She reached for the door handle to Slane’s room and almost pulled back, afraid. Her heart pounded furiously in her chest. Afraid of --
I’m not afraid, she told herself. Of anything. She shoved the door open and stepped into the dark room. She heard the rustle of movement and then the familiar swoosh of a sword being drawn. In the torchlight spilling into the room from the hallway outside, Taylor saw the polished blade pointing at her throat. But somehow that didn’t frighten her as much as facing the blue eyes shimmering in the darkness.
She wet her lips. “I’m staying with you,” she announced.
After a long moment, the sword lowered from her neck, dipping back down into the darkness whence it came. The room was as silent as a chapel.
“I’ll accompany you to Castle Donovan,” she clarified, wondering if he had heard her. Finally, she took a step backward before turning away from him and leaving the room, closing the door behind her.
***
Slane dropped heavily onto the bed completely and utterly stunned, staring at the door. Had that been Taylor who had just stormed in here, announcing she was going to Castle Donovan? Or had he finally fallen asleep and dreamed it? A glorious, wonderful dream.
No, she had had a change of heart. She was going to Castle Donovan after all!
But why the sudden change of heart? he wondered. What was in it for her? She did nothing if there was not some profit to be made. But he quickly realized with a widening grin that it didn’t really matter what her motives were now. She was going with him! She would be safe with him. No mercenaries would capture her. Corydon’s men would never get their hands on her. Suddenly, his sense of jubilation died and was quickly replaced by doubt.
But she was also coming to Castle Donovan to be with Richard. To be his brother’s betrothed.
A strange sense of melancholy filled him at the thought of her being Richard’s wife. He couldn’t imagine it. Richard would never tolerate her sarcasm. He would never appreciate her wit. He would never see her beauty. Like Elizabeth, Richard would see the mercenary, the wild hair, the callused hands. He would never see the way the blue streaks highlighted that rich hair; nor would he appreciate the skill with which she wielded her weapon. No. Richard would view her sarcasm as disrespect, her humor as insolence. Slane scowled. Was he delivering her to safety? Or was he putting her in greater jeopardy than she was already in?
He should tell her. He should tell her the real reason why he sought her. He had told her a portion of the truth. But not the entire story. Not the part about her father betrothing her to his brother.
His gaze lifted to the door. But if he told her, she would never go to Castle Donovan with him. She would never be safe.
***
Taylor sat in the common room with her back to the hearth, watching the shadows cast by the flickering flames dance over the walls around her own dark silhouette. She couldn’t help but wonder if she had done the right thing in staying with Slane. She shrugged to herself. What was done was done.
The sudden hiss of the fire burning behind her woke her from the hypnotic trance of the twisting shadows on the wall. She pushed the blanket from her shoulders and wrapped her hand around her mug of ale. She started to raise it to her mouth and froze. How could she hope to compete with Elizabeth? Compete? She wasn’t trying to compete! She finished bringing the cup to her lips and drained it. Her emotions were all a jumble inside her. She had to work them out. She had to sort out what she was feeling. But how could she do that when so many of the feelings were new?
Taylor rose and turned -- only to find a man with a twisted nose and dark eyes standing before her. Over his shoulder, she saw another man a foot behind him.
Taylor stepped to the side to move around him, but the man moved to block her path. She was in no mood to deal with this and briefly thought of kneeing him in the groin. But she was sure Slane wouldn’t approve. “Pardon me,” she murmured and again attempted to step around him.
Again, he blocked her path, and this time his friend moved up beside him. “We saw ya over here and thought ya might like some company,” he all but drooled.
Taylor clenched her teeth. “No, thank you,” she replied.
“Ah, manners,” the twisted-nosed one said.
“Ya can tell she wasn’t bred in the streets,” the friend added.
“I’m afraid we insist,” the twisted-nosed one said, grinning.
So much for pleasantries, Taylor thought. Sarcasm curled her lip. “What you two gentlemen don’t understand is that I don’t keep company with the likes of you.”
