Taming Her Irish Warrior

by Michelle Willingham

  The boy had become a man. A handsome one at that. His dark blond hair was cut short, emphasising a lean face and a strong jaw line. Broad shoulders revealed a tight strength she hadn’t remembered. Ridged muscles lined his abdomen, down to…

  Oh, dear God above. He was naked.

  With that, every coherent thought left her. She gaped at him, unable to stop herself from stealing a long look. Her husband had never looked like this. Like a savage Celt, Ewan had a wildness about him that made her uneasy.

  He eased her down the wall, still holding her wrists trapped. She had stopped struggling, too disconcerted at being near him. He released one wrist and ripped her hood free.

  ‘You’re a woman.’

  She couldn’t gather up her thoughts to answer.

  ‘Who are you?’ he demanded.

  Her tongue caught in her throat. Didn’t he remember her? After all the years she’d humiliated herself, tagging along and trying to defeat him in swordplay? But then, the darkness hid her features from him. He couldn’t see her clearly.

  ‘Katherine?’ he asked gently.

  Anger surged through her. No, she wasn’t her beautiful, saintly sister. He ought to have figured that out, from her unexpected entrance into his chamber. Her sister wouldn’t dream of entering a man’s bedchamber, much less hunt a thief.

  Before she could deny it, his mouth came down upon hers. A shocking sensation rushed through her skin, as though every part of her had caught fire. She forgot what she was seeking, forgot what was happening. The world around her crumbled, with nothing else, save his kiss.

  She didn’t know how to respond, and her lips remained frozen. Gentle and coaxing, Ewan slid his hands through her hair. His powerful thighs pressed up to her body, the hot length of him suddenly reminding her why it was unwise to awaken a sleeping man.

  His hands caressed the hollow of her back, slipping beneath the man’s tunic she wore. A light shiver rose up on her skin while his hands roamed her body, caressing her as though she were made of silk. The touch of his rough palms aroused her, and an aching warmth bloomed between her thighs.

  The unfamiliar sensation caught her without warning. His rough palms stroked her spine, and she longed for his hands to move upwards. To fill up with her breasts, easing the heaviness and the shocking need.

  Never had a man touched her in this way. Especially not her husband.

  The memory slashed through her, shattering the moment. She pushed him away, her lips swollen and her body restless. ‘I’m not Katherine.’

  ‘Honora.’

  She nodded, not trusting her voice. She reached for her dagger, but discovered it wasn’t there.

  Ewan raised the blade, the steel reflecting in the moonlight. ‘Looking for this?’

  ‘I didn’t come here to harm you.’

  ‘No. Only to rob me.’

  ‘I didn’t even know you were here,’ she protested. ‘I came looking for—’ She almost said a thief, but silenced herself. For all she knew, Ewan was the thief. Doubtful, but she could not rule it out.

  ‘Looking for your husband?’ he queried. Accusations filled up his voice, as though she were a little girl caught stealing sweets.

  ‘My husband is dead.’ She pulled his hand off her other wrist and held out her palm. ‘Give me back my dagger.’

  ‘No.’ Ewan held it out of reach, and Honora lunged for it. With her full weight bearing down on him, she took him down. Before she could grab the blade from his grasp, he rolled over, his body crushing hers.

  Trapped, she felt every line of his body. And the dangerous glint in his eye made her aware that she had made a very bad decision.

  ‘I’m not the boy I was, Honora.’ He kept her pinioned, and tossed the knife away. ‘You won’t defeat me in a fight. Not any more.’

  Her face flushed. Apparently, he hadn’t forgotten how she’d bested him. More than once she’d disarmed him, her fighting skills equal to his. But that was long ago.

  ‘Let me get up.’ She tried to sit, and Ewan rolled off her. He sat beside her on the floor, seemingly at ease.

  She tried to straighten her clothing, regaining her composure. ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘I’m going to wed your sister.’

  She bit back the argument that he was but one man among many. Her father hadn’t settled the betrothal yet, nor would he, until he had taken each man’s measure.

  ‘I’m sorry I kissed you,’ he said. ‘I mistook you for Katherine.’

  His apology only heated up her temper. Honora knew she wasn’t as comely as her sister, but she didn’t need to be reminded of it. ‘Katherine would never enter a stranger’s bedchambers.’

  ‘Unlike you.’ There was a hint of humour beneath his tone, but she didn’t acknowledge the teasing. It made her feel insulted, and she regretted her impulsive behaviour.

  The door opened, and Honora jerked to her feet. Oh, heaven. Another angry MacEgan brother was staring at her.

  ‘Am I interrupting something?’ He glanced at Ewan, who didn’t seem at all embarrassed to be naked with a woman beside him.

  ‘Honora was just leaving.’ Ewan gestured towards the door, and she took the invitation gratefully. She didn’t even bother about the dagger, so thankful was she to flee their presence.

  Bevan closed the door behind Honora, setting a torch within an iron sconce. Ewan didn’t miss the questioning look upon his brother’s face. ‘Wrong chamber,’ was his only offer of explanation.

  Bevan didn’t believe a word of it, and waited for him to elaborate. Frankly, Ewan didn’t feel like it. He’d been awakened by the sound of Honora’s intrusion, and hadn’t at all expected to find a woman in his chamber.

  His uneasiness escalated, for he’d acted on impulse, kissing her. At first, he’d tricked himself into thinking Katherine had come to see him. Fool. Katherine was shy and demure, not nearly as brazen as her sister.

  Honora. He rested his fingertips against his mouth, thinking of the kiss he’d stolen. The taste of her lingered, soft and sweet. Completely unlike the stubborn girl who had plagued him so many years ago.

  ‘Her father won’t be pleased,’ Bevan said. ‘I drank nearly half a barrel of ale with him this night, pleading your case.’ He grimaced at the late hour, running a hand through his hair. ‘You’d best ensure that he doesn’t find out about this. I doubt if he’ll let you wed his youngest daughter if you were dallying with her sister.’

  ‘Honora intruded upon my sleep.’ Ewan returned to his pallet, flipping the woollen coverlet over himself. ‘It wasn’t my fault.’

  ‘What was she doing?’

  ‘Looking for someone.’ He shrugged, as though it were of no importance. Though now that he considered it, he wondered precisely whom she had sought. ‘What else did her father say?’

  ‘He will consider your suit. Thomas de Renalt also spoke with him and offered his approval of the match.’

  Ewan’s tension eased a bit at the mention of his foster-father. ‘Good.’

  Sinking back onto his pallet, he stared at the ceiling while Bevan retreated to his own sleeping place. The torch flickered shadows on to the walls, while all around, he heard the noise of other guests. In the distance, a dog barked, its cries mingling with the sounds of night.

  Honora’s hair had been short, barely touching her shoulders. Ragged and silky, he hadn’t expected that. He was accustomed to seeing her with a veil. The intimacy of her bare head reminded him of how he’d kissed her, winding his fingers through the softness.

  Her hair was the colour of a midnight sky, her skin milky pale. Large, full lips had kissed him back, and she’d tasted like apples, succulent with a hint of sweetness. Her arms were not the soft skin of most women, but they held a lean strength. So often she’d tried to best him when they were fostered together. She’d won, more times than he wanted to remember.

  Not any more.

  He shifted upon the bed coverings, trying to force his thoughts back to Katherine as he drifted off to sleep. Even so, he c
ouldn’t forget Honora’s kiss.

  Chapter Two

  ‘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 ex
pect 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—’