Taming Her Irish Warrior

by Michelle Willingham

  Though he gave Katherine his full attention, he was well aware of Honora on his opposite side. He offered her the same courtesy, in order to maintain appearances, but he could see the shuttered anger in her expression.

  Beaulais staggered into the hall some time later, his gaze livid. A piece of linen was wrapped around his forehead, and he joined the other suitors at the lower table. Conscious of the man’s venomous glare, Ewan stared back, willing Beaulais to look away.

  Instead, the nobleman drew a dagger, letting the blade flash in the torchlight. There was murder in his eyes, a visible threat.

  Honora wouldn’t be foolish enough to confess she’d brought Beaulais down, would she? The Norman lord wouldn’t take kindly to being struck by a woman. And though Ewan was confident he could handle the man’s anger, he wasn’t so sure about Honora. She was far too reckless.

  A harper played lively tunes, breaking the silence and redirecting the attention of the guests. Ewan ignored Beaulais and reached for a strawberry. Bringing it to Katherine’s lips, he complimented her beauty. As she blushed and accepted the fruit, his elbow accidentally brushed against Honora’s. She jerked away, her eyes narrowed.

  ‘My pardon,’ he apologised. From the way Honora shrank back, it was as if he’d struck her.

  Then her expression changed, and she lowered her voice. ‘You’re bleeding.’

  He glanced at his tunic sleeve, which had darkened in colour. ‘It’s nothing.’

  ‘You need to tend the wound. It’s deep.’

  She acted as though his arm had been severed. Though the trickle of blood irritated him, it was hardly serious.

  Ignoring her insistence, he offered her a piece of fruit. ‘Would you care for a strawberry?’

  She shook her head slowly. In her eyes, he saw worry. And though he wanted to make a lighthearted response, something to make her smile, he knew it wouldn’t work. Honora had always been able to see past his teasing.

  And he was still staring at her with a strawberry in his hand. He turned and fed the succulent fruit to Katherine. Honora stiffened, as though he’d hit her.

  Was she jealous? He couldn’t believe that to be true, for she’d claimed she wouldn’t wed him if he were the last man in England.

  He watched her speaking to Sir Ademar. A strand of dark hair came loose from her veil, hanging against her neck. The curve of her cheek was soft, unexpectedly delicate. When he reached for his tankard of ale, he caught her light fragrance, a hint of apples. She had tasted just as wild and tart as the fruit when he’d kissed her.

  He drank deeply, trying to push the idle thoughts away. His reaction had been instinctive; it would have been the same with any woman. They had been friends once, but if he wasn’t more careful, he’d make an enemy of Honora. He didn’t want to cause any more awkwardness once he wed Katherine.

  As the feasting wore on, the ale flowed more freely. Katherine excused herself to speak with the other ladies, and Ewan went to watch several games of chance. He was weary from the day’s fighting and leaned up against the wall after the trestle tables were pushed to the side. His brother Bevan was still talking to the Earl of Longford, but his expression was glazed as though he, too, wanted an escape.

  Ewan reached out and touched the sleeve of his tunic, which was slick with blood. Damn it, Honora was right. His arm was growing numb from the bleeding, his body weakening.

  ‘Whom did you pay to fight on your behalf?’ a male voice interrupted from behind him. ‘One of the maidservants, perhaps?’

  It was Beaulais. Ewan sensed a blow coming and stepped sideways, causing the Norman’s fist to strike the stone wall instead. Beaulais’s face turned purple with rage, and he clutched his hand.

  ‘Your fighting hasn’t improved, I see,’ Ewan commented. When another punch sliced towards his face, he blocked it, cracking his fist across Beaulais’s jaw.

  The Norman countered with a blow to his arm, and Ewan sucked in air, the pain rippling through him. He slammed the full force of his fist into Beaulais’s stomach, but the man followed through with another hit to his mouth.

  Ewan tasted blood and threw himself to the ground, knocking the nobleman off his feet. Rolling back up, he grasped Beaulais and lifted him up high. It was an act meant to demonstrate his strength and to humiliate his opponent. A gasp resounded through the crowd, to his satisfaction. With his muscles burning from the strain, he tossed Beaulais into the dirt.

