Her mouth filled up with water, and Honora started to panic. She’d never been a good swimmer, and now her life depended upon it. As she reached up for air, her body stung with the crippling chill. She could barely move, but she forced herself to keep paddling.
If she didn’t reach the boat, everything was lost. She thrashed through the water at first, her head bobbing beneath the waves. Then abruptly, her mind calmed. She was strong. She’d trained since she was a girl.
Use your strength. Fight back.
Her arms cut through the waves, and though she considered removing the soaked gown, she would need it for warmth later. The wool clung to her body, while she used her legs to keep herself afloat.
With a quick glance back at the coast, she saw that she had made it far enough that John’s horses could not follow. She was still in range of the arrows, but they made no move to shoot her.
Just as she’d suspected. John wanted her alive, not dead.
But there was no sign of Ewan. Where was he? Fear drove her to swim faster, her arms burning as she swam closer to the boat.
Cold. And so tired. She’d never swum this distance before, and her energy was waning. Her mouth filled up with briny water, but she forced herself to keep going.
Another glance back, and she saw two of John’s men swimming towards her.
Damn. She churned her shoulders, fighting her way to the boat. So close now.
After endless minutes passed, a wooden oar reached out and she grasped it, the man pulling her aboard. He was fair-haired and one hand was misshapen. His face was similar to Ewan’s.
‘A cold day for a swim, I’m thinking,’ he said.
She trembled with the chill, her teeth chattering. ‘Where is Ewan? Did you see him?’
‘He dived into the water not long after you.’ The man pulled hard at one of the sails, adjusting it until the boat moved further out in the water, increasing its speed.
‘We have to wait for him,’ Honora argued. She peered over the edge of the boat, unable to believe the casual tone in the man’s voice. Her heart clamored, for she hadn’t once seen Ewan. The thought of him drowning made her want to dive in after him.
‘Oh, Ewan can swim a great distance underwater. I wouldn’t worry about him.’ The man calmly picked up a crossbow, eyeing the swimming soldiers. ‘I am Connor MacEgan. You must be the Ardennes heiress.’
Honora didn’t know quite how to respond. It wasn’t as if she could introduce herself as the woman who’d destroyed Ewan’s chances of marrying her sister.
‘I am the daughter of Nicholas de Montford, Lord of Ardennes. Widow of the Baron of Ceredys,’ she hedged. ‘Honora St Leger is my name.’
Connor flashed a crooked smile. ‘He spoke of you when he returned to Éireann, after his fostering.’
Did he? It fired her curiosity, wondering what Ewan had said. But Connor ceased the conversation to aim at one of the soldiers swimming towards the boat. He fired his crossbow, and the bolt struck true. The soldier floated a moment upon the sea before the body began to sink.
Connor reloaded the weapon, nodding at the waves. ‘There’s our Ewan. Look.’ She followed his gaze and saw a head bobbing in the water, perhaps fifty yards away.
Honora held her breath while Connor kept firing the crossbow, taking out one man after the next. When only four men remained on the beach, she saw John fall into a retreat. Silently, she sent up a prayer of thanks. ‘Did Bevan send you here?’ she asked.
Connor nodded. ‘Ewan has a knack for trouble.’ With a glance towards the beach, he added, ‘As you can see.’
A few moments later, Connor lowered his oar into the water. Ewan grabbed on, and his brother helped him into the boat, seawater sloshing inside the vessel.
With a cocky grin, Connor said, ‘I see you’ve made a good impression with the Normans.’
Ewan did not appear amused. ‘Set the course, Connor.’
Honora studied the bottom of the boat, well aware of Ewan’s furious gaze. Connor tossed her his cloak, and she huddled beneath it, her soaked clothing making her teeth chatter. ‘Do you want to share the cloak?’ she offered Ewan.
His gaze was hardened with unspoken chastisement. ‘No.’
He turned to Connor. ‘I never thought I’d say this, but I am glad you came when you did.’
‘When you’ve warmed up a bit, you can tell me about it.’ Connor glanced over at Honora. ‘Now if a fetching cailínasked me to share her cloak, I doubt if I’d be clutching my pride and shivering.’
