Taming Her Irish Warrior

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.

She had known nothing, a fact that Ranulf had never failed to remind her. Despite her best efforts, she had given her husband no pleasure in his home, nor in his bed. Had she fallen ill and died, she doubted if he would have noticed.

‘Why do you fight?’ Ewan asked again, staring as if he could see the answers in her profile.

‘Fighting is something I can do well,’ was her answer. It was the only thing she could do with any sort of expertise, save the embroidery. And even that, she’d only learned because it was necessary when tending wounded men. Blood had never bothered her, and she’d sewn up countless wounds.

After she tied off the thread, she packed the wound with comfrey and crushed garlic that Katherine had left behind. There were no cobwebs to help the wound bind, but with a tight bandage, it might do well enough. She wound his arm firmly with the clean linen. ‘Do you want me to wrap your ribs now?’

Against her desires, she found herself staring at his mouth. The heat of the room grew stifling, and perspiration rose up on her skin.

‘That won’t be necessary.’ His hand reached out to hers, and she grew self-conscious of the rough calluses upon her palm.

‘The cut will be better in a sennight or two,’ she remarked. ‘But try to keep it covered when you fight.’ Taking a step backwards, she drew her hand away and waited for him to leave.

Ewan didn’t take the pointed hint. Instead, he moved in until she was cornered against a wall. ‘Don’t ever take a risk like that again. Beaulais might have harmed you.’ He rested his hand against the wall behind her. Once again, the familiar scent of him seemed to pull at her senses.

Honora tried to keep her breathing steady, to ignore the rapid pulsing of her heart. ‘I could have blocked him, had he tried to strike me.’

‘You take too many chances,’ he argued. ‘And while I am glad you can defend yourself, there’s no reason to seek trouble.’ He cupped her chin. ‘You find it well enough on your own.’

‘Don’t patronise me.’ Her face felt as though it were on fire, and he was far too close. The gentle pressure of his fingertips against her chin made her hands tremble. ‘And don’t touch me.’

He lifted his hands up and stepped away. ‘As you wish. But let there be peace between us, Honora.’

‘Why does it matter?’

‘If I’m going to wed your sister, I would like for us to be friends.’

Friends. Had they ever been just that to one another? She had followed him around far more than was proper. If the truth be known, years ago she’d held a secret admiration of him, wishing that he would fall in love with her.

But he hadn’t. He’d been kind enough, but most times he’d tried to avoid her. Looking back, she understood the reason. It was difficult for any man to love a woman who had attempted to skewer him with a sword.

‘Friends,’ she repeated. ‘I suppose there’s no harm in it.’ She offered him her hand, as though it meant nothing. But the light grip of his hand upon hers sent a wild heat blazing through her. ‘As your friend, I’ll warn you not to do anything foolish again, like you did tonight.’

The corner of his mouth turned up. ‘Why would you say that?’

Tilting her head, she remarked, ‘Fighting a man when you’ve been bleeding for hours, Ewan? Now was that wise?’

‘I won, didn’t I?’

She shook her head. ‘I had to sew you up again afterwards.’

He sent her his most charming smile and released her hand. ‘Just a scratch, Honora.’ Turning serious, he changed the subject. ‘Did you ever learn anything more about your thief?’

‘No. Nothing.’

‘Most of the men speak of Katherine or their own estates. I’ve heard not a single mention of the chest. But at least it was recovered.’

‘It isn’t only the chest,’ she admitted. ‘A cross and a chalice were also stolen.’

‘And were they found?’

She shook her head. ‘Not yet. But that isn’t what bothers me most. Neither were valuable. They were made of wood, not silver. I can’t understand why anyone would want them.’

‘I don’t know. But I’ll try to find out anything I can.’ Ewan raised his bandaged arm. ‘I owe you for this.’

‘It was no trouble.’ Honora forced herself to walk calmly to the door, bidding him goodnight, when what she’d really wanted to do was flee back to her room, hiding her burning cheeks beneath the coverlet.

Friends, he’d said. She didn’t know how that would ever be possible.

Ewan waited near the stables, the mid-morning sun casting beams amid the clouds. His brother Bevan had left at dawn to visit with his father-in-law, the Earl of Longford. No doubt the Earl would pressure Bevan to return to Erin, to be at Genevieve’s side for the new birth. Ewan hoped he could convince Katherine to wed him sooner and thereby grant Bevan his wish.

In the meantime, he’d been given a chance to spend time with Katherine. None of the other suitors had done so, to his knowledge, and it boded well for his chances of winning her hand.

Katherine had done her best to tend his wounds last night, though she couldn’t have endured sewing up the gash, the way her sister had. Honora didn’t cringe at the sight of blood or injuries, having sewn up a fair number of them over the years. He could easily see her doing the same for half-a-dozen sons, were she fortunate to bear children.

The thought pricked him. Honora didn’t want to wed, and though he suspected part of it was her reluctance to let a man hold dominion over her, he sensed a shadow from her former marriage. Something had happened, something she would never admit. It bothered him, to think of Honora falling victim to a man, even her husband.

At that moment, Katherine arrived. Her emerald bliaud contrasted against her fair skin and white veil, making her blue eyes appear more vivid.

‘Ewan,’ she greeted him with a smile. Behind her stood Honora, holding a basket. He recalled that Katherine had asked her to accompany them. Once again, Honora appeared desperately uncomfortable, and Ewan hardly blamed her.