“My onions. You find them to your liking, I see.”
Taylor squinted at the man, confused.
The freckled merchant pointed to her eyes. “Only a good onion can do that, no?”
Taylor reached up to her eyes to find the edges were moist. “Yes, you have good onions,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Very good onions.”
She moved on, still careful to remain within sight of Slane. She wiped her eyes dry, hoping Slane hadn’t noticed her moment of weakness, and swatted aside a strand of hair that had come loose from the braid she had wound tightly in her hair that morning. She glanced into the street, at the peasants scurrying by in their hurry to reach their destinations.
When she looked away again, a reflection of light in the middle of the road caught her eye. She spotted something half buried in dirt, but Taylor could see the silver sparkle in the sun. She bent down and came back up with a muddied metal band.
Just then, from the stand nearest her, a loud voice called, “Thief!”
Taylor’s knees bent slightly and her hand flew to the hilt of her sword. The short merchant bedecked with gold jewelry was not pointing an angry, quivering finger at her however, but at a man dressed in ripped leggings and a soiled tunic who was standing near the merchant’s stall. The man had a thick beard, its sandy brown hairs littered with the crumbs of what probably had been his last meal. He certainly didn’t look like a thief, nor did he act like one. Most thieves would have raced into the crowd to disappear amidst the throng of people, but this man just stood there with a bewildered, almost frightened look on his face.
“Thief!” the merchant screamed again as he lunged forward and grabbed the man’s arm, pulling him roughly against the stall’s display counter. “Give me back that ring!”
The bearded man’s eyes went wide with surprise. “I... I didn’t take anything,” he protested meekly.
Taylor glanced down at the ring in her palm, scowling slightly.
“That’s an interesting piece of jewelry,” a familiar voice mused, jarring Taylor. She looked up to see Slane studying the ring she held in her hand. He raised his eyes to meet hers. “Did you purchase it with that overstuffed bag of coin you carry around with you?”
Taylor’s brows furrowed. “I found it in the road,” she answered.
At the stall next to them, the merchant had a tight grip around the man’s wrist and was holding the struggling man’s hand flat against the counter. The merchant turned and reached for a large, menacing blade hanging on the wall behind him.
“I think it belongs to that merchant, don’t you?” Slane asked.
Taylor opened her mouth to reply as the merchant growled angrily at the man, “Do you know what I do to thieves?” But Slane interrupted her before she could explain. “You’d let him chop off that man’s hand just so you could wear a new trinket?” He did nothing to hide the anger in his tone.
Her eyes narrowed at his painful accusation. He thought so low of her! Well, she’d let him think what he would. She turned away.
Slane darted his hand forward and grabbed Taylor’s wrist, squeezing it painfully, forcing her fingers open. He snatched the ring from her. Slane turned to the merchant just as he was about to bring his blade down on the bearded man’s immobile wrist. “Hold!” he commanded. “I have your ring!”
The merchant looked up at Slane and slowly lowered the blade. But he still kept the peasant in his grip. “So where is it?” the merchant asked sharply.
Slane held out his hand and dropped the ring onto the merchant’s counter. “Now let that man go.”
The merchant eyed Slane suspiciously. “And where did you get it?” he wondered hotly.
“It had fallen into the street.” Slane stepped forward toward the merchant, fingering the hilt of his sword. “Now let that man go.”
The merchant obeyed and released his grip. The bearded man wasted no time running as fast as he could into the crowd, disappearing into the swarming mass. Slane stepped even closer to the merchant. “Maybe next time you won’t be so quick to judge a man before your anger blinds you.”
Taylor rubbed her sore wrists. So damned noble. What if the ring she’d found hadn’t been the same ring the merchant was looking for? Or what if the man had stolen it from the merchant and dropped it in the middle of the road for his accomplice to pick up? The ring had gotten into the middle of the street somehow; it hadn’t just walked there on its own. Perhaps the man was not as innocent as Slane believed him. She shook her head. She and Slane were very different. They would never see things the same way. Besides, she would have returned the ring... if Slane had given her the chance.
