Taming Her Irish Warrior

by Michelle Willingham

  Strangely, he found it less of an annoyance. She’d been furious with him for kissing Katherine, and wasn’t that interesting? Like a jealous woman, she’d practically shaken the branches off the tree to gain his notice.

  It should have irritated him. Instead, it intrigued him.

  ‘Did you learn anything while you were visiting the Earl?’ Ewan asked.

  ‘Only that I’m grateful there’s a sea between us.’ Bevan shuddered. ‘Otherwise, they would already be arranging betrothals for the children.’

  ‘I mean about…other matters. Did you hear anything about Honora’s former husband, Ranulf St Leger?’

  Bevan rubbed the stubble of beard upon his cheeks. ‘Now why would I be wanting to know anything about him?’

  Ewan shrugged, trying to behave as though the answer didn’t matter. ‘I would know why Honora loathes the idea of remarrying.’

  ‘Why don’t you ask her that yourself?’

  ‘I have. And she won’t tell me anything.’

  Bevan’s eyes turned contemplative. ‘It bothers you, her former marriage.’ Before he could deny it, his brother continued. ‘Have you asked yourself why you’re asking such a question? Would you rather court her instead of Katherine?’

  ‘No. Honora is too—’ He struggled to find the right words. Too vivid, too passionate.

  ‘Too troubled,’ he finished. ‘And Katherine has dowry lands in Éireann, south of Dubh Linn. Honora’s lands are bound to John St Leger, Ranulf’s son. I want no part of that.’

  ‘Then stop asking about Honora, and concern yourself with Katherine.’

  It was sound advice, and he knew he should obey. Yet, with each passing moment, he wondered why he couldn’t seem to cast her forth from his thoughts.

  ‘You should return home, Bevan,’ Ewan suggested. ‘There’s no reason for you to linger any more.’

  ‘I came to witness your wedding.’ Though his brother’s tone was gruff, Ewan knew that Bevan missed his wife.

  ‘There is no need. The Earl of Longford will act as witness.’ With a pointed look, he added, ‘Genevieve will not be pleased if she gives birth early and you are not with her.’

  ‘The babe will not be here until late summer.’

  ‘And they all come when they are expected, do they?’ Ewan saw his brother’s look of discomfort, for their youngest son, Cavan, had taken them all by surprise. It was only by the grace of God that the child had lived.

  ‘Return home to your wife and the children,’ Ewan urged. ‘I will be well enough. And I’ll bring my bride to meet our family, once we are wed.’

  Though Bevan appeared uneasy about it, he did not argue. ‘Don’t linger here, then. We’ll expect you home by Midsummer’s Eve.’

  The summer feast was one Ewan particularly enjoyed, and he nodded in agreement. ‘I will be there.’

  ‘Good. In the meantime, I’ll speak to the Baron and find out what I can about a betrothal for you.’ Bevan reached out and gripped his hand.

  Ewan returned the squeeze and met his brother’s gaze. ‘I’m going to win the land, Bevan.’

  ‘I do not doubt it. But I’m not certain that a sweet, fair lady is quite what you want.’

  His brother’s words resonated in his mind. Why would he want anything less? Katherine was perfect for him.

  ‘Have a safe journey.’

  His older brother gripped him in an embrace, slapping him upon the shoulders. ‘I’ll send Connor back in my place. He’ll escort you home.’

  ‘I’d rather spend the journey alone with my bride.’

  Bevan’s scarred face cracked a smile. ‘I can understand that. But don’t do anything foolish. Like wed the wrong woman.’

  As if there were any chance of that. Honora and he could not be any more ill-suited.

  After his brother departed, Ewan reached for his scabbard and sword. A hard fight was what he needed now, a chance to push himself beyond the limits.

  Perhaps then he could get Honora out of his mind.

  John tossed her a shield, and Honora caught it, raising the wood to meet his first blow. He wasted no time in attacking, hammering blows against her blade that numbed her shoulders.

  But she continued her defence, remaining steady on her feet.

  ‘Not much of a fighter, are you, lad?’ John moved in closer, forcing her to raise her shield to block his strike.

