She was right. The more time they spent together, the worse the risk of hurting her. She still believed he was going to wed an heiress, though he’d given up that idea.
He didn’t want to face a future without her, but there seemed to be no alternative. Honora would never let go of her vow to Ceredys. She would put her life in danger, and there was nothing he could do to stop her.
Not unless he went with her.
The thought of her lifting a sword against John, or worse, watching her be struck down, was unthinkable.
The morning sun pierced through the doorway, and Ewan walked outside. He took care of the animals first, then took a hard look at his property.
His circular hut was constructed of limestone and thatch, with a packed earthen floor. Half-a-dozen cattle gorged themselves on the dried corn he’d stored over the winter, protected by a low stone wall.
It wasn’t enough. Even if he sold off each of the cows, he’d still need more coins to buy land and to build a larger home.
A small section of the stone wall had begun to crumble, so Ewan busied himself correcting the fallen stones. His muscles tightened as he hefted a stone, placing it atop the pile. He worked over the course of an hour, sweating as he finished the wall. The work made it easier to think, to make his plans.
The Midsummer’s Eve festivities were approaching. During the aenach, visitors would come from the neighbouring tribes to intermarry and to compete in the contests of strength and skill. Often there were prizes for the winners, sometimes a silver cup or a horse. It might be, he could win the contests and use the coins to help Honora.
He glanced back at his meagre hut. Honora deserved better than this. She deserved a fine estate, with an army at her command to cast out John of Ceredys.
And he wished he could be the one to give it to her.
‘There he is.’ Liam MacEgan pointed to Ewan, who was repairing a stone wall. Honora sent a silent prayer of thanksgiving that the boy spoke her language, else she’d never have found Ewan’s dwelling.
Honora thanked Liam, and he waited, a slight smile on his face. ‘Was there something you wanted?’
He shifted his weight from foot to foot. ‘My uncle sometimes gives me a sweet or a honey cake when I’m helpful.’
Another shrewd smile.
‘If I had one to give you, I certainly would,’ Honora apologised. ‘But perhaps Ewan has something.’
At the sound of their voices, Ewan looked up. Liam scampered into his arms, chattering in Irish at a speed she couldn’t comprehend.
Even as Ewan found a treat for his nephew, she didn’t miss his look of discomfort, as though he were ashamed of his home.
There was no reason for it. The small stone hut had fresh thatching, and the walls were sturdy. It reminded her of the roundhouses she’d seen, not far from her homeland. The welcoming aroma of peat smoke surrounded the space, and the lowing of cattle broke the stillness. Behind the hut was a small garden, with rows of onions and peas already planted.
Honora didn’t wait for an invitation, but ducked inside while Ewan was talking to Liam. The interior was cool and dark, the earthen floor immaculate. A small sleeping pallet lay in one corner, while a fire glowed in the centre. A shelf contained cooking pots and dishes made of fired clay.
There were no decorations of any kind, and Honora doubted if he’d had time or the inclination. It needed a little more care to make it into a home. She sat down on the bench beside the table, and it wasn’t long before Ewan entered.
‘This is where you live?’ she asked.
He gave a brusque nod. ‘For now. One day I hope to leave it behind.’
She crossed the small space, standing before him. ‘Why? There’s nothing wrong with your home.’ Truth to tell, she preferred it to the vast castle, for no one would criticise her here, nor note her sorrowful lack of skills.
‘Save your pity. I know what this place is. But it won’t be this way always.’
Did he believe she was lying to him? It wasn’t pity, not at all. ‘Why would you say that?’
‘I want to provide more for my family and the woman I’ll wed one day.’ He stared at the beams of the house, not looking at her while he spoke.
Jealousy slashed through her common sense at the mention of a wife. She found herself blurting out, ‘Have you picked her out already?’
His eyes flared with sudden desire. ‘I have one in mind.’
