noticed a door opening quietly, and a small figure slipped inside the armoury. His instincts went on alert, and he recognised Honora instantly.
His palm curved over his sword hilt, gripping the metal as though it were her neck. He wanted to throttle her for making him look like a fool before Katherine.
And a fool he was, for believing Honora’s words. He had a few choice things to say to her. He threw open the door to the armoury, and found her standing alone, a sword in her palm.
Her veil was wet from the rain, her damp saffron bliaud silhouetting her slender form. She was taller than most women, her chin high enough to reach his shoulder.
‘Nothing’s changed, I see.’ He let the door close behind him. A circle of torches lit the dim space, while above, the rain pounded upon the wooden roof. ‘You’re still borrowing your father’s weapons.’
‘What do you want, Ewan?’
‘An apology, perhaps. Or revenge would be acceptable.’ He unsheathed his sword, circling her.
Honora moved immediately into a defensive stance, never taking her eyes from him. Though the bliaud and white veil were meant to emphasise her womanly shape, there was no mistaking the expert way she handled the sword.
‘I’m amazed you can lift that,’ he commented, keeping his footwork even and smooth. ‘It’s almost as heavy as you are.’
‘Stop flattering me, MacEgan. I’ve been using a sword as long as you have.’
‘Really?’ He lunged, and the steel of his blade met hers. It was a test, to see if she remembered any of her earlier training.
Honora tore off her veil and slashed her sword towards his head. ‘Really.’
Her sleeves moulded to her body, revealing the outline of muscle. Though her skirts should have hindered her movements, she took large strides that kept her from falling.
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