Taming Her Irish Warrior Page 20

  And, she needed to face John on her own terms. He had defeated her once, but he’d not do it again.

  Honora sank back against the wooden tub, holding her knees tightly. The maidservant helped Honora rinse her hair and wrapped her in a linen drying cloth. Isabel led her beside the fire and, as the maidservant combed Honora’s hair, she directed the servants to make preparations for the evening feast.

  ‘We’ll need extra trestle tables brought in. And tonight we’ll have Ewan’s favourite, roasted lamb.’ Isabel continued giving more orders for ale and describing what she wanted for the festivities. Honora’s head tumbled with all the details. All of this, for the two of them?

  ‘It isn’t necessary to go to this trouble,’ Honora began. She didn’t want to imagine being the centre of everyone’s curiosity. Her apprehensions tripled at the thought.

  Isabel ignored her and dismissed the women. ‘Ewan is like my own brother. And he deserves no less than our best welcome.’ The words were spoken with a slight air of chastisement, and Honora hid her discomfort.

  The Queen held up a deep blue gown, the colour of cornflowers. ‘Now this will set off your hair.’ Tilting her head, she asked, ‘Why is it so short? Were you ill?’

  ‘No. That isn’t the reason why I cut it.’ Honora didn’t say anything further, for she didn’t want to answer questions. ‘May I borrow a veil?’

  Isabel looked at her sharply, her gaze narrowed. She stared at Honora, as though she were trying to understand her. But thanks be, she did not ask a second time. Instead, she pulled out a linen veil from inside a trunk of clothing.

  Honora breathed a sigh of relief. The veil would hide her shorn hair, avoiding further explanations.

  Isabel helped her to don a strange garment, a white fitted underdress called a léine and the blue overdress with voluminous draping sleeves. The silk fabric was very fine, and Honora vowed not to soil it in any way.

  A soft knock sounded on the door a moment later, a female voice speaking the Irish language. Honora didn’t know what was said, but the Queen opened the door.

  A dark-haired woman, clad simply in a cream léine and a grey overdress, walked inside. Her warm smile was genuine and welcoming.

  ‘This is Connor’s wife, Aileen,’ Isabel said. ‘She is the most skilled healer I’ve ever met. She wanted to meet you, but she cannot speak your language. I am happy to translate for you.’

  Your language, she’d said. Not our language. It seemed that Isabel had shed her ties to their homeland.

  ‘I am most grateful to your husband, Connor. He saved our lives,’ Honora said to the woman, and the Queen translated. Then Honora added, ‘Will you ask her to examine Ewan’s feet? He injured them a few days ago, and I know he’ll not ask for help, though he needs it.’

  After Isabel made the request, Aileen nodded and reached out to squeeze her hand, speaking rapidly to Isabel. The Queen added, ‘Aileen says she is glad to help. And she welcomes you as Ewan’s bride.’

  The acknowledgement was a slice to her heart, for Honora saw the protective glint in Isabel’s gaze. ‘I am not his bride,’ she admitted. ‘But I will always be his friend.’ She met Isabel’s disapproving gaze with her own firm vow. Ewan had never once spoken of marriage, nor would he. She had always known it.

  And…the truth was, she didn’t know if she could be any man’s wife. Marriage had stripped away her freedom, chaining her to her husband’s will. She didn’t deceive herself into thinking Ewan would be any different.

  All men wanted a woman who relied upon her husband to defend her—not one capable of defending herself. Like her father and her husband, Ewan would never welcome her fighting skills, never accept her for who she was.

  It hurt to think of it, for with every passing moment, she was growing closer to him. Too close. The nights she’d spent in his arms had gone beyond her imaginings. Even now, her skin warmed to think of how he’d touched her. And tonight, she would go to him once again.

  Later that evening, amid the large crowd of Irish men and women, she found Ewan immediately. Though he was speaking to a kinsman, his attention turned to her, his eyes heated with the reminder of what they would share in each other’s arms. She couldn’t move, held captive by his gaze.

  He broke off his conversation, heading straight towards her. A tremor built up in her knees, the undeniable desire spreading straight to her core.