Before she could speak another word, he trapped her against the bench and table, gripping her head while he kissed her. It felt like years since he’d touched her, and desire rippled through her instantly. His hands moved fast, tearing through each layer of clothing while she fought to free him from his tunic and trews.
A savage need poured over her like water, racing through her veins in the need to join with this man. She kissed his chest, running her hands over his shoulders and arms. ‘I want you inside me.’
‘You’re going to have to wait, then. For I’ve not finished touching you.’
After her clothes lay upon the ground, Ewan laid her back on the table, her spine pressed against the wood. He fastened his mouth upon her nipple, using his teeth and tongue to drive her into a deeper need. He wrapped her legs around his waist, his hard shaft pressed against her wet centre. ‘I’m not letting you return to Ceredys, Honora. I won’t risk your safety with John.’
He squeezed her bottom, forcing his length to ride against her cleft. Easing the tip of himself inside, she tried to sheathe him, but he wouldn’t allow it.
‘It’s my choice to make,’ she breathed, hissing when his mouth moved down to her navel. He lowered himself until he was kneeling on the ground, her legs wide open before him.
‘Not any more,’ he growled against her sensitive flesh. With his tongue, he tasted her intimately. He stroked a rhythm upon her flesh, the building pressure rising high inside her.
‘I made a vow to the people,’ she gritted out, gasping when he stood, lifting her hips to his.
‘And I’m making a vow to you. You’re going to stay here. I’ll go in your place and free them, if it means that much to you.’
‘It’s my battle. Not yours.’
‘Argue you all you want, a ghrá. But I’ll let no man harm you.’
He plunged his erection inside her, and she shattered, the white-hot pleasure making her climax. Ewan lifted her ankles to rest upon his shoulders while he invaded and withdrew. She felt every inch of him penetrating, and each stroke brought her closer to another fulfillment.
She didn’t like his supercilious declaration. ‘I won’t be pushed aside again, Ewan. I’ll face my own enemies.’
He withdrew his thick length, gently turning her over until her elbows rested on the table, her knees spread wide on the bench. ‘Not John.’
A moment later, he filled her from behind, driving himself so deeply, Honora found it impossible to think clearly. Her body was shaking violently as he brought her to the edge of madness and sent her flying across. She half-screamed when he impaled her, over and over. He grew even harder as he pumped inside, roaring as he reached his own climax.
Honora slumped over the table, unable to move. Ewan rested his face upon her back, still within her. ‘When I return,’ he breathed, kissing her skin, ‘I’ll hire my sword out until I’ve made enough silver to give you your own estate.’
Did he think he had to buy her affections? Was he expecting her to wait for a year or longer, until he felt he had enough wealth?
‘I don’t need an estate. It means nothing to me.’ Especially if Ewan wasn’t there. Couldn’t he see that he would chain himself to a life of wandering? He would become a mercenary, a man whom she would hardly ever see.
‘It means everything to me.’
His words left her cold. This wasn’t about wanting to provide a good place for her to live. It was about besting others, lifting himself up to the wealth of his brothers. He hadn’t heard a word she’d said.
Why? Why was he behaving like this, as th
ough she needed more to be happy? But then, he’d said it himself, hadn’t he? He was the one who wanted an estate, not her.
After a time, he withdrew and cleaned himself, donning his clothes again. Honora struggled with the léine and overdress, and Ewan helped her with the laces.
‘You should return to Laochre,’ he said, kissing her cheek. ‘I am staying here tonight, to take care of some things. I’ll see you on the morrow.’
Just like that, he dismissed her. Not a word about whether he wanted to marry her, whether he wanted her to live with him—nothing. Only a promise that he intended to go to Ceredys and leave her behind. To do what? Spin wool? Sweep the floors?
Honora strode away from his dwelling without a farewell. Right now she wanted to work off her irritation. She crossed his land, minding her step through the cow pasture. Hot tears swelled up in her eyes, for Ewan’s ambitions were blinding him to the truth.
