‘You couldn’t accept me fighting openly, could you?’
Ewan thought about lying to her, of saying what she wanted to hear. But it wasn’t about her abilities—it was about wanting to protect her. It went against every instinct he had, to let her fight.
Slowly, he shook his head. ‘It isn’t that I don’t believe you can fight. You’ve proven that before. But I’d never allow another man to hurt you. I couldn’t stand back and watch.’
Though he understood her desire to cast off the façade of helplessness, neither could he go through his own life waiting for the moment when someone would strike her down. For warriors tempted fate at every turn.
She pulled out the broken pieces of her dagger and set them in his hands. ‘If I can’t fight, this is all I am. I have no value, no use at all.’
He took the pieces and returned them to the girdle at her waist. Then he set her hand upon the sword hilt at her side. ‘You can fight, Honora. But not alone.’
He lowered his mouth to her neck in a soft kiss. He felt the wetness of her silent tears.
‘I’m going to Ceredys in a few days,’ she said. ‘Your brother Patrick offered to let me talk to some of his soldiers.’
‘No.’ His arms tightened around her. ‘Putting yourself in John’s path is foolishness. It’s a battle you can’t win.’
She coloured at the reminder. ‘I’d rather fight him and lose, than remain here like a coward.’
‘Don’t you understand?’ Ewan wanted to shake some sense into her. ‘He desires you. He will force himself upon you if you go near him again.’
Her face turned furious. ‘And what do you think he’s been doing to the women of Ceredys? He made me watch while he took them, one after the other. Because I refused him.’
Her rage ignited, and she pulled free of his embrace, rising to her feet. ‘With every day I’m here, they continue to suffer. I can’t stand back and let it continue.’
There would be no dissuading her. He could see the futility of it. But he’d not let her go alone. He would follow her and ensure that she was safe, regardless of her arguments.
Honora let out a shuddering sigh. ‘It was my fault he violated them. Mine, because I would not endure his advances. I threatened his life if he touched me.’
‘It isn’t your fault at all,’ he argued. ‘You aren’t accountable for what he did.’
‘I still blame myself.’
There was nothing he could say to ease her guilt, but he pulled her back into his arms, caressing her cheek with his knuckles. Without thinking, he touched his mouth to hers in a light kiss.
A mistake.
Her mouth met his with hunger and fire, and he held her tightly, showing her with his body and his kiss how much he desired her. The fierce possessiveness, the need to keep her safe, drowned out all reason.
Honora broke free and took a step back, as if she needed the physical distance. Her breathing was rushed, her arms wrapped tightly around her. ‘I can’t lie with you tonight, Ewan. I am sorry.’
She was widening the distance, separating herself in preparation for the forthcoming fight. With a chilling clarity, he realised what this was about. She didn’t expect to come back alive. She was expecting to die in this battle, giving up her life for her people.
‘You’re not going to face John alone, Honora.’ He took her hand, walking back with her towards the castle.
‘Of course not,’ she argued. ‘I’m hiring men of your tribe. With the silver I won from the fight with Ó Phelan.’
‘I’ll be among them,’ he said quietly. He didn’t care how angry she was. This was about her life, her safety. And he’d not remain at home.
‘I don’t need you stepping in as though I can’t protect myself.’ She pulled her hand away, anger punctuating her words.
‘Oh, I’ve no doubt that you are quite capable.’ He reached out and touched her chin with his finger. ‘But I would give up my own life, before I’d let John harm you.’
Honora didn’t speak a word, her eyes filled with defensive fury. She mistakenly believed that he lacked faith in her skills.
‘We aren’t finished yet, Honora,’ he murmured. ‘Not at all.’
Chapter Twenty
The silver was not enough. Honora had suspected as much, but she’d managed to hire two men. She had selected a younger fighter, a man named Bres, whom she’d seen in the competitions earlier. He would be hungry to prove himself. After Bres, she’d chosen Conand, a man who was half-Norse and had a great deal of experience fighting against the Normans. King Patrick had also granted her the knight, Sir Anselm, who would accompany them to England.