“What’s wrong with us?” the twisted-nosed one asked.
“You should bathe more often,” she advised.
“Are ya insulting us?” the friend wondered.
“No,” she lied. “I’m just trying to give some friendly advice.”
“You’re givin’ us advice?” the friend asked. “Let me give you some. Keep your big mouth closed and yer pretty legs spread. Hey, Simon?”
The man called Simon chuckled deep in his throat.
Taylor’s eyes narrowed slightly. She planted her legs wider apart. “Like this?” she wondered innocently.
“Wider,” Simon coaxed.
“You mean this wide?” Taylor swung her leg up and into Simon’s chest.
As Simon flew backward from the force of Taylor’s kick, the friendly man dived for her, but she easily sidestepped the rush, pulling her mug out of his path. He crashed into a table behind her. “I’m afraid I don’t do requests,” she said, placing her foot on Simon’s throat.
She caught a quick movement on the stairs and glanced up. Like a dark angel, he appeared, a shadowed visage emerging from the blackness. “Slane,” she whispered, just before Simon’s friend’s fist connected with her jaw, sending her spinning to her hands and knees, her mug flying through the air, its contents spilling across the wooden floor.
Taylor watched from the floor as Slane’s sword whistled to life, slashing through the air, striking flesh, spilling blood. It only took a moment before the two men lay dead at his feet.
The innkeeper and his daughter had scrambled away to safety once the fighting began, so now only Slane stood near the lifeless husks of the two thugs. He clutched the sword tightly in his hands until his knuckles turned to alabaster.
Then Slane spit on the corpses.
Taylor slowly rose to her feet as he grabbed a rag from a nearby table and wiped his sword clean, re-sheathing it once its silver surface shone again. He turned a murderous gaze to Taylor and she almost flinched, but kept her composure.
“Are you all right?” His words were gentle, in stark contrast to the lethal look in his eyes.
Taylor nodded.
Slane rose to his full height and turned to face the innkeeper and his daughter as they peered out from the kitchen doorway. He pointed at Taylor. “This woman is with me. If I even see you or your patrons looking at her the wrong way, you’ll get the same lesson I gave that scum.”
Shocked at the intensity of his rage, Taylor lifted a hand, absently rubbing her cheek. In his own strange way, she supposed he had just defended her honor... if she had any left. She approached Slane, surveying the carnage. “I could have handled them myself, you know,” she said. “And they might still be alive.”
“They deserved no less than they got,” Slane replied. He closed his eyes. After a long moment he slowly opened them. He put his fingers to her cheek and Taylor felt her heartbeat quicken at his touch. In his deep blue eyes, she saw his anger, concern, and apology.
Taylor grinned. “I’ve had worse.”
Slane smiled gently. “That you have.” He glanced at the innkeeper and his daughter huddled together. When he turned back to her, Taylor knew as Slane did that they couldn’t stay here any longer.
“It’s time to move on,” he announced quietly.
“And just when I was beginning to like this place,” she murmured.
“Get your bag and I’ll pay what we owe,” Slane sai
d, “and a few extra coins to take care of those slugs.” He jerked his head at the two dead bodies on the floor.
Taylor nodded and moved to the stairs. She knew they had to leave. Word would get out and quickly, of a woman and a man, both wielding weapons. Corydon would send men. And she couldn’t fight to her full capacity yet. Not the way she used to. Her side still ached from the swordplay with Slane.
By the time she returned with her belongings, their bill was paid and Slane was climbing the stairs to collect his things. “Hey, Slane,” Taylor called up to him. Slane turned to glance at her over his shoulder. “Life would be pretty damn boring without me, don’t you think?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
After a full day of traveling, Taylor was grateful to finally get off her horse. She tethered her steed to a tree near a stream and arched her back, reveling in being able to stretch. She had grown soft sitting at the inn. She needed more exercise to work her muscles.