‘Close your ears, my brother. I’ve words to say to Honora.’
To her embarrassment, Connor moved to the front of the vessel, feigning interest in one of the sails. He would hear every word, she knew.
Honora pulled the edges of the cloak around her. ‘Perhaps sharing this with you would not be such a wise idea.’
‘You could have been killed,’ Ewan ground out. ‘Running out into the open like that? One arrow, and you’d have been dead.’
Fury tightened his jaw, his eyes blazing. ‘I’ve never seen something so foolhardy and dangerous in all my life. You were supposed to wait for me to make the first move.’
‘While you gave yourself up to become a captive?’ His accusations ignited her own temper. ‘Do you think John would have let you live? He’d have killed you at the first opportunity.’ She tossed the cloak at him, ignoring Connor’s amused expression. ‘I saved us both by what I did. And I won’t regret it.’
‘How can you think your actions made any sense at all?’
‘Because John doesn’t want me dead. He wants me alive, because he believes I know about his damned treasure.’
And so he can control me, she thought angrily. Just as Ewan was trying to do now.
‘I make my own decisions,’ she snapped. ‘And that was a good one, I’d say.’
‘She’s right,’ Connor offered. ‘She did an excellent job distracting them so you could make your own escape.’ He reached up, grasping one of the ropes, and Ewan helped him adjust the sail. Honora retrieved the fallen cloak, wrapping her freezing body inside the warmth. If he wasn’t going to wear it, then she would.
Connor tied off the sail and added, ‘Shouting at a woman isn’t the wisest idea, Ewan. Best to kiss her and tell her you’re sorry.’
‘Don’t you dare.’ She wasn’t interested in false flattery, nor meaningless apologies.
Ewan moved towards her, and were it possible to get away, she would have. As it was, she was trapped at the bow of the boat. ‘You left our belongings in the cave.’
‘There was nothing of value.’
‘A suit of chainmail armour has great value.’
Honora rubbed her arms, staring out at the dark water of the sea. ‘None of it was worth our lives.’
He reached out and took her hand. Lowering his voice so that Connor would not hear, he murmured, ‘Why did you do it, Honora? You nearly stopped my heart.’
‘I couldn’t let you give yourself into captivity.’
He touched his forehead to hers, and forgiveness slid over her.
Connor cleared his throat. ‘Are you going to kiss her or not?’
Ewan’s answer was to pull her tightly into his arms, his mouth grazing her lips.
The green colours of his homeland welcomed them, conjuring a smile on Ewan’s face. Though it had only been a few weeks since he’d seen it last, he’d missed Éireann. And from the expression in Honora’s eyes, she saw the beauty, as he did.
His brother’s ring fort Laochre was no longer a blend of stone and wood, but rivalled some of the strongest castles in England and Normandy. Patrick had designed it with tall square towers, built out of limestone with twelve-foot-high outer walls, and a deep fosse filled with water, to keep out invaders.
Thankfully, their tribe had strong ties with the Normans, and they had survived the difficult transition when King Henry had claimed Éireann for his own. They had been permitted to keep their lands, largely due to their alliances with the Norman lords Tho
mas de Renalt and Edwin de Godred.
Although Norman by birth, his brothers’ wives had become so deeply a part of the tribe, few would know their heritage. No doubt Honora would get along well with them.
‘Is this where you live?’ she asked as they crossed through the gates of Laochre Castle.
‘It is where my brother, the king, lives,’ he corrected. The awe on her face made him slightly uncomfortable, for his own dwelling was far more humble.
Ewan walked slowly to hide the discomfort in his feet. The blistered soles had begun to heal, no thanks to the seawater. But he’d not reveal any of his pain to his family. His wounds would close up, soon enough.
When they reached the inner bailey, he heard a female voice mingled with a child’s laughter. ‘Liam, come back here, I say!’
His eight-year-old nephew came fleeing across the courtyard while Queen Isabel chased him. She reached for the boy just as he jumped with both feet into a large mud puddle. Dirt and water flew up into her face, splashing the front of her gown.
Abruptly, his laughter stopped.
