Taming Her Irish Warrior

by Michelle Willingham

  Despite the gracious offer, Ewan was glad to see that Katherine’s smile seemed to be hiding annoyance. Good. He didn’t want her pairing up with any of these men.

  John of Ceredys walked towards Honora, his hands outstretched in greeting. Honora didn’t move, keeping her grip upon the blade at his side. The simple touch made him aware of her, of her sudden reliance upon him. He made a silent vow to keep her safe.

  He’d never seen Honora this agitated, and he couldn’t quite tell whether it was fear or rage. Either way, it was best if Ceredys kept his distance.

  ‘Lady Honora. I have missed the pleasure of your company at Ceredys.’ The Baron tried to step around him to greet her, but Ewan remained fixed in his position.

  ‘I don’t believe the Lady Honora wishes to speak with you.’ Ewan drew his sword slightly, in a silent threat.

  ‘And what does the lady say for herself?’ John demanded.

  ‘Lord Ceredys.’ Her voice was clear and steady, showing no fear. ‘You’ve made a long journey.’

  Her body tensed, as though she were about to attack the man. Ewan had never seen her this way, as though she wanted to murder Ceredys. Why? What had the Baron done?

  Katherine intervened again. ‘I really do want to return.’ She began packing up the basket, and looked at Ewan in a plea for help.

  ‘We’ll go, as you wish,’ he acceded.

  But as she moved towards her horse, Ewan made it clear to every man there that he would not let any harm come to the women. He didn’t miss the anger kindled in Lord Ceredys’s eyes.

  Nor the rage that Honora tried to hold back.

  John had followed her.

  Honora clenched her fist around the grip of her dagger, wishing to God that it wasn’t a mortal sin to kill a man. Just having him near made her skin crawl.

  She’d remained close to Ewan and Katherine for the rest of the day, though she felt badly for interfering with their courtship. John was not to be trusted, even with a castle full of servants and guards.

  After the evening meal, she rose and followed Katherine to their chamber. As she passed the men seated at the trestle tables, her senses went on alert. It took a great deal of composure not to draw her weapon. Especially when John’s hungry eyes locked upon her.

  It wasn’t right, his forbidden desire. She hated everything about him, from the gleaming golden hair to his dark brown eyes. As she passed him, he smiled, raising his goblet in salute. She didn’t acknowledge the gesture.

  He was to blame for what had happened to the people of Ceredys. All of it lay upon his shoulders.

  And hers.

  Her father was right. She’d been hiding here, creating excuses for not going back. How could she dare to make a life for herself when so many were suffering? Her skin grew cold, and she barely saw her surroundings, as though she looked through a mask.

  Ewan waited for her to pass in front of him, and his hand brushed against the small of her back, warming her skin. He made her feel safer, for he would not allow John to follow.

  Katherine bade him goodnight, and Ewan kissed her hand. Honora was about to continue up the spiral stone stairs, but Ewan called her back. ‘Why do you fear John of Ceredys? Did he harm you at your husband’s estate?’

  She paused her hand upon the wall, choosing her words carefully. ‘I don’t fear him.’ She hated him. The very thought of the man made her want to carve out his heart. ‘But he threatens his own people. And I want him gone.’

  She said nothing of the personal threat to herself. John’s eyes had rested upon her at every moment, as though he were trying to strip away her clothing. And after what he’d done to the maidservant—

  She closed her eyes, as though it could make the nightmare go away. Without thinking, she fingered the ends of her hair.

  Ewan touched the edge of her chin, to meet his gaze. His green eyes watched her, as if trying to discern the truth. ‘Did he force you?’

  Honora shivered, not wanting to remember it. ‘No. I…I defended myself against him.’ After her husband’s death, with the help of Marie St Leger, she’d hidden weapons in every chamber. Without her mother-in-law’s assistance, she might have fallen prey to John’s unnatural desire.

  Ewan sensed what she hadn’t told him, and a rage darkened his face. ‘Do you want me to get rid of him? I’ll speak to your father.’