  When Ewan reached her side, he took her hand without speaking a single word. Honora could hardly keep up with his long strides, but his tight grip made arguing impossible.

  ‘Where are we going?’ she asked. ‘Your family—’

  ‘—can wait,’ he finished. ‘The feasting won’t begin for an hour. And I’ve a need to spend time with you.’

  He pulled her up a spiral staircase, covering her mouth with his. He feasted upon her lips, her tongue, as though he couldn’t get enough.

  Honora couldn’t catch her breath, her heart racing within her chest. She wound her arms around his neck, surrendering to the hunger of his kiss.

  ‘You’re mine, Honora,’ he said against her throat. She gripped his hair, letting him seize her mouth in another heated exchange. Her heart was crumbling, at war with her mind. These stolen moments were all they had together. And though she knew they wouldn’t last, she clung to him.

  When his hand started to move against her skirts, she realised that he wasn’t thinking clearly. She could not let him take her upon a stone staircase, in front of anyone who happened by.

  ‘Ewan, wait—’

  ‘Shh…’ he murmured in her ear, nibbling at the lobe. He pulled at her hips, drawing her flush against his body.

  And Honora realised that words were not going to break through to him. Only actions would make him see reason.

  Wrenching her mouth away, she unsheathed his dagger and stepped from his embrace. ‘MacEgan, keep your trews on, and gain control of yourself. You can have me later.’

  ‘Well said,’ came a voice from behind her. Mortified, Honora turned and saw a richly dressed man descending the stairs. From the gold circlet he wore upon his head, there could be no doubt he was King Patrick of Laochre.

  ‘My brother…’ the King smiled ‘…I think you’ve finally met your match.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ewan held out his hand, and Honora returned the blade to him, grip first. He introduced her to his brother, and Honora looked as though she wanted to disappear into the wall.

  ‘Welcome home.’ Patrick clapped him on the back, then turned his attention to Honora. His eyes glinted with amusement. ‘You remind me of Isabel. A time or two, she’s drawn a knife on me as well.’

  ‘It’s a bad habit of mine,’ Honora confessed, her cheeks flushing. Then she turned back to him. ‘I’m sorry, Ewan. I shouldn’t have done that.’

  He gripped her hand, squeezing it tightly. Beneath his breath, he warned, ‘Don’t do it again.’

  Honora had simply taken his breath away when he’d seen her. Dressed like one of his kinswomen, the rich cornflower-blue overdress and creamy léine made Honora’s skin the colour of moonlight. The gown hung in soft folds, accentuating her slender waist.

  Before she could respond, his brother intervened. ‘Ewan, take Honora and introduce her to the rest of the MacEgans while I find Isabel. We will talk of your trouble at the Welsh coast later.’

  Ewan took Honora’s hand and led her into the Great Chamber. All of his kinsmen and family were gathered around, sitting at the long trestle tables while Queen Isabel waited at the dais for her husband the King. There were places for each of his brothers and their wives, but he noticed that his brother Trahern’s place was empty.

  Gazing around at the dozens of tables heaped with food, the harpists and bards, Honora paled. ‘I never expected this much.’

  ‘Kings are expected to give large entertainments.’ Ewan led her to the dais and the chairs waiting for them. Aileen and Connor’s twin boys raced in front of them, nearly causing Honora to stumble. Ewan picked
the pair up by their tunics, handing them off to their father.

  Connor grimaced and carried a boy under each arm. ‘No sweets for either of you.’

  When they reached the dais, Ewan brought Honora to the centre of the table, where they would sit near his brother Patrick. All eyes turned towards her with curiosity, and he heard the low murmur of gossip.

  Although Patrick introduced her as an honoured visitor, Ewan knew everyone believed Honora was going to be his bride. For once, he was thankful she didn’t speak the Irish language, for she wouldn’t hear the jests of his kinsmen.

  Through their eyes, he saw her loveliness. Brave and strong, she was a woman worth fighting for. A woman any man would want to wed.

  It troubled him to realise that he didn’t want to let her go, despite her vow to Ceredys.

  When at last they were seated, Honora leaned in, whispering in his ear, ‘I feel like running away. I’ve never seen so many people staring at me.’ The warmth of her breath against his skin caused an involuntary shiver.

