‘Looking for something?’ he accused.

The last time she’d seen Ewan he’d been a gangly boy of sixteen. The boy had become a man. A handsome one, at that. His dark blond hair was cut short, emphasising a lean face and a strong jawline. Broad shoulders revealed a tight strength she hadn’t remembered. Ridged muscles lined his abdomen, down to …

Oh, dear God above. He was naked.

With that, every coherent thought left her. He looked like a savage Celt. Ewan had a wildness about him that made her uneasy.

He released one wrist and ripped her hood free.

‘You’re a woman.’

She couldn’t gather up her thoughts to answer, and before she knew it his mouth came down upon hers.

AUTHOR NOTE

When I first began writing the Irish medieval stories of The MacEgan Brothers, the youngest brother, Ewan MacEgan, always held a special place in my heart. I’ve been eagerly awaiting the day when I could give this awkward, boyish and fiercely loyal hero the heroine of his dreams. Now that the adolescent boy has grown into a strong, passionate man, Ewan is about to meet his match in Honora St Leger.

As a girl, Honora dreamed of wielding a sword and fighting alongside her father’s men. As a widow, she wages her own battle against losing her heart to Ewan, the man she loved many years ago. She can only be with Ewan if he sacrifices everything, and she refuses to let him surrender his future. I hope you enjoy Ewan MacEgan’s tale.

Also in this book is the love story of Honora’s sister Katherine and her handsome knight Sir Ademar. THE WARRIOR’S FORBIDDEN VIRGIN was first available in e-book form from Mills & Boon® Historical Undone.

You can find behind-the-scenes information about my books and the other four MacEgan brothers on my website: www.michellewillingham.com

Trahern MacEgan will be next. Look for SURRENDER TO AN IRISH WARRIOR in May 2011.

I love to hear from readers, and you may e-mail me at michelle@michellewillingham.com, or write to me at: PO Box 2242 Poquoson, VA 23662, USA.

About the Author

MICHELLE WILLINGHAM grew up living in places all over the world, including Germany, England and Thailand. When her parents hauled her to antiques shows in manor houses and castles Michelle entertained herself by making up stories and pondering whether she could afford a broadsword with her allowance. She graduated summa cum laude from the University of Notre Dame, with a degree in English, and received her master’s degree in Education from George Mason University. Currently she teaches American History and English. She lives in south-eastern Virginia with her husband and children. She still doesn’t have her broadsword.

Visit her website at: www.michellewillingham.com, or e-mail her at michelle@michellewillingham.com

TAMING HER IRISH WARRIOR

Michelle Willingham

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To all the readers who asked me for Ewan’s story. Thank

you so much for all of your support and encouragement.

Chapter One

England—1180

The wood creaked, a faint noise that hardly anyone would notice. But Honora St Leger had trained herself to perceive details such as this, the underlying hints of a man’s presence.

He was here. The thief she’d been waiting to capture.

Her knees ached against the cold stone floor of the chapel, and though she pretended to pray, she inched her way closer to the altar and the sword she’d hidden beneath it.

A sennight ago, the thief had stolen a wooden cross from the chapel. And last night, a chalice had gone missing. Her father’s men had found nothing, not a trace of the thief.

The hairs stood up on the back of her neck, her instincts roaring. Closer now. Her breathing grew steadier as she mentally steeled herself for battle.

She reached beneath the altar cover, finding the cool metal hilt of the sword. The candles extinguished from a sudden gust of air.

Honora leapt to her feet, poised to strike. The soft sound of footsteps betrayed the man’s presence. Darkness shielded both of them, and she used her other senses to her advantage. Although she could not see her opponent, neither could he see her.

The rhythm of footsteps shifted, and fear suddenly arced through her. Oh, Jesu. There were two of them.

The air within the chapel shifted without warning, and instinct made her swing the sword behind her. Her blade struck steel, and the thief parried, the blow numbing her arm.

Where had the cur gotten a sword? A sword meant he was no ordinary thief—he was a trained fighter. Her pulse quickened, her fear rising. Though she had full confidence in her skills, fighting blind made it more challenging.

And there was still someone else in the chapel, someone she couldn’t see. The footsteps quickened, though she could not tell if they were running towards her or running away.

She swung the blade and was rewarded with a hiss of pain. ‘Who are you?’ she demanded. ‘What do you want?’

Silence.

When she sliced the sword again, it missed. She halted the blade, listening. Nothing remained but the coolness of air coming from the open door. Not a footstep, not a foreign breath marred the stillness. Both men had vanished.

Why?

Unless one of the men had driven the other off. Like an unseen protector.

She frowned, dropping to her knees again. The sword hilt warmed beneath her palm while her heart pulsed with energy. It had been half a year since she’d fled her husband’s home, Ceredys, and returned to her father’s donjon. She’d thought she was safe here at Ardennes. Now, she wasn’t so certain.

It unnerved her that this thief kept returning, as though he were searching for something. But what?

Honora contemplated returning to her chamber, but her sister Katherine was still abed. She couldn’t endanger her by leading the attackers there.

Instead, she lit the candles once more, trying to calm herself while the familiar scent of beeswax and old incense filled the space.

With her sword in hand, she sat against the stone wall. Though it was freezing and uncomfortable, she tucked her feet beneath her skirts.

It was then that she noticed the missing chest. She had brought it back from Ceredys, a gift given by her mother-in-law, Marie St Leger.

Now stolen.

Furious, she eyed the empty space where it had rested only moments ago. As she murmured a silent prayer for Marie’s soul, she vowed she would bring the thief to justice.

‘She won’t wed you.’

Ewan MacEgan shielded his eyes against the glare of the sun beginning to sink below the horizon. His brother’s prediction came as no surprise to him. He was the youngest son, with not much more than a tiny plot of land. What right did he have, thinking he could win the hand of an heiress? None at all.

But this was Lady Katherine of Ardennes, the woman he’d idolised since he was a lad of sixteen. While others had mocked his clumsiness, she had smiled at him, reassuring, ‘You’ll beat all of them one day.’

Though she was only a girl of fourteen years, Lady Katherine’s quiet faith had sustained him. Now that she had grown up to be a lady worthy of a thousand suitors, he intended to wed her.

‘I’ve known her since we were children,’ Ewan told his brother.

Bevan drew his horse to a stop by the river and let the animal drink. ‘That was five years ago. Her father will want her to wed a wealthy nobleman, not a penniless Irishman.’

‘I’ll gain my own wealth,’ Ewan answered. ‘Enough to build whatever kingdom she desires.’ Though he spoke with confidence, like Bevan, he had his doubts that Lord Ardennes would even consider him as a suitor for Katherine. The only thing in his favour was his royal bloodline, for his eldest brother, Patrick, was king of their province in Éireann.

Bevan rested his arm upon the horse and regarded him. ‘Let us help you. Take the land Patrick offered.’

‘I won’t take what I haven’t earned. I’ll get the land myself, or not at all.’ He would not be a leech, feeding off the family’s wealth.

‘Too proud, are you?’ The scar upon Bevan’s cheek tightened. ‘It won’t do you any good here. The girl’s family possesses wealth beyond your imaginings. She’ll marry a nobleman of the highest rank. You haven’t a chance.’

Ewan refused to believe it. ‘I have to try.’ He stiffened, keeping his gaze fixed upon the horizon. Urging his mount forwards, he tried to behave as if he didn’t see the pity on his brother’s face.

‘There are others who might be more suitable,’ Bevan continued, softening his tone. ‘Someone from Éireann. You don’t need to live here, among enemies. Wed an Irish cailín.’

Give up this Herculean task, was what his brother meant. Don’t reach for what you cannot possibly achieve.

It was what his brothers had counselled him, long ago when he’d expressed his desire to be a warrior. He had not possessed the natural talents of Patrick or Bevan. And though he’d poured himself into the training, his skills came from brute strength rather than finesse. Despite all the failures he’d suffered, he had overcome his weaknesses to become the man he was now.

Could he not do the same with winning a bride? Persistence counted for something, didn’t it?

He turned to Bevan. ‘She is the one I want.’

His brother expelled a sigh, drawing his horse to a stop. Although they were less than five miles from the donjon, Bevan turned his gaze westwards. ‘Be sure of it, Ewan.’

They travelled alongside one another for the remainder of the journey, not speaking. The landscape was familiar to him, verdant fields that rolled into hills. In five years, none of it had changed.

It struck him suddenly that he’d been content here. Though most of his kinsmen viewed Normans as the enemy foreigners, Ewan had never seen them as such. He’d spent three years among them, after Bevan’s wife, Genevieve, had arranged it. He’d finished his fostering with her father, Thomas de Renalt, the Earl of Longford. There, he had finally learned to fight.

A sense of unease passed over him, and he glanced at the scars upon his palms. Although the wounds had healed long ago, his hands were stiff. Grasping a sword took his full concentration, and he’d had to compensate for his awkwardness in other ways.

But he deserved the scars, for what he’d done to Bevan. He risked a glance at his older brother, wishing to God he hadn’t betrayed him. And though Bevan had forgiven him, he felt unworthy of it.

Ahead, he spied the castle that belonged to the Baron of Ardennes. The fortification was a blend of stone and wood. The outer bailey wall stretched high, perhaps the height of two men. The inner donjon held stone battlements and wooden outbuildings. Though he had not dwelled within the fortress, he had visited a time or two, along with his foster-father.

He tensed as they drew close to the barbican gate, wondering if Katherine would remember him.

Or Honora.

His grip tightened on the reins. During his fostering, Honora had nearly killed him on three different occasions. Accidents, she’d claimed. Though it was forbidden for women to train, that did nothing to stop her. She’d wanted to learn swordplay, like him, and he’d reluctantly offered instruction.

She was married now, he’d heard. Perhaps to a husband who could tame her wildness. He’d never met a woman so eager to wield a blade. And though he’d tried to avoid her, Honora had followed him everywhere.

Would that her sister had worshipped him so.

Despite the number of men vying for her hand, he intended to win Katherine first—no matter what it entailed. Anticipation rose up inside him, for soon he would conquer her heart.

The thief was among the suitors who had come for her sister; Honora was certain of it. With so many strangers, it would be simple enough to avoid notice.

She’d waited many hours until darkness shrouded the castle once more. In the ebony cloak of night, she moved soundlessly. Past the guards, keeping to the shadows while they conversed and played games of dice.

Find the chest, find the thief. It was as simple as that. Already, she had searched the Hall, but there was no trace of it among the low-born knights and retainers. All that remained were the private chambers reserved for guests of noble birth.

Not a sound did she make when she entered the first chamber. After searching the men’s belongings, she found nothing. She slid against the wall, moving towards the next chamber. Ahead, she spied the guard standing by the staircase.

Honora held her breath, praying he wouldn’t see her. Her father would murder her if he knew what she was doing.

When she reached the next chamber, she opened the door. Inside, silence permeated the space. She moved closer to a pile of belongings, staring at the shadows for a glimpse of the chest.

Abruptly, someone grabbed her. His hand clamped over her mouth, the other arm gripping her waist as he spun her around. Honora fought, kicking at his legs, but he lifted her up, pressing her back against the wall. A blade of moonlight slipped from behind the clouds, casting a beam upon his face.

She froze at the sight of Ewan MacEgan. By the Rood, she’d never thought to see him again. What was he doing here?

His sculpted bare chest gleamed silver, his pectoral muscles rising and falling as he breathed. Her heartbeat pounded, her skin prickling with gooseflesh, despite the warm summer heat.

‘Looking for something?’ he accused. His muscles did not appear taxed in the least by her body weight.

The last time she’d seen Ewan, he’d been a gangly boy of sixteen. Tall and thin, she remembered him as an awkward fighter, driven to succeed. He’d trained night and day, struggling to gain expertise.

The boy had become a man. A handsome one at that. His dark blond hair was cut short, emphasising a lean face and a strong jaw line. Broad shoulders revealed a tight strength she hadn’t remembered. Ridged muscles lined his abdomen, down to …

Oh, dear God above. He was naked.

With that, every coherent thought left her. She gaped at him, unable to stop herself from stealing a long look. Her husband had never looked like this. Like a savage Celt, Ewan had a wildness about him that made her uneasy.

He eased her down the wall, still holding her wrists trapped. She had stopped struggling, too disconcerted at being near him. He released one wrist and ripped her hood free.

‘You’re a woman.’

She couldn’t gather up her thoughts to answer.

‘Who are you?’ he demanded.

Her tongue caught in her throat. Didn’t he remember her? After all the years she’d humiliated herself, tagging along and trying to defeat him in swordplay? But then, the darkness hid her features from him. He couldn’t see her clearly.

‘Katherine?’ he asked gently.

Anger surged through her. No, she wasn’t her beautiful, saintly sister. He ought to have figured that out, from her unexpected entrance into his chamber. Her sister wouldn’t dream of entering a man’s bedchamber, much less hunt a thief.

Before she could deny it, his mouth came down upon hers. A shocking sensation rushed through her skin, as though every part of her had caught fire. She forgot what she was seeking, forgot what was happening. The world around her crumbled, with nothing else, save his kiss.

She didn’t know how to respond, and her lips remained frozen. Gentle and coaxing, Ewan slid his hands through her hair. His powerful thighs pressed up to her body, the hot length of him suddenly reminding her why it was unwise to awaken a sleeping man.

His hands caressed the hollow of her back, slipping beneath the man’s tunic she wore. A light shiver rose up on her skin while his hands roamed her body, caressing her as though she were made of silk. The touch of his rough palms aroused her, and an aching warmth bloomed between her thighs.