  Honora shook her head. ‘No. He’s here because my father asked him to come.’ And because John’s approval was expected before she could remarry.

  Not that it mattered, for she had no intention of doing so. Praise God, John could never wed her himself, according to the consanguinity laws of the Church. As her son-in-law, he was now related by blood. But she wasn’t naïve enough to think it would stop him from forcing his body upon her.

  ‘You don’t look well,’ Ewan remarked.

  Was it that evident? She felt as though she were about to be sick, just thinking of John.

  He reached out, resting his palm upon her nape. The simple touch gave her comfort she hadn’t expected. His thumb stroked the exposed part of her neck, sending an unexpected ripple of gooseflesh.

  What was he doing, touching her like this? She knew she should move forward, to escape the warmth of his hand. But for a moment, it felt good to pretend that he would protect her. That she could feel safe.

  Reluctantly, she took a step up the stone staircase, and his hand fell away. ‘I must go. Katherine will be waiting.’

  ‘Be sure to bar the door,’ Ewan warned. ‘And I’ll keep watch over John of Ceredys. He won’t harm you.’

  Honora paused on the stairs, looking back at Ewan. His dark blond hair framed a strong face that made her heartbeat quicken. For a moment, she wished he would pull her into his arms and hold her close. She wanted the comfort of a man’s embrace, to lose herself in it.

  She ascended the stairs, wondering why she was having these sudden, unexpected thoughts about Ewan. She had no right to think of him in that way.

  Put it aside, Honora. Let him go. He wants Katherine, not you.

  She tried to convince herself that she didn’t want him either. She’d had her chance at marriage, and it had been a miserable failure of her own making. Not only that, but she was avoiding her responsibilities at Ceredys. She couldn’t stop thinking about the people, wondering what they were enduring in her absence.

  What to do, what to do…

  She rested her palms against the stone. Her father’s suggestion, that she wed a man for his army, began to metamorphose. She needed a strong enough warrior, a man with influence enough to subdue John. Sir Ademar had not come into his full inheritance yet, and Ewan did not possess nearly enough to hire the men she needed. The only suitor with enough wealth was Gerald of Beaulais.

  She couldn’t even consider it. Beaulais and John were like brothers in their way of thinking, cold and calculating. And the other suitors had not the funds, nor the strength, to fight against John.

  She needed to hire men of good reputation, men who could be trusted. But it would require a king’s treasure.

  An unexpected smile faltered at her lips. A pity she could not find the legendary treasure of Ceredys. Marie St Leger had spoken of gold and thousands of silver coins, enough to buy a kingdom. She claimed that the ruby she wore about her neck had come from the original treasure before it was buried again, in the midst of a siege.

  Had she not seen the jewel for herself, Honora would have believed it to be a child’s tale. But Marie had kept the ruby until Ranulf died. Then it had disappeared, but her mother would not say where.

  Norse treasure would be enough to hire a band of soldiers. If it could be found…

  Honora shook the idle thoughts away. They were foolish and impractical.

  She reached for the dagger at her side, her palm tracing the rounded pommel. If she truly wanted to help her people, she should wed again, putting aside her own feelings. And still, the thought made her insides twist into knots of worry.

  When she reached their c
hamber, Katherine had already gone to sleep. Honora undressed, and when she stood in her shift, she pulled the heavy wooden bar across the door. The cool spring air chilled her skin, and she burrowed beneath the coverlet, huddling her knees up for warmth.

  Outside, the wind rattled the wooden shutters in a rhythmic thumping noise. Over and over, the sound jarred her consciousness.

  She tried to shut the noise out of her ears, but it continued, battering her senses. Dark memories invaded, despite her efforts to avoid them

  John was here, within these walls now. And though she told herself not to fear him, she retrieved her blade and hid it beneath the mattress. If he dared to invade their chamber, she would be ready.

  It wouldn’t be the first time he’d done so.

  She’d sensed him that night at Ceredys, heard the door quietly open. Her hand had reached for a dagger she’d kept hidden beneath the covers.

