Taming Her Irish Warrior

by Michelle Willingham

  She was close to another climax now. Pressing her lips against his, her tongue slid inside his mouth. He captured it, tangling with her in a different type of battle.

  His length was so hard, he gritted his teeth. He adjusted the long cloak again, though likely no one could see them. Gripping the fabric closed with one hand, he used the other to guide her up, and then down again upon his erection.

  ‘Let yourself go,’ she whispered against his ears. Her silky wetness bounced against him, squeezing him tight. He drove in as deeply as he dared, making her ride him, just as the boat skimmed the waves again.

  And then his body erupted, spilling into her depths and giving him one of the most intense releases he’d ever had. Her arms gripped his neck so tightly, she dipped down again. He was rewarded with her body shaking, and he kissed her again to cut off any sounds she might have made.

  She rested against him, her thighs around his waist, her skirts tangled up. Laying her head against his chest, he held her so close their hearts might have become one. Against her ear, he murmured, ‘There will never be any other woman for me but you.’

  Her lips kissed his temple. ‘None other, but you,’ she promised.

  For now, it was enough.

  When the boat landed within Morecambe Bay, along the northwest shore of England, Honora guided them to a safe place to land. ‘There are areas of quicksand,’ she’d warned.

  Ewan had deferred to her knowledge and when she had found a safe place for them to disembark, they set their anchor and brought in the horses.

  Honora wanted Bres and Conand to begin traversing the beach for anything that could lead to the treasure. In the meantime, Ewan planned to study the area with Trahern and discern what John was up to.

  ‘I want to go with you,’ Honora had said. ‘I know Ceredys better than either of you.’

  ‘They’ll recognise you too easily,’ Ewan argued. ‘We’re not going to confront him—we’re going to scout out his location. I’ll come back, and we’ll form a plan together.’

  His promise pacified her, and Honora stayed behind with Bres and Conand while they rode east.

  Several dozen sheep grazed in the meadow, while a narrow stream ran towards the castle. A small grove of trees stood a slight distance from the village, and Ewan motioned for his brother to follow him. They dismounted, hidden within the copse of oak and rowan. ‘Tether the horses, and we’ll split up,’ Ewan ordered. ‘I don’t want anyone knowing we’re here.’ He sent a hard look to his older brother. ‘Don’t be caught.’

  ‘Watch your own skin, my brother. And I’ll watch mine.’

  Gone was the teasing nature of Trahern. There was a time when Ewan had relied upon Trahern to break a darker mood with his lighthearted stories. But now, the change in his brother was palpable. Trahern had confessed that he’d lost Ciara, the woman he’d planned to marry. It had cut his brother down as badly as when Bevan had lost his first wife.

  Ewan wasn’t about to let the same happen to him. Honora was his, and he would guard her at all costs. Though he didn’t know what had prompted their night together on the boat, it gave him the greatest hope of all. She had promised that there would be no other man but him. And God help them both, he would see to it that no man ever harmed her.

  A premonition seized him, his skin prickling. He’d left her back on the beach, with only two men as her protection. It wasn’t enough. If John approached…

  But then, Ceredys would have to ride past them to reach the shoreline. Ewan pushed the apprehensions away, forcing himself to concentrate upon the fortress. The motte-and-bailey structure showed signs of disrepair, with breaches in the outer walls and vines covering the spaces. A square fortress, it was still built mostly of wood with a few stone walls.

  The village was composed of thatched roundhouses, and more than one showed signs of being burned. Charred straw hung from the rooftops, while other sections were hardly repaired at all. Perhaps the Baron’s form of punishment, to those who could not pay their rents.

  The fields were sparse with grain, showing signs of a weak harvest, come the end of the summer. Neglect and death seemed to permeate the lands. As they moved in closer, an unnatural silence seemed to hang over the land.

  Ewan kept his hand upon his weapon as they crouched low. Two serfs saw them, but made no greeting. There was hopelessness in their posture, as if they no longer cared. Ewan motioned for Trahern to move to the right side of the outer wall while he investigated the breach at the left point.

