Taylor didn’t want to open her eyes; she was sure it had all been a dream. She felt... safe somehow. It was silly and ridiculous but she felt sated and warm and…
She opened her eyes. The blackness of the night sky had burned away, replaced by the red of the rising sun. She felt the soft grass beneath her back, heard a soft whinny, and turned her gaze. In the distance, Slane’s horse stood, eating the grass.
She turned to look at Slane. He was staring at her with a small grin on his face.
“What?” she asked defensively.
“You’re beautiful,” Slane whispered.
Taylor was unprepared for the honesty in his voice. She felt the heat rise in her cheeks and had to look away from him.
His low rumble of laughter shook her body. “You don’t take compliments too well.”
“Sorry. That wasn’t something Jared taught me,” she retorted, grabbing for her tunic.
But Slane was quicker. He snatched it off the ground and moved it out of her reach. “And did he teach you how to kiss like that?” he wondered in a strangely dark voice. “Or how to respond to a man’s touch like that?”
“Of course not,” she said, lurching for her tunic.
Slane easily moved it out of her grasp. “Then someone else taught you?”
“No,” she said, dropping her hand. Her eyes got a faraway look to them as she remembered. “There was one man, or rather boy, who came close. But I just didn’t trust him.” She snorted. “It’s a good thing I didn’t. He was a liar and a thief.”
“There were no others?” Slane wondered.
Something in his voice pricked her nerves and she lifted her head. He hadn’t known! He had thought she had slept with other men!
Slane scowled. “I’m... You’ve never...”
Taylor shook her head slowly. He’d regret what he’d done now. He’d turn away from her. “No. There was no one before you.” She steeled herself against his rejection.
But there was no rejection. His look softened with tenderness. There was possessiveness in his stare, and something else, something she didn’t recognize. A crooked grin curved his lips and he leaned forward to plant a kiss against her cheek.
She lifted her eyes to lock gazes with his. He was so close to her that she felt the heat of his breath fan her lips. He reached out to her, drawing her to him, engulfing her in a tight embrace.
Shocked, Taylor couldn’t reciprocate. She let him hug her, feeling the warmth of his body seep into her own. She felt the caress of his cheek against the top of her head.
Finally, she wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly, nervously, as if she was afraid he would vanish and she would be alone again. They sat that way for a long moment, the glow of the morning light reaching out to touch their entwined bodies.
An ache filled Taylor, starting in her chest and encompassing her entire body. She had a feeling, a strange feeling, that this would be the last time she and Slane would ever be together. She pulled back to gaze in his eyes, stroking his hair, touching his face, trying to memorize this moment. She had never felt anything like this in her life. She wanted to stay with him, be a part of his life.
“I have to bury your father,” Slane whispered. “You don’t have to go back.”
“I’ll go with you,” she said.
Slane touched her cheek softly, then bent and kissed her lips. He held her tunic out to her.
Taylor took it and slipped it over her head. Slane pulled on his leggings, and Taylor donned her own. She reached for a boot but cast Slane a look over her shoulder. He was staring at her with a serene look. She straightened and looked askance at him. But then, the look was gone and Slane was smiling, reaching for her.
The horse whinnied in the distance as Slane chuckled, pulling her against him, kissing her neck. But every instinct in Taylor flared to life. She went as still as a rock.
Slane eased his hands from her. “What is it?” he wondered.
Taylor listened hard, but there was no noise. The birds, the forest around them was still, silent in warning.
“Slane,” she cautioned, her gaze searching the trees around them.
Slane followed her gaze. He stood, pulling her up beside him, holding her protectively by his side.
Every instinct in Taylor’s body told her to get her weapon. Her stare shifted to Slane’s horse. Where the devil is my steed? she wondered. Her sword was on her horse! She scanned the clearing, but there was no sign of him.
She moved toward Slane’s horse, but Slane caught her wrist. “What?” she asked, lifting her gaze to his. But he was staring at something directly before them.
