Читать книгу Taming Her Irish Warrior - Michelle Willingham - Страница 8

‘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.’