She didn’t want a kingdom. The fear of failure haunted her, knowing that she’d let the people of Ceredys down. She didn’t want to be responsible for dozens of families, and whether they had enough food to last through the winter.
But Ewan did.
A heaviness rose up in her throat. She’d never known how important this was to him. She couldn’t give him the kingdom he wanted; her dower lands were controlled by John. But neither did she want Ewan to waste years of his life in search of gold he might never have.
No matter what he’d promised, she refused to stay behind in Erin while he went to fight her battles.
This was about more than vengeance or redemption. It was about proving to herself that she could fight her greatest enemy and win. That she could swallow her fears and become a true warrior.
She shielded her eyes from the morning sun, staring out at Laochre. The stronghold was filled with countless soldiers, Irishmen who walked with the quiet confidence of fighters.
And not a single one of them knew her secret. She’d hidden herself for so long, denying her abilities. Was it any wonder that Ewan could not see her as an equal, when she hid behind the shadows of her father’s disapproval?
She stood, taking a deep breath. It was time to change that.
Chapter Eighteen
As Honora passed the homes of the MacEgan tribe members, she was surprised to see children gathering herbs, tying fresh sage, St. John’s Wort and lavender into bundles. But what startled her most was the abundance of firewood.
‘It’s for the fires,’ Connor remarked as he approached from behind her. ‘The ashes and embers will guard against bad luck. And all will jump across the coals for protection.’
‘A dangerous custom.’ She eyed the large pile of wood, thinking that it was impossible for anyone to leap over such a fire without catching their clothing ablaze.
‘It is. And the children love it most of all.’ A noticeable wince crossed his face. ‘My boys in particular.’
‘Do you burn all of the herbs?’
‘Not all. Some are twisted into bundles for luck. I usually give my wife, Aileen, a bundle of lavender. The problem is, she keeps grinding it up to make medicines.’
Even so, he walked over to one of the baskets of lavender and gave her a small handful. ‘Twist this into a bundle and make a wish. Then toss it into the fires tonight.’
Honora accepted the fragrant herbs and began twisting the strands into a knot. There was so much to wish for, she hardly knew where to begin.
They walked alongside one another, and Connor suddenly tensed at the sight of a young maiden standing with a group of girls. Her long dark hair was twined with ribbons and flowers.
‘Is something wrong?’ Honora asked.
Connor looked murderous. ‘She’s too young for this.’
‘Who?’
‘My daughter, Rhiannon.’ He crossed his arms across his chest, and it was then that Honora noticed the young men watching the girls. Connor looked as though he wanted to cut their throats and leave them out to bleed.
‘Too young for what?’
A savage look glittered in his eyes. ‘Too young to be thinking of kissing a lad. Or, worse, taking a lover. She’s only thirteen, for the love of Danu.’ His left hand went to his sword hilt, and it was then that Honora noticed the scars.
Connor saw the direction of her gaze. ‘Don’t worry. If any of them dares to lay a hand on my daughter, I can use my sword well enough.’
Honora spied similar scarring upon his right palm. That one looked even more injured, the fingers twisted into an unnatural shape. ‘What happened to you?’
He sobered. ‘I was punished for a crime I did not commit. But thanks be, Aileen saved my hands. And my life.’ He held them up for her inspection. ‘If it weren’t for her, I might have lost them.’
‘Do they hurt?’ She couldn’t imagine such a life, being unable to fully use her hands.
‘No. They’re not as pretty as my face, but they can do what’s needed.’ Connor winked, and his teasing nature set her at ease once more. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, there are some lads I need to kill.’
‘Your daughter will be humiliated.’
‘She might,’ Connor admitted. ‘But she’ll keep her virtue.’
As he stalked towards the young men, Honora hid her smile. All around her, she smelled the yeasty scent of fresh bread. The blacksmith’s hammer rang out amid the sounds of girls giggling and the lowing of cattle being gathered together. Though it was only the day before Midsummer’s Eve, she could already feel the rising excitement.