  When she felt his cold hand touch her shoulder, she’d sliced the blade against his chest, shoving the bedclothes aside. He’d roared with anger, but she’d forced him down upon the bed, holding the blade to his heart.

  ‘I should kill you,’ she’d whispered. ‘Here and now, for what you’ve done.’

  His breathing quickened, and whether it was out of fear or excitement, she couldn’t be certain.

  ‘Leave the women alone,’ she demanded.

  Like a rutting dog, John had forced many of the young maidens against their will. Their fathers and husbands were enraged at his actions, but the few who had sought revenge had lost a hand or their lives.

  ‘They wanted me,’ he argued. Against her palms, she felt the warmth of his blood, and it was all she could do not to finish this.

  ‘The only thing they want is your death,’ she said, inching the blade towards the hollow of his throat. ‘And were I you, I should be careful of my actions. You might happen upon an accident.’

  ‘Do you dare to threaten me?’

  What she’d hoped was to frighten him. Let him feel the same fear he’d spawned upon the people of Ceredys. ‘Be assured of it. The next woman you touch, the next bag of grain you steal from them, will be your last.’

  Honora touched the ragged ends of her hair. She should have killed him that night. It would have been better for everyone. But she’d foolishly let him go.

  Within hours, she’d been taken prisoner within her own home, locked up in a storage cellar. She’d gone for a day without food or water until the blacksmith had found her. He’d set her free, giving her a bundle containing her possessions.

  ‘The Lady of Ceredys bid me give this to you,’ he said.

  ‘Thank you.’ She took the bundle, her heart heavy. ‘I will find a way to repay you for what you’ve done.’

  The older man had lowered his head. ‘God speed, my lady.’

  As a final farewell, she’d sliced off her heavy braid, leaving it behind. No longer would she be enslaved by a man. Relieved of the burden, she’d donned the armour and helm of a soldier, slipping away at last.

  It had been too long. She didn’t know what had become of the blacksmith, or anyone. The people were suffering under John’s rule, and she’d found no means of helping them. An appeal to the king would do nothing; a man could treat his serfs however he wished, so long as he paid his taxes and offered his fealty.

  There had to be a way to stop him.

  Honora gripped her arms so hard, there would be bruises come the morn. Her skin was freezing, but she let the discomfort pass through her. Steeling herself, Honora put on a brave front. John of Ceredys would not touch her. Nor would any man.

  Chapter Seven

  The chapel was empty, save the soft glow of torches lighting the whitewashed stone walls. After Mass that morning, Ewan had spent the past quarter of an hour in quiet contemplation.

  Honora had returned the wooden chest, and it rested behind the altar, against the back wall. Made of yew, it reminded him of a chest his grandfather Kieran had carved. The surface contained a simple design, of scrolls and slanted lines. He touched the outside band, feeling as though the pattern had a meaning he could not quite grasp.

  He rubbed his eyes, feeling suddenly weary. Something wasn’t right about this thief. For the chest to reappear with nothing amiss, suggested that the man hadn’t intended to steal it.

  When he’d spoken with Honora, she’d claimed that the man had used a sword, that he’d attacked her in the chapel. Possibly two men.

  Likely one had taken the chest, while the other fought her. Anger slid over him at the thought of her coming to harm. She took too many risks, forgetting herself when it came to a fight.

  He reached out and turned the chest over. Sometimes a skilled carver could hide something within a secret opening. But as he studied every inch of the wood, he could see nothing.

  Ewan left the chapel and ventured outside onto the battlements. Rain clouds swept over the skies, and he stopped to look over the castle grounds. For a moment, he studied the defences, contemplating the way his own fortress would appear, once he built it.

  He’d dreamed of this. And he sensed it was so close now, almost within his grasp. His own estate and a wife at his side to help him tend it.

  A hand touched his shoulder, and he whipped around, his blade unsheathed. Honora’s forearm blocked his knife from her throat.

  Shaken, Ewan lowered the blade. ‘My apologies.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to startle you.’

  He offered a wry grin. ‘I’m the youngest of five brothers. Used to be six, when Liam was alive. If I didn’t move quickly, I paid the price.’