  He was toying with her, making it difficult to judge his skills. He could defeat her if she didn’t concentrate.

  Honora watched carefully for an opening, then used her full strength to arc the blade towards his ribs. At the last moment, John used his shield to deflect the slice, knocking her arm backwards at the force.

  She’d never fought him directly. Her earlier victory against him, that night when she’d used her knife, had been with the advantage of surprise. His strength and cunning undermined her confidence, and she was starting to question the wisdom of this match.

  He continued to best her, forcing her to retreat. Then her blade slipped free, and she nicked his arm, drawing blood.

  John roared with anger, charging at her. Honora didn’t think, couldn’t move. At the last possible moment, she raised her wooden shield, stunned when John knocked it aside. Without it, she had only her blade to block his attack now.

  The others moved in, watching the sparring match. Sir Ademar, along with Beaulais, stood among them.

  Honora struggled to keep her sword upright to defend herself, knowing that she’d chosen poorly for her opponent. John didn’t fight fair, and the flat of his blade caught her across the chest.

  The breath knocked out of her lungs as she hit the ground, back first. Honora raised her arm over her face, unable to sit up from the heavy armour. Then another male voice spoke.

  ‘You’ve won the match, Ceredys. Let the lad go and tend his humiliation in private.’

  It was Ewan. Oh, heaven, she prayed he wouldn’t recognise her. Not after she’d been defeated so soundly.

  Honora rolled sideways, struggling to sit up. The chainmail byrnie made it nearly impossible. Her back ached, her chest burned, but if she hadn’t worn the armour, no doubt she would be dead.

  Slowly, she rose to her feet, her head hanging down. It was the worst fight she’d ever endured. What had happened to her courage, her fighting skills? Everything had dissolved when she’d faced John’s blade.

  The others let her go, but she heard footsteps following behind. With a glance over her shoulders, she saw it was Ewan. Now what did he want?

  Let him go away, she prayed. She needed to rid herself of this armour and tend to her wounds in private.

  When she entered the donjon, he caught up to her. His voice remained just above a whisper. ‘I know what you’re doing, Honora. And I want to talk with you. Now.’

  He knew. How? She’d revealed none of her hair, none of her female form. Nothing should have given her away.

  She sent him an infuriated look. Keeping her voice low-pitched, she demanded, ‘And just what am I doing?’

  ‘You’d best be in my chamber within the next two minutes,’ he ground out in a voice just above a whisper, ‘or I’ll be having a few words with your father.’

  ‘This armour…’ she protested.

  ‘Get rid of it, then,’ he acceded. ‘But make no mistake, be there, or I will drag you inside.’

  She strode up the stairs, her thighs burning with exertion by the time she reached the chamber she shared with Katherine. Opening the door slightly, she cursed inwardly when she saw her sister sitting there.

  Jesu. She couldn’t enter, not without revealing herself. Silently, she closed the door and retraced her steps back to Ewan’s chamber. Knocking slightly, she nearly fell forwards when the door jerked open.

  Ewan closed the door behind her, barring it. Then he reached up and removed the helm and coif from her head. ‘I thought you were going to change back into your gown.’

  ‘Katherine was inside our chamber,’ she admitted. ‘I couldn’t let her see.�
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  Ewan’s face tightened, his anger exploding. ‘And yet you paraded among the men as though you were one of them? Why? Why would you seek out danger in that way?’

  ‘I wanted to train. I’m losing my skills, and I need to—’

  ‘You’ve no need to wield a sword.’ He helped her lift away the chainmail byrnie, setting the armour shirt aside. ‘Damn it, Ceredys could have hurt you.’

  He did, she wanted to say, but her stubborn tongue fell silent.

  Clad in only the tunic, braies and chausses, Honora sat down. She rested her elbows upon her knees, leaning forward to hide herself. The tunic stretched across her breasts, and she grew uncomfortably aware of the wound she’d suffered from John’s blade. Though the mail had protected her from being cut, the armour had bruised her skin. Her body ached, and her arms were exhausted. She longed to sink into a hot bath, letting the water soothe her tired muscles.