The unfamiliar sensation caught her without warning. His rough palms stroked her spine, and she longed for his hands to move upwards. To fill up with her breasts, easing the heaviness and the shocking need.

Never had a man touched her in this way. Especially not her husband.

The memory slashed through her, shattering the moment. She pushed him away, her lips swollen and her body restless. ‘I’m not Katherine.’

‘Honora.’

She nodded, not trusting her voice. She reached for her dagger, but discovered it wasn’t there.

Ewan raised the blade, the steel reflecting in the moonlight. ‘Looking for this?’

‘I didn’t come here to harm you.’

‘No. Only to rob me.’

‘I didn’t even know you were here,’ she protested. ‘I came looking for—’ She almost said a thief, but silenced herself. For all she knew, Ewan was the thief. Doubtful, but she could not rule it out.

‘Looking for your husband?’ he queried. Accusations filled up his voice, as though she were a little girl caught stealing sweets.

‘My husband is dead.’ She pulled his hand off her other wrist and held out her palm. ‘Give me back my dagger.’

‘No.’ Ewan held it out of reach, and Honora lunged for it. With her full weight bearing down on him, she took him down. Before she could grab the blade from his grasp, he rolled over, his body crushing hers.

Trapped, she felt every line of his body. And the dangerous glint in his eye made her aware that she had made a very bad decision.

‘I’m not the boy I was, Honora.’ He kept her pinioned, and tossed the knife away. ‘You won’t defeat me in a fight. Not any more.’

Her face flushed. Apparently, he hadn’t forgotten how she’d bested him. More than once she’d disarmed him, her fighting skills equal to his. But that was long ago.

‘Let me get up.’ She tried to sit, and Ewan rolled off her. He sat beside her on the floor, seemingly at ease.

She tried to straighten her clothing, regaining her composure. ‘Why are you here?’

‘I’m going to wed your sister.’

She bit back the argument that he was but one man among many. Her father hadn’t settled the betrothal yet, nor would he, until he had taken each man’s measure.

‘I’m sorry I kissed you,’ he said. ‘I mistook you for Katherine.’

His apology only heated up her temper. Honora knew she wasn’t as comely as her sister, but she didn’t need to be reminded of it. ‘Katherine would never enter a stranger’s bedchambers.’

‘Unlike you.’ There was a hint of humour beneath his tone, but she didn’t acknowledge the teasing. It made her feel insulted, and she regretted her impulsive behaviour.

The door opened, and Honora jerked to her feet. Oh, heaven. Another angry MacEgan brother was staring at her.

‘Am I interrupting something?’ He glanced at Ewan, who didn’t seem at all embarrassed to be naked with a woman beside him.

‘Honora was just leaving.’ Ewan gestured towards the door, and she took the invitation gratefully. She didn’t even bother about the dagger, so thankful was she to flee their presence.

Bevan closed the door behind Honora, setting a torch within an iron sconce. Ewan didn’t miss the questioning look upon his brother’s face. ‘Wrong chamber,’ was his only offer of explanation.

Bevan didn’t believe a word of it, and waited for him to elaborate. Frankly, Ewan didn’t feel like it. He’d been awakened by the sound of Honora’s intrusion, and hadn’t at all expected to find a woman in his chamber.

His uneasiness escalated, for he’d acted on impulse, kissing her. At first, he’d tricked himself into thinking Katherine had come to see him. Fool. Katherine was shy and demure, not nearly as brazen as her sister.

Honora. He rested his fingertips against his mouth, thinking of the kiss he’d stolen. The taste of her lingered, soft and sweet. Completely unlike the stubborn girl who had plagued him so many years ago.

‘Her father won’t be pleased,’ Bevan said. ‘I drank nearly half a barrel of ale with him this night, pleading your case.’ He grimaced at the late hour, running a hand through his hair. ‘You’d best ensure that he doesn’t find out about this. I doubt if he’ll let you wed his youngest daughter if you were dallying with her sister.’

‘Honora intruded upon my sleep.’ Ewan returned to his pallet, flipping the woollen coverlet over himself. ‘It wasn’t my fault.’

‘What was she doing?’

‘Looking for someone.’ He shrugged, as though it were of no importance. Though now that he considered it, he wondered precisely whom she had sought. ‘What else did her father say?’

‘He will consider your suit. Thomas de Renalt also spoke with him and offered his approval of the match.’

Ewan’s tension eased a bit at the mention of his foster-father. ‘Good.’

Sinking back onto his pallet, he stared at the ceiling while Bevan retreated to his own sleeping place. The torch flickered shadows on to the walls, while all around, he heard the noise of other guests. In the distance, a dog barked, its cries mingling with the sounds of night.

Honora’s hair had been short, barely touching her shoulders. Ragged and silky, he hadn’t expected that. He was accustomed to seeing her with a veil. The intimacy of her bare head reminded him of how he’d kissed her, winding his fingers through the softness.

Her hair was the colour of a midnight sky, her skin milky pale. Large, full lips had kissed him back, and she’d tasted like apples, succulent with a hint of sweetness. Her arms were not the soft skin of most women, but they held a lean strength. So often she’d tried to best him when they were fostered together. She’d won, more times than he wanted to remember.

Not any more.

He shifted upon the bed coverings, trying to force his thoughts back to Katherine as he drifted off to sleep. Even so, he couldn’t forget Honora’s kiss.

Chapter Two

‘You were seen leaving the MacEgan bedchamber last night.’ Nicholas de Montford, the Baron of Ardennes, set his goblet firmly upon the table in his private chamber. He folded his hands, the morning sunlight reflecting on his gold rings.

Honora’s cheeks burned, and she fumbled for an excuse. ‘It was a mistake. I was merely trying to find—’

‘Your rooms are on the opposite side of the donjon. Don’t offer lies.’

Caught. Her father was many things, but he was not a fool. His harsh expression regarded her as if weighing a decision. Honora folded her hands and waited for him to go on. When he didn’t, her agitation heightened. Was he going to punish her? What did he want?

‘Nothing happened,’ she offered. ‘I left immediately.’

‘That does not matter. You are a widow and must comport yourself with virtue.’

He made it sound as though she’d invaded MacEgan’s bedchamber with the intent of deflowering him. Her cheeks burned brighter at the memory of his strong, naked body. Ewan had never looked like that as an adolescent. But now … Her body tightened at the memory of his kiss. Her fingernails dug into her wrists as she fought to subdue the thought.

‘Is it your intention to remarry?’ her father was asking.

‘No!’ she blurted out. Hadn’t she endured marriage once before? Her husband, Ranulf, hadn’t lived for more than a year, praise be. And, God willing, she would never have another husband.

Her father steepled his hands. ‘I thought Ranulf would be a good husband for you, that he would provide you with a comfortable home. None of us expected him to die so soon.’

Honora didn’t admit she was glad Ranulf was dead. But why would Nicholas think she’d want another husband? There was no need.

She crossed herself, in a half-hearted gesture of forgiveness. ‘I don’t want to wed again.’

Nicholas regarded her with a serious expression. ‘You cannot remain here forever, Honora. It’s been half a year since you left Ceredys.’

And yet, it didn’t seem long enough. Her shoulders lowered, the guilt bearing down on her.

‘One third of Ranulf’s estate belongs to you by law,’ Nicholas continued, narrowing his gaze at her. ‘A pity you didn’t have any sons of your own. You’d have gotten more.’

And thank Heaven for that. She wanted no son of Ceredys blood, no permanent reminder of Ranulf St Leger. Her husband had left most of the land to his son John, who was born of a former marriage.

Like a serpent John was, sleek and deceptive. She shivered at the memory. He could have her third of the estate and her dowry land, if it meant getting rid of him.

She blamed herself for what had happened at Ceredys. Even with the influence of John’s grandmother Marie St Leger, she’d been unable to stop him from stripping away every last penny of rents from the villagers.

What kind of a warrior could she call herself, if she let her people endure such a fate? Time had slipped away from her, and she still had not managed to conceive of a suitable plan.

‘How much longer do you intend to hide behind my walls?’ her father asked softly.

‘I’m not hiding.’

He cast a look that said he didn’t believe her.

‘I will go back,’ she said quietly. ‘Soon enough.’ If John were removed from power, she could try to repair the damage he’d done. But she couldn’t overthrow him without help. ‘I would ask you again, to lend me soldiers.’

‘No. It isn’t my place, nor yours, to meddle with John’s … difficulties at Ceredys.’

‘He’s robbed them of their food,’ she protested. ‘You cannot stand by and do nothing. There are innocent folk suffering from what he’s done.’

His expression hardened. ‘Then perhaps you should marry a man with an army.’

Honora expelled a sigh of frustration, shaking her head. She would find a way to help them without relying upon another man.

Nicholas continued on, oblivious to her refusal. ‘It would be the sensible thing to do. You’re young enough to bear many sons.’

Honora reached to her side, but she’d forgotten her dagger wasn’t there. Squeezing the grip usually brought her comfort, but she doubted if anything could calm the temper rising this time.

‘Father, please.’ She closed her eyes, wishing there was some way to make him understand. ‘I need time.’

She would not marry again. Never could she forget the ten months of hell she’d suffered, nor the months afterwards of avoiding John.

‘You’re not getting any younger. And if you want any children at all, you’ve no choice.’

Honora swallowed, not facing her father. The idea of bearing a child terrified her. She hadn’t made a good wife—why would she expect to be a good mother?

Her father didn’t seem to notice her silence. ‘No, I believe it is God’s will, Honora. I chose poorly for your first husband. For the second, I’ll allow you to choose. You may select first from among the suitors here.’

‘But those men are here for Katherine!’ she protested. Did he expect them to simply change their minds? It would never happen. She knew what she was. A woman who was far too impulsive, too impatient to be a wife. She didn’t care about the household accounts or about mending clothing. Her interests lay in the castle defences and whether or not the men were well trained.

Her hands reached around her waist, as though holding back herself. Asking her to wed again meant facing that humiliation once more, of being an unworthy wife.

‘I won’t do it,’ she said softly.

Nicholas sighed, refilling his tankard with ale. ‘All you need is a real man in your bed and a babe swelling beneath your skirts. Then you’ll be happy.’

A real man in her bed? She ground her teeth, longing to tell him just how she felt about that. What did her father know about choosing the right man for her?

Nothing at all. He’d married her off to the first man who’d asked. Her stomach soured at the memory of the disastrous marriage.

‘You cannot force me to marry.’

‘No, but I can force you to return to Ceredys.’ Nicholas drained his cup, confident in his decision. ‘You are of little use to me here. You’ve an estate of your own to manage.’

She didn’t argue that she’d never been allowed to manage any part of Ceredys. She’d been more of a prisoner than a wife.

‘But I am not without a heart, Honora,’ her father went on. ‘If you have your eye upon someone, I can arrange your marriage sooner than Katherine’s. Ewan MacEgan, perhaps?’ A smug look crossed Nicholas’s face.

‘Never.’ The denial ripped from her mouth without a second’s hesitation. Ewan was here for Katherine. He didn’t even like her, not after all she’d done to him while they were fostered together. ‘As I told you, I didn’t mean to be in his room. It was an accident.’

‘Hmm.’ Her father did not appear convinced. ‘Well, there are seven other men, all of them from noble families.’

He truly wasn’t listening to her, was he? She tried another tack. ‘Even if I did agree to remarry, my inheritance complicates matters. A new husband would have to dwell alongside John, else he’d have to surrender the land entirely.’

And she’d rather die than live with John St Leger again.

‘True enough. But that’s the way of marriage, isn’t it? I married your mother for her estates here and in Normandy.’

‘I married once for duty. I won’t do it again.’ Honora set her mouth in a firm line.

Her father’s face darkened, and he puffed up with his own obstinacy. ‘Aye, you will. For I’ll not let Katherine wed until you do.’

Had he struck her in the throat, she could not have been more stunned. Why would he do this? What could he hope to gain from it?

‘That isn’t fair.’ She spoke quietly, feigning the gentle quality he preferred. But inwardly, she was raging.

‘I am hosting a feast on the morrow,’ her father commented. ‘I expect you to be there. There will be a tournament, and the suitors will compete for your entertainment.’

Oh, Jesu. Not that. She had no desire to look like a fool while the suitors fawned over her sister. Was she supposed to sit beside Katherine on a dais, hoping that a man would ask for her favour? Perhaps one man would show pity.

She had her pride. No, it mattered not what her father wanted. She’d not suffer through such a humiliation.

But Nicholas read her thoughts. ‘If you do not come, I will have you dragged out of your chamber and brought forth.’

He meant it, too. She gripped her skirts, wanting to rend the fabric out of frustration. ‘Yes, Father.’

She was about to leave, when he added one more warning. ‘Behave yourself, Honora.’

She had no appetite for breaking her fast, no matter that the rest of the guests were partaking of the delicious array of foods. Honora strode through the Hall, trying to ignore the men enjoying their meal.

Her father’s vow made it impossible not to notice them. Most were younger, and all wealthy.

Well, all, save one. Her gaze flickered upon Ewan MacEgan. His blond hair was slightly tousled, as though he’d raked his hand through it. From the way his sleeve tightened against his upper arm … Holy Virgin, there was no denying his strength.

Ewan reached for an apple, adding it to the food he’d already selected to break his fast. Honeyed cakes, bread, braised lamb and fresh salmon were piled high before him.

It was a wonder there was any food left, Honora thought to herself. Ewan had always been one to enjoy a meal, but from the look of him, there was not a trace of fat—only raw muscle.

‘Did you find the man you were looking for?’ he asked, when she was forced to walk past him.

