Taming Her Irish Warrior

by Michelle Willingham

‘You’re wrong,’ he said smoothly. ‘As the heir, I must approve any man you bring into the family. These were my father’s lands, after all.’

  ‘And you don’t intend to approve any of the suitors,’ she predicted. ‘Do you?’

  His thin smile was the only answer she needed. She turned to leave, but John stepped in front of her, nearly causing her to stumble.

  ‘That isn’t all, Lady Honora. There is still the matter of the ruby you stole,’ he said. ‘I know Marie St Leger gave it to you before you left.’

  ‘She gave me nothing. How could she, when I escaped your capture?’ She glanced backwards at the door.

  ‘She set you free, didn’t she? Not without aid, but I know she was responsible. And the jewel isn’t at Ceredys any more.’ He crossed behind her, blocking her escape. ‘You know the punishment for theft.’ He reached out and took hold of her wrist. ‘I would hate for you to lose this hand.’ His thumb caressed her pulse point, and she ripped it away.

  ‘Don’t threaten me.’

  He ignored her. ‘Return the ruby, and I’ll say nothing to your father about this.’ He pointed to the cut upon his face.

  ‘How can I return something I do not have?’

  John reached out and seized her wounded wrist. A hot pain shot through her, and she bit her lip against the searing agony. ‘I’ve had enough of your defiance.’

  Honora tried to force the pain away, using Ewan’s technique to bring John down. But she couldn’t centre her weight upon his, and her efforts met with no response.

  ‘It was you,’ she accused. ‘You sent one of your men to steal from the chapel and search my belongings. You were looking for Marie’s ruby, weren’t you?’

  John leaned in, staring into her eyes. He didn’t deny it. ‘I’m going to find it, Honora.’

  Her eyes blurred with the torment of her wrist. Saints, help her, she had to break free of him. More footsteps sounded from behind her. She heard a male growl, and then she blinked as Ewan appeared in the doorway.

  When he saw them, he attacked John with no warning. John released her, and Honora sank to the stone floor, cradling her wrist. She heard the crunch of fists against flesh, both men grappling with one another. When she scrambled towards the open door, she caught a glimpse of Ewan’s face.

  His expression was deadly. ‘I’m going to kill him for touching you.’

  Chapter Twelve

  Honora sat back, her feet tucked beneath her skirts. Dear God, she’d never seen Ewan like this. Enraged, as though he’d lost control of his temper.

  Blood poured from John’s nose, and Ewan tripped him, knocking his head against the stone. John roared, reaching with his fingers to gouge Ewan’s eyes.

  Horrified, Honora stood up, searching for something to use as a weapon. Anything to end this. But save the wooden chest and candles, there was nothing.

  John rolled over, his hand reaching for the sword at his belt. Honora stepped on it, and John sent her sprawling.

  At that, Ewan became a man possessed. His fist snapped John’s head backwards, and he closed both hands around the man’s neck.

  Oh, Jesu. He truly was going to kill John. Though she wanted to see the Baron gone, Ewan could face execution if he murdered a nobleman. The king would not stand for it.

  ‘Ewan, don’t!’ Her voice seemed to break through the haze of battle rage, and Ewan loosened his grip on John’s throat.

  His fist ploughed into John’s rib cage, and Honora leapt to her feet, racing to Ewan’s side. Dodging another fist, she reached out to stop him. ‘He’s not worth it,’ she pleaded. ‘You’ve done enough.’

  John lay unconscious, blood pooling into his tunic.

  Ewan was out of breath, his face burning with fury. His tunic hung open; beneath it, his chest gleamed with sweat. Tight muscles were tense as he waited for John to get up.

  ‘We’re going to go now,’ she murmured, taking him by the hand.

  Though she was grateful he’d stepped in, she now worried that he shouldn’t have. Her heart pounded at the sight of John’s body. For the first time, she prayed the Baron would live.

  Leading Ewan away, she alerted the guards and ordered them to send the healer to the chapel. In the meantime, she wanted to talk to Ewan, to soothe his temper. She sensed that his anger was not only directed at John.