She swiveled her head to see a line of black-clad men heading toward them. Some held bows and arrows aimed at them; others clutched swords. She froze as she spotted one man walking ahead of the rest. He was dressed all in black, his dark cape swirling out behind him in the breeze, looking like a bat’s wing. An ugly, gleeful smile filled his thin lips and his dark eyes. “Corydon,” Slane snarled.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Hatred burned in Taylor’s veins as she stared at the man dressed in black. She scanned the ground for a weapon of some sort, but there was nothing. Not even an old log. Here she was, face-to-face with Jared’s killer, barely clothed and completely unarmed. She watched Corydon approach with narrowed eyes. Then she suddenly jerked forward toward him, her fist drawing back to strike.
Slane immediately grabbed her raised wrist and pulled her protectively to him, placing his body in front of hers to shield her from Corydon’s lascivious gaze and her own impulsive actions.
“He killed Jared!” Taylor hissed.
“It will do you no good to get yourself killed,” Slane snapped back.
Only then did her gaze shift to the archers to see their strings pulled taut, their arrows targeted on her chest.
“I have been looking for you forever, my dear,” Corydon said to Taylor. “What a joy it was to finally come upon you here.” He chuckled lustily. “What an absolute pleasure. Your little love notes were quite helpful. I was so disappointed when they stopped.”
Taylor moved to step around Slane, but he halted her, seizing her wrist in his fingers.
Corydon glanced toward the smoldering castle. “When you disappeared, I had to come up with another plan.”
Slane’s gaze followed Corydon’s; then disbelief and contempt curled his lips. “It was you,” Slane hissed. “You burned the village and the castle.”
Taylor felt ice freeze her blood. The utter destruction and devastation she had seen was Corydon’s doing. Not only had he murdered the only true friend she had ever had, but hundreds of innocent people as well.
“I knew you of all people would come charging to the rescue, bringing our lovely prize with you.” His dark gaze shifted to Taylor. “Here I was ready to lay siege to the castle and wait for you to arrive when all I had to do was knock and convince your poor old father that you were my prisoner.” Corydon chuckled softly, running his black-gloved hand over his mustache.
Taylor’s back slowly straightened in dread. Surely, her father would not have been stupid enough to fall for such a ploy.
“I must say, I was rather surprised at how much you meant to your father. Had I realized how easy it was to gain control of Sullivan Castle I would have done it much sooner.”
“You bastard,” Slane whispered. “You killed helpless people!”
Corydon shrugged his black-caped shoulders. “I only burned the village and the castle to get your attention. Rebuilding is simple compared with finding one woman. A woman who was far too dangerous to let escape. The heir to Sullivan lands couldn’t be left to roam the countryside, or join forces with one of my enemies, eh, Donovan? Now stand aside and let me have my prize.”
Remorse and despair washed over Taylor. Even though she had tried to put her lineage behind her and forget her past for the last eight years, it rose like a specter to haunt her. Her noble position was the cause of all this death and destruction. It was becaus
e of her, because of what she was born to, that so many had lost their lives.
“She means nothing to you now! Her home is burned. Her father is dead.”
“But she is still alive. She poses a threat,” Corydon said. “Besides, she might be worth much more than I could have possibly hoped. Look at the way you’re protecting her. And the romp the two of you just had. Why, one might think you had feelings for her.”
Taylor saw Slane stiffen, saw his hands tighten to balled fists. She placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him. “It would do no good to get yourself killed,” Taylor whispered to him.
But her words had no effect on him. His muscles bunched beneath her fingers, refusing to release the anger and tension knotting them.
Slane studied Corydon for a long, tense moment. The two nobles stared each other down, their dislike for each other clearly visible in the mutual disdain etched into their features.
“Corydon. I’ve a proposition for you,” Slane finally said.
Corydon held up his hand, stifling his laughter. “Please don’t bore me with ‘take my life instead.’”
“Not quite,” Slane said. “A fight. You and I.”
Corydon straightened, his dark gaze snapping to Slane. They locked gazes for a long moment.
“To the death,” Slane added.