  Leaning down, he lowered his voice so only Beaulais could hear. ‘Don’t threaten me again, Norman. Or the next time, you’ll be unable to rise without help.’

  He stood, facing the crowd of people. Lord Ardennes appeared indifferent to the fight, while Katherine was horrified, her cheeks scarlet with embarrassment. Honora didn’t spare a glance towards Beaulais, but the gleam in her green eyes revealed a hint of pride. It was quickly replaced with anger. Ewan suspected that if they were alone, she’d blister his ears.

  To Katherine, he gritted out, ‘Forgive me’, and turned to leave. His eye was swelling up and blood ran down his arms.

  He passed his brother on the way to the stairs, and Bevan sent him a warning look. The silent censure irritated his already-foul mood. He’d had enough of this night.

  As he reached the bottom of the winding stairs, he heard the sound of quiet footsteps behind. Ewan spun and saw Honora standing behind him.

  ‘You frightened my sister,’ she said. There was no anger in her tone, only a resigned air. ‘I’ll send her to tend your wounds, and you can apologise in private.’

  He hadn’t expected that. His shoulders lowered, his anger softening. With a low voice, he added, ‘I did not intend to offend her, or you, by fighting in your presence.’

  She studied him, her clear green eyes discerning. ‘It was my fault. I shouldn’t have struck Beaulais when I did.’ She rested her palm against the stone wall, her eyes revealing guilt.

  ‘I can take care of myself, Honora,’ he murmured softly. He reached out and tucked the wayward strand of hair back beneath her veil.

  She gave an involuntary shiver at the touch. ‘You’ll have to watch your back. Beaulais won’t stand for the insult.’

  ‘I’m not afraid of him, Honora.’

  ‘Perhaps you should be.’ She took a step backwards, her gaze sweeping over him. Ewan became conscious of his damp trews and the dried mud from earlier. ‘In the meantime, you should let Katherine help you.’

  His forearm stung with the slickness of blood. She was right. ‘Where shall I await your sister?’

  ‘In the solar. I’ll send her there within the hour.’ With a nod from her as dismissal, he turned to leave. Raking his hand through his hair, he wondered exactly what he could say to Katherine to make amends.

  ‘I can’t tend his wounds,’ Katherine protested, in the privacy of their chamber. ‘I’m not good at healing.’

  ‘He wants to speak with you,’ Honora replied. When she’d watched Ewan fighting, a part of her had been fascinated at his massive strength. He’d picked up Beaulais and tossed him like a stick of kindling.

  She’d been unable to tear her gaze from him, and when it had ended, her skin had prickled with awareness.

  A bead of sweat had run down his neck, outlining the gleaming chest. He hadn’t looked like that at sixteen, still a skinny lad not yet grown into manhood. But now…

  Sweet Jesu, she’d wanted to touch him, to know that strength for herself. And though he drove her to madness with his stubborn arrogance, she couldn’t deny what she felt when she was around him. The very air seemed charged with desire, every movement intensifying the startling ache inside her.

  When she’d seen Beaulais attacking him earlier today, she’d struck out without thinking of Ewan’s pride. He’d needed help, and she’d given it, nothing more. Any soldier would do the same for a friend. But he’d taken it as an insult, one she hadn’t intended.

  It was just as well that he’d renewed his dislike towards her. She was finding him more and more difficult to resist.
Strong and bold, she couldn’t help but admire the man he’d become.

  He needed the softness of Katherine to balance his fierce demeanour. Not a woman like her, as quick to argue with him, unwilling to yield. If she wed a man like Ewan, they’d shred each other to pieces.

  Or they’d set one another on fire.

  She could envision fighting with him, and afterwards, making up. Having tasted the warmth of his mouth and the flames that seemed to burn her up inside, she knew he was far too dangerous.

  ‘I asked him to await you in the solar,’ Honora told her sister. ‘You needn’t do anything but tend his cuts and let him apologise.’

  Katherine blanched. ‘Honora, it isn’t a good idea. Really, I don’t think—’

  ‘It will be fine,’ Honora interrupted. There was no question Ewan needed to be stitched up. And her sister would have to tend wounds from time to time, once they were wed. It was a good chance for them to have a moment alone. She changed her tactics. ‘Didn’t you say you thought he was handsome? He was the best fighter of any man there. You saw it for yourself.’