Honora pretended as though he hadn’t spoken. Blood rushed to her face at the memory of last night. It was easier to remember Ewan as the boy, not the man. When she walked past the trestle table, he reached out and caught her wrist.

‘Let me pass.’

‘Not yet. Where is your sister? I’ve not seen her this morn.’

Honora took his palm, trying to force her way out of his grasp. ‘I imagine she is surrounded by her other suitors, listening to them describe the pearl of her skin or the silk of her hair. Now if you’ll excuse me—’

Ewan stood, still holding her wrist. If she twisted away, the skin would bruise. But standing this close to him, she could smell the clean scent of him, like summer rain. He wore a forest-green tunic and brown trews, rather like a huntsman. His fair hair was cut short, resting against his neck. Vivid green eyes warmed as they looked upon her.

‘Your father spoke of a tournament. To prove my strength and ability to protect his daughter, so he said.’

No, it was more like parading the men in front of them. Like animals for the choosing, Honora thought sourly.

‘Let go of me, Ewan.’

He turned over her palm, studying the rough calluses from years of wielding a sword. ‘Are you still as good as you used to be?’ There was a hint of challenge beneath his words.

She knew what he meant. And though she had kept it hidden from her father, she trained among the men at least once every sennight. ‘Better.’

‘I am glad to hear it.’ His shrewd expression revealed that he hadn’t forgotten any of the sword matches they’d fought against one another. And though she had won often, Ewan had never once complained about being bested by a woman. Many a time he could have revealed her secret. Instead, he’d held his silence and trained even harder.

Now, she wasn’t so certain she could win against him. His body was larger, his muscles firm. When he’d lifted her up, it was as if it took no effort at all.

As he bit into a piece of bread, she found herself watching the way his tunic clung to his body, tightening across his chest. She remembered Ewan’s warm skin pressing close to hers, and his ardent kiss, the rush of sweet aching.

The direction of her thoughts was disconcerting, and Honora forced her mind back to the present. At Ewan’s side, she spied a familiar weapon.

‘I want my dagger back.’

He shrugged. ‘And you’ll have it. Once you’ve told me what I wish to know.’

‘I already told you. I don’t know where Katherine is.’

‘That isn’t the price of your dagger.’

‘Then what is?’

‘Tell me more about your sister. What does she covet? What gifts can I bring her that will give me an advantage over the others?’

Honora didn’t answer at first. A sliver of anger balled up inside, wounding her pride. She didn’t want to give him information about Katherine, didn’t want to aid his courtship.

But it wasn’t jealousy, she told herself. No, it was simply that Ewan wasn’t the man for Katherine. He was far too aggressive, too bold for her sister’s gentle ways.

‘What about an animal?’ he suggested. ‘Perhaps a kitten. I haven’t seen many cats around, and it might be useful to her.’

‘A kitten,’ she repeated, while mad thoughts of vengeance flowed through her mind. Her conscience prickled, but she stamped it down. It would serve him right for kissing her, stealing her dagger and demanding information about Katherine.

‘No one has given her a kitten, thus far,’ she admitted.

Jesu. Now she would have to go to confession. Thank goodness Father Louis was nearly deaf. She could confess to murder, and the priest would offer the same absolution as ever.

Ewan released her wrist. ‘Was that so difficult?’ He unsheathed the dagger and handed it to her, pommel first. ‘And you should have the blacksmith adjust this weapon. The balance is off.’

‘It was broken once.’ Her husband, Ranulf, had destroyed the blade in a fit of temper, tossing it into the fire. Honora had never expected to see it again, but she’d found it among her belongings shortly after she’d left Ceredys. Marie St Leger must have ordered it repaired, though Honora didn’t know why. Though she was grateful for the dagger’s return, she disliked the large pommel the blacksmith had added, preferring a simpler design.

Honora rubbed her wrist and tucked the weapon into her girdle without another word. She strode away, trying to push her way past the irrational anger. What was it about Ewan MacEgan that tangled up her sense of reason? As a child, she’d lost her head over him. As a woman, she found him entirely too confident.

Entirely too handsome and strong.

Oh, she needed to bash her head against the stone wall. Perhaps that would knock some sense into her. She didn’t need a man like him, or any man. Despite her father’s wishes, she would never marry again.

But if she didn’t, Nicholas would force her to leave Ardennes and return to Ceredys. The very thought made her skin turn to ice. She wasn’t ready yet. Nicholas wasn’t about to lend her men against John, and she didn’t have soldiers of her own.

She’d tried to hire mercenaries two moons ago, believing that they could remove John from power and allow her to return to Ceredys. But she’d learned the darker side of soldiers, for they’d stolen her money and done nothing in return. Her naïvety had cost her dearly.

No, she needed men of honour. And men of that nature required more coins than she had.

Her father’s suggestion that she wed a man with an army wouldn’t do, either. A new husband would have no interest in going to war against John of Ceredys.

There was no one to help.

A frisson of grief curled over her. Marie St Leger, John’s grandmother, might have known what to do, had she lived. She had been one of the most intelligent ladies Honora had ever known. Strong-willed and furious with her own sons, Marie treated her like a daughter. And it was because of Marie that she’d managed to escape at all.

It broke her heart to think of the woman’s death, only a single moon ago. She’d kept her vow to pray for Marie’s soul each night.

Honora blinked back the wetness rising in her eyes. She needed a moment to herself, a chance to think. Perhaps if she rode out from the castle, she’d find a solution for the people of Ceredys.

She walked to the stables and ordered a groom to prepare her palfrey. When the horse was ready, she urged the animal away from the castle grounds. Two guards joined her as escorts, but she ignored them, pretending for a moment that she was alone.

A light summer rain began to fall, misting her cheeks as she rode. The scent of horse and musty earth made her throat tighten. Why did this have to happen? Was God punishing her for her disobedience as a girl? She’d gone against the natural order of things, wanting to be more like a warrior than a woman.

And it was wrong, wasn’t it? Why couldn’t she content herself with womanly things? Why was there such a need inside, to be as strong as a man?

Unwanted tears mingled with the rain. All she’d ever wanted was to please her father. She had worn the silk bliauds and jewels, pretending to be feminine and everything he’d wanted in a daughter. But he’d hardly noticed her. Only when she argued with him did he pay her any heed.

Katherine had never lacked for attention. Their father had given her everything she’d ever desired, lavishing her with gifts and affection. And though Honora never admitted it, she envied her sister.

She slowed the horse, letting it stop by the river to drink. Her veil was damp from the rain, the water clinging to her skin.

It was her penance, she supposed. She’d come to accept that her father would never love her. Though he would never say it, she knew he blamed her for the death of her twin. The daughter had lived, while the coveted son had died.

In a way, it was why she wanted to fight so badly. She wanted to atone for her brother’s death, to become the warrior he would have been. And perhaps then, her father would find something worthy inside her.

In secret, she’d learned to fight, with Ewan’s help. Now, she watched the men train each day. She borrowed swords from the armoury, practising until her arms burned with exhaustion.

Never once had she shown Nicholas her skill. She was afraid of dishonouring her father, of embarrassing him in front of everyone. How could he ever be proud of a daughter who behaved like a man?

No. He’d hate her even more. And so she’d hidden it from him. For now, she could only use her fighting skills to protect the castle from petty thieves. That is, if she could catch the man.

As the rain intensified, Honora reluctantly turned her horse back to the castle. The ride had helped to clear her head, but now she had to decide what to do about her father’s threat.

She could feign acceptance of her father’s wishes, pretending to consider a suitor. Once Katherine was safely wed, she could try to escape the arrangement. The only problem was finding a man willing to go along with her ruse. Honora didn’t like the thought of lying or causing anyone to feel humiliated.

She would have to find the right person. Honesty was best for such an arrangement.

Her hand closed upon the grip of her dagger. And in the meantime, she still had a thief to catch.

There were seven other suitors. Seven, for the love of Críost. Ewan stood watching the men, each bringing Katherine a gift. She’d already bestowed smiles upon those who had given her silks and ribbons.

Gerald Elshire, heir to the barony of Beaulais, had brought her an emerald. From the clouded surface of the gemstone, Ewan wondered if it was coloured glass.

Not that Ewan could afford gems or silks. Instead, he’d bribed one of the serfs to fetch him a kitten from the village. His brother’s wife, Isabel, loved her cats, and no doubt Katherine would feel the same. The mewing animal rested within a basket, lightly covered with a cloth.

Katherine sat within the solar, her white veil hiding the length of sable hair. Pearls adorned her sapphire silk bliaud, and the sleeves were fitted tightly to slender arms, the cuffs draping to the floor. She reminded him of a princess, ethereal and enchanting. Just looking at her made him feel unworthy. She appeared sweet-tempered, beautiful … and completely out of his reach.

The idea of invading a man’s bedchamber would horrify the Lady Katherine. A jolt of remembrance shot into his groin at the memory of Honora. He imagined her body would be lean and sleek. Honora would never lie passively upon his bed. She would meet him, thrust for thrust, crying out with pleasure.

Damn. He blinked, forcing the vision away. He didn’t care anything for Honora. The brief kiss he’d stolen had been a mistake. Nothing of any importance to either of them.

Ewan tried to envision kissing Katherine. Her kiss would be as gentle as her spirit. When she became his bride, he would have to be mindful of her virginal softness, tempting her slowly until she yielded to him. And she would marry him. He would find a way to coax her into accepting his suit.

The group of men gradually shifted until at last Ewan was standing before her. With a deep bow, he greeted her. ‘Lady Katherine, it is good to see you again.’ He set the basket down at her feet.

Katherine managed a smile, but her nose wrinkled, as though she were fighting a sneeze. Offering both hands to him in welcome, she smiled. ‘Ewan MacEgan. It has been many years since I’ve seen you.’

‘I’ve thought of you often, since my fostering ended.’ He sent her a sincere smile, hoping she would look upon him with favour. ‘And I’ve brought you a gift.’ He uncovered the basket, revealing the grey-striped kitten. The animal perched its paws upon the edge of the basket, mewing softly.

Katherine’s smile seemed forced. ‘How … kind of you.’ But she made no move to take the animal.

Ewan picked up the cat, holding it out to her. The feline nipped at his fingertips. Katherine’s smile grew strained, but she reached out and stroked the animal’s head. The kitten purred with delight, rubbing its head against her fingertips.

Her nose wrinkled again, and this time, she did sneeze. ‘Thank you.’ She gestured for a maid to take the cat away, and sneezed again.

A suspicion suddenly took root in his mind. Could Honora have played him false? As Katherine’s eyes grew red, and she continued sneezing, it was apparent that he’d fallen neatly into her sister’s trap.

‘I didn’t realise the animal would offend you,’ he said, taking the basket back from the maid. ‘I’ll bring you a different gift.’

Katherine rubbed her eyes. ‘No, it’s all right. Truly. I like cats, but I seem to have trouble whenever I’m around them.’ She tried to smile, but sneezed again.

No doubt Honora had known this. A slow fury built up inside him, anger that he’d believed her. He’d thought there was no harm in asking for help, never realising she would trick him so.

Honora would have much to answer for when he saw her again. He did not stay in the solar with Katherine for long, for he needed to bring her something else. Since his funds were limited, he could not buy expensive trinkets. Perhaps a ribbon to match her blue eyes.

He frowned, thinking. They were blue, weren’t they?

It didn’t matter. As long as his gift made her smile, that was enough. Ewan grimaced, not wanting to waste time with bargaining and purchasing. He needed to train for the tournament on the morrow, proving his abilities. He had no doubt he could best any man there.

The only men who had ever truly presented a challenge were his brothers. As the youngest MacEgan, they’d tormented him in every manner, never sparing him, even when he’d begged for mercy. Because of it, he’d gained strength beyond that of most men.

There was a bond among them, a knowledge that he could ask his brothers for anything, and they would be there for him.

Bevan would help him prepare for the tournament. And right now, Ewan needed the distraction of a fight to take his mind off his failed gift.

He searched the donjon, but his brother was nowhere to be found. Outside, the rain had increased, spattering against the mud so that training would be nigh impossible.

Ewan cursed, resting his hand upon his own sword hilt. The weapon held no jewels, nor was it as finely made as his brother Patrick’s. Serviceable and simple, the blade was all he’d been able to afford. But it belonged entirely to him.

He noticed a door opening quietly, and a small figure slipped inside the armoury. His instincts went on alert, and he recognised Honora instantly.

His palm curved over his sword hilt, gripping the metal as though it were her neck. He wanted to throttle her for making him look like a fool before Katherine.

And a fool he was, for believing Honora’s words. He had a few choice things to say to her. He threw open the door to the armoury, and found her standing alone, a sword in her palm.

Her veil was wet from the rain, her damp saffron bliaud silhouetting her slender form. She was taller than most women, her chin high enough to reach his shoulder.

‘Nothing’s changed, I see.’ He let the door close behind him. A circle of torches lit the dim space, while above, the rain pounded upon the wooden roof. ‘You’re still borrowing your father’s weapons.’

‘What do you want, Ewan?’

‘An apology, perhaps. Or revenge would be acceptable.’ He unsheathed his sword, circling her.

Honora moved immediately into a defensive stance, never taking her eyes from him. Though the bliaud and white veil were meant to emphasise her womanly shape, there was no mistaking the expert way she handled the sword.

‘I’m amazed you can lift that,’ he commented, keeping his footwork even and smooth. ‘It’s almost as heavy as you are.’

‘Stop flattering me, MacEgan. I’ve been using a sword as long as you have.’

