Michelle Willingham - Taming Her Irish Warrior

‘He wants to speak with you,’ Honora replied. When she’d watched Ewan fighting, a part of her had been fascinated at his massive strength. He’d picked up Beaulais and tossed him like a stick of kindling.

She’d been unable to tear her gaze from him, and when it had ended, her skin had prickled with awareness.

A bead of sweat had run down his neck, outlining the gleaming chest. He hadn’t looked like that at sixteen, still a skinny lad not yet grown into manhood. But now …

Sweet Jesu, she’d wanted to touch him, to know that strength for herself. And though he drove her to madness with his stubborn arrogance, she couldn’t deny what she felt when she was around him. The very air seemed charged with desire, every movement intensifying the startling ache inside her.

When she’d seen Beaulais attacking him earlier today, she’d struck out without thinking of Ewan’s pride. He’d needed help, and she’d given it, nothing more. Any soldier would do the same for a friend. But he’d taken it as an insult, one she hadn’t intended.

It was just as well that he’d renewed his dislike towards her. She was finding him more and more difficult to resist. Strong and bold, she couldn’t help but admire the man he’d become.

He needed the softness of Katherine to balance his fierce demeanour. Not a woman like her, as quick to argue with him, unwilling to yield. If she wed a man like Ewan, they’d shred each other to pieces.

Or they’d set one another on fire.

She could envision fighting with him, and afterwards, making up. Having tasted the warmth of his mouth and the flames that seemed to burn her up inside, she knew he was far too dangerous.

‘I asked him to await you in the solar,’ Honora told her sister. ‘You needn’t do anything but tend his cuts and let him apologise.’

Katherine blanched. ‘Honora, it isn’t a good idea. Really, I don’t think—’

‘It will be fine,’ Honora interrupted. There was no question Ewan needed to be stitched up. And her sister would have to tend wounds from time to time, once they were wed. It was a good chance for them to have a moment alone. She changed her tactics. ‘Didn’t you say you thought he was handsome? He was the best fighter of any man there. You saw it for yourself.’

‘Yes, but I don’t like blood. It makes me faint.’

Honora rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t be a goose. It’s nothing but a scratch. You’ll bind it with linen, and that will be that.’

Katherine didn’t look convinced. ‘It looked bad. And … I’m nervous about being alone with him. Come with me, won’t you, Honora?’

No, she didn’t want that at all. She needed to remain right here, to remind herself of the thousand reasons why Ewan MacEgan was not a man she should desire.

‘I’ll send one of your maids, if it will make you feel better,’ Honora offered.

Katherine stood and laid a hand upon her arm. ‘I know you don’t like him very much. But truly, you can sit in the corner and embroider something. Or—or mend a gown. I have one with a torn hem.’

Honora faltered. If it would convince Katherine to go, perhaps she could simply remain out of view, in the corner with a bit of sewing.

No, no, no. She shouldn’t even consider accompanying her sister. What if Ewan tried to kiss Katherine? He wouldn’t want her there, intruding upon a private moment. Her cheeks burned at the thought, for he was quite good at kissing.

‘Say you’ll come,’ Katherine begged. ‘For me.’ She reached out, linking her pinkie finger with Honora’s. It was a gesture they’d done as young girls, a sisterly promise that could not be broken.

‘Please,’ Katherine asked again.

It wasn’t a good idea, but Honora decided as long as she stayed far away from them, it might go well enough. She could stare at the ceiling and count cobwebs, if need be.

She braved a smile and nodded. Katherine hugged her, murmuring thanks.

‘Go on, then,’ Honora bade her sister. ‘I’ll follow.’

When they arrived in the solar, Ewan awaited them on a bench. He’d put on his tunic again, and the long sleeves covered the gash Honora had seen on his forearm. He rose in silent respect.

‘I am sorry if I frightened you, Lady Katherine,’ he began. ‘I should not have fought Lord Beaulais in your presence.’ Approaching both of them, he offered his hands to Katherine.

Honora slipped off into a corner, pretending to busy herself with the embroidery on a gown. Though she tried not to listen to their conversation, she could not help herself.

‘Honora told me you were wounded in the fighting earlier,’ Katherine remarked. She bade him sit down, and added, ‘I’ll see if the basin of water and herbs have been prepared.’ She left the chamber, and the door closed behind her.

Ewan shot Honora a frown. ‘Why are you here?’

‘It was Katherine’s request.’ Honora lifted up the embroidery. ‘She was afraid to be alone with you.’ Grimacing at the awkward situation, she offered, ‘Forget I am here.’

A strange expression flashed upon his face. ‘You aren’t easily forget table, Honora.’

She didn’t know what he meant by that. There was a look in his eyes that she’d never seen before, a searching gaze. The planes of his face were narrow, casting shadows upon his cheeks. Despite the bruising, he was still the most handsome man she’d ever seen. Her gaze fastened upon his mouth, swollen from the punch he’d suffered.

She was not going to think about Ewan sitting so close, nor was she going to think about his kiss. He was going to wed her sister.

She ripped the seam of the gown, taking satisfaction in the act of destruction. Taking a deep breath, she threaded her bone needle and tried to pretend she was alone. She pierced the linen fabric, trying to calm her mind with the rhythm of even stitches.

Praise the Virgin, Katherine returned at last with the basin and herbs. Her sister chatted lightly about mundane topics, of the crops and household doings. Honora risked a glance and saw the grey pallor upon Katherine’s face as she dabbed at the cut upon Ewan’s lip.

But she did not raise the sleeve of his tunic to inspect the true wound. Ewan answered Katherine’s questions, a warm smile upon his lips as he spoke to her. Even so, the timbre of his voice was unsteady, as though he were in pain.

Why didn’t he raise his sleeve? Or have Katherine examine his ribs? Honora had seen the blows he’d suffered earlier in the tournament. He might have cracked a bone. Yet her sister appeared oblivious, forcing a smile and tending minor wounds.

When Honora lifted her gaze once more, Ewan was watching her over Katherine’s shoulders. His deep green eyes stared into hers in a silent message. He needed help. And Katherine’s nerves were beginning to show as she talked faster and faster.

Honora jerked her attention back to her sewing, not knowing what to do. Would Ewan want her to intervene? He might not trust her to tend the wound.

After a time, he rose and thanked Katherine, bidding her a good eventide. He kissed her hand, his fingers lingering upon her wrist. Honora stabbed the bone needle into her embroidery, tossing it in the basket.

‘My lady, if you would not mind …?’ Ewan sent Katherine a chagrined smile. ‘I would like to have a word with your sister.’

Katherine shook her head. ‘Not at all. I will see you on the morrow, Ewan. Remember—near the stables, past terce.’

He bowed his head. ‘I look forward to it, my lady.’

When the door closed, Honora studied him. ‘Do you want me to look at your arm?’

He nodded, wincing as he tried to lift up the sleeve of his tunic. The caked blood made it impossible.

‘I’ll work quickly,’ she promised, because being alone with him was not wise. She needed to escape his presence, to sort out the strange longings she shouldn’t feel.