Читать книгу Taming Her Irish Warrior - Michelle Willingham - Страница 11

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.