‘Really?’ He lunged, and the steel of his blade met hers. It was a test, to see if she remembered any of her earlier training.

Honora tore off her veil and slashed her sword towards his head. ‘Really.’

Her sleeves moulded to her body, revealing the outline of muscle. Though her skirts should have hindered her movements, she took large strides that kept her from falling.

Her dark hair hung against the back of her neck, and the ends stuck out, as though she’d hacked them off with a knife. The effect made her face softer, his eyes drawn to that mouth again. Right now, her lips were tight as she concentrated on the fight. Her eyes weren’t the same green as his own, but a softer shade, like new spring leaves.

As she struck blows against his blade, he parried each one without effort. Not once did he reveal the stiffness in his palms that made it difficult to grasp the hilt fully. The scarred skin was a permanent weakness that he fought to overcome.

‘You lied to me about your sister.’ He switched hands and struck back, forcing her to retreat. The sound of metal against metal reverberated in the stillness. ‘She doesn’t like cats at all. They make her sneeze.’

At least Honora had the grace to look guilty. But when he lowered his blade, she spun, slicing the sword at his throat.

He dived, tripping her legs with his own as he rolled upon the hard ground. Her weapon flew from her hands, and she struck the dirt. Within moments, he had her lying on her back, her wrists pinned.

‘Admit your defeat, Honora.’

Chapter Three

She grimaced. ‘If you’d paid attention while we were growing up, you’d have known that Katherine can’t abide cats.’

‘She was fourteen years old when I was fostered with the Earl of Longford. I rarely saw her.’ He released her, sheathing his sword before he sat on the ground, resting his back against the wall. She retrieved her sword and cleaned it, before placing it back upon the wall. Afterwards, she sat down an arm’s distance from him, her knees drawn up beneath her skirts.

‘But you want to wed Katherine.’

‘I do, yes.’ He eyed her closely, the way a thin sheen of perspiration lined her brow, the hitch in her breathing from the sword fight. Her riotous black hair stuck out in every direction.

‘Why?’

He hesitated in answering, for there were selfish reasons, as well as his own fascination with Katherine. He admitted to himself that were it not for her dowry and lands, he wouldn’t be pursuing her. Honora would see the truth, regardless of what he said. Always had there been complete honesty between them.

‘She is beautiful—’ he began, but broke off as his gaze shifted over to Honora’s features. She had changed in the years since he’d seen her. But unlike her strong, firm body, her face held a vulnerability. Soft, like the woman she tried to hide.

At his stare, she tried to smooth out the locks, which made her hair even worse. With a wry smile, she added, ‘Beautiful, the way I am not.’

There was chagrin in her voice, a self-consciousness that he hadn’t expected. Ewan reached out and touched the ends of her hair. ‘You’re fair enough, Honora. But in a different way from Katherine.’ Like water and sand, the two sisters could not have been more opposite.

‘You are a skilled fighter,’ he commented. ‘Better than some of your father’s guards, I’d wager.’

‘I’m not good enough, or I would have beaten you.’

The corner of his mouth turned up. ‘You’ll never beat me again, a chara.’

She rose to her feet, studying the blades mounted to the wall. ‘Shall we find out?’

He mused upon it. It would do no harm to let her try. ‘We’ll have a wager, then. If I win this sparring match, you’ll tell me truly what would win the heart of your sister.’

‘You’re not going to win.’

So sure of herself, wasn’t she? He gestured towards the wall. ‘Go on, then. Choose your sword.’

She selected the same blade, lightly slashing the air. Without warning, she aimed the blade towards his middle, and he blocked the thrust.

‘And what did you want, if you win the wager?’ he asked.

‘Your heart on a pike, perhaps.’ She gave a thin smile and struck again, releasing anger that appeared to be about something else, rather than the match she’d lost earlier.

‘If you want to win my heart, there are nicer ways to go about it. A bit of land, perhaps. Or a new horse.’

‘I’ll buy you a ribbon for your hair,’ she gritted out, her blade swinging in a vicious arc.

He let her tire herself out, but there was no question she had skill better than most men. Her technique was flawless; if he hadn’t been paying attention, there was a time or two when she genuinely could have won.

Her cheeks were flushed with exertion, her eyes narrowed with complete concentration. ‘Why aren’t you fighting me back?’ she demanded. ‘Stop defending my blows, and show me what you know.’

Her challenge made him quicken his assault. He attacked, forcing her towards the corner of a room. Using his full strength, he kept his sword moving, sending strikes against her weapon that surely would weaken her arm.

But still she kept meeting his force with her own blade. Her face was tight, exhaustion making her move slower.

When at last he had her trapped, he swung his sword, and she didn’t block him. Catching himself at the last moment before he skewered her, he cursed and drove the blade into the wall.

Honora kicked his feet out from under him, and his head cracked against the ground. She sat upon him, holding the sword to his throat, one hand upon the hilt, the other on the flat side of the blade.

‘Do you yield?’ Her voice was throaty, as though he were her prisoner in bed sport. No longer did he care that he’d lost this match. Honora’s skirts had ridden up, her thighs straddling his waist. Her firm backside rested upon his manhood, and instantly he hardened.

With the close contact, Honora reddened, suddenly aware of her effect on him. Ewan palmed her hips, intending to lift her aside. Instead, he felt the firm shape of her bottom, and Honora expelled a sharp breath.

Her face was bright with exertion, her hair damp with perspiration. She looked like a woman who had been made love to for hours. Gritting his teeth, Ewan tried to ignore his body’s reaction.

‘You play a dangerous game, Honora. I could have harmed you.’

‘But I won, didn’t I?’

His stomach muscles flexed as he took both of her hands. Ignoring the possibility of the sword slicing his palm, he pushed her backwards until he was seated upright. She had no choice but to loosen her grip on the weapon.

With his face so near to hers, he could conquer her in another way, their mouths mingling in a kiss like the one before. His desire flared with the need to possess her again. Honora tried to scramble off his lap, but he couldn’t let go of her. Not yet. He might have lost this sparring match, but he wanted her to understand his displeasure.

‘What is my forfeit?’ He reached back and gripped her nape, winding his fingers in her shorn hair to trap her. Her breath caught, her shoulders rising as though she were suddenly afraid of him. The sword rested between them, and Honora moved it away.

‘Let me up, MacEgan.’

‘After you answer my question. You never said what you wanted, if I lost the match.’

She dug in her heels and tried to push backwards, but the motion sent her rocking back against his erection. He could almost imagine loosening his trews, raising up her skirts until he sank inside her.

Damn her. Whether it was intentional or not, she’d awakened a craving he wanted to satisfy. But he could not. Not if he wanted to wed Katherine. Lust was something he’d never expected with Honora, but it was easily avoided.

‘I want … your help in capturing a thief.’ Honora didn’t sound fully convinced, and he wondered why she’d hesitated. She tried again to escape his grasp, and this time he allowed her to get up.

‘What thief?’

She picked up the blade, cleaning it meticulously. ‘Someone stole a wooden chest from the chapel, and I believe it’s a member of the household.’

‘Have you spoken with your father?’

‘Yes, but he’s found nothing.’ Frustration tensed in her face. ‘It could be one of Katherine’s suitors.’

‘But you don’t think it’s me.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘I wouldn’t be telling you all this if I believed that. And besides, I went looking for the chest in your room. It wasn’t there.’

‘What do you want me to do?’

‘Listen to the other suitors. You always were good at slipping around without anyone seeing you. Let me know what you find out.’

‘Why does it matter to you, Honora?’ He leaned against the wall, noting that she was still uncomfortable. ‘You live on your husband’s estate now, do you not?’

‘I am not ready to return. Not yet.’

The violent edge to her voice drew his curiosity. She was running away from something. Or someone. A dark thought occurred to him, as he recalled his brother’s wife, Genevieve. She had been betrothed to a Norman knight who’d taken his fists to her. Thanks to Bevan, she’d escaped the marriage.

Was someone threatening Honora in the same way?

‘Who has harmed you?’ he asked, softening his tone.

She gripped the sword tightly, lifting the blade into a fighting stance. When he looked closer into her eyes, he saw fury, not fear. ‘Do you think I would let any man hurt me?’

Her words were meant to push him away, to convince him to leave her alone. And yet, he didn’t quite believe her. Something had happened, something that troubled her deeply.

‘It’s late,’ Honora continued. ‘Send word to me if you learn anything about the thief.’

He didn’t ask her why she cared about a stolen chest. It was apparent she needed something to distract her. And though he didn’t particularly want to get involved, he couldn’t allow a thief among them, either.

Inclining his head, he agreed. ‘I’ll help you.’

The games began at dawn. Lord Ardennes had arranged several matches to test their skills, among them wrestling, foot races, archery and sword fighting. Ewan had selected wrestling as his first test of skill.

Before he approached the fighting arena, his brother Bevan offered a warning. ‘They don’t like Irishmen. Be prepared for treachery.’

‘Don’t interfere. This is my fight.’

‘If they threaten your life, I’ll interfere, tournament or not. You’re my brother.’

His older brother still held little faith. But then, Bevan had been preoccupied, as of late. His wife, Genevieve, was expecting their fourth babe this summer, and Ewan knew Bevan would rather be at her side than here.

‘I’m going to win,’ he reassured Bevan quietly. And he would. There was no question in his mind that he would claim the victory. His brother looked unconvinced, but at last, Bevan relented and stepped back.

Ewan moved towards the dais, where Lord Ardennes waited with his two daughters. The other suitors were dressed in preparation for the fighting, most wearing chainmail armour. All were Norman, and each one held the title of knight or lord.

It made Ewan uncomfortably aware that he was the lowest ranked among them. And though the Baron had agreed to let him court Katherine, he suspected it was out of courtesy to his foster-father—not because Lord Ardennes had any intention of honouring a match between them.

Uneasily, he awaited his turn to greet Katherine. Both women wore their finest gowns: Katherine in a cream-coloured bliaud embroidered with gold, while Honora wore a dark blue gown. Their heads were veiled and crowned with silver bands.

Lord Ardennes was saying something that he couldn’t hear, and Honora stared off into the distance, her cheeks flushed.

‘What was that?’ he asked the man beside him.

‘The Baron is offering both daughters in marriage. His eldest daughter will wed before the younger.’

Honora was seeking a husband? Ewan tensed at the declaration. Now why hadn’t she mentioned that? She’d said nothing about remarrying. And she was supposed to wed before Katherine could choose a suitor?

From the guilt written on her face, it must be true.

Suddenly, he began to wonder if their chance encounters were not so coincidental. She’d crept into his bedchamber, for God’s sakes. As he drew closer to the dais to pay his respects, his irritation with Honora grew.

Of all the women in Christendom, Honora was the very last one he’d wed. Her stubborn nature clashed with his own, and he hadn’t forgotten the way she’d tormented him as a lad. The man who took her to wife would need infinite patience.

He forced his anger away as he bowed before Katherine. ‘Lady Katherine, you look lovely this morn.’

She smiled and offered him a white ribbon as a token. ‘I shall enjoy watching you fight, MacEgan.’

From his periphery, he noticed Honora glaring at him. He ignored it, for she had no cause to be displeased.

‘I owe you a gift still,’ he continued, directing his full attention to Katherine. ‘Is there aught you desire?’

She thought a moment. With a bright smile, she offered, ‘I should like to spend an afternoon getting reacquainted. The last time I saw you was years ago.’

Satisfaction poured through him, reinforcing his confidence. So, he did have a chance at winning her hand. The pretty blush upon Katherine’s cheeks made him feel like he could lift up a stone wall. ‘If it means spending time with you, I would be glad of it.’

Honora kept her gaze firmly fixed upon the fighting arena, but he sensed she was rolling her eyes.

Katherine beamed. ‘Excellent. We shall bring a meal with us, and Honora can come as well.’

Honora blinked at her sister, sending a fierce look in his direction as if to say, not a good idea.

He didn’t think so either. He’d rather have time alone with Katherine. Likely Honora had no desire to be a chaperon, but neither of them could protest without raising suspicions. ‘I will await you on the morrow.’

‘At the stables, if you please. Just past terce.’

He bowed in agreement, and turned to Honora. Though she attempted a smile, it was strained around the edges. He lowered his voice. ‘You didn’t tell me you were planning to wed again.’

‘No, I didn’t.’ From the tension lining her face, she was not pleased. Though she wore the outer finery of a lady, she appeared uninterested in finding a husband. Instead, she seemed to be counting down the hours until her escape.

‘Is that what you want?’

Her discomfort seemed to intensify. ‘I don’t wish to talk about it now.’

Suspicions took root, but he held back the questions. Instead, as a gesture of peace, he offered, ‘I wish you luck in finding a man who pleases you.’

‘These men aren’t here for me, Ewan,’ she whispered, glancing down at her hands. ‘They’re here for Katherine. Yourself included.’

Misery lined her voice. He hadn’t expected to feel sorry for her. Though he didn’t know what, if anything, he could do, he supposed he could investigate the suitors. He’d promised to help her find the thief, after all.

‘I’ll find out what I can about the other men.’ At least it was something. He bowed to her, tightening his fist around Katherine’s ribbon.

As he turned to leave, she called out to him. ‘Ewan, wait.’

‘What is it?’

She seemed to weigh an invisible decision over in her mind before she leaned in. ‘The tallest man, Sir Ademar of Dolwyth, likes to fight with both hands. Watch him carefully when you face him with a blade.’

‘I will.’

The ghost of a smile touched her lips. ‘I bid you good luck. You’ll need it.’

‘He’s handsome, isn’t he?’ Katherine cupped her chin in her hands, leaning forwards to watch the wrestling match about to begin.