Taylor’s heart lurched.
“It’s what you want,” Slane urged.
“A fight you say?” Corydon echoed thoughtfully.
“Right here. Right now. Me against you. If you win, you get Taylor and I will be dead. If I win, we’ll go free.”
“Slane,” Taylor gasped, fear gripping her heart.
At Corydon’s hesitation, Slane added, “What’s wrong, Corydon? Are you afraid?”
A slow smile slipped across Corydon’s lips. “This is an opportunity too good to pass up. Very well. I accept your challenge.” He turned away and began to remove his cape.
Slane turned to Taylor. “No matter what the outcome,” he whispered to her, “you take off for those woods. Do you understand?”
“No,” she gasped. “Don’t do this. You don’t have to.”
Slane lifted his eyes to hers. “What other option do I have?” he asked gently.
Taylor stared into his blue eyes. “My honor isn’t worth defending. It’s a losing battle.”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass about your honor right now,” Slane said, smiling softly. He ran a finger along her cheek. “I’m defending your life.” Their gazes locked and held. Then Slane turned away to look at his horse, to look for his sword.
That was when Taylor saw Corydon approach, his sword raised high. “Slane!” she warned.
Slane shoved her hard out of the way. Taylor recovered quickly, rolling to her side to see Slane duck Corydon’s swing and move away from the deadly blade.
“He doesn’t have a weapon!” Taylor shouted.
Corydon stood over Taylor, an amused glint in his gaze. “He said right here, right now.”
“You have to give him a weapon! What kind of fight would it be without one?”
Corydon turned back to Slane. “The best kind, my dear. The kind where I win.”
Slane cursed himself for being a fool. He should have seen Corydon’s trickery coming. He knew the man couldn’t be trusted. But Slane would have done anything to give Taylor a chance to escape. Now he faced his most dreaded enemy, half naked and weaponless.
Corydon approached slowly, confidently, a taunting grin stretching his thin lips. “Your weapon is well out of reach. Surrender to me now and I’ll make your death quick.”
Slane’s eyes narrowed. He glanced at Taylor to see her rising to her feet. She was so small and fragile compared to Corydon. He would never let Corydon get his hands on her. Just the idea of Corydon thinking about touching Taylor made Slane savage with anger. He couldn’t lose this fight. Taylor’s life depended on it.
Corydon swung and Slane sidestepped, barely avoiding the sharp blade. He had to concentrate on the battle before him, not on Taylor’s escape. He focused his effort and his gaze on Corydon. If only he could get the sword from Corydon somehow.
Corydon feinted left and swung right. Slane easily avoided the move. Slane dodged the blows until Corydon arced one toward his head. Slane stepped into the swing and grabbed Corydon’s wrist, stopping the strike mid-swing.
Slane held Corydon off, his muscles aching and straining against Corydon’s pushing. Suddenly, Corydon slammed his foot down on Slane’s bare toes. Slane grimaced and shoved off Corydon’s arm, backing quickly away from him, doing his best to ignore the flaring pain in his foot.
He glared at Corydon’s dark face. His toes pounded with agony, but Slane pushed the pain from his mind. That had hardly been honorable.
And then an idea formed in his mind. An idea that bordered on dishonor. He remembered the move that had won Taylor victory over him in their battle.
Slane managed to avoid Corydon’s swings until just the right moment, until Corydon thrust at his chest. Slane pretended to stumble as he backed away from the blow, falling to the ground on his bottom.
Corydon lifted his sword high over his head for the finishing blow. Slane pivoted on the ball of his foot, lashing out with his opposite leg. But instead of swiping Corydon’s leg cleanly and neatly from beneath him, as Taylor had done to him, his foot slammed into Corydon’s knees, toppling him like a tree... straight for him!
As he fell, Corydon managed to point the tip of his sword downward toward Slane, but his aim was slightly off, and the tip dug into the earth a mere inch from Slane’s face. Corydon’s weight pushed the weapon deep into the ground.