  ‘Yes, but I don’t like blood. It makes me faint.’

  Honora rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t be a goose. It’s nothing but a scratch. You’ll bind it with linen, and that will be that.’

  Katherine didn’t look convinced. ‘It looked bad. And…I’m nervous about being alone with him. Come with me, won’t you, Honora?’

  No, she didn’t want that at all. She needed to remain right here, to remind herself of the thousand reasons why Ewan MacEgan was not a man she should desire.

  ‘I’ll send one of your maids, if it will make you feel better,’ Honora offered.

  Katherine stood and laid a hand upon her arm. ‘I know you don’t like him very much. But truly, you can sit in the corner and embroider something. Or—or mend a gown. I have one with a torn hem.’

  Honora faltered. If it would convince Katherine to go, perhaps she could simply remain out of view, in the corner with a bit of sewing.

  No, no, no. She shouldn’t even consider accompanying her sister. What if Ewan tried to kiss Katherine? He wouldn’t want her there, intruding upon a private moment. Her cheeks burned at the thought, for he was quite good at kissing.

  ‘Say you’ll come,’ Katherine begged. ‘For me.’ She reached out, linking her pinkie finger with Honora’s. It was a gesture they’d done as young girls, a sisterly promise that could not be broken.

  ‘Please,’ Katherine asked again.

  It wasn’t a good idea, but Honora decided as long as she stayed far away from them, it might go well enough. She could stare at the ceiling and count cobwebs, if need be.

  She braved a smile and nodded. Katherine hugged her, murmuring thanks.

  ‘Go on, then,’ Honora bade her sister. ‘I’ll follow.’

  Chapter Five

  When they arrived in the solar, Ewan awaited them on a bench. He’d put on his tunic again, and the long sleeves covered the gash Honora had seen on his forearm. He rose in silent respect.

  ‘I am sorry if I frightened you, Lady Katherine,’ he began. ‘I should not have fought Lord Beaulais in your presence.’ Approaching both of them, he offered his hands to Katherine.

  Honora slipped off into a corner, pretending to busy herself with the embroidery on a gown. Though she tried not to listen to their conversation, she could not help herself.

  ‘Honora told me you were wounded in the fighting earlier,’ Katherine remarked. She bade him sit down, and added, ‘I’ll see if the basin of water and herbs have been prepared.’ She left the chamber, and the door closed behind her.

  Ewan shot Honora a frown. ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘It was Katherine’s request.’ Honora lifted up the embroidery. ‘She was afraid to be alone with you.’ Grimacing at the awkward situation, she offered, ‘Forget I am here.’

  A strange expression flashed upon his face. ‘You aren’t easily forgettable, Honora.’

  She didn’t know what he meant by that. There was a look in his eyes that she’d never seen before, a searching gaze. The planes of his face were narrow, casting shadows upon his cheeks. Despite the bruising, he was still the most handsome man she’d ever seen. Her gaze fastened upon his mouth, swollen from the punch he’d suffered.

  She was not going to think about Ewan sitting so close, nor was she going to think about his kiss. He was going to wed her sister.

  She ripped the seam of the gown, taking satisfaction in the act of destruction. Taking a deep breath, she threaded her bone needle and tried to pretend she was alone. She pierced the linen fabric, trying to calm her mind with the rhythm of even stitches.

  Praise the Virgin, Katherine returned at last with the basin and herbs. Her sister chatted lightly about mundane topics, of the crops and household doings. Honora risked a glance and saw the grey pallor upon Katherine’s face as she dabbed at the cut upon Ewan’s lip.

  But she did not raise the sleeve of his tunic to inspect the true wound. Ewan answered Katherine’s questions, a warm smile upon his lips as he spoke to her. Even so, the timbre of his voice was unsteady, as though he were in pain.

  Why didn’t he raise his sleeve? Or have Katherine examine his ribs? Honora had seen the blows he’d suffered earlier in the tournament. He might have cracked a bone. Yet her sister appeared oblivious, forcing a smile and tending minor wounds.