‘Who? Sir Ademar?’

‘No, Ewan.’ Her sister gave a dreamy smile, which chafed at Honora. For the love of heaven, Katherine barely knew him. Already, the very mention of Ewan MacEgan seemed to make her swoon.

Honora gripped her knife, and tried to keep the annoyance out of her voice. ‘He has hardly any land of his own.’

‘But his brother is a king. Surely that would make him a prince.’

‘Patrick MacEgan is a petty king, of no higher rank than our own father. And Ewan is the youngest of five brothers.’

Her sister didn’t seem to care. ‘Father would not have invited him, were he not a suitable husband.’

Honora didn’t point out that it was their father’s best friend, the Earl of Longford, who had done the inviting. She glanced over at Longford, who was seated near their father. Stout, with grey hair and a grey beard, Longford’s eyes were quick and shrewd. She’d always had a fondness for the Earl, when she’d spent nearly a year with their family. Her father had sent her away, as a punishment for her mischief.

It had turned out to be the greatest gift, for there she had secretly learned to wield a sword.

She caught the eye of Bevan MacEgan. From the way Bevan kept his eyes upon Ewan, even during his conversation with the Earl, Honora sensed his protective nature. The scars upon both cheeks emphasised a harsh face, making her uneasy. It would not be wise to make enemies of the MacEgan family.

The first wrestling match was about to begin, and Ewan was paired up against Gerald Elshire of Beaulais. Beaulais was a shorter man, with reddish hair and a stocky form. His family name was well known, and Honora leaned in to watch them fight.

Ewan had stripped off his outer clothing, save the pair of trews he wore. Katherine’s white ribbon was tied around his upper arm, and in the morning light, the sun glinted off his dark blond hair. Heavy muscles outlined his chest, his body as honed as a sword. Though Honora had seen him unclothed before, it was as if he were an entirely different man.

He had one of the most magnificent forms she’d ever seen. His broad shoulders narrowed to ridged stomach muscles, and his trews strained against the tight outline of his hips. Honora’s cheeks flushed at the sight, for she’d touched him that night, feeling his smooth skin still warm from sleep.

She shifted her thighs restlessly. Only yesterday, she’d inadvertently aroused him, and she well remembered the feeling of his body nestled against hers.

Don’t think of him in that way. He doesn’t want you.

Honora closed her eyes, trying to forget his heated mouth claiming her own. Even now, watching Ewan move against his opponent, her body grew uncomfortably sensitive.

Ewan locked his arm around Beaulais, his arm muscles flexing. Where had he come by such strength? Honora recalled him building stone walls, hefting large boulders when they’d grown up, but his muscles then had been lean and tight.

Now, they showed a massive strength she’d never known he possessed. No wonder he’d been able to lift her so easily. But despite his size, he’d been careful not to crush her when his body weight had rested atop her own.

She took a deep breath, trying to block out the other memory, of the last time a naked man had lain atop her. Her wedding night had been painful, humiliating and empty. And enduring Ranulf’s bed was something she’d loathed. Not once had she felt any desire for him, only the hope that he would be done with her quickly.

What would it be like to lie with a man who touched her with gentleness, kindling true desire? Her gaze shifted back to Ewan, and beneath her gown, goose bumps formed upon her skin.

No. She didn’t want to take a lover, especially not now.

Beaulais threw a punch, and MacEgan’s head snapped backwards. Blood trickled from his lip, but Ewan only smiled at his opponent. He didn’t look at all bothered by the slight wound. He responded with a knee to Beaulais’s stomach, moving in to wrap his right arm around the man’s neck. His arm flexed, strangling his opponent.

Beaulais tried to escape his grasp, but Ewan snaked his foot around the man’s leg and tripped him, sending him sprawling on his back. Within a few seconds more, the match was over.

Katherine clapped in delight. ‘Wasn’t he magnificent?’

Honora could only nod. How had he learned to fight like that? She found herself hoping Ewan would win, her attention focused completely upon him. Match after match he won, until he was declared champion of wrestling.

In archery, Beaulais bested him, while Ewan’s arrow went slightly to the right of the centre.

In the foot race, Ewan barely edged out Sir Ademar of Dolwyth, claiming his second win. Last was the sword fight, and the men were allowed a short rest before the final test of skill.

Honora stood, hoping to walk a little, to diminish the nervous energy gathering in her stomach. Her path was blocked by her father, the Earl of Longford and Bevan MacEgan, who were engaged in conversation.

‘By God, I knew I should have placed a wager on Ewan.’ The Earl shot a pleased look at Bevan. ‘Your brother has improved greatly since he was fostered here. I knew a bit of Norman training would help.’

‘Irish training,’ Bevan corrected.

Longford only smirked. ‘Thought you’d say that. He’s done well for himself, and I believe he’d make an excellent match with young Katherine here. Might as well get them married so you can return to Genevieve, eh?’

‘If that is Ewan’s wish.’

‘Other suitors are competing for Katherine’s hand,’ Nicholas interrupted. ‘However, he might consider my eldest daughter, Honora.’

Honora’s cheeks flamed. Her father made it sound as though she were an afterthought, a woman taken as a consolation prize.

She reached out and clenched the pommel of her dagger. It shouldn’t matter whether Ewan wed Katherine or not. Why should she be anything but happy for her sister? She certainly didn’t want Ewan for herself.

More than ever, she wanted to leave behind this tournament, to hide in the armoury or in the stables. Her unsettled future made it impossible to do anything else but worry. She hadn’t been able to concentrate on finding the thief, ever since her father’s suggestion that she marry. And she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching her.

She made her excuses, claiming she needed a moment to take care of her personal needs.

‘Return within a few minutes,’ Nicholas warned. ‘The sword fighting will be the last competition, and I expect you to be present.’

The glint in her father’s eyes made it clear that he would brook no arguments. Sometimes she wondered if he secretly knew about her sword fighting skills. She’d been careful never to let him see, for he would not understand her need to excel in swordplay. But, nevertheless, there were times when his gaze appeared all too knowing.

She promised to return soon. Skirting the edge of the crowd, she came face to face with Sir Ademar.

‘My lady,’ he greeted her, bowing.

She leaned up to study the knight. Though exceptionally tall, his face was pleasing enough to look at. With light blond hair and dark blue eyes, he had a Norse look about him. Sir Ademar was one of the stronger fighters, and she’d seen him defeat many a man in combat. He was very quiet, however, and rarely spoke to anyone.

‘Sir Ademar.’ Honora nodded in greeting and tried to move around him.

‘Might I—?’ He stopped, as if gathering his thoughts. ‘M-might I speak with you a moment, Lady Honora?’

His face coloured at his stammer, but he forced himself to continue. ‘Your father tells me that … y-you are planning to remarry.’

Not really, she wanted to say. Instead, she responded, ‘It is his wish, yes. I have not decided whether or not I will.’

‘I would be most … most honoured if you would c-consider me as a potential husband.’ Sir Ademar stared down at the grass, embarrassed at his awkward speech. Honora didn’t know if it was nerves or whether he always had difficulty speaking. But this was the first time any man had openly declared an interest. She could not have been more startled.

‘You flatter me,’ she managed. ‘But weren’t you courting my sister?’

His face fell, turning morose. Venturing a chagrined smile, he managed, ‘She … she would never consider a man like me.’

Wouldn’t she? Honora wasn’t so sure. But then, Katherine seemed taken with Ewan MacEgan, so possibly Sir Ademar was right. A touch of sympathy caught her by surprise.

Though she couldn’t be certain why she did it, Honora untied a blue ribbon from her hair and gave it to him. ‘Here. Take this when you go to fight.’

Sir Ademar tied it around his arm, the small bit of silk contrasting against the chainmail armour he wore. A faint smile perked at his mouth, as though he couldn’t believe what she’d just done.

Honora could hardly believe it herself. But his clumsy offer had touched her somehow.

‘God grant that I … may be victorious in this … next ch-challenge.’ The pride in his voice made her smile, and he didn’t seem quite so intimidating.

‘I bid you good fortune.’ And she was surprised to discover she meant it.

A horn resounded, and Sir Ademar bowed, exiting towards the fighting arena. Alone, she stood back while the men readied themselves for the last challenge.

When she saw Sir Ademar’s opponent, Honora’s smile fell. It was Ewan.

While the Norman knight wore chainmail, Ewan had chosen a lightweight leather corselet to wear over his tunic. Leather braces protected his arms, and he carried a heavy wooden shield. He caught her glance and raised his shield in a discreet salute.

He’d done that when they were children. Long ago, she’d thought he was mocking her, because he was allowed to fight while she could only watch. Now, she realised it was meant to show respect.

Though there were a thousand reasons why she should not care who won the tournament, a part of her remembered the awkward boy Ewan had been. The boy who had been her friend once, teaching her what he’d learned from the sword masters, even though it was forbidden.

All of her earlier good wishes towards Ademar crumbled away, for now her true wish was to see Ewan emerge as the winner.

Honora hurried back to the dais, wanting a better seat to watch the fight. As she passed by a small undergrowth of shrubbery, she spied something brown and rectangular-shaped.

When she knelt down, she nearly caught her breath. For there, nearly hidden amid the weeds, lay the chest stolen from the family chapel.

Chapter Four

There were a few minutes before the match was due to begin. Ewan’s entire body ached, and sweat mingled with blood upon his skin. After the last fight, he’d taken a slice across his upper arm. An irritant, nothing more, and it was worth the wound to secure the win. Now he had one remaining round.

Honora’s warning reverberated in his mind. Watch for a switch. Though he could fight using either hand, he strongly favoured his right. Best to end this match quickly.

Ewan drained the cup of ale his brother held, regaining his strength. The cool drink didn’t alleviate his thirst, but he took a few moments to calm his breathing and to focus on the upcoming match.

‘You’ve done well this day,’ Bevan remarked.

The rare compliment brightened his mood. His older brother found fault more often than he praised a fight. ‘Good enough for now. But there’s still this last fight.’

‘Use your brain, not your arm. And for God’s sakes, keep your eyes off your feet.’

Ewan hid a smile. He hadn’t done that in years, but Bevan wouldn’t let him live it down. ‘The Baron says there will be a prize for the winner.’

‘Whatever it is, give it back to his daughter in her honour.’

A sound idea, if the prize were gold or silver. ‘I should go.’ He handed the cup back to Bevan and moved towards his opponent. ‘They’re starting.’

Ewan glanced over at the dais. Katherine sat beside her father, an anxious smile upon her face, while Honora was missing.

It didn’t sit well with him to see her gone. Was she all right? She’d been tense for most of the tournament, her smile strained. His gaze shifted through the crowd, accounting for each of the suitors. No one seemed to be missing, save her.

Why would she leave now, when the fighting was about to begin? Honora loved to watch swordplay. He started to back away from the ring to search for her, when suddenly she emerged from a small grove of trees. In her hands, she held a wooden chest.

Ewan stepped in front of her. ‘Are you all right?’

Honora nearly stumbled, and he caught her arm. ‘Yes, I am fine.’

His shoulders relaxed. He was about to excuse himself when she held out the chest.

‘I found this in the underbrush over there. It’s what I was searching for the other night.’

‘The chest you thought was stolen.’

‘It was stolen,’ she insisted. ‘Wooden chests don’t grow legs and walk out into the trees.’

But if someone had taken it, why would they leave it behind? ‘I’ve heard nothing, Honora. Most of the men speak of your sister and little else.’

‘Keep your eyes open.’ Her gaze snapped to the cut upon his arm. Gently, she examined it. ‘What happened to you?’

‘I let Beaulais cut me, in order to move in closer.’

Her hand stayed upon his shoulder a moment longer than it should have. Though her palm was callused from holding the sword, her touch warmed his skin.

‘Honora, don’t.’

‘Don’t what?’ She drew back, her fingertips coated with his blood.

He chose his words with care, not wanting to offend her. ‘I’m going to wed your sister.’

Embarrassment flooded her face. ‘If she’ll have you.’ With another step backwards, she added, ‘I did nothing except examine your wound. You’ve too high an opinion of yourself if you believe I wanted you.’

This was going badly. He tried to apologise. ‘I didn’t mean—’

‘Your match is next.’ She cut him off. ‘Go and fight Sir Ademar. Perhaps he’ll cut your other arm.’

With the chest tucked against her side, she strode off to the dais. Ewan stepped towards the ring, his annoyance rising.

Why did he always seem to fall into her trap whenever he was near her? And why, in God’s name, did she provoke him so? He’d meant only to be polite, to see to her safety. But within a few moments in her presence, they were arguing.

He unsheathed his sword and prepared for the fight against Sir Ademar. The tall knight wore chainmail armour, his coif and aventail hiding all but his face. Ewan circled his opponent, waiting for the right opening. The weight of the armour would slow the knight down, and Ewan intended to take full advantage of the weakness.

Sir Ademar lunged forwards, and Ewan sidestepped, blocking the strike with his own sword. They exchanged a few blows, each trying to gain the other’s measure.

Upon the knight’s shoulder, Ewan spied a blue ribbon. Honora’s token, he realised. As he parried another blow, he asked, ‘Are you courting Honora?’

‘I am. And I saw you … s-speaking with her just now.’ Sir Ademar swung his sword full force, and Ewan barely blocked it with his shield. ‘You made her angry.’

‘I make her angry by breathing.’ Ewan moved in, striking fast, forcing the knight to retreat. This was his chance to end the fight, and he used his full speed and agility, attacking without cease.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Katherine watching him, her hands pressed to her mouth. Honora’s expression was intent, and her gaze locked with his. She lifted her left hand in a silent message.