  ‘You’re in pain. Let me see.’ He didn’t ask permission, but moved closer, kneeling before her. He loosened the ties of the tunic, and she didn’t stop him. Baring the flesh above her breasts, he revealed the reddened skin.

  His fingertips grazed the surface, gently examining it. ‘You shouldn’t have fought him.’

  ‘I know that now.’ But she had foolishly believed herself capable of defeating John. She’d wanted revenge for all that he’d done. And she’d failed.

  Hot tears sprang to her eyes, but she blinked them away. Embarrassed at her loss, she didn’t know what else to say.

  The touch of Ewan’s hands loosened her hold upon her thoughts. His fingers rested upon her shoulders, the gentle warmth inviting. Without thinking, she put her hands upon his.

  She wanted him to kiss her again. Shame filled her, for that could never be.

  To cover her thoughts, she traced the scars on his palms. ‘These have healed well.’ When he’d first come to the Longford estate to be fostered, she’d seen the angry red slashes, the result of torture he’d endured.

  ‘Did it hurt, when they cut you?’ she asked softly.

  ‘It hurt worse, knowing I had betrayed my brother. If I hadn’t confessed where they were hiding, Marstowe wouldn’t have found them.’

  ‘But Bevan forgave you.’

  Ewan nodded. He pulled his hands away, resting them upon her waist. ‘It took longer to forgive myself.’

  She needed to pull away from him, but his hands trapped her in place. What was he doing? Why was he remaining so close to her?

  Swallowing hard, she said, ‘I am sorry for following you and Katherine. It was wrong of me.’

  He studied her, his stare penetrating. Those heated green eyes captured her own, watching her with open desire. ‘Why did you?’

  ‘I told you, I wanted to protect her.’

  ‘From kissing a man like me.’

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered.

  His hands slid under the folds of the tunic, pressing back the fabric to study her skin, reddened by the armour. The unexpected sensation of his hands upon her sent a spiral of heat up her spine.

  ‘Ewan, don’t.’ It was a lover’s touch, not the touch of a man inspecting a wound.

  ‘You should never have challenged him,’ Ewan insisted. ‘You aren’t strong enough to defeat him.’

  Her pride flared up. ‘My skills are good enough. Strength doesn’t matter.’

  ‘It does. And you should have known your limitations.’

  ‘I can best any man among them, MacEgan. Including you.’ She tried to push his hand away, but he held her shoulders, granting no reprieve. In a silent war, she fought against his unyielding strength.

  ‘You won’t best me, Honora. Not ever.’

  His voice was deep with the undertones of sexual frustration. When she looked into his eyes, she saw that their battle had shifted into something else. He wanted her. And he didn’t like it at all.

  He relaxed his hold, allowing her the chance to escape. But Honora didn’t move. She wasn’t sure she could, for right now, her skin was covered in goose flesh, her blood turning hot. Without thinking, she rested her palms upon his tunic, trying to still her racing heart.

  ‘You need to leave, Honora.’ Even as he spoke, his hands cupped her shorn hair, sliding through the softness. He massaged her temples, and Honora closed her eyes, drinking in his touch.

  ‘Why do you make me feel like this?’ she whispered. ‘It was never this way with Ranulf.’

  She’d been misused by her husband. Ewan was sure of it. He wanted to tell her that no man should ever mistreat his wife, that it wasn’t her fault. He wanted her to know how desirable she was, that any man would want her.

  The way he wanted her.

  Her mouth, sensual and full, was slightly open. And he could no longer deny himself this craving for her. His mouth descended upon hers, for he needed to know if the last time had been accidental lust.

  It wasn’t.

  Quite simply, Honora’s kiss took him apart. Though he’d never understand what it was about her that enslaved him, he wasn’t about to release her sweet mouth. Not yet. His tongue slid inside, in the imitation of what he wanted to do to her.

  No brotherly thoughts, this time. He wanted to lift her atop the bed and drive himself deep inside her body until she cried out in ecstasy. His manhood ached, its hardness straining against his trews. He wanted her wet, to drive her into the same frenzy he felt.

  The sounds she made while he kissed her, the throaty moans, aroused him to the point of pain. He lifted her leg around his hip, lowering her to the floor.