  She brought him outside, into the small garden inside the inner bailey. The darkness was only broken up by a few torches, the stark flames bright against the night sky.

  ‘Thank you for coming to my aid,’ she said gently. Touching his shoulder, she was conscious of his strength. ‘But you didn’t need to beat him that soundly.’

  Ewan raked a hand through his hair, and as he steadied himself, his demeanour grew colder. ‘I wasn’t going to let him escape justice this time.’

  ‘He thought I had his grandmother’s ruby,’ she explained. ‘But I don’t. It was a misunderstanding.’

  ‘That isn’t all John wanted.’ His hand cradled her face, his thumb brushing her temple. ‘I’ve seen him watching you.’

  Honora closed her eyes, drinking in the sensation of his hands. God in heaven help her, she wanted so badly to be held by him, to be comforted in his arms.

  ‘Why did you announce a betrothal?’ he asked, his hand falling away.

  She pulled away from him, moving towards the stone wall surrounding the garden. The night air was warm, and she let her cloak fall open to cool her skin. ‘Katherine is the woman you want. And I thought it would…make it easier.’

  ‘Easier to do what?’

  She couldn’t find the right words, for she didn’t know what she was feeling. All she knew was that she wanted Ewan to be happy. And it was the best way to let him go.

  He forced her to look at him, his hand resting on her nape. ‘I can’t wed your sister, Honora. Not any more.’

  She didn’t speak, too afraid of what she might say. She was as guilty as he for what she’d done to Katherine. She sat down on the grass, holding her bruised wrist, feeling as though her heart were just as battered.

  Ewan sat beside her, unfastening her cloak until it lay upon the ground. Wearing only her shift, she drew her knees up.

  He rested his hands on either side of her, leaning down. ‘Do you want me to take you back to your chamber?’

  All she had to do was say yes. A single word, and he wouldn’t touch her at all. But the very thought of leaving him was unbearable.

  She reached up to his shoulder, sliding her hand beneath his tunic. ‘Don’t go.’

  Ewan lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her gently, softly. She grew pliant in his arms, the warmth melting over her like heat against ice. The touch of his kiss healed the buried hurts and fears.

  ‘Don’t wed Ademar,’ he commanded, before his mouth came down upon hers again. ‘Let no other man touch you.’

  This time, he kissed her with a savage hunger, and she was overwhelmed by the forbidden feelings coursing through her.

  She wanted to forget the bad memories, of a husband who didn’t want her. Of the sister she was betraying.

  For now, there was only Ewan, and this moment together. In the darkness, no one would see them. The temptation to surrender was heady, impossible to resist.

  He laid her down upon the soft grass, his mouth moving down the column of her throat. She reached beneath his tunic with her uninjured hand to touch the hot, male skin.

  The answering growl told her that Ewan liked her touch. She grew bolder, exploring his ribs, moving across his heartbeat. Never had she been given the chance to touch a man, to know the hard planes of his body.

  Ewan lifted her bruised wrist, tenderly kissing the skin. His mouth moved over it, as if trying to heal it with his touch. Her body arched closer, her womanhood aching with need for him. His hand pushed up the hem of her shift, baring her legs until he lifted the fabric to her waist.

  She was naked now, and the hush of the night air against her skin was both terrifying and arousing. She shifted her legs, moaning whe
n his hand slid between her thighs. It shocked her to realise that she’d grown wet. What was happening to her?

  The dizzying feelings built up inside, making her burn for something she couldn’t understand. He teased the cleft, dipping his fingers inside her warmth. With his fingertips, he nudged at the swollen nub.

  She grasped his hair, both fighting the erotic sensations and needing more. Never had she been touched like this. Never had she felt such a need, a raw craving to be filled.

  Jesu, this was wrong. She needed to push him away, to gather her wayward thoughts.

  But then Ewan lowered her gown to her waist, taking her breast into his mouth. She cried out, unable to break free of the mindless need for him. And when he continued to caress her folds, teasing and tempting the part of her that ached for him, she couldn’t stop shaking.