Children practised against one another in foot races, while she heard the sound of steel upon steel in a nearby training field.
Just ahead, she saw several targets set up, while four women practised archery. While two of them were fairly skilled, the other two kept aiming too low, their arrows embedding in the ground.
With their hair braided back, wearing only the tight-sleeved léine underdresses, the women had more freedom of movement. But when Honora watched them make the same mistakes over and over again, she couldn’t stop herself from approaching a red-haired woman, slightly younger than herself.
‘Forgive me,’ she said, knowing they would not understand her. The red-haired woman stopped, her expression confused. Honora pointed to the bow and asked, ‘May I try?’
The woman exchanged a glance at her friends, but nodded. Honora picked up the weapon, feeling the wood, testing the bow string. It was a good bow, and she fitted an arrow, aiming it towards the target. She ripped at the bowstring, sending the arrow directly into the centre of the target.
The woman beamed at her, and started chattering at her in Irish. Honora gestured for the woman to take the bow back again, and she adjusted the woman’s aim, slightly higher than where she had intended to shoot.
‘You have to allow for the arrow to fall when you shoot,’ she explained, feeling ridiculous for speaking to them in a language they didn’t understand. But then Connor returned and translated her words. The woman tried again and this time, her arrow struck the straw target. Her smile beamed, and Connor said, ‘I think you’ve made a friend with Noreen. She wants you to show the others. They are competing against the Ó Phelan tribe in archery later on. If you could help them to win, they would be in your debt.’
Honora ventured a smile towards the women, nodding. The woman named Noreen took Honora’s hand and introduced her to the others. Before long, Honora was showing each woman how to shoot properly. She took pride in watching them succeed. For this was something she knew well enough, even if she was not an adequate mistress of the household.
An hour later, the women bid her farewell, and Honora crossed over to watch the swordfighting. One of the older men wore the armour of a Norman knight. He ran the men through sparring exercises that she’d seen hundreds of times at her father’s castle.
Entranced, she watched them, wishing she could join them. Like a violent dance, they slashed their swords, dodging blows and parrying thrusts. Her hand rested on the broken grip she’d tucked beneath the overdres
s, longing rising up within her.
When they stopped to rest, King Patrick approached her. Honora tried to curtsy, but he waved a dismissive hand. ‘Was there something you needed? Or did you merely wish to watch?’
Actually, she’d wanted to participate. But first, she needed a sword of her own.
‘I wanted to watch the warriors.’ Truthfully, she hoped to choose the men who could join her in the fight for Ceredys. Though she had nothing to offer them here, she could promise them silver and jewels if they followed her to England.
The King led her to the training field. ‘The men compete to be named the strongest. I suspect that will be Ewan.’
‘He’s changed a great deal since his fostering.’ Honora walked alongside the King towards the donjon. ‘In many ways.’
She stared up at the tall castle with its stone walls, wincing a little when they passed beneath the murder hole. As a girl, she’d never liked the sense of being watched. Sure enough, she caught a glimpse of young Liam before he thought better of throwing the mud cake he held in his grimy hands.
‘Are you going to wed my brother?’ King Patrick asked. There was a note of disapproval in his voice.
Honora stopped walking, startled at his confrontation. ‘He hasn’t asked.’ And though it broke her heart to think of it, she wasn’t certain she could say yes if he did. She didn’t want to wed a man who was constantly in search of riches, falsely believing it was what she wanted. ‘And I must first protect my own people. Ewan knows this.’
Patrick pointed to the practice field. ‘Sir Anselm, the Norman knight you saw training my men, can help you to address the men. I cannot promise any of them will join in your fight, but you can ask. When you are ready to leave, we will provide you with safe passage.’
Honora finally looked up at the stony grey eyes of the King, grateful for his assistance. Though it was no guarantee she’d find any men to help, it was the first time she’d seen any hint of assistance. ‘Thank you.’
Taming Her Irish Warrior Page 21