A Knight of Honor by Laurel O'Donnell Page B

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
     
     
     
     
    A fter 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