Taylor turned to move off down the road.
Slane quickened his pace to catch up with her. He reached her side in a matter of moments and slowed his walk to match hers. “Why didn’t you just give the ring back to the merchant? Didn’t you care if that man had gotten his hand chopped off?”
Taylor stopped for a moment, looking up into the sky. Her eyes held the faintest hint of sadness. “You must think very little of me.”
Slane stopped beside her. “Maybe I just don’t understand your way of thinking. I have been raised to adhere to a strict code of behavior. One, it appears, you do not follow.”
“The only code I follow is the one that’s going to keep me alive,” she said. “For eight years now, I’ve been constantly looking over my shoulder. You get suspicious of everything... and everyone.” She looked at him for a long moment, not even understanding herself why she trusted him when everything she had learned told her to walk away from him and never ever look back.
“You don’t have to be suspicious of me,” Slane told her quietly. “I’m here to help you.”
Taylor looked deep into his eyes, trying to see past the blatant honesty that shone through his features. But she couldn’t. “That’s what I don’t trust,” she replied and continued down the street.
***
The common room of the Sudbury Inn was quiet, most of the tables empty. Slane studied Taylor across their table. Despite the chill in the air, Taylor insisted on sitting at the table farthest from the burning hearth. She leaned back in her chair, a foot resting casually on the edge of her seat. She purposely put her back to the fire, her gaze locked on her ale, as if pondering something. Her meal of duck was untouched.
Slane watched the flickerings of firelight dance over her black hair like little imps. She was a very vibrant woman, one full of life, yet full of mysterious emotions he could never hope to understand. Perhaps he was reading too much into her. She was just a woman after all. He turned to his own meal and lifted a leg of lamb to his lips, ripping a large bite from its flank. “What are you thinking?” he wondered around a mouthful of meat.
She tore her gaze from the ale to face him. “Doesn’t your code say anything about talking with your mouth full?” she quipped.
Slane felt a flush of embarrassment rise to his cheeks and didn’t like it one bit. He had never felt embarrassed in his life. He covered his mouth with his hand and looked away from her, finishing his bite of food. Damn her for making me feel like a fool. And damn me for caring what she thinks.
“I’m thinking about my options,” she finally offered after a long moment of silence.
Slane glanced up at her, lowering the leg of lamb to his plate in surprise. “I thought that was settled. I thought you were coming with me to Castle Donovan.”
“I said I’d see.”
Slane thought of letting her go and traveling back to Castle Donovan alone. Her mere presence was becoming unsettling. But he thought of another vow he had made. One to his brother. A vow that his honor would not let him break. “There are other people looking for you. Even if you left me, you might still end up at the castle.”
“And I might not.”
“Are you prepared to live your life like that? Constantly looking over your shoulder?”
“I have for eight years.”
“It should be time you di
dn’t have to,” Slane said. “Face your past and put an end to it.”
“That’s easy for you to say, Slane,” she retorted. “You don’t have to do it.”
Slane snorted. “I did,” he murmured. “Once.” He felt her eyes on him, felt a curiosity in her gaze.
“When you defied your father? When you became a knight?”
She was looking down into her mug of ale and it gave Slane an unwanted, but irresistible, chance to study her features. Her long, long lashes brushed her soft cheek as she glanced at her drink. Her full, captivating lips were wet with the shining residue of ale. God’s blood! There was no denying the beauty in her features. Had she been dressed in a gown of rich velvet and cradled roses in her arms instead of donning leather armor and strapping a sword to her waist, every man in England would be vying for her attention, for her hand in marriage. His gaze roamed to her lovely hair, hair as dark as a midnight sky, to the soft, smooth sleekness of her neck, her sun-kissed skin so creamy, so flawless. He looked away suddenly, realizing with an uncomfortable start that he could watch her do nothing all day and still be mesmerized. What had they been talking about? Oh, yes. His father. “Yes, it was quite a scandal then,” Slane said. “Father wanted me to be a priest, a servant of the church. He already had a knight in my brother Richard.” He laughed somewhat bitterly, shifting his legs. “Can you see me as a priest?”
