A Knight of Honor (34 page)

And he would miss her.
 
Terribly.
 
Miss her smile, her bright eyes.
 
Her quick wit.
 
Her unique outlook on life.
 
She wasn’t as unfeeling as she wanted everyone to believe.
 
He remembered the child she had saved from being trampled at this very inn.

He took one step down the stairs to stop her, but halted.

She had reached the bottom stair.
 
She too stopped, her hand resting lightly on the railing.

His hand curled over the wooden banister as if in answer.
 
As if it would convey all of his feelings to her -- the things he couldn’t say.

A sad smile touched her lips and Taylor removed her hand.
 
She turned her back on him.

Slane watched her.
 
She was such a little fighter.
 
Such a risk-taker.
 
But it angered him that she was gambling with her life.
 
She would be so much safer...
 
Gambling!
 
That was it!
 
“Taylor!” he called.

She stopped, then slowly glanced at him over her shoulder, her dark hair curling around her in thick waves.

“You’re a gambler.
 
Care to make a little wager?”

Taylor lifted her head, her eyes narrowing in curiosity.
 
She turned to face him.

Slane moved down the stairs.
 
“I’ll wager your freedom and a month’s pay against your staying with me until we reach Castle Donovan.”
 
He saw the glimmer of interest in her eye.
 
Bless her greedy little heart, he thought as hope blossomed in his chest.
 
“You’re pretty good with that sword.”
 
He saw her glance down at the sheathed weapon at her waist.
 
“But I’ll bet I’m better.”

She lifted her eyes to his.
 
Her full lips curled slightly.
 
“That’s hardly a fair fight,” she said softly.
 
“I’m wounded.”

“We’ll fight in a week’s time, if you’re up to it.”
 
He saw the doubt in her eyes as she glanced at her wounded side.
 
“And I’ll fight left-handed.”

Taylor lifted those glorious eyes to Slane, a smile lighting her face.

A
fter spending most of the morning resting in bed, Taylor sat at the back of the common room, well removed from the hearth.
 
Her legs were stretched out before her, her head tilted back over the chair so that her long black hair spilled almost to the floor.

She heard heavy footsteps descending the stairs.
 
A man clad in boots.
 
The footsteps halted at the bottom of the stairs and her body came to life, tingling with fire.
 
Slane.
 
She knew without a doubt that it was him.
 
It was unnerving the way her body instantly reacted to him.
 
And she was just thinking about him; she hadn’t even seen him!

The footsteps drew closer and she heard the scrape of a chair on the floor.

“You shouldn’t be down here alone.”

A smile stretched across her face.
 
It was Slane all right.
 
“You’re here,” she couldn’t help but goad.

And Slane fell right into her trap.
 
“I wasn’t a few moments ago,” he said, his stern voice faltering a little as she parroted the words right along with him.

Taylor chuckled, opening her eyes to look at him.
 
“You’re so predictable.”

Slane stared quietly at her for a long moment, and she waited for a tirade.
 
Instead, Slane sighed and sat back in the chair.

“Do you know me so well?” he wondered.
 
“How is it possible, when I know nothing of you?”

Taylor turned away from him.
 
“I have to know people to survive.”

“Am I so easy to know?”

“Usually,” she admitted.

“And what of you?” he asked.
 
“Why are you so difficult to know?”

The wall of sarcasm and wariness formed around her.
 
“To protect myself.”
 
She felt Slane’s gaze shift to her.

“Has it been so painful for you?”

There was such sympathy in his voice that it angered her.
 
“Don’t pity me,” she flared -- and flushed when he said the words at the same time.

“I guess you’re not so hard to know after all,” he chortled.

Heat suffused her cheeks and she had to grin and shake her head.
 
Unwillingly, she felt her body sink lower into the chair, relaxing.
 
The warmth of his smile encompassed her body, reaching her soul where the heat of the distant fire could not.
 
“Have you always been so deceptive?”

“I learn fast,” he murmured.

Startled, she looked at him and chuckled.
 
“Then I must be a very bad influence on your honorable character.”

“I’m not so certain about my ‘honorable character,’ but, yes, you are a bad influence on me in other ways.”
 
Slane paused for a moment.
 
As if with a will of its own, his gaze slowly traveled up and down her body.
 
“Very bad indeed.”

“I guess it’s good for you nobles to mingle with the commoners,” Taylor said, looking at him through lowered lashes.
 