  When Honora lifted her gaze once more, Ewan was watching her over Katherine’s shoulders. His deep green eyes stared into hers in a silent message. He needed help. And Katherine’s nerves were beginning to show as she talked faster and faster.

  Honora jerked her attention back to her sewing, not knowing what to do. Would Ewan want her to intervene? He might not trust her to tend the wound.

  After a time, he rose and thanked Katherine, bidding her a good eventide. He kissed her hand, his fingers lingering upon her wrist. Honora stabbed the bone needle into her embroidery, tossing it in the basket.

  ‘My lady, if you would not mind…?’ Ewan sent Katherine a chagrined smile. ‘I would like to have a word with your sister.’

  Katherine shook her head. ‘Not at all. I will see you on the morrow, Ewan. Remember—near the stables, past terce.’

  He bowed his head. ‘I look forward to it, my lady.’

  When the door closed, Honora studied him. ‘Do you want me to look at your arm?’

  He nodded, wincing as he tried to lift up the sleeve of his tunic. The caked blood made it impossible.

  ‘I’ll work quickly,’ she promised, because being alone with him was not wise. She needed to escape his presence, to sort out the strange longings she shouldn’t feel.

  ‘Your sister looked about to faint. I didn’t want to offend her with my blood.’

  Clearly, he felt no such compunctions with her. She resisted the urge to ask what he would do when he married Katherine. Her younger sister was softhearted and loathed blood. ‘I’ll do what I can. What about your ribs?’

  She lifted the tunic away, being careful of his wounds. Upon his upper arm, the angry gash seeped blood. ‘This will need stitching, I think.’

  ‘My ribs aren’t broken. Bruised, perhaps, but it’s nothing.’

  ‘I can bind them for you, if you like.’ Without waiting for a reply, she went to fetch the needle and thread from her basket.

  She was relieved that her voice sounded so calm, as though he were any other man. He’d never guess how much it unnerved her, seeing his bare skin once again. She could think of nothing else but the first night she’d seen him naked, and the way his warm body had felt pressed up against hers.

  When she reached his side, she examined the wound. Dirt and dried blood edged the gash. ‘I need to wash your skin or else the blood may become poisoned.’ She spied an ewer of wine and poured it on to the cut, sponging it clean. Ewan let out a hiss of pain.

  The skin was torn open, the edges refusing to mend. ‘You’ll have a scar from this.’

  ‘I know it.’ He didn’t flinch when she p
ricked the needle into his flesh. ‘But scars are the mark of honour.’

  ‘Or the mark of a man who didn’t move quickly enough.’

  ‘Have you any scars, Honora?’

  ‘None that I’ll show to you.’

  His mouth curved upwards in a smile, turning intimate. ‘Every warrior has scars.’ With his free hand, he reached out and touched her shoulder. ‘Even ones you cannot see.’

  Especially those, Honora thought. She concentrated on sewing the wound with tight, even stitches. She wasn’t going to think about the closeness between them, or the way she was standing between his thighs. He smelled good, a masculine scent of earth and rain. In the firelight, his green eyes watched her.

  ‘Why did you cut your hair?’ he asked.

  Honora nearly stabbed herself with the needle. An innocent question, but one she didn’t want to answer. She managed to keep stitching, fumbling for a better response. ‘It makes it easier to wear a helm.’

  It was the truth, but not the real reason.

  ‘Sometimes I train with the other soldiers,’ she continued. ‘They don’t know who I am.’

  ‘The armour is heavy.’

  It was, but she’d trained for several years to accustom herself to its weight. Enough that she could stand it for short intervals.

  ‘I can’t wear it for very long before I tire,’ she admitted. ‘But it’s the only way I can fight against the other men, without them knowing who I am. I’d lose my skills otherwise.’

  ‘Why is it important to you? Why should it matter, whether or not you can fight?’

  She didn’t know what to say. He would never understand. ‘It matters to me.’

  ‘You’re a woman.’ His voice was deep, like a caress. Honora shivered at the sound of it.

  ‘I am a warrior. Even if no one knows it.’

  She could see the dissent in his eyes, but to his credit, he said nothing. Honora knew full well that she wasn’t the sort of woman her sister was. Katherine was the fresh-faced beauty, the virginal woman who knew everything about tending a household.