She turned her eyes to the slight hill before her. They were drawing closer to Castle Donovan. And as they drew nearer, her uneasiness grew stronger.
Taylor cast Slane a glance. He was patting his steed as it drank from the stream. The sun was setting and the fading golden light seemed to be stretching its fingers to touch him one last time. Taylor was captivated by the reined power in his hand as he ran it over the horse’s neck. She had seen him wield a sword with unabashed strength, but to see him do something as simple as pat his horse took her unaware. She found her gaze traveling the length of his body, from his strong shoulders to his slim waist, to the leggings curved so lovingly over the muscles in his thighs.
Suddenly, he turned and locked eyes with Taylor. She blanched and then whirled to stare at the clearing to their right. She felt heat suffuse her cheeks and quickly moved into the clearing, toward the slight hill that edged it, away from Slane.
When she topped the rise, she felt her stomach drop. There before her stretched the most beautiful lands she had ever seen. Vales of trees dotted the green pastures. Rolling hills filled the landscape, lush green grass carpeting their mounds. A sparkling blue lake peeked from behind one of the slopes.
God’s blood, she thought, I didn’t realize we were so close. She felt tension knot her shoulders as a tidal wave of memories crashed about her.
“Taylor?”
At Slane’s voice, she jumped and turned to face him.
The grin that he had approached her with disappeared as concern furrowed his brows. “Are you all right?”
“We’re coming to Sullivan lands,” she said with a nonchalance she didn’t feel.
Slane nodded. “You knew we had to go through them to get to Castle Donovan.”
Taylor turned back to the lands that stretched before her. She had known, yes. But somehow she hadn’t been prepared. For years she had avoided these lands, steered clear of anything to do with them, refused to take any work that would even bring her close to them. And now, standing on the threshold of her old home, she felt a fierce anxiety seize her. She had to get away from these lands, from these painful, haunting memories.
She turned to do just that and came face-to-face with Slane.
Gently, but firmly, he set his hands on her shoulders. “It’s all right, Taylor,” he soothed in a rich, melodic voice.
Taylor wet her lips and looked around as if at any moment her father’s men would spring forth from the surrounding trees and spirit her back to Sullivan Castle.
Slane cupped her chin and forced her to look at him, to look deep into his eyes. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he whispered. “I promise.”
His touch, his sincere look, calmed her, but his words erased her fear. He was a man who lived by his word. His oath. His honor. She knew he meant what he said. She leaned forward, resting her forehead against his shoulder.
His arms swept around her, encompassing her in the safety of his embrace.
Smoke and flames, hazy memories lingered at the edges of her mind. Taylor turned her head to the side, resting her cheek on his shoulder. Tears burned her eyes from the smoky cloud of those remembered flames. She fought the images, fought them back, refusing to see them again. Refusing to acknowledge their effect on her. Those memories were long gone now. It was over.
She broke away from Slane’s embrace, moving away from the comfort and healing it offered, down the rise toward the horses.
“Taylor!” Slane called.
She halted, but didn’t turn. Her insides trembled for his touch, his comfort. She was afraid to turn. She was afraid that she wouldn’t be able to resist the lure and solace he offered. She was afraid of him... of falling in love with him.
“Smoke!”
She whirled to find him pointing toward Sullivan lands. Memories of smoke and fire resurfaced instantly in her mind’s eye. She began to shake. It couldn’t be. There couldn’t be smoke. There couldn’t be fire. That had happened years ago. Trembling, she turned her back on him. “I don’t care,” she announced coldly.
“You don’t care?” His large strides brought him to her side as she reached the horses. “Maybe you think you don’t. But you really do. This is your home!”
“It used to be,” she snapped. “But it’s not anymore.”
“But you’re the heir! Your father – ”
“I don’t give a damn about my father!” Taylor hollered. “Not after what he did.”
Slane’s scowl deepened. He moved to his horse and pulled himself up into the saddle. “Someone might need help,” he said as if that were all the explanation he need give.