“No,” Taylor answered honestly.
Slane was struck by what might very well be the first honest answer she had given him. “Neither could I,” he admitted. “So I snuck off to my uncle’s castle. He secretly trained me and sponsored me.”
“Your father must have been furious.”
“Oh, he was more than furious. Not only did he refuse to speak to my uncle again, but he banned me from my home and threatened to disown me.”
“You would have been scorned by every knight in the realm, just a wandering warrior without a home,” Taylor said tonelessly.
“With no honor.” Slane’s eyes narrowed slightly. “But Richard convinced Father to change his mind. He told Father he would leave the castle if I wasn’t allowed to return home with my honor intact. Father needed an heir, someone responsible, like Richard. So he agreed.” He chuckled darkly as bitterness crept into his voice. “But I didn’t return then. I stayed away from Castle Donovan for years, attending tournaments, fighting wars.”
“Why didn’t you go home?” Taylor wondered.
It was Slane’s turn to look into his mug of ale. “I did,” he replied. He swirled the liquid around and finally took a long drink. “Just over a year ago. I was ready to make amends, to face my future with a clean start. But Father died shortly before I returned.”
“I’m sorry,” Taylor whispered.
Slane shrugged, but he could feel the tension lining his shoulders. “Richard was lord of Castle Donovan.” Slane’s eyes narrowed. It was true Richard had saved his honor, and now held it over his head ever since.
Taylor smiled, shaking her head. “That’s not the story I heard.”
Slane’s wide-eyed gaze swung to her. “It’s not?” He saw a strange satisfaction in her eyes, a glow of mischief that gleamed from them tauntingly.
“I heard you left the castle to seek your own destiny. You traveled through many towns looking for a way to prove your valor. Finally, you came upon a town besieged by a dragon. You slew him quite completely and became a hero to that town. And in subsequent towns you wrestled a giant, slew an evil wizard, rescued a maiden, perhaps a princess, from being kidnapped. One story even had you finding the Holy Grail.”
He felt the laughter churning in his throat.
“Very impressive work for someone who just attended tournaments and fought in some little wars, don’t you think?” she commented.
“And what about you?” Slane taunted. “Slain any dragons yourself?”
She shook her head, her lips curling up in amusement. “Only the human kind,” she answered. “You know very well that I don’t do heroic things.”
“Then tell me what you did after you left the castle. Where did you go? What did you do?”
Slane watched her look change from one of mild mirth to painful reminiscing. “Jared...” she said, then immediately stopped. The mere mention of his name seemed to bring a tightness to her throat. She closed her eyes for a moment and Slane could see her fighting back the sadness threatening to reach all the way to those eyes. She looked at Slane and continued. “Jared didn’t know what to do with me. I’m not really sure why he stayed with me at all, but I’m glad he did. I was horrible at first. Headstrong, willful, defiant. I had no respect for authority.”
Slane chuckled. “And what’s changed?”
Taylor cast him a startled look, then grinned. She continued as if he hadn’t interrupted. “Finally, we ran into an old friend of Jared’s. He lived out of an old gypsy wagon in Grey’s Woods. That was home for a while. Jared taught me there. And Alexander... Well, let’s just say that I was young then. And very impressionable. I became totally enamored of Alexander.”
Slane felt a stiffness creeping across his shoulders. His hand tightened convulsively around his mug. “And this Alexander… did he return your affection?”
The moment of silence stretched and Slane finally lifted his gaze to Taylor’s. She was staring at him with a strange look on her face. “I don’t see where that’s any of your concern.”
Slane relented with a nod. He didn’t like the feeling of anxiety racing through his body. He chose to end the conversation about her past then. There were things he shouldn’t know about. There were things he shouldn’t even want to know about.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Taylor said as she rose to her feet. “I’m tired. I’m very tired.”