‘Now you’ve done it, Liam.’ Ewan shook his head. Glancing around, he pointed towards the far gate. ‘I imagine your mother will put it over there.’
The boy’s face turned puzzled. ‘Put what over there?’
‘Your head after she removes it.’
Isabel was already gripping her young son by the arm. The boy grimaced and pleaded, ‘But, a matháir, I couldn’t help myself.’
‘Yes, you could have. And not only will you beg my pardon, you’ll also beg the pardon of your uncle Ewan’s guest.’ She ventured a smile towards Honora, switching into the Norman tongue without effort. ‘My apologies for this young scamp. I am Isabel MacEgan.’
Ewan glanced at Honora, suddenly realising that she hadn’t understood a word of the exchange. He was accustomed to both languages, for his older brothers had forced him to learn the Norman tongue at an early age.
He put his arm around Honora, smiling at his brother’s wife. ‘Queen Isabel,’ he corrected, ‘this is Honora St Leger of Ceredys, daughter of the Baron of Ardennes.’
Honora started to curtsy, but Isabel waved her hand. ‘You needn’t treat me any differently. My husband may be a king, but I am simply his wife.’
Her gaze studied both of them, and Ewan realised that both he and Honora looked travel-worn. Although their clothing had dried upon the journey, Honora’s gown had torn in a few places, while her cropped hair was unveiled and standing out against her head.
‘You’ll want to bathe and refresh yourselves after your journey,’ Isabel invited.
Honora grew flustered at the mention of her appearance. Wincing, she reached out and touched the ends of her hair.
Ewan didn’t miss the piercing gaze his sister-in-law shot him, along with the silent question of whether or not Honora would be his wife. He shook his head slightly, warning her not to say anything.
While his mother was distracted, Liam used the moment to escape, ducking behind Connor who had just joined them. ‘You won’t let her behead me, will you?’
Connor ruffled the boy’s hair. ‘Not today. But you must make amends, or you’ll find yourself cleaning the stables.’
Liam wrinkled his nose, and Isabel exchanged a glance of amusement with Connor.
‘I am glad you are home, Ewan,’ Isabel continued.
‘As am I. It’s as it should be, all of us together for Midsummer’s Eve.’ He followed her inside the hall, holding Honora’s hand. Connor walked behind them, but with Liam firmly in his grip.
‘Will you have a Midsummer’s Eve feast?’ Honora asked.
‘We will,’ Ewan said. ‘MacEgans enjoy any reason to hold a festival.’
She braved a smile. ‘I suppose you enjoy the food and drink.’
He nodded and took her hand, stroking her skin. Though he said nothing, he saw the colour rising in her cheeks. The two nights they’d spent alone together had only whetted his appetite for more.
Isabel led them through the castle, explaining the different rooms to Honora. When at last she reached the solar, she stopped them both. ‘Wait here, Honora, and I’ll arrange your bath before the welcome feast this eventide.’ With a hesitant smile, she glanced at Honora’s attire. ‘And I can bring you an extra gown, should you need it.’
Honora’s expression was grateful. ‘Thank you.’
Once Honora was inside, Isabel closed the door and confronted Ewan. ‘Are you going to wed her?’
Though Ewan had expected the question, his denial seemed caught up in his throat. ‘We’re friends. She needed my help after her father forced her to leave.’
Isabel pursed her lips in a tight line. ‘You didn’t answer my question, Ewan. And what happened to the heiress you were supposed to wed?’
‘It’s complicated,’ was all he could say. ‘I refused the match with Lady Katherine.’
‘And you brought Honora home instead?’ Isabel glanced back at the solar. ‘She’s fair enough, I’ll grant you. I suppose I could make wedding preparations, if you’d care to celebrate the ceremony at Midsummer’s Eve.’
He held up his hands to slow her down. ‘She’s not going to marry me, Isabel.’
‘Why wouldn’t she want you?’ With her hands on her hips, the Queen looked ready to wage battle.
‘Peace, Isabel. She has no plans to wed any man. She was widowed a year ago, and her husband was not kind to her.’
The Queen’s anger softened. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know.’