“It’s not good to stand on that pedestal all the time.”

Slane nodded.
 
“Yes, occasionally I do feel the need to sit down with the peasantry.
 
It’s the only way to stay in touch with what is really happening in the country.”
 
Slane scratched his chin, waiting for a response.
 
When he received none, he added, “So, peasant girl, tell me of the local gossip.”

“Oh, yes, m’lord.
 
As you wish,” she proclaimed.
 
“Shall I bow before you as I’m telling you the gossip or do you prefer your wenches upright?”

“I prefer all my wenches to prostrate themselves before me in adoration,” Slane replied.

“Then you must not have had many willing wenches,” Taylor quipped.
 
Suddenly, the thought of Slane holding and kissing a woman with long chestnut hair erupted in her mind.
 
She cleared her throat and pulled her knees up to her chest.

“Actually I prefer the ones who put up a fight,” he said.
 
“They’re much more intriguing.”

“I’ll bet,” she murmured.

They settled into silence, the crackle of the distant fire the only sound in the room.
 
Taylor couldn’t help but turn to look at Slane.
 
And when she did, she found him gazing at her.
 
She had to grin at the fond way he was studying her.
 
And he answered her smile with a grin of his own.
 
It transformed his face from the dark and troubled look she had grown accustomed to into one filled with warmth and promise.
 
She felt her wariness melting under his glow.
 
Then she realized something with such clarity that it burned her heart; she wasn’t worthy of him, even if he would have her.
 
She would touch his white, flawless soul, and it would become black and charred, like her heart.

Taylor looked across the room at the hot flames in the hearth.

“Why do you turn away from me?” he wondered softly.
 
“Are you afraid of something?”

“Afraid?” she laughed.
 
And then she turned to face him, bravely, foolishly.
 
“I’m not afraid of anything.”

“I think you are,” he said softly.
 
“I think you’re afraid of many things and you hide behind that shield of indifference.”

Startled that he had read her so well, Taylor again turned away from him but this time she avoided looking into the fire.
 
Instead she watched the light cast by the dancing flames shimmer over the rear wall.

“Tell me what you see, Taylor.”
 
His voice was soft.
 
“Tell me what keeps you from facing the world.”

The light played on the wall before her, flickering around their two dark silhouettes like fire burning victims at the stake.
 
Tears rose unbidden to her eyes.

“You won’t find the answers there,” he whispered.

Slane’s voice sounded so close, as if he were leaning over to murmur in her ear.
 
She swiveled her gaze to him, and his image wavered before her teary eyes.
 
He was close, very close.
 
His blue eyes shimmered like the hottest part of a flame.
 
Startled, she blinked and looked closer, only to see the firelight reflected back at her.

The seductive, dancing flames captured her, tormented her, their flickering strands beckoning.

She suddenly realized she was trembling, shivering even, in the warmth of the room.

“Taylor?”

She barely heard.
 
She could see the dark smoke rising like fingers against the blue sky at Sullivan Castle.
 
She remembered the horrible smell of burning flesh as if it were happening again.

“Taylor?”

She blinked and whirled away from the horror the visions inspired.
 
The memory was gone.
 
But the smell was not.
 
She could never erase its acrid stench.

She saw Slane staring at her with concern.
 
It was a moment before she realized that he was holding her hands.
 
“Are you all right?”

All she wanted to do was curl up in the warmth and protection he could offer her.
 
But she didn’t move; she just nodded.

“You’re shivering,” he observed and rubbed her hands vigorously to warm them.
 
“Where did you go just a moment ago?
 
It looked like you had seen a ghost.”

“A memory,” she answered with a dry throat.

He glanced at the flames of the hearth before turning back to her.
 
“A memory that has something to do with the fire?”

Taylor nodded, but was unwilling or unable to tell him further.

“A memory that has to do with your mother?”

She jerked as if he had slapped her, and she almost rose, except he pushed her back down.

“I know she was burned,” Slane said.

Taylor attempted to rise, but this time Slane shot to his feet and braced his hands on either side of the chair, trapping her.
 
There was something akin to panic racing through her veins, clenching her insides, telling her to flee.

“It was a long time ago, Taylor,” Slane coaxed.
 
“It’s time you tell someone about it.”

Taylor looked away from him, unable to meet his eyes.

There was one way she could escape his hold.
 
“Where’s Elizabeth?”