The switch.

Ewan transferred his shield to the other arm, narrowly missing a slice to his flesh. Sir Ademar fought just as hard with his left hand, as with his right, and Ewan had to give his full concentration to the man’s sword. Over and over, the knight struck, until the victory began to slip away from Ewan’s fingertips.

Frustration at his weakness provoked a rage. He ignored technique, relying on brute strength. As a boy, too many times he’d been cut down, told he wasn’t good enough. His brothers had tried to protect him, ordering him not to fight.

But he’d stubbornly refused to give up. And he wasn’t about to lose this match now.

Sir Ademar’s sword slashed towards his middle, and Ewan had no time to raise his shield. The blade sliced deeply into his arm, and he threw himself backwards, rolling away. Energy roared through him, his pulse pounding as he avoided another blow. His grip on the weapon loosened, but he managed to regain it.

Mud caked the right side of his face and shoulders, as he backed away from the knight, waiting for the right moment to attack. Sir Ademar sliced his sword downwards, but Ewan blocked the strike, using his legs to trip the man.

Around him, he heard the crowd shouting their approval, though most encouraged Sir Ademar. Blood flowed freely down Ewan’s arm, but he felt none of the pain.

With all of his strength, Ewan raised his shield to deflect another blow, then he swung hard, ceasing at the edge of his opponent’s undefended throat.

‘Halt!’ Lord Ardennes called.

Ewan kept his blade steady, but then he looked down and saw the knight’s own sword positioned at his gut. He cursed, for he hadn’t won the match.

The Norman knight smiled, stepping back to sheathe his sword. ‘A draw, MacEgan.’

Ewan gave a brief nod, though he wasn’t pleased. He’d intended to show his skills to Katherine, and though he hadn’t lost, neither had he been victorious.

His mood was black when he approached the dais. Sir Ademar walked alongside him, his own armour also caked with mud.

‘You fought well, Sir Ademar.’ Katherine smiled, then offered the same praise to Ewan.

Lord Ardennes lifted a hand. ‘It is time for the feasting. Since you held the victory in most of the contests, MacEgan, you may sit between my two daughters this day.’

It was not an offer of Katherine’s hand, he noticed, though it was an honour. He should have been glad of it, but at the moment, he was filthy, his body ached and he was bleeding.

Ewan asked the Baron’s permission to leave the fighting ring. He wanted a few moments alone to clear his head and to wipe off the mud.

When it was granted, he walked back to the grove of trees beyond the fighting ring, remembering a creek that he’d spied on their journey here.

The fight unsettled him, for he’d nearly lost. Ewan swiped at the blood on his arm, wincing at the depth of the cut. Sir Ademar was a worthy opponent, a man not easily defeated. Ewan would simply have to work harder to win. If it meant training an extra hour each day, so be it.

When he reached the icy water, Ewan stripped off his tunic and dunked his head beneath the surface. The cold chill slowed the bleeding from his arm slightly, but the wound needed to be stitched.

He waded into the water, still wearing his trews in the hopes of cleansing them. He wished he’d thought to bring a change of clothing with him.

A rustling noise caught his attention, and Ewan spun, startled by the intrusion. Gerald of Beaulais emerged from the trees. His hand rested upon his sword hilt.

‘Your sword skills are lacking, Irishman.’

Críost. Hadn’t he defeated the man already in the wrestling match? And here he was, half-naked, with his weapons lying upon the shore.

‘But I defeated you.’ He remained in the water, inching his way closer. He reached down into the water and closed his palm over a round stone. ‘What is it you want, Beaulais? A lesson in hand-to-hand fighting?’

The nobleman reached for the dagger at his belt. ‘Leave Ardennes. And abandon your courtship.’

A flash of metal caught the sun, and Ewan threw himself sideways. The blade sank below the water, and a second later, Beaulais collapsed. Behind him stood Honora, a stout limb in her hands. A line of blood trickled down Beaulais’s forehead.

‘What in the name of God do you think you’re doing?’ Ewan bellowed, striding from the water. ‘Did you murder him, then?’

‘He was about to murder you!’

‘He threw the knife as a warning. I saw it coming and avoided it.’ Ewan approached Beaulais’s body and nudged it with his foot. Thanks be, a low groan resounded from the man’s throat. ‘I don’t need you, or anyone else, to defend me.’

Honora’s face transformed from pale white to furious red. ‘Fine. Let the next man kill you, then. I’ll stand back and do nothing.’

‘Why are you even here?’ Ewan demanded. ‘You’re supposed to be with your father, preparing for the feast. Or have you forgotten that you are meant to choose a suitor?’

‘I haven’t forgotten.’ But she looked embarrassed, suddenly aware of what she’d done. Her gaze drifted down to the ground, and she held the branch as though it were a sword hilt. Her sleeves stretched against her arms, and he could see the outline of her lean muscles.

Cold water from his swim dripped down his torso, down to soaked trews. Honora’s stare travelled from his feet, past his thighs and stomach before she met his firm stare.

‘Stop chasing after me, Honora,’ he warned.

Her lips pressed tightly together, her green eyes flashing fire. ‘I wasn’t chasing. I was trying to save your ungrateful hide.’

Ungrateful? He hadn’t needed her help. Did she still believe he was a spindly lad of sixteen, unable to defend himself? Not a chance of that.

Ewan took a step closer, but she raised the limb, as though she were contemplating striking him.

‘Do not even consider it.’ Wrenching it from her hands, Ewan cracked it over his knee and tossed the pieces aside. ‘Go back to your father, Honora. I’m not the man for you.’

‘I wouldn’t want you if you were the last man in England.’ Honora sent him a furious look before she picked up her skirts and fled his presence.

Ewan picked up his fallen weapons and stepped past Beaulais’s unconscious form, his fury rising higher. Why had she interfered? Beaulais might have retaliated before knowing she stood behind him. She could have been hurt.

Damn her. Nothing had changed, not in five years. She lacked faith in him, but he wasn’t about to justify his fighting skills to her. He had nothing to prove, especially not after today’s victory.

He cast a glance at the unconscious man at his feet, his annoyance rising. And by the look of it, thanks to Honora, he’d just made another enemy.

Ewan shared a trencher with Katherine, ensuring that she had the choicest pieces of roasted pheasant and smoked herring. The Baron had spared no expense in the feast, and Ewan revelled in the food. His favourite dish of blanc-manger was the most exquisite he’d ever tasted. The chicken paste had a hint of almond milk, sugar, and the light crunch of fried almonds gave it texture. It made it easier to keep his mind off the pain of his arm.

But even as he ate, he was uneasy about what had happened with Beaulais. The man would not hesitate to retaliate. The only question was when.

‘You haven’t lost your appetite, I see,’ Katherine remarked, in an attempt to make conversation.

‘Would you care for more?’ Ewan broke off a portion of gingered salmon, but she shook her head, declining.

Though he gave Katherine his full attention, he was well aware of Honora on his opposite side. He offered her the same courtesy, in order to maintain appearances, but he could see the shuttered anger in her expression.

Beaulais staggered into the hall some time later, his gaze livid. A piece of linen was wrapped around his forehead, and he joined the other suitors at the lower table. Conscious of the man’s venomous glare, Ewan stared back, willing Beaulais to look away.

Instead, the nobleman drew a dagger, letting the blade flash in the torchlight. There was murder in his eyes, a visible threat.

Honora wouldn’t be foolish enough to confess she’d brought Beaulais down, would she? The Norman lord wouldn’t take kindly to being struck by a woman. And though Ewan was confident he could handle the man’s anger, he wasn’t so sure about Honora. She was far too reckless.

A harper played lively tunes, breaking the silence and redirecting the attention of the guests. Ewan ignored Beaulais and reached for a strawberry. Bringing it to Katherine’s lips, he complimented her beauty. As she blushed and accepted the fruit, his elbow accidentally brushed against Honora’s. She jerked away, her eyes narrowed.

‘My pardon,’ he apologised. From the way Honora shrank back, it was as if he’d struck her.

Then her expression changed, and she lowered her voice. ‘You’re bleeding.’

He glanced at his tunic sleeve, which had darkened in colour. ‘It’s nothing.’

‘You need to tend the wound. It’s deep.’

She acted as though his arm had been severed. Though the trickle of blood irritated him, it was hardly serious.

Ignoring her insistence, he offered her a piece of fruit. ‘Would you care for a strawberry?’

She shook her head slowly. In her eyes, he saw worry. And though he wanted to make a lighthearted response, something to make her smile, he knew it wouldn’t work. Honora had always been able to see past his teasing.

And he was still staring at her with a strawberry in his hand. He turned and fed the succulent fruit to Katherine. Honora stiffened, as though he’d hit her.

Was she jealous? He couldn’t believe that to be true, for she’d claimed she wouldn’t wed him if he were the last man in England.

He watched her speaking to Sir Ademar. A strand of dark hair came loose from her veil, hanging against her neck. The curve of her cheek was soft, unexpectedly delicate. When he reached for his tankard of ale, he caught her light fragrance, a hint of apples. She had tasted just as wild and tart as the fruit when he’d kissed her.

He drank deeply, trying to push the idle thoughts away. His reaction had been instinctive; it would have been the same with any woman. They had been friends once, but if he wasn’t more careful, he’d make an enemy of Honora. He didn’t want to cause any more awkwardness once he wed Katherine.

As the feasting wore on, the ale flowed more freely. Katherine excused herself to speak with the other ladies, and Ewan went to watch several games of chance. He was weary from the day’s fighting and leaned up against the wall after the trestle tables were pushed to the side. His brother Bevan was still talking to the Earl of Longford, but his expression was glazed as though he, too, wanted an escape.

Ewan reached out and touched the sleeve of his tunic, which was slick with blood. Damn it, Honora was right. His arm was growing numb from the bleeding, his body weakening.

‘Whom did you pay to fight on your behalf?’ a male voice interrupted from behind him. ‘One of the maidservants, perhaps?’

It was Beaulais. Ewan sensed a blow coming and stepped sideways, causing the Norman’s fist to strike the stone wall instead. Beaulais’s face turned purple with rage, and he clutched his hand.

‘Your fighting hasn’t improved, I see,’ Ewan commented. When another punch sliced towards his face, he blocked it, cracking his fist across Beaulais’s jaw.

The Norman countered with a blow to his arm, and Ewan sucked in air, the pain rippling through him. He slammed the full force of his fist into Beaulais’s stomach, but the man followed through with another hit to his mouth.

Ewan tasted blood and threw himself to the ground, knocking the nobleman off his feet. Rolling back up, he grasped Beaulais and lifted him up high. It was an act meant to demonstrate his strength and to humiliate his opponent. A gasp resounded through the crowd, to his satisfaction. With his muscles burning from the strain, he tossed Beaulais into the dirt.

Leaning down, he lowered his voice so only Beaulais could hear. ‘Don’t threaten me again, Norman. Or the next time, you’ll be unable to rise without help.’

He stood, facing the crowd of people. Lord Ardennes appeared indifferent to the fight, while Katherine was horrified, her cheeks scarlet with embarrassment. Honora didn’t spare a glance towards Beaulais, but the gleam in her green eyes revealed a hint of pride. It was quickly replaced with anger. Ewan suspected that if they were alone, she’d blister his ears.

To Katherine, he gritted out, ‘Forgive me', and turned to leave. His eye was swelling up and blood ran down his arms.

He passed his brother on the way to the stairs, and Bevan sent him a warning look. The silent censure irritated his already-foul mood. He’d had enough of this night.

As he reached the bottom of the winding stairs, he heard the sound of quiet footsteps behind. Ewan spun and saw Honora standing behind him.

‘You frightened my sister,’ she said. There was no anger in her tone, only a resigned air. ‘I’ll send her to tend your wounds, and you can apologise in private.’

He hadn’t expected that. His shoulders lowered, his anger softening. With a low voice, he added, ‘I did not intend to offend her, or you, by fighting in your presence.’

She studied him, her clear green eyes discerning. ‘It was my fault. I shouldn’t have struck Beaulais when I did.’ She rested her palm against the stone wall, her eyes revealing guilt.

‘I can take care of myself, Honora,’ he murmured softly. He reached out and tucked the wayward strand of hair back beneath her veil.

She gave an involuntary shiver at the touch. ‘You’ll have to watch your back. Beaulais won’t stand for the insult.’

‘I’m not afraid of him, Honora.’

‘Perhaps you should be.’ She took a step backwards, her gaze sweeping over him. Ewan became conscious of his damp trews and the dried mud from earlier. ‘In the meantime, you should let Katherine help you.’

His forearm stung with the slickness of blood. She was right. ‘Where shall I await your sister?’

‘In the solar. I’ll send her there within the hour.’ With a nod from her as dismissal, he turned to leave. Raking his hand through his hair, he wondered exactly what he could say to Katherine to make amends.

‘I can’t tend his wounds,’ Katherine protested, in the privacy of their chamber. ‘I’m not good at healing.’

‘He wants to speak with you,’ Honora replied. When she’d watched Ewan fighting, a part of her had been fascinated at his massive strength. He’d picked up Beaulais and tossed him like a stick of kindling.

She’d been unable to tear her gaze from him, and when it had ended, her skin had prickled with awareness.

A bead of sweat had run down his neck, outlining the gleaming chest. He hadn’t looked like that at sixteen, still a skinny lad not yet grown into manhood. But now …

Sweet Jesu, she’d wanted to touch him, to know that strength for herself. And though he drove her to madness with his stubborn arrogance, she couldn’t deny what she felt when she was around him. The very air seemed charged with desire, every movement intensifying the startling ache inside her.

