Slane leaned forward, smoothing a few strands of hair from her forehead. “You don’t have to hide from me, Taylor,” he whispered, gazing down into her eyes. “I know how bad it hurts.”
A strange look crossed her face. Uncertainty. Acceptance. She seemed to relax beneath him, and he felt as if he had been granted the world. He didn’t want to move for a long moment. He didn’t want to ever move. In her room, in the cover of darkness, he could put aside his oaths and codes and concentrate on her recovery.
But if that was all he was doing, then why should he have to put aside his oaths? The beginnings of guilt pulled at his conscience. He sat up, almost painfully tearing himself away from her. He had promises to keep. His betrothed waited for him just two doors down.
And yet, he couldn’t leave. His hands followed his gaze to her side. He touched the hem of her tunic and hesitated for a moment, steeling his nerves. Steeling his emotions against seeing her flesh. Slowly, he moved the tunic up her body. Over her curvy hips, past her waist.
A white wrapping encircled her stomach, holding some other cloths in place over her wound. Slane gently untied the wrapping and pulled it away. Then he carefully peeled the bloodstained cloths from her wound.
Slane’s brows furrowed as he studied the ugly red line that marred her skin, the black crosshatching of the stitches. No sword should ever have touched such skin. He reached out to examine the stitches. When his fingers touched her flesh, a shock seared through him. He felt her stiffen beneath his touch, and he quickly slanted his gaze to hers. But there was no pain in her eyes.
Slane once again lowered his eyes to her naked flesh. He couldn’t help but notice the swell of her breast peeking from beneath her tunic.
Desire heated his blood and he felt himself grow hard. He realized with a start that he was stroking her skin and his caress had moved upward from her wound. Close to the rounded part of her breasts, the part hidden beneath the fabric. Why, in another second...
He tore his eyes from her breasts, focusing on her wound. He cleared his throat softly, but it sounded like the boom of thunder in the quiet room. “It doesn’t look infected,” he said.
“No,” she agreed, a strange huskiness to her voice.
He lifted his eyes to hers again. They were locked on him and Slane felt a wave of warmth wash over his body. Slane quickly dropped his gaze. He ran his fingertips over her skin, down to her waist, where his touch lingered a second too long. I’m just seeing to her wound, he told himself. The wrappings have to be changed...
His gaze again moved to her breasts. The slow rise and fall of her chest seemed to match the pounding of blood in his ears. Then he looked up, but it wasn’t her eyes that captured his attention. It was her lips. They were parted and moist, as if she had just licked them. And full, so damned full. Begging to be kissed. Calling to him.
He cursed quietly and grabbed one of the clean cloths from the tray beside her bed and slapped it onto her wound. She stiffened. He lifted repentant eyes to her, mumbling, “Sorry.”
He retied the wrapping around her stomach, knotting it to hold the fresh cloth in place. He ran a hand along the wrapping, wondering what her skin would feel like pressed up against his. Wondering how she would look with her hair wild about her shoulders, lying beneath him, those beautiful eyes lidded and her mouth parted in a gasp... He pulled away from her so quickly that he knocked the soiled cloths from the table. His body was trembling so ferociously he fled the room without another word.
Slane pushed open the door to Elizabeth’s room. She was sitting on the bed, her thin brown locks freed from her headdress and flowing down her back. She turned, a comb in her hand, and greeted him with a glorious smile. “I was just thinking that we should probably ask Duke Roza to attend the ceremony. Perhaps he’d bring some of his famous apple cider.”
