Taming Her Irish Warrior

Not really, she wanted to say. Instead, she responded, ‘It is his wish, yes. I have not decided whether or not I will.’

‘I would be most … most honoured if you would c-consider me as a potential husband.’ Sir Ademar stared down at the grass, embarrassed at his awkward speech. Honora didn’t know if it was nerves or whether he always had difficulty speaking. But this was the first time any man had openly declared an interest. She could not have been more startled.

‘You flatter me,’ she managed. ‘But weren’t you courting my sister?’

His face fell, turning morose. Venturing a chagrined smile, he managed, ‘She … she would never consider a man like me.’

Wouldn’t she? Honora wasn’t so sure. But then, Katherine seemed taken with Ewan MacEgan, so possibly Sir Ademar was right. A touch of sympathy caught her by surprise.

Though she couldn’t be certain why she did it, Honora untied a blue ribbon from her hair and gave it to him. ‘Here. Take this when you go to fight.’

Sir Ademar tied it around his arm, the small bit of silk contrasting against the chainmail armour he wore. A faint smile perked at his mouth, as though he couldn’t believe what she’d just done.

Honora could hardly believe it herself. But his clumsy offer had touched her somehow.

‘God grant that I … may be victorious in this … next ch-challenge.’ The pride in his voice made her smile, and he didn’t seem quite so intimidating.

‘I bid you good fortune.’ And she was surprised to discover she meant it.

A horn resounded, and Sir Ademar bowed, exiting towards the fighting arena. Alone, she stood back while the men readied themselves for the last challenge.

When she saw Sir Ademar’s opponent, Honora’s smile fell. It was Ewan.

While the Norman knight wore chainmail, Ewan had chosen a lightweight leather corselet to wear over his tunic. Leather braces protected his arms, and he carried a heavy wooden shield. He caught her glance and raised his shield in a discreet salute.

He’d done that when they were children. Long ago, she’d thought he was mocking her, because he was allowed to fight while she could only watch. Now, she realised it was meant to show respect.

Though there were a thousand reasons why she should not care who won the tournament, a part of her remembered the awkward boy Ewan had been. The boy who had been her friend once, teaching her what he’d learned from the sword masters, even though it was forbidden.

All of her earlier good wishes towards Ademar crumbled away, for now her true wish was to see Ewan emerge as the winner.

Honora hurried back to the dais, wanting a better seat to watch the fight. As she passed by a small undergrowth of shrubbery, she spied something brown and rectangular-shaped.

When she knelt down, she nearly caught her breath. For there, nearly hidden amid the weeds, lay the chest stolen from the family chapel.

Chapter Four

There were a few minutes before the match was due to begin. Ewan’s entire body ached, and sweat mingled with blood upon his skin. After the last fight, he’d taken a slice across his upper arm. An irritant, nothing more, and it was worth the wound to secure the win. Now he had one remaining round.

Honora’s warning reverberated in his mind. Watch for a switch. Though he could fight using either hand, he strongly favoured his right. Best to end this match quickly.

Ewan drained the cup of ale his brother held, regaining his strength. The cool drink didn’t alleviate his thirst, but he took a few moments to calm his breathing and to focus on the upcoming match.

‘You’ve done well this day,’ Bevan remarked.

The rare compliment brightened his mood. His older brother found fault more often than he praised a fight. ‘Good enough for now. But there’s still this last fight.’

‘Use your brain, not your arm. And for God’s sakes, keep your eyes off your feet.’

Ewan hid a smile. He hadn’t done that in years, but Bevan wouldn’t let him live it down. ‘The Baron says there will be a prize for the winner.’

‘Whatever it is, give it back to his daughter in her honour.’

A sound idea, if the prize were gold or silver. ‘I should go.’ He handed the cup back to Bevan and moved towards his opponent. ‘They’re starting.’

Ewan glanced over at the dais. Katherine sat beside her father, an anxious smile upon her face, while Honora was missing.

It didn’t sit well with him to see her gone. Was she all right? She’d been tense for most of the tournament, her smile strained. His gaze shifted through the crowd, accounting for each of the suitors. No one seemed to be missing, save her.

Why would she leave now, when the fighting was about to begin? Honora loved to watch swordplay. He started to back away from the ring to search for her, when suddenly she emerged from a small grove of trees. In her hands, she held a wooden chest.

Ewan stepped in front of her. ‘Are you all right?’

Honora nearly stumbled, and he caught her arm. ‘Yes, I am fine.’

His shoulders relaxed. He was about to excuse himself when she held out the chest.

‘I found this in the underbrush over there. It’s what I was searching for the other night.’

‘The chest you thought was stolen.’

‘It was stolen,’ she insisted. ‘Wooden chests don’t grow legs and walk out into the trees.’

But if someone had taken it, why would they leave it behind? ‘I’ve heard nothing, Honora. Most of the men speak of your sister and little else.’

‘Keep your eyes open.’ Her gaze snapped to the cut upon his arm. Gently, she examined it. ‘What happened to you?’

‘I let Beaulais cut me, in order to move in closer.’

Her hand stayed upon his shoulder a moment longer than it should have. Though her palm was callused from holding the sword, her touch warmed his skin.

‘Honora, don’t.’

‘Don’t what?’ She drew back, her fingertips coated with his blood.

He chose his words with care, not wanting to offend her. ‘I’m going to wed your sister.’

Embarrassment flooded her face. ‘If she’ll have you.’ With another step backwards, she added, ‘I did nothing except examine your wound. You’ve too high an opinion of yourself if you believe I wanted you.’

This was going badly. He tried to apologise. ‘I didn’t mean—’

‘Your match is next.’ She cut him off. ‘Go and fight Sir Ademar. Perhaps he’ll cut your other arm.’

With the chest tucked against her side, she strode off to the dais. Ewan stepped towards the ring, his annoyance rising.

Why did he always seem to fall into her trap whenever he was near her? And why, in God’s name, did she provoke him so? He’d meant only to be polite, to see to her safety. But within a few moments in her presence, they were arguing.

He unsheathed his sword and prepared for the fight against Sir Ademar. The tall knight wore chainmail armour, his coif and aventail hiding all but his face. Ewan circled his opponent, waiting for the right opening. The weight of the armour would slow the knight down, and Ewan intended to take full advantage of the weakness.