When she’d seen Beaulais attacking him earlier today, she’d struck out without thinking of Ewan’s pride. He’d needed help, and she’d given it, nothing more. Any soldier would do the same for a friend. But he’d taken it as an insult, one she hadn’t intended.

It was just as well that he’d renewed his dislike towards her. She was finding him more and more difficult to resist. Strong and bold, she couldn’t help but admire the man he’d become.

He needed the softness of Katherine to balance his fierce demeanour. Not a woman like her, as quick to argue with him, unwilling to yield. If she wed a man like Ewan, they’d shred each other to pieces.

Or they’d set one another on fire.

She could envision fighting with him, and afterwards, making up. Having tasted the warmth of his mouth and the flames that seemed to burn her up inside, she knew he was far too dangerous.

‘I asked him to await you in the solar,’ Honora told her sister. ‘You needn’t do anything but tend his cuts and let him apologise.’

Katherine blanched. ‘Honora, it isn’t a good idea. Really, I don’t think—’

‘It will be fine,’ Honora interrupted. There was no question Ewan needed to be stitched up. And her sister would have to tend wounds from time to time, once they were wed. It was a good chance for them to have a moment alone. She changed her tactics. ‘Didn’t you say you thought he was handsome? He was the best fighter of any man there. You saw it for yourself.’

‘Yes, but I don’t like blood. It makes me faint.’

Honora rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t be a goose. It’s nothing but a scratch. You’ll bind it with linen, and that will be that.’

Katherine didn’t look convinced. ‘It looked bad. And … I’m nervous about being alone with him. Come with me, won’t you, Honora?’

No, she didn’t want that at all. She needed to remain right here, to remind herself of the thousand reasons why Ewan MacEgan was not a man she should desire.

‘I’ll send one of your maids, if it will make you feel better,’ Honora offered.

Katherine stood and laid a hand upon her arm. ‘I know you don’t like him very much. But truly, you can sit in the corner and embroider something. Or—or mend a gown. I have one with a torn hem.’

Honora faltered. If it would convince Katherine to go, perhaps she could simply remain out of view, in the corner with a bit of sewing.

No, no, no. She shouldn’t even consider accompanying her sister. What if Ewan tried to kiss Katherine? He wouldn’t want her there, intruding upon a private moment. Her cheeks burned at the thought, for he was quite good at kissing.

‘Say you’ll come,’ Katherine begged. ‘For me.’ She reached out, linking her pinkie finger with Honora’s. It was a gesture they’d done as young girls, a sisterly promise that could not be broken.

‘Please,’ Katherine asked again.

It wasn’t a good idea, but Honora decided as long as she stayed far away from them, it might go well enough. She could stare at the ceiling and count cobwebs, if need be.

She braved a smile and nodded. Katherine hugged her, murmuring thanks.

‘Go on, then,’ Honora bade her sister. ‘I’ll follow.’

Chapter Five

When they arrived in the solar, Ewan awaited them on a bench. He’d put on his tunic again, and the long sleeves covered the gash Honora had seen on his forearm. He rose in silent respect.

‘I am sorry if I frightened you, Lady Katherine,’ he began. ‘I should not have fought Lord Beaulais in your presence.’ Approaching both of them, he offered his hands to Katherine.

Honora slipped off into a corner, pretending to busy herself with the embroidery on a gown. Though she tried not to listen to their conversation, she could not help herself.

‘Honora told me you were wounded in the fighting earlier,’ Katherine remarked. She bade him sit down, and added, ‘I’ll see if the basin of water and herbs have been prepared.’ She left the chamber, and the door closed behind her.

Ewan shot Honora a frown. ‘Why are you here?’

‘It was Katherine’s request.’ Honora lifted up the embroidery. ‘She was afraid to be alone with you.’ Grimacing at the awkward situation, she offered, ‘Forget I am here.’

A strange expression flashed upon his face. ‘You aren’t easily forget table, Honora.’

She didn’t know what he meant by that. There was a look in his eyes that she’d never seen before, a searching gaze. The planes of his face were narrow, casting shadows upon his cheeks. Despite the bruising, he was still the most handsome man she’d ever seen. Her gaze fastened upon his mouth, swollen from the punch he’d suffered.

She was not going to think about Ewan sitting so close, nor was she going to think about his kiss. He was going to wed her sister.

She ripped the seam of the gown, taking satisfaction in the act of destruction. Taking a deep breath, she threaded her bone needle and tried to pretend she was alone. She pierced the linen fabric, trying to calm her mind with the rhythm of even stitches.

Praise the Virgin, Katherine returned at last with the basin and herbs. Her sister chatted lightly about mundane topics, of the crops and household doings. Honora risked a glance and saw the grey pallor upon Katherine’s face as she dabbed at the cut upon Ewan’s lip.

But she did not raise the sleeve of his tunic to inspect the true wound. Ewan answered Katherine’s questions, a warm smile upon his lips as he spoke to her. Even so, the timbre of his voice was unsteady, as though he were in pain.

Why didn’t he raise his sleeve? Or have Katherine examine his ribs? Honora had seen the blows he’d suffered earlier in the tournament. He might have cracked a bone. Yet her sister appeared oblivious, forcing a smile and tending minor wounds.

When Honora lifted her gaze once more, Ewan was watching her over Katherine’s shoulders. His deep green eyes stared into hers in a silent message. He needed help. And Katherine’s nerves were beginning to show as she talked faster and faster.

Honora jerked her attention back to her sewing, not knowing what to do. Would Ewan want her to intervene? He might not trust her to tend the wound.

After a time, he rose and thanked Katherine, bidding her a good eventide. He kissed her hand, his fingers lingering upon her wrist. Honora stabbed the bone needle into her embroidery, tossing it in the basket.

‘My lady, if you would not mind …?’ Ewan sent Katherine a chagrined smile. ‘I would like to have a word with your sister.’

Katherine shook her head. ‘Not at all. I will see you on the morrow, Ewan. Remember—near the stables, past terce.’

He bowed his head. ‘I look forward to it, my lady.’

When the door closed, Honora studied him. ‘Do you want me to look at your arm?’

He nodded, wincing as he tried to lift up the sleeve of his tunic. The caked blood made it impossible.

‘I’ll work quickly,’ she promised, because being alone with him was not wise. She needed to escape his presence, to sort out the strange longings she shouldn’t feel.

‘Your sister looked about to faint. I didn’t want to offend her with my blood.’

Clearly, he felt no such compunctions with her. She resisted the urge to ask what he would do when he married Katherine. Her younger sister was softhearted and loathed blood. ‘I’ll do what I can. What about your ribs?’

She lifted the tunic away, being careful of his wounds. Upon his upper arm, the angry gash seeped blood. ‘This will need stitching, I think.’

‘My ribs aren’t broken. Bruised, perhaps, but it’s nothing.’

‘I can bind them for you, if you like.’ Without waiting for a reply, she went to fetch the needle and thread from her basket.

She was relieved that her voice sounded so calm, as though he were any other man. He’d never guess how much it unnerved her, seeing his bare skin once again. She could think of nothing else but the first night she’d seen him naked, and the way his warm body had felt pressed up against hers.

When she reached his side, she examined the wound. Dirt and dried blood edged the gash. ‘I need to wash your skin or else the blood may become poisoned.’ She spied an ewer of wine and poured it on to the cut, sponging it clean. Ewan let out a hiss of pain.

The skin was torn open, the edges refusing to mend. ‘You’ll have a scar from this.’

‘I know it.’ He didn’t flinch when she pricked the needle into his flesh. ‘But scars are the mark of honour.’

‘Or the mark of a man who didn’t move quickly enough.’

‘Have you any scars, Honora?’

‘None that I’ll show to you.’

His mouth curved upwards in a smile, turning intimate. ‘Every warrior has scars.’ With his free hand, he reached out and touched her shoulder. ‘Even ones you cannot see.’

Especially those, Honora thought. She concentrated on sewing the wound with tight, even stitches. She wasn’t going to think about the closeness between them, or the way she was standing between his thighs. He smelled good, a masculine scent of earth and rain. In the firelight, his green eyes watched her.

‘Why did you cut your hair?’ he asked.

Honora nearly stabbed herself with the needle. An innocent question, but one she didn’t want to answer. She managed to keep stitching, fumbling for a better response. ‘It makes it easier to wear a helm.’

It was the truth, but not the real reason.

‘Sometimes I train with the other soldiers,’ she continued. ‘They don’t know who I am.’

‘The armour is heavy.’

It was, but she’d trained for several years to accustom herself to its weight. Enough that she could stand it for short intervals.

‘I can’t wear it for very long before I tire,’ she admitted. ‘But it’s the only way I can fight against the other men, without them knowing who I am. I’d lose my skills otherwise.’

‘Why is it important to you? Why should it matter, whether or not you can fight?’

She didn’t know what to say. He would never understand. ‘It matters to me.’

‘You’re a woman.’ His voice was deep, like a caress. Honora shivered at the sound of it.

‘I am a warrior. Even if no one knows it.’

She could see the dissent in his eyes, but to his credit, he said nothing. Honora knew full well that she wasn’t the sort of woman her sister was. Katherine was the fresh-faced beauty, the virginal woman who knew everything about tending a household.

She had known nothing, a fact that Ranulf had never failed to remind her. Despite her best efforts, she had given her husband no pleasure in his home, nor in his bed. Had she fallen ill and died, she doubted if he would have noticed.

‘Why do you fight?’ Ewan asked again, staring as if he could see the answers in her profile.

‘Fighting is something I can do well,’ was her answer. It was the only thing she could do with any sort of expertise, save the embroidery. And even that, she’d only learned because it was necessary when tending wounded men. Blood had never bothered her, and she’d sewn up countless wounds.

After she tied off the thread, she packed the wound with comfrey and crushed garlic that Katherine had left behind. There were no cobwebs to help the wound bind, but with a tight bandage, it might do well enough. She wound his arm firmly with the clean linen. ‘Do you want me to wrap your ribs now?’

Against her desires, she found herself staring at his mouth. The heat of the room grew stifling, and perspiration rose up on her skin.

‘That won’t be necessary.’ His hand reached out to hers, and she grew self-conscious of the rough calluses upon her palm.

‘The cut will be better in a sennight or two,’ she remarked. ‘But try to keep it covered when you fight.’ Taking a step backwards, she drew her hand away and waited for him to leave.

Ewan didn’t take the pointed hint. Instead, he moved in until she was cornered against a wall. ‘Don’t ever take a risk like that again. Beaulais might have harmed you.’ He rested his hand against the wall behind her. Once again, the familiar scent of him seemed to pull at her senses.

Honora tried to keep her breathing steady, to ignore the rapid pulsing of her heart. ‘I could have blocked him, had he tried to strike me.’

‘You take too many chances,’ he argued. ‘And while I am glad you can defend yourself, there’s no reason to seek trouble.’ He cupped her chin. ‘You find it well enough on your own.’

‘Don’t patronise me.’ Her face felt as though it were on fire, and he was far too close. The gentle pressure of his fingertips against her chin made her hands tremble. ‘And don’t touch me.’

He lifted his hands up and stepped away. ‘As you wish. But let there be peace between us, Honora.’

‘Why does it matter?’

‘If I’m going to wed your sister, I would like for us to be friends.’

Friends. Had they ever been just that to one another? She had followed him around far more than was proper. If the truth be known, years ago she’d held a secret admiration of him, wishing that he would fall in love with her.

But he hadn’t. He’d been kind enough, but most times he’d tried to avoid her. Looking back, she understood the reason. It was difficult for any man to love a woman who had attempted to skewer him with a sword.

‘Friends,’ she repeated. ‘I suppose there’s no harm in it.’ She offered him her hand, as though it meant nothing. But the light grip of his hand upon hers sent a wild heat blazing through her. ‘As your friend, I’ll warn you not to do anything foolish again, like you did tonight.’

The corner of his mouth turned up. ‘Why would you say that?’

Tilting her head, she remarked, ‘Fighting a man when you’ve been bleeding for hours, Ewan? Now was that wise?’

‘I won, didn’t I?’

She shook her head. ‘I had to sew you up again afterwards.’

He sent her his most charming smile and released her hand. ‘Just a scratch, Honora.’ Turning serious, he changed the subject. ‘Did you ever learn anything more about your thief?’

‘No. Nothing.’

‘Most of the men speak of Katherine or their own estates. I’ve heard not a single mention of the chest. But at least it was recovered.’

‘It isn’t only the chest,’ she admitted. ‘A cross and a chalice were also stolen.’

‘And were they found?’

She shook her head. ‘Not yet. But that isn’t what bothers me most. Neither were valuable. They were made of wood, not silver. I can’t understand why anyone would want them.’

‘I don’t know. But I’ll try to find out anything I can.’ Ewan raised his bandaged arm. ‘I owe you for this.’

‘It was no trouble.’ Honora forced herself to walk calmly to the door, bidding him goodnight, when what she’d really wanted to do was flee back to her room, hiding her burning cheeks beneath the coverlet.

Friends, he’d said. She didn’t know how that would ever be possible.

Ewan waited near the stables, the mid-morning sun casting beams amid the clouds. His brother Bevan had left at dawn to visit with his father-in-law, the Earl of Longford. No doubt the Earl would pressure Bevan to return to Erin, to be at Genevieve’s side for the new birth. Ewan hoped he could convince Katherine to wed him sooner and thereby grant Bevan his wish.