‘I want her to be safe here.’ Ewan put a hand on her shoulder. ‘And she means a great deal to me.’
Isabel touched his cheek. ‘She may remain here at Laochre as our guest. But you must stay in your own dwelling.’
Ewan shot her a lazy grin. ‘Are you protecting my chastity, Isabel?’
Isabel shook her head and let out a sigh. ‘Behave yourself, Ewan. In the meantime, I’ll send word to Genevieve and Bevan to come and join us tonight. They will want to know you’re home safely.’
Ewan nodded, and opened the door to the solar once more.
At the interruption, Honora turned to Ewan. ‘Did you need something?’
He didn’t answer, but pulled her to him for a kiss. He hadn’t touched her for what felt like days, and he needed to feel her mouth upon his. ‘Yes. I needed this,’ he whispered against her mouth.
When he pulled back, her face was scarlet. She glanced over at Isabel, as if to apologise, but Ewan saw only a look of amusement upon the queen’s face.
‘Out, Ewan,’ Isabel ordered. ‘Honora does not need you to wash her back.’
‘I should be happy to be of service,’ he offered, lifting his hands up. Isabel shoved him out of the room, laughing as she did.
Honora huddled inside the steaming tub, wishing she could stay inside the warmth forever. A maidservant helped to wash her hair while another servant tended to her old clothing. Queen Isabel busied herself, choosing a new gown for Honora to wear.
Honora grimaced to think of just how disastrous her gown had looked. The colour had leached out from the seawater, and the hem was ripped in several places. Neither Connor nor Ewan had said a word about it. Not that she could have done anything, but she hated the thought of meeting strangers while she was dressed like a serf.
She’d never felt so awkward in all her life. Here, the tribe spoke the Irish language. She hadn’t understood a word of their speech, and already she could see how different their customs were. It brought back her old feelings of helplessness at Ceredys, though she tried to push them away.
The Queen picked up a vivid saffron-coloured gown, and shook her head. ‘No, this colour would make you look too sallow. Rose, perhaps.’ She held up another gown, then shook her head. ‘The colour isn’t dark enough for you.’
Honora said nothing, feeling more and more uncomfortable. The Queen was a stunningly beautiful woman, with fair hair and deep brown eyes. As she picked up each gown, Honora felt more and more uneasy.
She owned a number of gowns, but she’d never really cared much about her appearance. Ranulf had wed her without even meeting her first, and he’d paid little attention to what she wore.
‘I am sorry,’ she said to the Queen. ‘I don’t mean to take clothes that belong to you. I could purchase a gown, perhaps…’
With what? She hadn’t even brought a sword with her. She felt banished from her family, unable to ask them for help.
‘You are my guest,’ Isabel reminded her. ‘And I can sym-pathise with how you feel, for I went through it myself.’ A wince crossed the Queen’s face, but Honora couldn’t picture her in such a situation.
‘I imagine you have a good reason for not having any belongings,’ Isabel continued.
The questioning tone made Honora feel compelled to explain about John and the army. ‘I don’t know if I’ll be able to return,’ she finished. ‘But I can’t leave the people of Ceredys at John’s mercy. They need help.’
She knew they would suffer from his wrath in her absence. Shame curled over her, the memory of her earlier failure like a festering wound that would not heal.
The Queen opened a trunk, gathering up an armful of gowns. ‘Did you ask Ewan? He may have a strategy in mind.’
‘He thinks I should recruit from among his tribe.’ Honora stared down at the water. ‘But I don’t have enough coins to pay them. For that matter, I don’t even speak their language.’
‘Is Ewan planning to fight on your behalf?’ Isabel lifted up a gown, pretending to be interested in the colour, but Honora didn’t miss the concern in the Queen’s voice.
‘It isn’t his battle,’ Honora said softly. She didn’t want to bring Ewan into the fight, not when he could be killed.
She’d been so afraid when she hadn’t seen him swimming towards Connor’s boat. So many things could have gone wrong. She might have lost him.
Her hands fisted beneath the surface of the bath water, her heart wrenching at the thought. She needed to know that he was safe among his tribe. That nothing would happen to him.
Taming Her Irish Warrior Page 19