An army of three. Dear saints, she needed a miracle.
‘Farewell,’ Genevieve said, kissing her cheek. ‘If you happen to see my father, give him my love.’
Though she was unsure of how things would transpire at Ceredys, Honora managed a smile. ‘When all of this is over, perhaps I will visit him.’
Queen Isabel walked over to join them. She held out a wrapped bundle to Honora. ‘I had your gown repaired. But you are welcome to keep the léine and overdress I gave you.’
Honora thanked her, and the Queen held her hands a moment longer. With a serious expression, she noted, ‘You don’t have enough men for this battle.’
‘No,’ Honora admitted. ‘But the men of Ceredys will help us.’ Especially those seeking vengeance on behalf of their wives and daughters, she thought darkly.
‘You have my prayers,’ Isabel offered. ‘And I bid you a safe journey.’
‘Will you grant me your prayers as well, Isabel?’ a male voice asked from behind them.
Honora turned and was struck to see Ewan wearing a full suit of chainmail armour. His dark blond hair hung down below a metal helm, and a sword was sheathed at his waist.
Oh, Jesu. Ewan had really meant it when he’d said he was coming with her. She didn’t want this, didn’t want him commanding the attack. She’d warned him before that this was her battle to face.
Dressed like a Norman fighter, he was every inch the warrior. Honora’s mouth went dry, just to look at him. Powerful and dominant, Ewan held the confidence of a man who knew he would win.
‘You will always have my prayers, Ewan.’ The Queen stood on tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. He bid farewell to his brothers and their wives before striding towards the coastline.
Before she could voice a protest, Ewan spoke rapidly in Irish to his kinsmen, giving orders. They nodded in agreement, walking along the shore where the boat was waiting. The vessel was larger than the one they had arrived on, and it enabled them to take horses. Each man had his own mount, and Honora had surrendered the last of her silver for her own mare.
Bres was helping the horses on board the boat, leading them through the water and onto an elevated ramp. Ewan had reached the water’s edge and was following the path of the horses.
Honora hurried faster until she caught up. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’
His eyes gleamed. ‘You already know the answer to that, Honora. As I’ve said, you’ll be getting another fighter.’ He removed his helm and stepped into the boat, reaching for her waist to help her inside.
‘And one more,’ came a different voice, speaking her language. Honora glanced over her shoulder and saw a man with a terrifying appearance. His head was shaved, his face devoid of any hair. Cold grey eyes stared into hers.
Ewan stood, his face transfixed with shock. ‘Trahern. My God, when did you arrive? What’s happened to you?’
The man was so large, Honora had to lean her head back to see his face. Built like a giant, his excessive height would intimidate anyone.
‘I arrived last night. Patrick told me you needed fighters.’ His steel eyes bored into her own, and Honora forced herself to stare back. She would not let him intimidate her.
When she got a closer look at the man, her wariness deepened. This was a man who didn’t care if he lived or died. Perhaps he was seeking death, from the look of it.<
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‘This is my older brother Trahern,’ Ewan introduced, clasping his brother’s hand in greeting.
Honora gave a nod. ‘I have no more silver,’ she managed. ‘I’m afraid I cannot pay another fighter.’
‘Like Ewan, my services require no coin.’ He barked out an order in Irish to the men who were moving the ramp away from the vessel. ‘I fight of my own will.’
The giant sat down, fixing his gaze upon the sea. Not towards his family, nor his kinsmen.
Ewan lifted his hand in farewell as they set their course for England. But not once did Trahern look back. Only when Erin was far in the distance, did he shift his attention to the occupants of the boat.
‘Did you find her?’ Ewan asked. ‘The woman you sought?’
Anguish flashed over the man’s face, and Trahern shook his head. ‘She’s dead.’
Honora wondered if the woman was someone he’d loved. But Trahern offered no further explanations. It was clear, he had no desire to talk about it.