  ‘Then run away with me. Later tonight, as you promised.’ Ewan rested his palm upon her hand beneath the table.

  Honora took a long sip of wine, but didn’t smile at his teasing. Instead, she appeared lost in all the conversation and the people watching her.

  ‘Ewan, stop casting eyes upon Honora,’ Connor interrupted, speaking the Norman tongue for her benefit. ‘I want to hear the story of how you managed to be trapped by Norman soldiers and rescued by a woman.’

  Ewan glared at his brother, sending Connor a silent warning to cease his questions. He wanted Honora to enjoy the feasting, not endure an interrogation. ‘Misfortune seems to find me,’ was all he said.

  But Honora turned towards Connor, apologising. ‘It was my fault. When I travelled with Ewan, we were pursued by a dozen men.’

  Patrick had leaned in to hear her explanation, and Honora turned to both of them. ‘Were either of you familiar with my husband, Ranulf of Ceredys? Or his son, John?’

  Ewan expected Patrick to deny it, but instead his brother inclined his head. ‘Unfortunately, I did make the Baron’s acquaintance, years ago. But not his son.’ From the look on the King’s face, it was clear he’d had no liking for Ranulf.

  ‘John causes far too much suffering,’ Honora said. ‘They do not deserve to live as they do. I vowed to return to Ceredys and help them.’

  ‘I suppose John is like his father,’ Patrick said quietly.

  ‘Yes.’ Honora picked at her food, then confessed, ‘I tried to hire mercenaries. But they stole the money and did nothing to help.’

  Mercenaries? Ewan’s hand tightened upon Honora’s. He hadn’t known she’d resorted to such desperate tactics. She was lucky they’d merely stolen her coins and not tried to harm her in other ways.

  Patrick’s expression grew dour. ‘Overthrowing Ceredys wouldn’t help your people. The King would not support your efforts, nor would he allow you to take possession of the land. Does the Baron have an heir?’

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Even if Ceredys were dead, his portion of the estate and his title would pass onto another heir. Perhaps to a cousin.’

  Honora palmed her eating knife. ‘I cannot abandon the people. I feel responsible for them.’

  Patrick studied her for a long moment, his gaze passing to Ewan. Then he said, ‘God be with you on your venture.’

  His brother’s response wasn’t at all what Ewan had expected. It would be a simple matter to spare twenty men, but the King had ignored the unspoken request for help, turning the topic back to the Midsummer’s Eve preparations.

  It was clear his brother didn’t want to involve the MacEgan tribe in a war against the Baron of Ceredys, not for Honora’s sake. And while he understood Patrick’s desire to keep their people separated from the conflict, Ewan wasn’t about to let Honora go to Ceredys alone.

  Now it seemed finding an army was going to be a problem. His kinsmen would not cross the sea and risk their lives out of friendship. Honora would need silver or another means of payment.

  As each hour passed, Ewan sensed Honora was growing more overwhelmed. Her smile was forced, and she didn’t understand any of the conversations without his translation.

  ‘Walk with me,’ he said softly, taking her hand once more. Honora stood, and Ewan made their excuses. His brothers shot him teasing remarks as he left, but he ignored them.

  He led Honora to a more private corner, at the top of the battlements. Here, they could look out over the landscape, towards the glittering sea and the vast kingdom that belonged to his brother.

  ‘You aren’t happy here,’ he said to her. ‘I can see it in your eyes.’

  She sat down upon the stone staircase and rested her hands on her knees. ‘I’ll be fine. I’m just feeling uncertain about the future.’

  He sat beside her. ‘I’m not sorry you’re here.’ It bothered him to see her so troubled, and he wondered how he could set her at ease.

  Honora leaned her head against his shoulder and stared out at the castle. Torches flamed against the stone walls while dozens of soldiers kept watch. ‘I suppose I can feel safe from John within these castle walls.’

  ‘Patrick believes in a strong defence.’

  She frowned a moment later and pointed to a segment of the inner bailey wall where a medium-sized hole remained. ‘What happened there? Shouldn’t you repair that breach?’

  His mouth tightened. ‘It’s nothing. Just a hole.’ And one he’d wanted Patrick to mend for the past nine years.

