Читать книгу Taming Her Irish Warrior - Michelle Willingham - Страница 9

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.