  He spied several guards patrolling the gates, so he kept low as he traversed the outer perimeter. It was possible to move inside the wall by squeezing through the stones, but as he eyed the crevice, he had a vision of getting stuck, just as before.

  Too late to worry about that now.

  Ewan moved slowly, working his way through the breach. The vines kept him hidden, while the fallen stones offered a clear view of the outer bailey. He hoped to God that the entire wall would not collapse on him as he slipped inside.

  Peering within, Ewan spied holes everywhere. The castle grounds had been torn apart, as though John had ordered his men to dig up the entire bailey. He heard voices arguing, and John’s voice mingled with another man’s. Glancing towards his brother on the far side of the entrance, Ewan motioned his intent to move in.

  Not far from his vantage point was a wooden cart, waiting to be unloaded. It was a possible hiding place, one that would offer protection from the guards.

  Ewan waited for the right moment, then kept his position low as he dived beneath the cart. Though he couldn’t see John clearly, he could hear the argument.

  ‘Find her. It won’t be hard to locate the MacEgan lands in Erin. I want her brought back to Ceredys.’

  ‘My lord, we are doing all that we can.’

  ‘You should have loosed your arrows upon them both,’ John cursed. ‘She knows where the St Leger treasure lies. And I’ll see her flesh stripped away, piece by piece, before I’ll let Honora take what belongs to me.’

  Ewan had heard enough. He didn’t like leaving Honora alone on the beach, especially now. But before he could make his way back to the outer wall, a rider entered the gates at full speed. After he dismounted, Ewan overheard the rider talking to John.

  ‘My lord, she is here. A boat just arrived.’

  ‘Bring her to me,’ John ordered.

  ‘As you wish, my lord.’ The rider cleared his throat. ‘But you should know she and her escorts are digging amidst the sand.’

  ‘Are they?’ John’s voice turned softer. ‘Good. Prepare my horse so that I may welcome the Lady of Ceredys home again. And bring the prisoner.’

  A prisoner? Ewan didn’t know what John meant by that, but he was running out of time to reach Honora’s side. He held his position steady until he was able to abandon the cart. Racing back towards the wall, he pushed his way through the vines until Trahern followed. Once he saw that his brother was clear of any danger, Ewan quickened his pace back to the horses.

  It seemed he would have his chance to kill John of Ceredys sooner than he’d thought.

  There was nothing. Not a trace of the treasure, and Honora had scoured most of the pathway she had walked with Marie. She didn’t even know what she was looking for.

  ‘It’s useless,’ she remarked, but neither of the men understood her language. With no way to communicate with them, she was forced to wait for Ewan and Trahern’s return.

  Her mind felt disconnected, her fears rising. Though she had encouraged Ewan and Trahern to recruit other men from the village, she didn’t know if the people of Ceredys would trust them. Visions of failure haunted her, and she feared for their safety.

  She envisaged Ewan’s face, his ragged blond hair and fierce green eyes. He had come here for her, though it meant risking his own life.

  Last night, the truth had suddenly crystallised. Ewan wasn’t at all like other men. Instead of taking over the assault plans on Ceredys, he had allowed her to take command, deferring to her order
s. He could easily have imprisoned her back in Erin while he went off to fight. Instead, he’d remained at her side, steadfast and treating her as an equal. He meant everything to her, and once they made it through this ordeal, she was never going to leave his side.

  A pensive smile tugged at her lips. And, if she somehow managed to find the St Leger treasure, she would give every last coin to him, to make his dreams into reality.

  Sitting down upon a large rock, Honora studied the shoreline. A large expanse of sand lined the edge of Morecambe Bay. She had walked through the grasses nearly every day. Marie had warned her not to go beyond the path, saying, ‘The tides are never predictable, and you must be careful not to stray.’

  Honora had seen the bodies of men, washed up from a sudden flood. And so she had always heeded Marie’s advice.

  Rising to her feet, she began to walk down the hillside path, a worn stretch of dying grasses that she’d travelled often. Though Marie St Leger could not walk quickly, she’d often spoken of her love for the sea.