  ‘Why is it there?’

  ‘Because my damned older brother thinks it’s funny.’

  She turned to face him, her face curious. He didn’t want to explain it to her, but she asked anyway. ‘What happened?’

  When he didn’t answer, a smile perked at her lips. ‘It bothers you. Should I ask King Patrick about it?’

  His brother would enjoy telling her, Ewan was certain. The entire tribe knew about it, and now the soldiers touched the hole for luck before going into battle. How that tradition had begun, he’d never know.

  Expelling a sigh, he confessed, ‘Patrick was converting the old walls into stone. I was thirteen, I think. One of the stones fell out. Not enough mortar to hold it together, I suppose, but the rest of the structure stayed intact. Connor dared me to crawl through the hole.’

  Honora’s lips twitched. By God, she’d better not laugh about this.

  ‘Did you make it through?’ Though she posed the question with complete seriousness, he sensed she was trying to hold back mirth.

  ‘I didn’t. My head and shoulders made it through, but I couldn’t get past my ribs.’

  The humiliation was one he’d never lived down. He couldn’t forget how his brothers had laughed at him, while he’d struggled to free himself.

  ‘Were you stuck within the wall?’

  He glared at her. Of course he’d been stuck. ‘One of the top stones slipped down on top of me. I nearly dislocated my shoulder trying to get out.’

  ‘What did your brothers do?’ Honora covered her mouth with a hand, colour rising in her cheeks.

  ‘What any older brothers would do…they left me there for the rest of the day. Laughed at me every time they passed. Connor set a crown of daisies on my head that I couldn’t get off because I couldn’t move my arms. Bastard.’

  ‘Who set you free?’

  ‘One of the kitchen maids took pity on me. But Patrick left the hole there in memory.’

  She did start laughing then and put her arms around him. ‘Oh, Ewan. I wish I could have seen that.’

  ‘I’m glad you didn’t.’ He cut off her laughter the best way he knew how. With a kiss.

  Honora kissed him back, letting herself fall into the embrace. Ewan slipped his hands inside the sleeves of her overdress, shaping her body, caressing the curve of her breasts.

  She gasped against his mouth as Ewan continued his devastating onslaught. The softest flick of his thumb against her
nipple sent an unexpected rush of wetness between her thighs. She caught herself before she moaned, but when his hands touched her bare ankle, sliding up her leg beneath her skirts, she couldn’t stop herself. The rough texture of his palm against her thighs made her shudder. Higher still, he stroked her legs, lingering against her flesh.

  ‘I want to be with you again.’

  She was glad her burning cheeks were hidden by the shadows of the night sky. Though she wanted him desperately, she was even more afraid of sleeping in his arms. ‘I don’t know if that would be wise.’

  ‘Not here,’ he corrected, his lips gentle against her cheek. ‘I’ll take you to my hut. No one will bother us.’

  She struggled to calm the breath rising and falling. Her head and her heart were at war, her sense of reason battering against her body’s desires. ‘Your tribesmen thought I was going to be your bride, didn’t they?’

  Ewan’s hands framed her face as he leaned in. ‘Don’t worry about them. All that matters is what’s between us.’

  ‘You’re waging a battle I can’t win,’ she whispered. She touched her forehead to his. ‘Each time I lie in your arms, you’re breaking down my heart. And we both know I’ll be leaving Erin.’

  Somehow, he had laid siege to her feelings, slowly tearing down the walls until she could hardly imagine a life without him. Even now, she wanted to embrace him, to breathe in his scent and know that he was hers.

  ‘You don’t have to make that choice,’ he said. ‘You can stay with me here.’

  ‘I can’t, Ewan,’ she said, holding him close. ‘One day, you’re going to wed an heiress. And I don’t want to be here when that happens.’

  He held her close, not denying it. ‘Don’t think about the future, Honora. Just be with me now.’

  She let him hold her, afraid that these moments with him would never last.

  Later that night, Ewan took her back to the chamber Isabel had set aside. It seemed best to let her sleep alone after the long journey. Though he longed to comfort Honora, to sleep with her body beside his, her warning had resonated with him.