  ‘It would be like this, if I became your lover,’ he said huskily. ‘Every single night. I’d touch you here.’ His hand stroked her sensitive flesh, finding a torturous rhythm. Her hands slid over his spine, guiding him closer until she felt his hot length resting between her legs. He was still clothed, but she yearned to remove the barrier between them.

  ‘I’d taste your skin. Like this.’ His mouth moved across the healing welts above her breasts. Lower, still, until he kissed each nipple. His tongue darted over the hardened tips, his warm breath sending shivers through her.

  ‘I’d fill your body with mine. Like this.’

  He slid two fingers inside her, and she responded with another surge of wetness. He mimicked the sensation of lovemaking, tantalising her with the promise of more.

  Her body ached, reaching for something she couldn’t explain. But as he moved his fingers, she arched higher, straining against him.

  More. She needed him to intensify the pace, to ease the torment. But instead, he slowed down, his thumb spiralling against her while his fingers entered and retreated.

  ‘Ewan,’ she pleaded, grasping his head. Her muscles tightened, straining hard. She didn’t understand what was happening to her, the raw sensations that were tearing her asunder.

  And then, without warning, his mouth ground on top of hers, his hand rubbing her so hard she came apart, a blinding frenzy of tremors filling her up inside.

  Oh, God above. She could hardly move, her body shivering with unfamiliar aftershocks.

  Honora gripped him hard around the neck, wanting so badly for him to claim her. His eyes darkened with passion, and he took her hand and brought it to his trews.

  The hard thickness of him reminded her of what would happen next. If she let him continue, he would thrust inside her. Like before, she would have to endure the pain, waiting for him to finish. He would pound against her while she lay still, and when it was over, he would leave.

  All of her desire seemed to shrivel up and die.

  Her heartbeat trebled, and she found herself unable to move or speak. This…all of it was never meant to happen. She’d let him get too close, forgetting herself in his arms. The brutality of her husband came back, rushing over her until she couldn’t help the tears. ‘I need you to stop.’

  Ewan misunderstood and sat up, pulling her into his arms. ‘Hush, a stór. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.’

  She clung to him, unable to close off the memories. ‘I can’t. I never should have come here with you.’

  He laced his fingers with hers. ‘I would die before hurting you, a ghrá.’

  ‘I have to go.’ She straightened her clothing and stood. Without looking back, she fled to her chamber.

  Ewan followed Honora silently. This time he wanted to be sure that no one bothered her.

  He kept far enough away that she wouldn’t see him, but close enough to shadow her. He didn’t regret what he’d done to John of Ceredys. Not at all. He only wished he’d arrived sooner.

  Easily, he could have killed the man. Not only for seeing the bastard gripping her wrist, but for the other times John had hurt her. The primal urge to protect Honora drove out all sense of reason.

  It was only at her insistence that he’d stopped. And no doubt there would be consequences. He didn’t care. Honora’s father might be angry, but he wouldn’t condone any threats toward his daughter.

  Were it not so late, Ewan would confront Ardennes now. The Baron needed to understand the danger Honora faced from Ceredys and ensure that she never returned. It meant giving up her third of the land, but there was no alternative.

  As Honora continued up the winding stairs, he watched until she disappeared from view behind her chamber door. Ewan waited several moments, to be sure she was safe.

  He stood at the bottom of the stairs for some time, needing a distraction. Anything to take his mind off the restlessness filling up inside, along with the frustration Honora had caused.

  He wandered down to the kitchens and coaxed a sleepy-eyed serving wench into bringing him an assortment of bread, cheese and leftover beef from the previous meal, along with a pot of ale. He found a corner in the hall amid the sleeping soldiers and suitors, and dug into the food. Though it satisfied his physical hunger, it didn’t assuage his discontent.

  He’d gone too far this night. It hadn’t been intentional, but he’d been caught up with need for Honora. His body craved hers even now, chafing with an unfulfilled aching. He’d frightened her without meaning to, but she’d driven him past reason.

  He’d listened to his carnal desires instead of his head, and now he’d lost everything. The land, and likely his friendship with Honora. With the way he’d behaved this night, it was no wonder she’d fled him.