  Honora thought again of the parchment and the curse of the sea god. She shielded her eyes, staring out at the water. Could the treasure be hidden beneath the waves? Such a location would be nearly impossible to find, for the tide was constantly shifting and changing. Nothing was constant.

  Unless…

  She stared back at the pathway, and then at the water. The tide was starting to reveal sand embankments, stretches of buried land. It was possible…

  The tip of a stone outcropping emerged from the water. Honora’s heart pounded as she saw the stone shaped like a bird. There.

  She waved to Bres and Conand, pointing at the stone. There wasn’t much time, only a few hours before the tidal patterns would shift again.

  But if any man wanted to bury a treasure and make it difficult to find, this was the perfect spot, for it was the only stable ground. A haven in the midst of ever-changing waves.

  When Conand approached, she motioned towards a small leather pouch he wore. ‘I need that, if you don’t mind.’ He understood her gesturing and unlaced the pouch, handing it to her. When Honora pointed towards the stone outcropping, a smile spread over Conand’s face.

  ‘We need rope.’ She gestured to the length of string that had bound the pouch to his belt, and pointed towards the boat in the distance. Conand spoke to Bres in Irish, and a moment later the younger man returned with a length.

  Honora held on to the rope, testing her footing as she eased on to the grey sand of the Bay. The tide had eased back, revealing more of the beach. She gripped the rope, skirting a patch of quicksand that was revealed.

  Slowly, steadily, she inched her way towards the rock. She didn’t dare move any faster, for she could not trust the ground beneath her. Marie had filled her head with too many stories of folk who had been swept away by the tide. Or, worse, those who had stumbled into quicksand, buried alive.

  When she reached the rock, she let go of the rope and ran her fingertips over the edges. Made of smooth limestone, it was buried deep below the sand. She knelt at its edge, feeling around for any crevices or fissures. There was a palm-sized opening near the side of the stone, and she reached deep within. Her hand closed over something small and round. Excited, she grasped it, but before she could examine it closely, she heard horses approaching.

  Her mouth tightened when she spied John of Ceredys, not Ewan. Damn him. There was no time to search further.

  She took the rope and used it to guide herself back to shore. Though she tried to move faster, still she kept her gaze firmly upon the sands. In the distance, the waves were getting rougher, the tips capped with white.

  The sky grew darker, the afternoon shifting into evening. Honora reached Conand just as John and a small escort of men arrived. There was no sign of Ewan or Trahern, and a knot formed in her stomach.

  Let them not be dead. Let them be safe, she prayed.

  Amid their horses, John forced a prisoner to walk, bound and hooded. The figure wore shapeless clothing, and Honora could not tell if it was a man or a woman. The captive was smaller than she’d expected, perhaps an adolescent or a tall child. She reached for her sword, preparing herself for the worst.

  The Baron brought his horse up to the edge of the path, his smile dark. ‘I bid you welcome, my Lady of Ceredys.’

  ‘What have you done?’ she demanded, pointing towards the prisoner.

  ‘I’ve brought you a gift. Find the Ceredys treasure, and I will let the prisoner go.’

  ‘Who is he?’ She tried to move towards the prisoner, but John stopped her with the tip of his own sword.

  ‘Patience, my lady.’ He dismounted, keeping his weapon directed towards her throat. ‘I see you’ve been busy this day. What did you find?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘But Marie told you to look here, didn’t she? You know where the treasure lies.’

  Honora didn’t answer. ‘Who is your prisoner?’

  A harsh laugh erupted from John’s throat. ‘Someone who tried to rescue you. A fool.’

  With a gesture towards his man-at-arms, the hood was ripped away.

  And Honora stared into the eyes of her sister.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  ‘I’m going after Honora. Stay here, and recruit more men to help us.’ Ewan readied his horse, preparing to mount. It had taken longer than he’d hoped to reach the safety of the trees and their horses. He had to move quickly, to reach the coast before John did.

  ‘You’re not going alone,’ Trahern argued.

