A Knight of Honor (35 page)

Slane cupped her chin and Taylor felt bolts of lightning rock her body.
 
He gently lifted her gaze to meet his.
 
“I sent her on to Castle Donovan.”

Alone.
 
They were alone.
 
Was he a fool?
 
Or did he really believe his honor could protect him?
 
His thumb stroked her cheek, tracing her cheekbone.
 
Taylor felt her heartbeat quicken.

Slane’s gaze dipped to her lips.
 
Tingles followed his eyes’ caress, and Taylor held her breath, afraid to move, afraid that he would remove his hand from her chin.
 
She instinctively licked her lips as if that would hide them from his view.

Slane swallowed hard.
 
He was so close that his breath fanned over her face, smelling faintly of sweet ale.
 
His hand glided over her jaw and down her neck to rest on her shoulder.

She wanted him to kiss her.
 
She desperately wanted to feel his lips against hers.
 
But she couldn’t move.
 
She was caught in the spell of his eyes, his touch.

And then he was leaning closer to her, moving so close that their noses almost touched.
 
He cleared his throat and opened his mouth as if he were about to speak, but when she lowered her gaze to them, they closed without issuing a word.
 
Her blood hammered in her ears; her entire body trembled with a want she had never known before.

A log cracked in the fire and sparks shot out from the hearth.

Suddenly, he grabbed her shoulders tightly, his fingers digging into her skin.
 
“I’m an honorable man,” he ground out between his teeth.
 
“I have given my oath.”

Taylor opened her mouth to speak.
 
She wanted to tell him it was all right.
 
She understood.
 
She knew what kind of man he was.
 
But no words came.

He dipped his head and Taylor closed her eyes, anticipating the kiss.
 
But then he shoved away from her with a growl.
 
“It wouldn’t be enough,” he snarled.
 
“Not with you.”
 
And Slane stalked up the stairs to his room without a single glance back at her.

Taylor sat for a long moment with her eyes shut tight, willing him to return, willing the feel of his fingers from her skin.
 
But neither came true.
 
When she opened her eyes, the room was empty.
 
Her gaze was drawn to the lone shadow on the wall, surrounded by the swirling, dancing light from the fire.
 
She watched the light surround her and a shiver shot through her body.
 
With a sigh, she stood and headed back to her own room.

As soon as she stepped through the door, she unsheathed her sword and laid it on the bed.
 
She paced for a moment, unnerved by the feelings that Slane unleashed in her.
 
Then her gaze was drawn back to her sword.

The full moon shone up at her, the bright orb reflected in the polished silver of the blade.
 
She knew she should pick it up.
 
She knew she should practice and prepare for the battle with Slane.
 
But part of her didn’t want to.
 
Part of her wanted him to defeat her.

No.
 
She couldn’t surrender to him.
 
She knew she had to fight him with everything she had.
 
Just as Jared had taught her.

She reached out and grasped the sword’s handle, staring down at the clear reflection in the polished blade.
 
Her eyes were ringed with sadness; there were lines of misery about her mouth.
 
She had never looked so lonely and lost in her life.

This face, this image, staring back at her was not her.
 
She was stronger than that weak thing with the tragic eyes.
 
Taylor’s hand tightened around the pommel.
 
She knew what she had to do.

“A
re you certain you’re all right?” Slane panted, glancing at her wounded side.

A large orange moon gazed down at the clearing, showering Slane and Taylor with golden light as their swords clanged in the night.

“If you’re afraid to fight me, you can surrender now,” Taylor retorted.

Slane felt a smile ease across his face and he couldn’t wipe it away.
 
A sense of pride filled him as he watched Taylor handle her blade.
 
She obviously had put the last week to good use.

She feinted left and then swung right with amazing speed.
 
He blocked the blow, but had to move quickly to do so.
 
She really was very good.
 
Much better than he had expected.
 
Only a trained eye could see how she favored her left side.
 
She was not as strong as he was, but she was quicker.
 
Like a sleek little cat.
 
Her green eyes even seemed to glow in the night.

In the midst of battle, her face flushed with a radiant glow.
 
There seemed to be such life coming from her, as if she thrived on the conflict.
 
Then he realized suddenly that most of her life had been a battle.

Taylor arced her blade over her head, and when Slane moved to block it she brought her weapon down and in.
 
Cursing, Slane had to spin out of the way to avoid the move.
 
Damn, but she was fast!
 
She continued after him, raining down blow upon blow.

Breathing hard, she paused, circling slowly to her left.
 
Suddenly, she lunged to the right.
 
But when Slane moved to block her blow, she pulled back.
 