Slane raised his fist and punched Corydon in the face, and then the stomach. When Corydon rolled off of him, Slane shot to his feet, pulling at the sword to free it. But it was firmly lodged in the earth.
Corydon caught him from behind, wrapping his arms around Slane’s shoulders, pulling him from the sword. He spun Slane around and delivered two blows to his stomach. Pain exploded through his gut and Slane doubled over. When Corydon followed with a stunning blow to his face, Slane fell like a rock.
But he recovered quickly, pushing himself from the ground, shaking his head, trying to clear his vision. When his eyes focused, he saw Corydon trying to pull the sword from the ground. He was moving it back and forth like a saw in his attempt to free it from the earth’s clutches.
Slane struggled to his feet and dove at Corydon, shoving him from the weapon. When Corydon turned, Slane plowed two blows into his face, followed by an upper cut to his chin, which sent the noble sprawling.
Slane turned and pulled hard at the sword. It slid reluctantly from its sheath in the earth. Slane whirled just in time to find Corydon throwing himself at him. The outstretched blade greeted Corydon, impaling him through the stomach.
Slane stood for a long moment, staring at his enemy. He gripped the sword tightly, watching as disbelief spread across Corydon’s face. After a moment, Slane stepped back, releasing the handle of the sword.
Corydon’s hands convulsed around the handle of the blade lodged deep in his abdomen. He glanced down at the sword once and then back at Slane. He fell forward to his knees, a trickle of blood seeping from the corner of his mouth.
Slane looked up, over Corydon’s head, to see relief in Taylor’s eyes. He lifted a hand to wipe the blood from the corner of his own mouth as he stepped around Corydon to join her.
“Kill them,” Corydon ordered in a ragged voice. “Kill them both.” Corydon pitched forward to the ground and then was still.
The archers lifted their bows and pointed their deadly arrows at Slane and Taylor.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The archers pulled the strings taut, taking aim. Slane grabbed Taylor’s arm and pulled her behind him, preparing to take the first barrage of arrows.
Suddenly, shouts echoed from the forest behind the archers! The bowmen turned in time to see a garrison of riders erupt from the depths of the forest, brandishing swords
. The riders swept through the archers, cutting them down like weeds.
Slane quickly scanned the field to see more than one of the archers still taking aim, still intent on fulfilling their master’s last order. He pulled Taylor down, dragging her to the ground, covering her with his body. Several arrows whooshed overhead.
Beneath him, he could feel the ground tremble with the pounding of hooves and booted feet. All around them, Slane heard the thunderous roar of horses, shouts of dying men, the clang of an arrow striking chain mail. A smattering of dirt splashed into his face and he glanced up to see the shaft of an arrow embedded in the ground not five inches from his cheek.
Taylor squirmed beneath him, but he refused to let her rise until he knew what was happening. He lifted his head, his gaze scanning the riders in the distance. A few had broken off from the main group to chase the remaining archers, who were fleeing toward the cover of the forest. The rest of the riders were engaging several black-clad fighters.
Slane pushed himself up, allowing Taylor to rise. She climbed to her feet, brushing long strands of hair from her eyes. “Who is it?” she wondered.
Slane didn’t answer. He knew their colors well. He actually knew some of the men, recognizing them as they came closer. He stood as one of the riders moved forward and approached him.
The large warhorse pawed the ground before Slane, clumps of dirt spraying Slane’s bare feet. Slane gazed up into the rider’s black eyes. But the rider’s gaze was not on Slane; it was on Taylor. “Is this her?” the rider asked.
Slane’s gaze remained on the rider, narrowing at the way the rider’s gaze swept Taylor with unbridled lust. “Yes, Richard. This is Taylor,” he said, an obvious distaste twisting his lips.
Finally, the rider’s stare shifted to Slane. “Well done, brother,” Richard acknowledged. “With this deed, you are released from service to me.”
Slane felt Taylor’s look snap to him. But he didn’t dare acknowledge her right now. He would explain things to her later. He would make everything right again. “How did you find us?” Slane asked Richard.
A Knight of Honor Page 22