When she met Ewan’s gaze, she understood his unspoken message. He was here to protect her, whether she wanted his help or not.
It hadn’t resonated with her earlier, the realisation that Ewan was not going to let her go. Aye, she’d been angry, feeling that he didn’t trust her abilities.
But that wasn’t why he was here.
It struck her that she’d have done the same. If he were about to face an enemy in a battle he might not win, she would be at his side. Her throat closed up, her gaze drifting downwards.
She would be as lost as Trahern if anything happened to Ewan MacEgan. For she was falling in love with him.
They ate a light meal that night, of bread, roasted mutton and crisp spring peas. Trahern didn’t speak, though Ewan attempted to coax his brother into conversation.
Before the evening light faded, Honora decided to seek Ewan’s help with the parchment. She reached into a fold of her overdress and withdrew the broken dagger grip. Removing the scrap of vellum, she handed it to Ewan. ‘I’ve decided to look for the treasure. Marie would have wanted me to find it, else she wouldn’t have hidden the parchment.’
‘It might not exist.’
She knew it, but if it did, Marie had tried to protect it from John.
Ewan unfolded the vellum. ‘I think the markings across the bottom are runes. I’ll ask Conand. His mother was Norse, and he might be able to translate it.’
He spoke to the Irishman, handing him the parchment. Conand stared at the pattern of runes, his mouth moving silently. When at last he looked up, his expression was a mixture of interest and fear. ‘It’s a curse. Upon those who seek to gain the fortune of the gods.’
Ewan adjusted one of the sails, tying it down, but Honora could tell he was listening. ‘Go on,’ she said.
‘The birds represent gold,’ Conand explained. ‘And the man who seeks to find it must overcome the power of Ægir.’
‘Who is Ægir?’ Honora asked.
‘The Norse sea god.’
His revelation made perfect sense. Marie St Leger had been fond of the sea, taking many walks along the shoreline. Honora had often accompanied her, and they’d walked barefoot in the sand.
If any treasure was to be found, it could be hidden somewhere along the coast.
‘We’ll make camp on the shoreline,’ Honora said. ‘Search along the beach. If you find anything, I’ll offer you a share in the gold.’
The men’s eyes brightened with anticipation. Bres, in particular, had the eagerness of youth. Barely nineteen, he reminded Honora of Ewan. She smiled, thinking of it.
Ewan took off the ionar he’d worn, folding the jacket to form a soft pillow. ‘Get some sleep, Honora. I’ll mind the boat.’
‘We’ll take turns,’ Trahern corrected.
Honora knew nothing about sailing and was content to let them guide the vessel. She closed her eyes, resting her head upon Ewan’s garment.
It was a mistake. She could feel the warmth of his body, smell his scent. It was like sleeping beside him, and an uncomfortable awareness crept into her mind. Her eyes flitted open, and she saw him watching her.
His body was silhouetted by the dying sun, his posture tense. He carried the weight of the chainmail armour as though it were nothing. Muscles seemed to strain against the tiny links, the armour moulding around his large form.
She wanted to touch him again.
Troublesome thoughts mulled around in her head, and she shifted her position so as to watch him without his knowledge. The night air was growing colder, and she huddled against the side of the boat, as if the wood could warm her.
When the sky finally turned dark, only the stars and moonlight remained to guide them. Ewan took his turn guiding the vessel, and when Bres replaced him at the helm, she sensed movement coming closer to her.
‘Honora,’ Ewan whispered. There was a warmth in his voice, as well as a questioning tone.
‘I’m cold,’ she admitted.
‘Will you allow me to warm you?’
She nodded, but then realised he could not see her response. ‘Please.’
Before he did so, he eased her towards the back of the boat, away from both horses and men. Isolated from everyone, she could almost pretend they were alone.
She huddled close, and at first, the cold chainmail links were a shock against her skin. Ewan settled her upon his lap, wrapping his cloak around her like a warm blanket. Beneath her cheek, she could hear his heart beating faster.
