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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.