  And now he would have to leave Ardennes. There was no reason to remain here, especially not after he’d led Honora’s sister astray. No longer could he take Katherine as his wife. And the idea of wedding a different heiress soured his mood.

  Better to build his kingdom on his own, without a marriage dowry to secure the lands. He’d have to hire out his sword, the way Bevan and Connor had, to earn the funds. It would take years, however.

  A hollow feeling spread throughout his body, coupled with the sense of loss. He didn’t want to leave Honora behind, but what other choice was there? He had nothing in Erin to offer her. Best for her to remain under her father’s protection.

  He stood, exhaustion suddenly coming down upon him. It was only a few hours before dawn, but he doubted if he’d find any sleep this night. Footsteps resounded in the stillness, and a shadow crossed over him.

  When he looked up, he stared into the face of Nicholas de Montford. Two soldiers stood at his side, dressed in chainmail armour and conical helms.

  ‘Take him,’ the Baron ordered.

  Honora didn’t see Ewan all morning. With each hour that passed, her anxiety doubled. The entire castle was buzzing about John of Ceredys. According to the healer, Ewan had broken his nose and John’s face was badly bruised. Anyone who looked upon him would know what Ewan had done.

  ‘Lady Honora,’ a voice interrupted. ‘May I speak with…with you?’

  It was Sir Ademar. The knight offered a tentative smile, a man behaving as if he could hardly believe she’d agreed to wed him. Oh, Jesu. She’d completely forgotten about her impulsive offer.

  ‘Of course,’ she responded.

  Ademar bent down to atone for his exceptional height. Dark blue eyes warmed to look at her, but she saw the struggle as he tried to speak clearly. ‘You s-surprised me last eventide when you…chose me.’ He offered her his arm, and she took it, her mood plummeting even further.

  ‘I should have spoken to you first,’ she admitted.

  It wasn’t fair. He didn’t deserve to be used like this. She couldn’t go through with a deception like this, not when there were alternatives.

  Honora took him by the hand and led him to a quieter part of the inner bailey. ‘Sir Ademar, forgive me. I haven’t been honest with you.’

  His handsome face stiffened, as if he knew what she was about to say. She took a deep breath. As if that would make it any easier. As if she could s
omehow go back and undo the mistakes she’d made.

  His expression grew tighter. ‘You don’t intend…to wed me, do you?’

  She squeezed his palm. ‘You are a fine man. And if I were to wed again, you would make an excellent husband.’ Lowering her voice even more, she admitted, ‘It was my father’s wish that I remarry, not mine. He swore he would not allow Katherine to choose a husband until I agreed to wed.’

  His cheeks reddened, and there was no denying the anger when he pulled his hand away from hers. ‘And you…thought to use me.’

  Honora nodded slowly, feeling like the most terrible woman in the world. ‘I only wanted my sister’s happiness. Not to embarrass you.’

  He pulled his hand away, a flash of irritation in his eyes. ‘Were you…planning to refuse me, before…the priest?’

  ‘I wasn’t going to let it go that far.’

  ‘And if your father h-had asked us…to speak vows first…b-before your sister? Would you have wed me then?’ No longer did the Norman knight appear quite so obliging. Instead, his mouth hardened, his eyes angry. She remembered that, despite his awkwardness, he was an excellent fighter.

  She’d violated his sense of honour, simply by taking this course. Meeting his gaze directly, she apologised. ‘It was wrong of me to consider it. I will speak to my father.’

  ‘He is with MacEgan. There will be…justice after what he d-did to Ceredys.’

  ‘Justice?’ What was her father planning to do to Ewan? Nicholas wasn’t known for leniency, and without her there to defend him, he would believe Ewan had attacked John without cause.

  The ground on which she’d been standing seemed to crumble. ‘I need to speak with my father.’

  Now. Before Nicholas did something unthinkable.

  Sir Ademar caught her arm. ‘Why?’

  She almost forced his hand away, but stopped herself. ‘He did nothing but defend me. I don’t want to see him punished for no reason.’

  Ademar softened his grip. Knowing eyes stared into hers, as though he suspected the secret truth. Without questioning her further, he let her go.