  Years of being told he was too young, too weak to fight, suddenly snapped his temper. Ewan grasped his taller brother and rammed him against one of the trees. ‘These people are the reason Honora returned. Free the captives, and get the women out. I’ve no doubt you can find their husbands and brothers to help us.’

  While John was distracted, this was their chance to solicit help from the villagers. And they desperately needed more fighters.

  ‘I need you here,’ Ewan said quietly. ‘Bring as many men as you can.’

  He saw the hesitation in Trahern’s eyes, the unwillingness to let him go. And so he struck the final blow. ‘Free them, the way you would have freed Ciara.’

  Trahern’s dark grey eyes were cold and silent. But, at last, he gave a nod of assent, turning his back.

  Ewan urged the horse into a hard gallop. As he rode, his mind seized up with fear. A dark hollowness invaded his heart at the thought of Honora coming to harm. He couldn’t let it happen.

  Though she wasn’t alone, he didn’t want her to face John without him. He couldn’t strike out the memory of seeing her on the ground of the training field, John’s sword at her throat. Or, worse, envisioning Honora as John’s prisoner.

  Wind tore at his face, while a light rain began to fall. When he reached the pathway, Ewan slowed the gelding slightly, to prevent the horse from stumbling. He hardly noticed Bres and Conand lying wounded on the beach, or Lady Katherine held prisoner by John’s soldiers. All he could see was Honora, her sword in her hand, while John threatened her with his own weapon drawn.

  Ewan urged the horse faster, not even aware of the sounds tearing from his throat as he charged towards the mounted Norman. With his sword raised, he slashed it downwards. His strike landed harmlessly upon Ceredys’s shield when he turned.

  The Norman wore full chainmail armour, his helm hiding the clipped fair hair. A faint red scar lined his cheek, the mark Honora had given. And it would not be the last scar he received.

  Raising his own weapon, the Baron swung hard, and steel struck steel. Ewan drew his horse up beside Ceredys’s and threw himself at the man, forcing him off his mount. The Norman twisted, and Ewan struck the sand first. The air knocked from his lungs, but he had no time to dwell upon it, for Ceredys shoved him towards the rearing horse’s hooves.

  Críost. Ewan tried to lurch sideways as he saw the animal stumble. John kept him pinned, but as the stallion started to fall, Ewan used all of his strength to avoid the crushing weight.


  His right shoulder popped from its socket, the pain ripping through him. Ewan cursed, but his arm hung limp at his side. He reached for his fallen sword with his left hand, but another weapon slid between them.

  ‘He is mine, Ewan.’ Honora’s cool voice intruded, and she never took her eyes from John. ‘This fight belongs to me.’ Her face was flushed, her green eyes focused upon her quarry. There was no fear, only determination.

  John got to his feet, a sneer upon his face. ‘You haven’t the strength to lift that sword for longer than a minute, Lady Honora.’

  ‘Haven’t I?’ she mused. ‘We’ll find out.’

  Ewan rose to his feet slowly, his left hand gripping the sword. Though every instinct told him to interfere, to move Honora to the side, he didn’t. Until he could force his shoulder back into its socket, his sword arm was useless. She had a better chance at defeating John than he did.

  But if she faltered in the slightest, he fully intended to intervene.

  ‘Do it, then.’ He met her gaze, offering her a confidence he didn’t completely feel.

  Her reaction was disbelief, before a faint smile spread over her face. This meant something to her, he realised. Not whether or not she won, but the chance to try.

  ‘Are you going to hide behind a woman’s skirts, MacEgan?’ John taunted. He stood, gripping the sword in a tight grasp.

  ‘I’d rather watch her defeat you,’ Ewan found himself saying. Wincing at his shoulder, he stepped back, trying to ease the joint back into place.

  Moving into her line of sight, Ewan urged, ‘End this quickly, Honora.’

  Honora adjusted her stance, waiting for John to make the first move. The Baron’s patronising expression showed amusement. ‘Your sister brought me great comfort in your absence.’ He tapped his sword against hers, making mockery of his opening strike.

  ‘You are a fool,’ she said softly. ‘My father will have your head removed if you’ve harmed a single hair upon her head.’