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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.