A soft rich laughter bubbled from deep in her throat, mesmerizing Slane.

“You’re taking this rather seriously, aren’t you?” Taylor wondered.

“I believe what I’m fighting for is important,” Slane responded, pushing aside the warm feeling her chortle had sparked in him to concentrate on their fight.

“You should really learn how to relax,” Taylor advised.

“And you should learn not to –”
 
Slane drove his sword toward Taylor in a tight arc– “talk so much when you’re fighting.”

Taylor met his blow with the ease of a trained fighter.
 
She stepped in close to him, casting him her most beguiling smile.
 
“But that’s how I win my fights,” she murmured in a husky voice.

Slane pushed his blade forward against hers, moving his body toward her.
 
“Not all,” Slane growled, his voice barely above a whisper.
 
He pushed harder and she was forced to retreat a step.

But then she halted, pushing against his blade and lifted those damned full lips toward his.
 
“Do you love Elizabeth?”

Startled, he almost stumbled back, but righted himself instantly.
 
“We are to be wed,” he replied.
 
“Does it matter whether I love her or not?”
 
Her parted lips drew his gaze.
 
Her mouth looked so soft, a velvet pillow to rest his own weary lips against.
 
“Honor and duty are not as fickle and fleeting as love,” he managed to add.

“There’s no such thing as love,” she spat with sudden bitterness.
 
“I was just wondering if you were foolish enough to believe in it.”
 
She shoved him off.
 
Her blade glistened in the moonlight as she pulled it back, then swung forward, the sword slicing toward his head.

Slane raised his sword, gripping the handle tightly, and took the brunt of the strike, grunting as the surprising power behind her blow sent a jolt through the muscles in his arm.
 
He redirected her swing to the side, forcing her blade down toward the ground, pinning the tip of it against the earth.
 
The sweet smell of her breath fanned his face as she glared up at him.
 
He pushed her blade away and took a step back.

Taylor straightened up.
 
“She’ll make you a fine wife,” she said.
 
Her face was a mask of composure, but her chest rose and fell with her quick breaths.

Slane watched with a growing burning in his loins as her breasts strained against the fabric of her tunic with each glorious breath.
 
It would be so easy to slide his blade through the cloth and shred the last remaining barrier between his hungry gaze and her tender flesh.
 
Slane snarled, pulling his gaze away.
 
The thought enraged him because it had come so easily.
 
So damned easily.
 
He swung his blade hard toward her, the air itself screaming as the silver metal cut violently through it.

She lifted her blade to block the blow, but as Slane’s sword connected with hers, Taylor fell beneath the brutal weight of it.
 
She landed on her bottom with a cry.

Slane’s eyes widened in shock.
 
He hadn’t meant to hurt her!
 
“I’m sorry, Taylor,” he said quickly and reached out a hand to her.

She pivoted on the ball of her foot, lashing out with her opposite leg.
 
It smacked into his knees, sweeping his legs out from beneath him.
 
He tumbled to his back.
 
Taylor lurched forward, placing the tip of her blade to his neck.

Slane frowned at the triumph he saw in her green eyes, the sparkle of amusement that glittered there.
 
“That was dishonorable,” he observed.

“I like to win,” she said, a grin stretching across her lips.
 
“Yield to me,” she urged.

A muscle tightened in his jaw and his eyes narrowed.
 
She pressed the tip of the sword into his skin.
 
His lips thinned as he muttered, “I yield.”

***

Slane stood in the darkness of the common room, watching Taylor eat.
 
At least her appetite had returned, and then some.
 
She ate ravenously, as if it were the last meal she would see for a while.
 
Her long dark hair shimmered in the flickering light of the hearth, thick waves of black falling over her back as she bent over her porridge.

She had beaten him! he thought for the thousandth time.
 
And she’d wasted no time in accepting her triumph; he had already glimpsed the packed bag on her bed when he went to find her for dinner.
 
She was ready to leave.
 
He clenched his teeth and turned away from her.
 
It shouldn’t bother him.
 
She had beaten him dishonorably!
 
She had tricked him.
 
But it did bother him.
 
Immensely.
 
Not because he had lost to her.
 
He even begrudgingly admired her ingenuity beneath his anger.
 
But because he had lost her.

He had promised he would say nothing when she left.
 
That was the wager.
 
But he had not counted on losing!
 
Even left-handed, he was a match for the best swordsmen.
 
He had had no doubt in his mind that he would defeat her.

But she had continued to taunt him with her body and the fiery looks from those bewitching eyes!
 
She had distracted him with her infernal chatter!
 
It was no wonder he had lost!