Slane hadn’t heard a word she said. He marched up to her, seized her by the arms, and pulled her against him. He lowered his lips to hers, crushing them beneath his. He tried with all his might to picture her in bed with him, her thin body curled lovingly in his arms. But no matter how hard he tried, his thoughts returned to Taylor’s body. And that bare glimpse of her creamy flesh so close to the rounded part of her breast. He knew in that moment that he was lost. He knew he could never feel the same passion with Elizabeth that he did with Taylor. He growled fiercely and released Elizabeth, stepping back from her. He couldn’t meet her confused gaze. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
He turned his back on her and left the room, quietly closing the door behind him. Marry Elizabeth, he would. Taylor was betrothed to his brother. She would save hundreds of innocent lives by marrying Richard. Slane had promised Richard that he would bring Taylor to him. He had given him his word. His word was his oath.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
As Taylor’s wounds healed, she could feel herself growing anxious to be out of her room, itching for some sort of exercise. She had snuck out of bed more than once to stretch her legs, to get her muscles working again, and it was on one of these occasions that she pushed open the shutters to look out at the bright morning. She heard a woman’s laughter and her head swiveled to the road. At first, she saw no one, but as she strained, leaning out the window, she could make out two forms: Slane and Elizabeth coming around the corner. He pointed to something and Elizabeth tittered.
Taylor pulled back from the window. But it wasn’t quick enough. She saw Slane lean over and press a kiss to Elizabeth’s cheek. With a curse, she drew back into the darkness of her room, closing the shutters on the sight. That had been three days ago and she had not opened the shutters since.
But now, the feeling of restlessness and unease grew again inside her, becoming stronger with every passing moment. I have to get out of this accursed room, she thought. Before the walls close in on me. She rose from the bed and, despite her better judgment, snuck from her room, pausing in the doorway to check the hallway. When she found it empty, she moved out of the room and down the stairs. As she reached the bottom stair, her eyes scanned the room, and she noticed with some relief that the inn was quiet and empty. A fire burned brightly in the hearth at the far end of the room. She could feel the faintest hint of warmth coming from the flames, and it helped wipe away some of the residual chill she had brought with her from her cold room. She thought for a moment of moving closer to the hearth, closer to the warmth… closer to the snapping, popping logs that hissed dark promises of searing heat and charred human flesh.
She turned away from the fire and took a seat at a table near the stairs, turning the chair around to straddle it, habitually favoring her wounded side.
Slane had not been to see her in days. The only one to visit her in all those lonely days, to help her change her bandages and bring her food, had been the innkeeper’s wife. Taylor shook her head.
What had she expected? She certainly didn’t want to see Elizabeth. And she knew that Slane was doing everything in his power to stay away from her.
“Can I get ya something?”
Taylor glanced up to see the innkeeper. Rollins was his name, she remembered. She gave him a small grin. “An ale,” she said. She heard his footsteps disappear into the rear of the inn.
Taylor rested her chin against the back of the chair. She didn’t need anyone. She could survive by herself. Then why did she feel such loneliness inside her?
Something rubbed against her leg and she looked down. A calico cat turned to brush against her leg again.
A feeling of desolation swept through her and she reached down to stroke the cat’s fur. I don’t need anyone, she stubbornly told herself. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. And stop thinking about him.
“There she is,” Taylor heard a woman’s voice whisper. Her hand froze and the cat dashed away.
Two sets of footsteps moved toward her. Her jaw clenched and her eyelids drooped as the familiar disdain washed over her, shielding her heart.
“Slane was worried about you when he found your room empty,” Elizabeth said to Taylor’s back.
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Taylor couldn’t look at them together. The image of Slane kissing Elizabeth’s cheek surged to the front of her memory, and no matter how hard she tried to push it aside, it stubbornly remained embedded in her mind’s eye.
“You shouldn’t be down here,” Slane said. “Not this soon.”
The timbre of his voice sent tremors through her body. Taylor tried to ignore them, but a part of her heart was crumbling.
After a long moment of awkward silence, Elizabeth asked, “How are you feeling?”
Taylor didn’t answer. How could she respond when she would feel better dead?
“You are looking better,” Elizabeth observed. “Now all we need to do is give your hair a proper washing and you’ll be quite an attractive girl. Won’t she, Slane?”
There was no response, but Taylor could feel Slane’s gaze on her back.
“I’m certain Richard will find you most delightful,” Elizabeth continued. Taylor swore she heard contempt in the other woman’s voice.