No one broke the silence of the night. Only the creaking of the boat and the light sound of wind whipping the sails interrupted the stillness. Honora tried to close her eyes, but all she could think was how right it was, being in Ewan’s arms.
She didn’t want to leave him. She needed the warmth of his embrace, to be intimate with him. The very thought of any other woman being a part of his life made her want to reach for a sword.
‘Ewan?’ she whispered, her voice barely audible.
His reply was to hold her closer, his mouth leaning down to her ear. ‘What is it?’
The hardness of his body pressed up against hers made her ache for him. She didn’t know what to say, nor how to tell him that she wanted him desperately. She turned around in his lap to face him, her legs straddling his waist. Her hands moved up to his cheeks, feeling the coolness of his skin.
Already her body was warming. Except for Bres, the rest of the men were asleep. They were virtually alone, and in the darkness, she could see no one.
Beneath the cloak, they had complete privacy. Honora slid her hands beneath the heavy armour, reaching under his tunic to touch his bare skin. Ewan let out a soft hiss, and she pressed her mouth against his.
He didn’t ask questions, but devoured her lips. Instantly, she grew liquid, her body melting into his. The metal links of his armour seemed to brand against her skin, while his palms cupped her bottom. She tightened her legs around his waist, and his hard length was evident beneath his trews.
Jesu, she never should have started this. Although the men were asleep and it was so dark she couldn’t see her fingers in front of her face, she was afraid of being discovered.
Just a kiss. That was all it was.
Her mouth moved against him as though she couldn’t get enough. She fought to keep silent, but when his hands inched beneath her skirts, she nearly let out a cry.
‘Can you remain quiet?’ he whispered against her ear. His mouth closed over the lobe, sending shivers through her. ‘How strong are you?’
She rose up to his own ear, tasting the curve of him. ‘Strong enough for you.’
Beneath the cloak, his hand moved against her wetness, arousing her deeply. His fingers slid inside, flexing into her body. Entering, then withdrawing. Slow and smooth.
With each stroke, Honora bit her lips to keep from making a sound. She shifted against him, her body straining for the fulfilment he could bring. It was the most intensely carnal sensation she’d ever experienced, to be surrounded by others while the man she l
oved was touching her.
Forbidden. Wicked.
He fumbled his hand beneath her and a moment later, his fingers were replaced with something else. Without warning, her weight slid against the thickness of his manhood, and he filled her. Making love like this, with others around them, was something she’d never done—never expected to do. And because it was Ewan, she climaxed immediately.
Her womanhood convulsed around him, his unexpected motion sending her over the edge. Ewan cut off her sound with his mouth, kissing her fiercely. He held her tightly as her wetness spasmed against his length. And then, when she was pliant against him, her body spent, he let the quiet rocking of the boat move them together.
Her knees rested against the bottom of the boat while Ewan sat back. She couldn’t see the expression on his face, but she lifted herself a fraction and sank back down. He was buried so deep inside, she could feel his sac resting against her womanhood.
His mouth came down on hers again, relentless and driven as he fused their bodies together to the rhythm of the waves. Her fingernails bit into the chainmail armour, and she tasted blood. She was past caring where they were or who was around them. All that mattered was joining with him, telling him without words just how much she loved him.
The barest movement of the waves sent her weight thrusting down upon him. It was taking Ewan apart while he tried not to make a sound. Her unexpected kiss and his own lust had sent all reason spinning into madness.
He didn’t know what had caused Honora to kiss him, but he wasn’t about to turn her away. He sensed that she needed him, and though he could not guess why she’d changed her mind, he couldn’t stop himself from claiming her.
The problem was, she had become the conqueror this time.
It had seemed like an interesting way to shock her, to see what she would do if he became her lover again. But he’d fallen under her spell now, and it was too late to turn back. Though he wanted to press her down into the boat, thrusting deep inside until she cried out her release, he couldn’t. And knowing that they could be caught at any moment added a delicious new aspect.
Taming Her Irish Warrior Page 23