  ‘Tormented you, did they?’

  ‘Every day of my life.’

  She ventured a smile, and it warmed him. His attention focused on the curve of her cheek and the brightness of her green eyes. Her veil hid her dark hair completely, and he suspected he was one of only a few who knew about her shorn length. It should have been unattractive and mannish. Instead, the harsh cut enhanced her beauty, emphasising a soft jaw and full lips.

  He shouldn’t be thinking of her in such away. It troubled him, for he’d come here to win the hand of Katherine of Ardennes. And he was spending entirely too much time with Honora.

  ‘What brings you outside in this fine weather?’ he asked. The dark clouds were shifting, a light mist of rain beginning to fall.

  ‘Avoiding John.’ She crossed her arms, as if to ward off an evil spirit.

  He gripped his sword hilt, the metal biting into his scarred palm. ‘What did he do to you, Honora?’ He kept his voice soft, though underneath, he held back the rising apprehension.

  ‘It’s nothing.’

  She refused to look at him, and it blackened his temper, his imagination conjuring up all the reasons why a woman would fear a man.

  ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘Believe whatever you want, MacEgan. My reasons for avoiding John are my own.’ She turned away from him, staring back at the wooden door.

  Her silence only made him suspect the worst. ‘Did he hurt you?’

  She shook her head. ‘Not me, no.’ The rush of colour in her face made her pull her hand back, and she covered her cheeks.

  Then John had hurt someone else. And from the look of it, Honora felt responsible.

  She took another step backwards, and he realised he was inadvertently cornering her. He forced himself to let her go. ‘You asked me to keep him away from you. Do you still want that?’

  Her shoulders lowered. ‘It isn’t fair of me, I know. You cannot stay with me at every moment. I suppose it’s time I faced my fears.’

  But she looked far from eager to do so. She left the battlements, closing the door behind her. He didn’t follow, though he wanted to.

  Honora deserved happiness after her first marriage. And if she decided to wed, Ewan wanted her to choose a man who would care for her. After being fostered together, he knew Honora as well as a sister.

  A shot of guilt pooled inside. His thoughts towards her recently were not of the b
rotherly nature. Especially since he’d felt her body pressed up close to his. The soft sounds she’d uttered in her throat when he’d kissed her, driving him beyond reason, made her dangerous.

  It was lust, that was all. He could curb those feelings easily enough. It was best to put her from his mind, concentrating on the woman whose heart he truly wanted.

  Two more days passed, and Honora hadn’t seen John. She knew better than to believe he would leave her alone. No, he would wait for her to let down her guard, before making his move.

  Her sister felt no such uneasiness. This morning, Katherine’s eyes were bright with excitement.

  ‘He’s taking me out riding,’ she confessed while she dressed, pulling her bliaud over her head.

  ‘Who is?’

  ‘Ewan, of course.’ Katherine raised her arms so her maid could finish helping her dress. ‘You’re not to tell anyone,’ her sister warned. ‘Especially Father. He’s far too protective of me.’

  ‘And with reason.’ Honora didn’t like this idea at all. Her sister was young, too naïve about the ways of men. ‘You shouldn’t go alone.’

  ‘Ewan wants to know me better, so he said. And I—I think I’m going to accept him for a husband, Honora. Don’t you think a bride should have time alone with her betrothed?’

  You’re not betrothed yet, Honora thought. She closed her eyes, counting to three. Of course Katherine would want to be alone with Ewan. But what if MacEgan tried to seduce her sister? What if he touched her in the manner of a lover?

  The way he’d touched her.

  Honora fisted the edges of her own gown, wishing she’d never allowed it. She didn’t want to know what Ewan’s mouth tasted like, what his body felt like.

  And she didn’t want Katherine to know it either. Her sister was far too innocent to be alone with a man. If Ewan dared to lay a finger on Katherine, Honora would cut off his hands and feed them to the dogs.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Honora kept her tone casual, as if she didn’t care. The more she thought about them together, the more she worried about her sister.