Taylor’s angry glare clashed with Slane’s furious stare. Finally, he reined in his horse and spurred the animal toward the rise.
Taylor watched him go, small puffs of dust kicking up from the horse’s hooves as he sped away. Then his form disappeared over the hill, and anger boiled in her veins. Who the hell did he think he was? Going off to rescue every damned person in trouble. What if it was a trap! It would serve him right! Then where would his damned honor be?
She stared after him for a long moment. “Damn,” she muttered and swung herself onto her horse.
The moon was high in the sky when Taylor finally caught up with Slane just outside of the village. But Slane sitting eerily motionless in his saddle wasn’t what caught her attention. It was the village. All around her the houses lay in crumbled blackened ruin, victims of the fire’s deadly wrath. Smoke still smoldered from most of the buildings. She sat there, blank, amazed, and very shaken. Her hands convulsively tightened around the horse’s reins.
Slane urged his horse slowly on through the main street of the village.
Without a sign from Taylor, her horse moved forward. Waves of trepidation swept through her as her gaze focused on the skeletal remains of one smoldering ruin... the house that Mrs. Muelder had lived in. She had made the best apple tart in the lands, and Taylor used to come see the old woman every day in the summer to get a taste.
Taylor tore her gaze away from the burnt-out shell, and locked on Farmer George’s house. Smoke rising from a charred, blackened beam swirled into a ray of moonlight. Long ago, Taylor had sat in that very room of the house, playing damsel in distress with Farmer George’s son, Jeffrey.
She ripped her stare away only to find her gaze centering on the DeLuca house. Her friend Julie had lived there. God, she hadn’t thought of her for...
Her horse drew closer to the still glowing rubble of the DeLuca house. Julie used to come to the castle with her mother who worked in the kitchens. She and Julie used to spy on the knights and pick their favorite as they jousted, pretending they jousted for their honor. Julie...
Taylor’s horse halted. The animal pawed the ground skittishly, sending ash into the air. Heat radiated from the shell of the home in waves.
A tortured dullness swept Taylor up in disbelief. What had happened? All around her was destruction. The village lay in smoking ruin, burned to ashes. The smoke stung her nostrils, its choking scent closing her throat. She wiped at her
nose, desperate to rid it of the foul stench.
Her eyes scanned the streets for any survivors. But there were no signs of living people, no moans of the wounded.
There was only intense heat and an occasional crack of a burning piece of wood.
Unnerved, she pulled back from the blackened frame and her horse followed her command, backing away, tossing its head as if in objection to the sights reaching its eyes.
Suddenly, a charred beam splintered in two and crashed to the ground, sending a shower of glowing embers into the night sky. With a jolt, Taylor realized where she was, and desperate to escape, she spurred her horse. With a slight rear, the horse lurched forward down the road, racing past the ravished remnants of what used to be a thriving village.
As she raced forward, Sullivan Castle loomed before her, silently beckoning her with its lowered drawbridge. The arrow loops were empty, now just vacant slits in the castle’s walls, looking more like knife wounds sliced into the stone than the defensive windows they were supposed to be. Once a vibrant center of life, she knew the castle was now a barren monument to the dead.
Taylor’s gaze immediately settled on something dangling over the castle walls. She pulled back on the reins, bringing her horse to a halt. Beneath her, the animal pranced nervously. As she looked closer at the thing hanging from the wall, she realized she was looking at a human form. It was a man. A man dangling from a rope, hanging by his arms, the rope binding his wrists rising up the castle wall to disappear over its edge. Every instinct inside Taylor told her to run. To get out of the village, away from the castle. But she couldn’t take her eyes from him. His clothing was in tatters, hanging in shreds on his body. His graying hair hung in sickly strands across his face. Suddenly, the man turned his head, groaning loudly.
Taylor heard the sound of hooves coming closer. “I’ll cut him down,” she heard Slane say from beside her.
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