Slane stood and nodded to her, bidding her good night. He watched her move up the stairs toward her room; then he lifted his mug to his lips, drinking deeply. It seemed she was affecting him far more than he cared to think about. That would have to change.
***
Taylor lay awake on her bed of straw, thinking about what Slane had said to her earlier that evening. “Face your past and put an end to it,” he had said. “Are you prepared to live your life like that? Constantly looking over your shoulder?” Yes, she had done it for eight years, but Jared had been with her those eight years. Watching out for her, caring for her. Could she do it alone?
Maybe it was the fatigue of eight years of traveling finally catching up to her, the scrounging for work, the struggle for every meal. Maybe it was the fact that she was finally accepting the reality of Jared’s death -- the horrible reality that Jared would never fight at her side again, would never share another secret smile or tender embrace. She missed him terribly. Maybe she was simply tired and not thinking straight. All she knew for certain was that she felt a new resolve burning in her blood on this night. And she knew the burning could only be extinguished by one thing.
Taylor descended the stairs of the inn late that night. She moved quietly to the innkeeper and held out a small, rolled piece of parchment. He grasped it and looked at it for a long moment before shifting his gaze back to Taylor.
“Give it to Corydon,” she instructed. “Tell him it’s from Taylor Sullivan.”
CHAPTER TEN
After a fitful night filled with dark dreams of Jared and black-robed men glaring at her from the shadows of her mind, Taylor woke to a pleasantly sunny day. Though they did not wipe her dreams away entirely, the warm rays of the sun did help to diminish the unpleasant lingerings of her night’s unrest.
After quickly dressing, Taylor descended the stairs with Slane to break their fast. As she stepped into the large main room of the inn, she instinctively scanned the area. About half of the tables were occupied by farmers or warriors. None of the warriors bore crests. Taylor saw Slane’s shoulders relax as he turned to a man carrying a tray filled with mugs of ale.
Taylor stepped deeper into the room, taking a table near the rear of the inn. As she slid into the
seat, her gaze again swept the room, taking further stock of the occupants. A tired, overworked farmer lifted a mug of ale to his lips, the dark circles under his eyes clearly telling the tale of a man who hadn’t seen much sleep lately. Taylor wondered if her eyes looked as dark and weary. Her stare moved past the farmer to a table where several warriors sat, all of them engaged in earnest conversation. One of the men glanced up at Taylor, but his gaze lingered no more than a second before he turned his attention back to his fellows.
Her gaze moved on, stopping on Slane, where he stood talking with the innkeeper. She started to look away, but there was something about Slane that drew her gaze back to him. He was quite an imposing figure, taller than the innkeeper by two handbreadths. His strong hands rested on his hips as he spoke, the hard edges of his muscles plainly visible beneath the sheer fabric of his tunic. His blond mane coursed past his shoulders in a shimmering yellow-gold waterfall of hair. As if feeling her gaze on him, Slane turned to her and smiled a soft, pleasant smile. She smiled in return and kept smiling even after he’d turned away.
A morning yawn broke her reverie. I must be more tired than I realize, Taylor mused to herself. That was the only reason she could think of to explain the warmth that flushed into her belly at Slane’s smile. Jared would be ashamed of me, she thought. He had taught her to stay alert, to keep her senses sharp no matter how tired her body felt. It was the only way to survive, to avoid any men her father had sent out after her, and Jared insisted it become as natural to her as taking a breath: Be wary of everyone; trust no one. Now it was second nature to her. Or so she had believed. Yet here she was, feeling muddled by a simple smile from a man she knew little about. Why was she blindly following Slane to his brother’s castle? Because she had nowhere else to go?
Or was it because Jared was gone, because she needed someone on her side when the world seemed so against her? And Slane was the only one who was around. But she knew there was more to it than just that. She liked provoking him. She liked sparring with him. She liked Slane. He was everything she was not. He had everything she did not. And even though he so obviously disapproved of the way she lived her life, every once in a while she would catch him watching her. And there was an amiable look in his eyes, a fond look, a look that made her want to be in his arms.
A Knight of Honor Page 8
