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.’
Chapter Five
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.
‘Your sister looked about to faint. I didn’t want to offend her with my blood.’
Clearly, he felt no such compunctions with her. She resisted the urge to ask what he would do when he married Katherine. Her younger sister was softhearted and loathed blood. ‘I’ll do what I can. What about your ribs?’
She lifted the tunic away, being careful of his wounds. Upon his upper arm, the angry gash seeped blood. ‘This will need stitching, I think.’
‘My ribs aren’t broken. Bruised, perhaps, but it’s nothing.’
‘I can bind them for you, if you like.’ Without waiting for a reply, she went to fetch the needle and thread from her basket.
She was relieved that her voice sounded so calm, as though he were any other man. He’d never guess how much it unnerved her, seeing his bare skin once again. She could think of nothing else but the first night she’d seen him naked, and the way his warm body had felt pressed up against hers.
When she reached his side, she examined the wound. Dirt and dried blood edged the gash. ‘I need to wash your skin or else the blood may become poisoned.’ She spied an ewer of wine and poured it on to the cut, sponging it clean. Ewan let out a hiss of pain.
The skin was torn open, the edges refusing to mend. ‘You’ll have a scar from this.’
‘I know it.’ He didn’t flinch when she pricked the needle into his flesh. ‘But scars are the mark of honour.’
‘Or the mark of a man who didn’t move quickly enough.’
‘Have you any scars, Honora?’
‘None that I’ll show to you.’
His