What difference would it make what Richard thought of her? All she wanted was to join forces with him and kill Corydon. For Jared. Taylor stood and turned, sweeping her eyes over the couple. They were perfect. A knight in shining armor and his lady. Her stomach turned over. They belonged together. There was no room for an outcast mercenary.
Her eyes locked on Slane’s, and she thought she saw a shimmer of sympathy there before he averted his gaze to Elizabeth.
For a moment, silence settled over them like a storm cloud moving in front of the sun. Unease speared the quiet like lightning.
Finally, Taylor brushed past Slane and hurried up the stairs, preferring her chilly room to any company. She knew she couldn’t stay here. Every day she stayed, she destroyed more of herself. She had never cared about too much in her life; so why should it hurt so much to see Slane kissing Elizabeth? She shouldn’t care two coins about him. She shouldn’t give a damn what he thought or whom he kissed.
But somehow she did.
She moved into her room and sat on the bed. She would leave; she must. Even if it meant facing another Magnus Gale. But her wound was still not healed; it ached and throbbed even now. She couldn’t travel yet. The jarring movements of a horse might very well rip the stitches wide open.
The door opened. “Taylor?”
Taylor looked up, and the vision of Slane standing in the doorway, outlined by the dancing light from the hallway torch, made her unguarded heart stop beating. The torchlight swept over his blond hair and painted the tip of his sword gold. Then he shut the door behind him, sealing himself in the darkness. In her darkness.
She reached for the sack on the table beside her bed.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“You should be more concerned about your betrothed.”
“You said you’d stay until your wounds are healed.”
She raised her eyes to lock with his. “Some wounds won’t heal.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Taylor stood up, her eyes searching his face. But the darkness in her room hid his expression from her. She lit the candle on the table, careful to keep her fingers well away from the flame, and turned to look at him. “It means that, if I stay any longer, one of us will be hurt.”
“Don’t talk nonsense,” he replied, whirling away from her.
“Slane,” she shook her head. “I can’t stay.”
“Why?” he asked.
Taylor gave a snort of laughter. “Because I don’t like Elizabeth,” she answered. “And I don’t think she likes me.”
“Elizabeth?” Slane turned back to her, surprised. “She’s gentle, kind, beautiful. What don’t you like about her?”
Taylor leaned against the table with a sigh. “I don’t like her because she’s gentle, kind, and beautiful.” She watched anger deepen the lines near his eyebrows.
“Don’t mock me,” he warned.
“I’m not,” Taylor said.
“If you leave, you’ll be hunted down like an animal. You know what Magnus did to you. I couldn’t bear to see someone else hurt you.”
Taylor stared hard at him. His blue eyes sparkled with sincerity. Didn’t he realize how much he was hurting her?
“Taylor.” He grabbed her wrist. “Do you want to be shackled and dragged to Castle Donovan by some heartless mercenary?”
She glanced at his hand about her wrist. “No,” she murmured. “Nor by a heartless noble.”
Slane dropped her arm as if she had burned him. “I’m not heartless.”
“But you wish you were.” He frowned and she continued. “You can’t even look at me with Elizabeth standing beside you.”
Slane looked away from her, his fists clenching. She studied his back with intense eyes, as if trying to memorize every detail about him. As if trying to... To what? There was no hope for them. There could be no future for them. And she didn’t want one, she told herself firmly as a lump rose in her throat and tears burned in her eyes.
Taylor sat on the bed, the wound at her side beginning to flare again. She looked down at her entwined hands. Why couldn’t he just let her go? Why couldn’t he be rational? Why...?
Slane knelt before her, grabbing her arm tightly, forcing her to look into his eyes. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Then let me go,” she begged.
“I can’t.”
“Don’t you realize what you’re condemning us to?”
“I’m not condemning you. I’m saving you.” His grip eased.
She stared into his confused blue eyes, wishing... wishing she had never met him. Wishing her father had never wanted to make amends. How could she live at Castle Donovan seeing Slane happy with a beautiful wife? She might as well be burned at the stake.
