Taming Her Irish Warrior

She didn’t know how to respond, and her lips remained frozen. Gentle and coaxing, Ewan slid his hands through her hair. His powerful thighs pressed up to her body, the hot length of him suddenly reminding her why it was unwise to awaken a sleeping man.

His hands caressed the hollow of her back, slipping beneath the man’s tunic she wore. A light shiver rose up on her skin while his hands roamed her body, caressing her as though she were made of silk. The touch of his rough palms aroused her, and an aching warmth bloomed between her thighs.

The unfamiliar sensation caught her without warning. His rough palms stroked her spine, and she longed for his hands to move upwards. To fill up with her breasts, easing the heaviness and the shocking need.

Never had a man touched her in this way. Especially not her husband.

The memory slashed through her, shattering the moment. She pushed him away, her lips swollen and her body restless. ‘I’m not Katherine.’

‘Honora.’

She nodded, not trusting her voice. She reached for her dagger, but discovered it wasn’t there.

Ewan raised the blade, the steel reflecting in the moonlight. ‘Looking for this?’

‘I didn’t come here to harm you.’

‘No. Only to rob me.’

‘I didn’t even know you were here,’ she protested. ‘I came looking for—’ She almost said a thief, but silenced herself. For all she knew, Ewan was the thief. Doubtful, but she could not rule it out.

‘Looking for your husband?’ he queried. Accusations filled up his voice, as though she were a little girl caught stealing sweets.

‘My husband is dead.’ She pulled his hand off her other wrist and held out her palm. ‘Give me back my dagger.’

‘No.’ Ewan held it out of reach, and Honora lunged for it. With her full weight bearing down on him, she took him down. Before she could grab the blade from his grasp, he rolled over, his body crushing hers.

Trapped, she felt every line of his body. And the dangerous glint in his eye made her aware that she had made a very bad decision.

‘I’m not the boy I was, Honora.’ He kept her pinioned, and tossed the knife away. ‘You won’t defeat me in a fight. Not any more.’

Her face flushed. Apparently, he hadn’t forgotten how she’d bested him. More than once she’d disarmed him, her fighting skills equal to his. But that was long ago.

‘Let me get up.’ She tried to sit, and Ewan rolled off her. He sat beside her on the floor, seemingly at ease.

She tried to straighten her clothing, regaining her composure. ‘Why are you here?’

‘I’m going to wed your sister.’

She bit back the argument that he was but one man among many. Her father hadn’t settled the betrothal yet, nor would he, until he had taken each man’s measure.

‘I’m sorry I kissed you,’ he said. ‘I mistook you for Katherine.’

His apology only heated up her temper. Honora knew she wasn’t as comely as her sister, but she didn’t need to be reminded of it. ‘Katherine would never enter a stranger’s bedchambers.’

‘Unlike you.’ There was a hint of humour beneath his tone, but she didn’t acknowledge the teasing. It made her feel insulted, and she regretted her impulsive behaviour.

The door opened, and Honora jerked to her feet. Oh, heaven. Another angry MacEgan brother was staring at her.

‘Am I interrupting something?’ He glanced at Ewan, who didn’t seem at all embarrassed to be naked with a woman beside him.

‘Honora was just leaving.’ Ewan gestured towards the door, and she took the invitation gratefully. She didn’t even bother about the dagger, so thankful was she to flee their presence.

Bevan closed the door behind Honora, setting a torch within an iron sconce. Ewan didn’t miss the questioning look upon his brother’s face. ‘Wrong chamber,’ was his only offer of explanation.

Bevan didn’t believe a word of it, and waited for him to elaborate. Frankly, Ewan didn’t feel like it. He’d been awakened by the sound of Honora’s intrusion, and hadn’t at all expected to find a woman in his chamber.

His uneasiness escalated, for he’d acted on impulse, kissing her. At first, he’d tricked himself into thinking Katherine had come to see him. Fool. Katherine was shy and demure, not nearly as brazen as her sister.

Honora. He rested his fingertips against his mouth, thinking of the kiss he’d stolen. The taste of her lingered, soft and sweet. Completely unlike the stubborn girl who had plagued him so many years ago.

‘Her father won’t be pleased,’ Bevan said. ‘I drank nearly half a barrel of ale with him this night, pleading your case.’ He grimaced at the late hour, running a hand through his hair. ‘You’d best ensure that he doesn’t find out about this. I doubt if he’ll let you wed his youngest daughter if you were dallying with her sister.’

‘Honora intruded upon my sleep.’ Ewan returned to his pallet, flipping the woollen coverlet over himself. ‘It wasn’t my fault.’

‘What was she doing?’

‘Looking for someone.’ He shrugged, as though it were of no importance. Though now that he considered it, he wondered precisely whom she had sought. ‘What else did her father say?’

‘He will consider your suit. Thomas de Renalt also spoke with him and offered his approval of the match.’

Ewan’s tension eased a bit at the mention of his foster-father. ‘Good.’

Sinking back onto his pallet, he stared at the ceiling while Bevan retreated to his own sleeping place. The torch flickered shadows on to the walls, while all around, he heard the noise of other guests. In the distance, a dog barked, its cries mingling with the sounds of night.

Honora’s hair had been short, barely touching her shoulders. Ragged and silky, he hadn’t expected that. He was accustomed to seeing her with a veil. The intimacy of her bare head reminded him of how he’d kissed her, winding his fingers through the softness.

Her hair was the colour of a midnight sky, her skin milky pale. Large, full lips had kissed him back, and she’d tasted like apples, succulent with a hint of sweetness. Her arms were not the soft skin of most women, but they held a lean strength. So often she’d tried to best him when they were fostered together. She’d won, more times than he wanted to remember.

Not any more.

He shifted upon the bed coverings, trying to force his thoughts back to Katherine as he drifted off to sleep. Even so, he couldn’t forget Honora’s kiss.

Chapter Two

‘You were seen leaving the MacEgan bedchamber last night.’ Nicholas de Montford, the Baron of Ardennes, set his goblet firmly upon the table in his private chamber. He folded his hands, the morning sunlight reflecting on his gold rings.

Honora’s cheeks burned, and she fumbled for an excuse. ‘It was a mistake. I was merely trying to find—’

‘Your rooms are on the opposite side of the donjon. Don’t offer lies.’

Caught. Her father was many things, but he was not a fool. His harsh expression regarded her as if weighing a decision. Honora folded her hands and waited for him to go on. When he didn’t, her agitation heightened. Was he going to punish her? What did he want?

‘Nothing happened,’ she offered. ‘I left immediately.’

‘That does not matter. You are a widow and must comport yourself with virtue.’

He made it sound as though she’d invaded MacEgan’s bedchamber with the intent of deflowering him. Her cheeks burned brighter at the memory of his strong, naked body. Ewan had never looked like that as an adolescent. But now … Her body tightened at the memory of his kiss. Her fingernails dug into her wrists as she fought to subdue the thought.