  She kissed him back, as lost as he was. He ran his mouth down the softness of her throat while his hands caressed her back. Loosening the tunic even more, he revealed the swollen redness above her breasts, kissing the spot with his mouth.

  He brought his hands up her smooth stomach, resting his palms to cup her bare breasts. He let the heavy weight of them sink into his palms, and he wanted his mouth on her tight nipples.

  Damn her for taking such chances with her life. Seeing her struck down had driven him past the brink. The idea of any man hurting her, whether intentional or not, kindled an undeniable fury.

  With his thumbs, he grazed the erect nipples, growling when he heard her sharp intake of breath. He lifted her up to straddle him, sliding his hard erection between her thighs. She was shaking, as though caught between fear and need.

  Through the men’s braies she wore, Ewan cupped her bottom, kneading the tight flesh as he lifted her against his shaft. Críost, he wanted to take her right then. He wanted to rip the fabric apart, plunging his body inside hers.

  Honora clasped his head between her palms, pleading, ‘Ewan, no.’ In a broken voice, she whispered, ‘This is wrong.’

  His brain was clouded, unable to gather a clear thought. Honora pushed away from him, and he released her immediately.

  God above, what had he done? He’d never meant to lay a hand upon her, much less allow things to go this far. He released her immediately, sitting back with his knees drawn up. ‘You’re right. I’m sorry.’ Resting his forehead on his palm, he now understood his brother’s warning.

  He’d let himself fall prey to her spell, seduced by this unexpected fire between them. He didn’t like himself at all, nor what he’d done.

  ‘It won’t happen again,’ he swore.

  Honora righted her clothing, but he saw her trembling fingers. She gripped the bedpost until her knuckles whitened. ‘Do not speak of this to Katherine. Promise me.’

  He gave a curt nod. If Katherine learned of it, his courtship chances were over.

  ‘You’d better go,’ he said.

  She nodded, looking miserable. After she’d fled the chamber, Ewan expelled a curse.

  Desire meant nothing. Though he might have lost his head, acting upon lust instead of logic, he knew he could never wed Honora. Not only would they argue with each other from dusk until dawn, but she lacked the land he needed.

  She would only control her portion of Ceredys during her lifetime. Af
terwards, it reverted back to John and his heirs. Any children she bore would never see an acre of the land.

  No, it was better for Honora to wed a man with his own holdings, his own estate. A man like Sir Ademar of Dolwyth, who stood to inherit his own fortune.

  Ewan tried to ignore the surge of rage that blackened his mood at the thought of another man touching Honora. She wasn’t his, and never would be.

  It was better for both of them that way.

  Chapter Nine

  When she entered their shared bedchamber, Katherine kept her back turned, without acknowledging Honora’s greeting. Her sister was furious, and rightfully so.

  And though Katherine knew nothing about what had just happened, Honora felt as though her sins were emblazoned across her face.

  Her guilt and self-loathing trebled, making it difficult to find the right words. There was nothing she could do except apologise and vow to herself that she’d not succumb to temptation again.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Honora began. ‘I didn’t mean to pry earlier, only to watch over you.’

  Katherine stiffened, and when at last she turned around, she frowned. ‘Why are you wearing a man’s clothing?’ Her tone was so startled, it was as if Honora had walked naked into their chamber.

  ‘My—other clothes were soiled,’ Honora lied.

  Though her sister didn’t appear to fully believe her, Katherine reached for a fresh gown from Honora’s trunk. Her movements were stiff, as though she were fulfilling an obligation. ‘Here.’

  Honora took the garment but did not put it on yet. ‘You’re my only sister,’ she said, continuing the apology. And regardless of what had happened with Ewan, she’d allow nothing to threaten their bond. ‘I don’t want anything to happen to you.’

  ‘I am not fourteen years old any more,’ Katherine argued. ‘I don’t need a keeper.’

  ‘You’re right,’ Honora admitted. ‘But it’s hard to let go of old habits.’ With a heavy sigh, she added, ‘I behaved badly.’

  ‘Yes, you did,’ her sister agreed. ‘You had no right to follow us.’