Taming Her Irish Warrior

Her dark hair hung against the back of her neck, and the ends stuck out, as though she’d hacked them off with a knife. The effect made her face softer, his eyes drawn to that mouth again. Right now, her lips were tight as she concentrated on the fight. Her eyes weren’t the same green as his own, but a softer shade, like new spring leaves.

As she struck blows against his blade, he parried each one without effort. Not once did he reveal the stiffness in his palms that made it difficult to grasp the hilt fully. The scarred skin was a permanent weakness that he fought to overcome.

‘You lied to me about your sister.’ He switched hands and struck back, forcing her to retreat. The sound of metal against metal reverberated in the stillness. ‘She doesn’t like cats at all. They make her sneeze.’

At least Honora had the grace to look guilty. But when he lowered his blade, she spun, slicing the sword at his throat.

He dived, tripping her legs with his own as he rolled upon the hard ground. Her weapon flew from her hands, and she struck the dirt. Within moments, he had her lying on her back, her wrists pinned.

‘Admit your defeat, Honora.’

Chapter Three

She grimaced. ‘If you’d paid attention while we were growing up, you’d have known that Katherine can’t abide cats.’

‘She was fourteen years old when I was fostered with the Earl of Longford. I rarely saw her.’ He released her, sheathing his sword before he sat on the ground, resting his back against the wall. She retrieved her sword and cleaned it, before placing it back upon the wall. Afterwards, she sat down an arm’s distance from him, her knees drawn up beneath her skirts.

‘But you want to wed Katherine.’

‘I do, yes.’ He eyed her closely, the way a thin sheen of perspiration lined her brow, the hitch in her breathing from the sword fight. Her riotous black hair stuck out in every direction.

‘Why?’

He hesitated in answering, for there were selfish reasons, as well as his own fascination with Katherine. He admitted to himself that were it not for her dowry and lands, he wouldn’t be pursuing her. Honora would see the truth, regardless of what he said. Always had there been complete honesty between them.

‘She is beautiful—’ he began, but broke off as his gaze shifted over to Honora’s features. She had changed in the years since he’d seen her. But unlike her strong, firm body, her face held a vulnerability. Soft, like the woman she tried to hide.

At his stare, she tried to smooth out the locks, which made her hair even worse. With a wry smile, she added, ‘Beautiful, the way I am not.’

There was chagrin in her voice, a self-consciousness that he hadn’t expected. Ewan reached out and touched the ends of her hair. ‘You’re fair enough, Honora. But in a different way from Katherine.’ Like water and sand, the two sisters could not have been more opposite.

‘You are a skilled fighter,’ he commented. ‘Better than some of your father’s guards, I’d wager.’

‘I’m not good enough, or I would have beaten you.’

The corner of his mouth turned up. ‘You’ll never beat me again, a chara.’

She rose to her feet, studying the blades mounted to the wall. ‘Shall we find out?’

He mused upon it. It would do no harm to let her try. ‘We’ll have a wager, then. If I win this sparring match, you’ll tell me truly what would win the heart of your sister.’

‘You’re not going to win.’

So sure of herself, wasn’t she? He gestured towards the wall. ‘Go on, then. Choose your sword.’

She selected the same blade, lightly slashing the air. Without warning, she aimed the blade towards his middle, and he blocked the thrust.

‘And what did you want, if you win the wager?’ he asked.

‘Your heart on a pike, perhaps.’ She gave a thin smile and struck again, releasing anger that appeared to be about something else, rather than the match she’d lost earlier.

‘If you want to win my heart, there are nicer ways to go about it. A bit of land, perhaps. Or a new horse.’

‘I’ll buy you a ribbon for your hair,’ she gritted out, her blade swinging in a vicious arc.

He let her tire herself out, but there was no question she had skill better than most men. Her technique was flawless; if he hadn’t been paying attention, there was a time or two when she genuinely could have won.

Her cheeks were flushed with exertion, her eyes narrowed with complete concentration. ‘Why aren’t you fighting me back?’ she demanded. ‘Stop defending my blows, and show me what you know.’

Her challenge made him quicken his assault. He attacked, forcing her towards the corner of a room. Using his full strength, he kept his sword moving, sending strikes against her weapon that surely would weaken her arm.

But still she kept meeting his force with her own blade. Her face was tight, exhaustion making her move slower.

When at last he had her trapped, he swung his sword, and she didn’t block him. Catching himself at the last moment before he skewered her, he cursed and drove the blade into the wall.

Honora kicked his feet out from under him, and his head cracked against the ground. She sat upon him, holding the sword to his throat, one hand upon the hilt, the other on the flat side of the blade.

‘Do you yield?’ Her voice was throaty, as though he were her prisoner in bed sport. No longer did he care that he’d lost this match. Honora’s skirts had ridden up, her thighs straddling his waist. Her firm backside rested upon his manhood, and instantly he hardened.

With the close contact, Honora reddened, suddenly aware of her effect on him. Ewan palmed her hips, intending to lift her aside. Instead, he felt the firm shape of her bottom, and Honora expelled a sharp breath.

Her face was bright with exertion, her hair damp with perspiration. She looked like a woman who had been made love to for hours. Gritting his teeth, Ewan tried to ignore his body’s reaction.

‘You play a dangerous game, Honora. I could have harmed you.’

‘But I won, didn’t I?’

His stomach muscles flexed as he took both of her hands. Ignoring the possibility of the sword slicing his palm, he pushed her backwards until he was seated upright. She had no choice but to loosen her grip on the weapon.

With his face so near to hers, he could conquer her in another way, their mouths mingling in a kiss like the one before. His desire flared with the need to possess her again. Honora tried to scramble off his lap, but he couldn’t let go of her. Not yet. He might have lost this sparring match, but he wanted her to understand his displeasure.

‘What is my forfeit?’ He reached back and gripped her nape, winding his fingers in her shorn hair to trap her. Her breath caught, her shoulders rising as though she were suddenly afraid of him. The sword rested between them, and Honora moved it away.

‘Let me up, MacEgan.’

‘After you answer my question. You never said what you wanted, if I lost the match.’

She dug in her heels and tried to push backwards, but the motion sent her rocking back against his erection. He could almost imagine loosening his trews, raising up her skirts until he sank inside her.

Damn her. Whether it was intentional or not, she’d awakened a craving he wanted to satisfy. But he could not. Not if he wanted to wed Katherine. Lust was something he’d never expected with Honora, but it was easily avoided.

‘I want … your help in capturing a thief.’ Honora didn’t sound fully convinced, and he wondered why she’d hesitated. She tried again to escape his grasp, and this time he allowed her to get up.

‘What thief?’

She picked up the blade, cleaning it meticulously. ‘Someone stole a wooden chest from the chapel, and I believe it’s a member of the household.’

‘Have you spoken with your father?’