In the meantime, he’d been given a chance to spend time with Katherine. None of the other suitors had done so, to his knowledge, and it boded well for his chances of winning her hand.

Katherine had done her best to tend his wounds last night, though she couldn’t have endured sewing up the gash, the way her sister had. Honora didn’t cringe at the sight of blood or injuries, having sewn up a fair number of them over the years. He could easily see her doing the same for half-a-dozen sons, were she fortunate to bear children.

The thought pricked him. Honora didn’t want to wed, and though he suspected part of it was her reluctance to let a man hold dominion over her, he sensed a shadow from her former marriage. Something had happened, something she would never admit. It bothered him, to think of Honora falling victim to a man, even her husband.

At that moment, Katherine arrived. Her emerald bliaud contrasted against her fair skin and white veil, making her blue eyes appear more vivid.

‘Ewan,’ she greeted him with a smile. Behind her stood Honora, holding a basket. He recalled that Katherine had asked her to accompany them. Once again, Honora appeared desperately uncomfortable, and Ewan hardly blamed her.

‘I hope you are feeling better after yesterday,’ Katherine continued. She drew closer, studying the cut upon his lip.

In truth, his arm still ached, but Ewan said nothing about it. ‘I am, yes.’

‘Good. Then let us ride out. I am weary of these walls.’

Within a few minutes, they were mounted and travelling outside the castle gates. Katherine led the way, while Ewan followed. Honora remained behind at first, but a few moments later, she brought her horse alongside his. She wore a serviceable grey bliaud, her hair hidden by a veil. Only a slim golden girdle around her waist gave any colour. Ill at ease, she offered, ‘I tried to convince her to go alone.’

Her comment was an apology, but he appreciated the effort nonetheless. He shrugged. ‘There are worse places to be than in the company of two beautiful women.’

‘I am not beautiful, and both of us know it. Don’t mock me.’ The words were spoken calmly, not in anger, but by a woman who believed them. Urging her horse forward, Honora joined her sister.

Not beautiful? Did she truly think that? No, she didn’t have the soft beauty of her sister. But the wildness of her and the shorn hair gave Honora an exotic appearance, one that most men did not perceive from the veil she wore.

She had changed, more than he’d realised. Though Honora had always had an intensity to her demeanour, fighting hard and arguing harder, never had he said anything against her looks. Who had convinced her that she was unattractive? Her husband? If that were true, then it was a good thing the bastard was dead.

Katherine drew her mare to a stop near an open clearing. Honora joined her and took the two horses to let them graze. In the distance, shadowed mountains stretched up, covered with green trees. Grey skies dotted with heavy clouds foretold an afternoon rain.

Ewan dismounted, and Honora took the animal from him without asking. By tending the horses, she avoided both of them, giving him and Katherine time to speak alone.

Katherine chose a large rock to sit upon, green grass spearing up amid the dead growth from last winter. Honora remained closer to the hillside, and she rubbed one of the horses down while studying their surroundings. The wind blew against her veil, revealing a hint of dark hair against her slender neck.

She looked pensive, worry creasing her face. He didn’t know what troubled her, but he suspected it was more than the thief. Her reluctance to confide in him made it seem far worse.

She lifted her eyes to his, and he tried to reassure her without words. Shaking her head, Honora turned away in silent rebuke.

She was right. He had no business interfering in her life, and it wasn’t any of his concern.

‘Ewan, could you help me with this?’

Katherine struggled to lift down a basket of food. His stomach was raging, though it was not nearly time for a meal. He offered a friendly smile and asked, ‘What did you bring with you?’

‘I thought we could enjoy our noon meal out of doors.’

Praise be to the saints. Ewan sent her a hopeful look. ‘Must we truly wait that long?’

‘Not if you are hungry now.’ A laugh escaped her, and she opened the basket. While he helped himself to a cold leg of roasted chicken, Honora was still lagging behind.

‘Are you going to join us?’ he asked.

‘What?’ Honora glanced up and saw the food. ‘No, I’m not hungry.’

He sat with Katherine, wondering what to say to her. This was his first opportunity to demonstrate that he would be an excellent husband for her. And yet, he couldn’t think of a single thing to say, beyond a simple thanks for the food.

Katherine stared down at her hands, but she didn’t attempt a conversation either. Honora was walking through the long grasses, her hand shielding her eyes in the sunlight.

‘Do you think she’ll marry?’ he asked Katherine, nodding towards her sister. The topic of Honora’s future was a safe one.

‘I hope so.’ Katherine studied a piece of cheese as if she intended to hold it, rather than eat it. ‘She deserves to be happy, after what she endured at Ceredys.’

‘And what was that?’

Katherine rubbed her arms, as though it had grown cold. ‘She won’t tell me. But I know she’s angry about what happened there. She doesn’t sleep well at night.’ Lowering her voice, she added, ‘Also, someone has been searching her belongings. I don’t know why, but I’ve found her gowns spread out, as though they were looking for something.’

The thief again. Ewan frowned, for Honora had never mentioned a threat to herself.

‘Does she know about it?’

Katherine shrugged. ‘I’ve tried to keep it from her. She has enough worries. But I’ve alerted Father’s soldiers to keep our chamber guarded at all times.’

‘Good.’

She ventured a conspiratorial smile at him, and Ewan reached out to take her hand. The smooth skin was cool, completely unlike Honora’s roughened palm. Katherine allowed him to hold her hand for a few moments, but when his thumb grazed her palm, she pulled her hand back.

‘What is the matter?’ he asked.

She gripped her hands together, staring off into the distance. ‘It’s my foolishness. And I’m feeling angry at myself for what happened last night. I was weak, when I should have tended the cut on your arm.’

It was the last thing he’d expected her to say. ‘It’s all right.’

‘No, it wasn’t. My sister helped you, when it should have been me.’ Katherine lowered her gaze, as though ashamed of herself. And when she stared at Honora, there was envy in her eyes.

He understood what it meant to compare herself to a sibling. All his life, he’d lived in the shadow of his brothers. But now, he was finally seizing control of his fate. With Katherine as his bride, he could at last be master of his own lands.

To lighten her mood, Ewan suggested, ‘If I slice my arm open again, I’ll call upon you to sew it up.’

Her lips tilted. ‘And as soon as you start to bleed, I’ll likely faint. You’d be better off with a healer.’ She shook her head and sighed. ‘Honora has far more courage than I.’

He didn’t deny it, but neither did he expect Katherine to be the same as her sister. To change the subject, he asked, ‘Is there anyone she might wed?’

‘Sir Ademar asked her to consider him,’ Katherine admitted. Her colour deepened, though Ewan didn’t understand why. ‘He told me last night.’

He’d known that Honora had given Ademar a token, a ribbon. Yet she’d said nothing about him as a possible husband.

Ewan reached into the basket and tore another chicken leg off the roasted fowl. No. Sir Ademar was not at all suitable for Honora. Off the battlefield, the man was far too quiet. Honora would run over him, dominating every aspect of their marriage. She could only live with a man who had the personality to equal her own.

‘Will she accept him as her husband, do you think?’ He kept his question casual, as though he weren’t interested in whether or not Honora intended to marry.

‘Perhaps.’ Katherine broke off another piece of cheese and leaned closer to him. ‘He has been kind to her.’ Raising up the food, she looked directly into his eyes. ‘He’s handsome, too.’

When she placed the cheese in his mouth, Ewan captured her fingertips, kissing them. It was expected of him. But her fingers felt cold beneath his mouth. Katherine’s face turned scarlet, but she did not pull away.

Before he could pursue things further, a noise interrupted them. Horses were approaching at a steady speed.

Ewan broke away and unsheathed his sword. From this distance, he could not see the men, but he would take no chances with their safety. Katherine made a small sound, and he pushed her behind him. From his periphery, he spied Honora clenching her dagger, poised in a fighting stance.

It was three men, armed, but carrying no shields. Ewan at last recognised two of the suitors, Sir Ademar and Beaulais. The third man he hadn’t seen before.

Honora had gone white. She moved beside him, and her fear unnerved him. Nothing and no one had ever frightened Honora.

But this man did.

Chapter Six

Ewan moved beside Honora, keeping Katherine behind them. ‘Who is he?’

‘John St Leger of Ceredys. My husband’s son and the new Baron.’ There was no tremble in her voice, but Honora looked as though she were about to be sick.

Ewan sheathed his sword, but rested his hand upon the hilt. The men drew their horses to a stop, but did not immediately dismount. He wasn’t surprised; it allowed them the physical height advantage.

Katherine stepped forwards to greet them, but Ewan halted her. ‘Wait.’

‘Why are they here?’ she murmured. She glanced at her sister, whose face was the colour of snow.

Honora did not move. Her hands locked around her waist, as though she craved a sword and scabbard. In a low whisper so her sister couldn’t hear, she murmured, ‘Keep him away from me, Ewan.’

He almost wondered if he’d imagined the words. What had this man done to her? But he gave a slight nod, letting her know he’d heard.

Lord Beaulais was the first to dismount, and he sent a false smile towards Katherine. Ewan’s grip tightened on the sword hilt. If Beaulais dared to offend the women, he’d find himself with a few missing limbs.

‘We saw you leaving with the women, MacEgan.’ The nobleman smirked and added, ‘You didn’t think we’d let you have both of them all to yourself, now did you?’

Ewan folded his arms and regarded Beaulais. ‘I don’t recall Lady Katherine inviting any of you.’

‘Her father invited all of us,’ Beaulais corrected.

Sir Ademar cast a fleeting glance at Katherine. He didn’t speak to her, nor smile, but something provoked Ewan’s suspicions. There was an uneasiness in the knight’s demeanour, as though he had come to prevent the other two from an attack.

But right now, his greater concern was Honora. Ewan took a step closer to her, even as Sir Ademar dismounted.

The knight approached them, though his gaze flickered back to the men. ‘I am glad to see you this morn, m-my Lady Honora. You look …’ he struggled to find the right words ‘… very fine. That is, I mean … your face is like a …’

‘A diamond. A pearl. Just choose a damned jewel and be done with it,’ Beaulais shot back.

Katherine glared at the nobleman, and nodded for Ademar to continue. The knight knelt before them, his face crimson. Ewan almost pitied the man.

Certainly Honora did, for she accepted the knight’s hand and nodded for him to rise. ‘Thank you for your kindness, Sir Ademar.’

The softness on her face caught Ewan by surprise. He was accustomed to seeing her in fierce concentration, as though she were facing an enemy. But at this moment, she became gentle, reminding him that she was female and desirable.

Ewan didn’t like the way she was looking at the knight, even if the man’s intentions were honourable. Honora smiled at Ademar, and Ewan wanted to tear her hand away from his. It was an irrational thought, for what did it matter if she chose to wed the knight? It was one less suitor competing for Katherine’s hand. But it bothered him more than it should have.

A moment later, after she drew back, he felt the soft touch of Honora’s hand upon his spine. What was she doing? He nearly jerked away, so startled was he to feel her hand upon him. She moved her palm towards the dagger sheathed at his side.

She had her own weapon … why the need for a second blade? Then again, he didn’t trust Beaulais not to start a fight.

Katherine exchanged a glance with Sir Ademar and offered an excuse. ‘We were about to return to Ardennes, weren’t we? If you’d like to accompany us back—’

‘I fear we interrupted your meal.’ Beaulais gestured to the basket of provisions with a rueful smile. ‘There’s no need to return so soon.’

To her credit, Katherine did not invite the men to join them. ‘I’m afraid there isn’t really enough.’ She offered an apologetic smile. ‘I had packed provisions for only three of us. If we return to the castle, I would be pleased to offer a more fitting meal there, for you and the others. You must allow me to do so, as your hostess.’

Despite the gracious offer, Ewan was glad to see that Katherine’s smile seemed to be hiding annoyance. Good. He didn’t want her pairing up with any of these men.

John of Ceredys walked towards Honora, his hands outstretched in greeting. Honora didn’t move, keeping her grip upon the blade at his side. The simple touch made him aware of her, of her sudden reliance upon him. He made a silent vow to keep her safe.

He’d never seen Honora this agitated, and he couldn’t quite tell whether it was fear or rage. Either way, it was best if Ceredys kept his distance.

‘Lady Honora. I have missed the pleasure of your company at Ceredys.’ The Baron tried to step around him to greet her, but Ewan remained fixed in his position.

‘I don’t believe the Lady Honora wishes to speak with you.’ Ewan drew his sword slightly, in a silent threat.

‘And what does the lady say for herself?’ John demanded.

‘Lord Ceredys.’ Her voice was clear and steady, showing no fear. ‘You’ve made a long journey.’

Her body tensed, as though she were about to attack the man. Ewan had never seen her this way, as though she wanted to murder Ceredys. Why? What had the Baron done?

Katherine intervened again. ‘I really do want to return.’ She began packing up the basket, and looked at Ewan in a plea for help.

‘We’ll go, as you wish,’ he acceded.

But as she moved towards her horse, Ewan made it clear to every man there that he would not let any harm come to the women. He didn’t miss the anger kindled in Lord Ceredys’s eyes.

Nor the rage that Honora tried to hold back.

John had followed her.

Honora clenched her fist around the grip of her dagger, wishing to God that it wasn’t a mortal sin to kill a man. Just having him near made her skin crawl.

She’d remained close to Ewan and Katherine for the rest of the day, though she felt badly for interfering with their courtship. John was not to be trusted, even with a castle full of servants and guards.

After the evening meal, she rose and followed Katherine to their chamber. As she passed the men seated at the trestle tables, her senses went on alert. It took a great deal of composure not to draw her weapon. Especially when John’s hungry eyes locked upon her.

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