“I am your friend,” Slane said decisively.
Friends? Is that all, we are? she wondered silently. Then why did it feel as if he was ripping out her heart and dashing it to the floor, stabbing it with the sharp edge of his blade? Bitterness consumed her. How dare he make her feel this way? “No,” she said and it came out as a growl. She ripped her wrist free of his grip. “You’re not my friend. We’ll never be friends. So just go back to your little wench. I don’t need your protection. I don’t need anything from you.”
Slane rose up before her, towering above her like a statue. “I am bound by my oath. I pledged to bring you to Richard. And I will.”
A sudden suspicion started to form in her thoughts. Why had he made a pledge to bring her to his brother? Why did Richard need to have her at Castle Donovan? Maybe my father is there, she thought, waiting for me, knowing that I’ll refuse to see him.
But then the suspicion drifted away as Slane’s deep blue gaze reached into her mind, clouding her thoughts.
Fool, she thought. Fool. You used to be such a practical woman. With a few looks from those deep eyes you‘re nothing but mud in his hands. She hugged her elbows, shaking her head, her body trembling.
Slane stared down at her for a long moment, unmoving.
Her back stiffened, but she didn’t lift her eyes to him. She chuckled and it came out like a strangled laugh. “Don’t worry, Slane,” she said, her voice thick with sarcasm and tears. “I won’t die.”
There was a long moment before she heard his footsteps move away and the creak of the door before it closed.
Taylor stood for a moment, unmoving, letting the anguish of being such a fool wash over her. Then she pressed her face into the pillow and sobbed...
***
Slane stood with his hand on the doorknob, listening to Taylor’s sobs. It took every ounce of willpower he had not to throw open the door and take her in his arms and whisper soothing words to her.
“Slane?”
He raised his eyes to see Elizabeth, worry etched in her brow. For a long moment, he just stared at her. His fingers wouldn’t release the handle of the door. “She wants to leave,” he whispered, and he was surprised at how broken his voice sounded.
Elizab
eth laid a soft hand on his arm. “Then by all means let her.”
Slane shook his head, drawing himself up. “I gave my word to Richard to see her safely to him.”
Elizabeth sighed, wrapping her arms around him. “Oh, Slane.”
Where once Slane’s body would have relaxed in his future wife’s arms, it now only stiffened.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Moments later, Slane bid Elizabeth good night and softly closed her door. He turned to his room across the hall, but his gaze was caught by another door. Taylor’s door. He stared hard at the wooden barrier, wishing that the door would fade away so he could see her sleeping peacefully behind it. Finally, he turned to his room.
“Slane?”
The voice spun him around.
“Are you all right?” John asked.
Slane nodded, running a hand over his brow. “Just tired.”
John nodded. “I suppose it has been rather a trying journey,” he said. He stared thoughtfully at Taylor’s door for a moment. “She’s nothing like I expected.”
Slane dropped his hand from his brow. “What do you mean?” He felt a surge of defensiveness rise inside him.
“I don’t know,” John continued. “I never expected to find her a mercenary. Maybe an alewife or a seamstress, but not a mercenary. A woman who fights with a sword...”
Slane forced the protectiveness from him and nodded. “It was a shock to us all.” He slapped John’s shoulder. “At least I found her.” He moved to take a step past his friend, but John’s whisper stopped him.
“There’s a man downstairs. He entered a few moments ago. I think he’s a mercenary.”
Instantly Slane moved past John and descended the stairs. Was it one of the mercenaries Richard had sent? Slane cursed the reward his brother had offered for the return of Taylor.
He saw the man as soon as he cleared the second floor. He was warming himself by the fire, his brown hair brushing his shoulders. His leather armor was worn and barely reflected the light of the flames. The man glanced over his shoulder and Slane recognized him immediately. Colm Duffy -- one of the men Richard had hired to find Taylor.
A Knight of Honor Page 17
