believe me, if I needed a bed to sleep in, it wouldn’t be yours!” she snapped, jumping from the chair.
 
“If you won’t tell me what I want to know, I’ll find someone who will.”
 
She moved to leave.

Slane rose out of the water like the ancient god Poseidon, the liquid sliding off his body in thick sheets.
 
His expression was grim, his mouth tight, his teeth clenched.
 
He seized Taylor’s wrist in his strong fingers and squeezed tightly.
 
“You ran away from me once,” he growled.
 
“You shall not do it again.”

He watched her eyes slide over his body as easily as the water, but then hesitate at his waist.
 
Quickly, they rose to meet his.
 
Was that embarrassment in her eyes? he wondered.
 
Or contempt?

“You are arrogant, aren’t you?” she wondered softly.
 
The smile slid easily across her lips.
 
“Tell me why they’re after me.”
 
It was half plea, half command.

They?
 
Slane wondered.
 
“Mercenaries,” he said aloud.
 
Had some of the others found her already?
 
There seemed to be genuine concern in her voice, a vulnerability that touched him despite his anger.
 
Slane loosened his grip on her arm.

She pulled free of him and stepped away.
 
“These men were not mercenaries,” she replied and turned her back to him.

Slane reached after her, then immediately pulled his arm back, staring at it as if it had taken on a life of its own.
 
As he looked at his arm, he caught sight of his body below it and realized that he was naked.
 
He grabbed his leggings off the floor and quickly slid into them.
 
When he glanced up again, he found her staring at him with those cursed eyes -- eyes that made him want to probe deeper to find the strange mysteries they promised to reveal one day.
 
He reached out for his tunic and pulled it over his head, then quickly donned his boots.

Suddenly, there was a loud bang from outside the door, then the clang of swords.

Taylor whipped off the cloak, drawing her weapon from its sheath, and raced toward the door.

But before she had taken two steps, the door splintered open and Jared’s body came flying through it!

J
ared hit the floor before Taylor and lay still, his open, glassy eyes staring up at her.
 
A large stain of blood spread across his abdomen, growing wider and redder with each passing moment.
 
She heard noises all around her and knew she should look up, knew she should look away from her friend lying motionless on the hard floor, but for the moment she couldn’t seem to take her gaze from Jared’s deathly still body.
 
This isn’t happening, she thought.
 
This isn’t happening.

“What the hell?” she heard Slane cry, his surprised shout finally pulling her from her stupor.
 
She looked up to see four men dressed in black rush into the room, their swords ready.
 
A dagger whizzed toward Slane’s head and he dove to the floor, the sharp tip of the deadly blade sinking into the wall behind him.
 
He rolled across the floor and grabbed his sheath, diving back behind the large washtub in the middle of the room.

Struggling to clear the haze of disbelief that numbed her, Taylor turned her eyes back to focus on Jared.
 
What was he still doing on the floor?
 
Why hadn’t he gotten to his feet to meet the attackers?
 
She thought she heard Slane shout her name, but her confused mind refused to concentrate on anything but Jared.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a quick flash of movement and turned to see one of the men in black lifting his sword to strike her.
 
Suddenly, Slane was there, leaping up from behind the tub, smashing the attacker in the back and pushing him to the floor.

“Taylor!”

In the vague distance, Taylor heard Slane call her name again.
 
But it wasn’t until Slane grabbed her roughly and spun her around to face him that the urgency in his voice reached her.

These men had hurt Jared.
 
The horror of that truth whispered at the edge of her thoughts, trying to force its way inside.

A sword flashed hotly just over Slane’s shoulder and he whirled in time to engage the soldier.

A flash of pain seared through the muscles in Taylor’s forearm.
 
She glanced down, surprised to see the familiar sight of her sword clutched tightly in her clenched fist.
 
Only when she forced her bunched fingers to relax did the pain in her arm vanish.
 
When a second and third soldier came at her, Taylor defended herself, feinting right to duck a blow and parrying an incoming swing.
 
She acted instinctively, without thinking, until finally the familiar feel of the weight of her weapon brought life back to her numb senses.

These men had hurt Jared.
 
The thought grew stronger, kindling the rage that burned in her heart.

She lashed out strongly with her foot, kicking one of the men in the groin.
 
He doubled over, and Taylor kicked him again in the side, sending him toppling to the ground.
 
She caught the silver flash of another blade arcing toward her, but didn’t have time to dodge the blow.
 
The sword caught her hip, sending a blast of pain through her waist, but her leather armor absorbed the brunt of the blow, and the pain quickly subsided into a dull ache.
 
She swung a backhanded fist toward the soldier, and her knuckles cracked into his cheekbone.
 
He grunted sharply and staggered back.
 
Taylor backed away, quickly assessing her surroundings.

She saw Slane down his attacker with a quick jab to the stomach; then she turned quickly back to see the other three men, now all on their feet, closing in on her, surrounding her.

Slane turned to help Taylor, attacking the man closest to her, arcing his sword high overhead and bringing it down.
 
The man sidestepped his strike and lashed out with a swift kick, catching Slane in the ribs.
 
He dropped to one knee, gasping.
 
He barely raised his sword above his head in time to block what would have been a killing blow.
 
He lashed out a fist and his knuckles crunched as they collided with his attacker’s face.
 
The man stumbled, then fell to his knees.
 
Slane launched another punch, and the man’s teeth gave way under the power of his blow.