mending clothing. Her interests lay in the castle defences and whether or not the men were well trained.
Her hands reached around her waist, as though holding back herself. Asking her to wed again meant facing that humiliation once more, of being an unworthy wife.
‘I won’t do it,’ she said softly.
Nicholas sighed, refilling his tankard with ale. ‘All you need is a real man in your bed and a babe swelling beneath your skirts. Then you’ll be happy.’
A real man in her bed? She ground her teeth, longing to tell him just how she felt about that. What did her father know about choosing the right man for her?
Nothing at all. He’d married her off to the first man who’d asked. Her stomach soured at the memory of the disastrous marriage.
‘You cannot force me to marry.’
‘No, but I can force you to return to Ceredys.’ Nicholas drained his cup, confident in his decision. ‘You are of little use to me here. You’ve an estate of your own to manage.’
She didn’t argue that she’d never been allowed to manage any part of Ceredys. She’d been more of a prisoner than a wife.
‘But I am not without a heart, Honora,’ her father went on. ‘If you have your eye upon someone, I can arrange your marriage sooner than Katherine’s. Ewan MacEgan, perhaps?’ A smug look crossed Nicholas’s face.
‘Never.’ The denial ripped from her mouth without a second’s hesitation. Ewan was here for Katherine. He didn’t even like her, not after all she’d done to him while they were fostered together. ‘As I told you, I didn’t mean to be in his room. It was an accident.’
‘Hmm.’ Her father did not appear convinced. ‘Well, there are seven other men, all of them from noble families.’
He truly wasn’t listening to her, was he? She tried another tack. ‘Even if I did agree to remarry, my inheritance complicates matters. A new husband would have to dwell alongside John, else he’d have to surrender the land entirely.’
And she’d rather die than live with John St Leger again.
‘True enough. But that’s the way of marriage, isn’t it? I married your mother for her estates here and in Normandy.’
‘I married once for duty. I won’t do it again.’ Honora set her mouth in a firm line.
Her father’s face darkened, and he puffed up with his own obstinacy. ‘Aye, you will. For I’ll not let Katherine wed until you do.’
Had he struck her in the throat, she could not have been more stunned. Why would he do this? What could he hope to gain from it?
‘That isn’t fair.’ She spoke quietly, feigning the gentle quality he preferred. But inwardly, she was raging.
‘I am hosting a feast on the morrow,’ her father commented. ‘I expect you to be there. There will be a tournament, and the suitors will compete for your entertainment.’
Oh, Jesu. Not that. She had no desire to look like a fool while the suitors fawned over her sister. Was she supposed to sit beside Katherine on a dais, hoping that a man would ask for her favour? Perhaps one man would show pity.
She had her pride. No, it mattered not what her father wanted. She’d not suffer through such a humiliation.
But Nicholas read her thoughts. ‘If you do not come, I will have you dragged out of your chamber and brought forth.’
He meant it, too. She gripped her skirts, wanting to rend the fabric out of frustration. ‘Yes, Father.’
She was about to leave, when he added one more warning. ‘Behave yourself, Honora.’
She had no appetite for breaking her fast, no matter that the rest of the guests were partaking of the delicious array of foods. Honora strode through the Hall, trying to ignore the men enjoying their meal.
Her father’s vow made it impossible not to notice them. Most were younger, and all wealthy.
Well, all, save one. Her gaze flickered upon Ewan MacEgan. His blond hair was slightly tousled, as though he’d raked his hand through it. From the way his sleeve tightened against his upper arm … Holy Virgin, there was no denying his strength.
Ewan reached for an apple, adding it to the food he’d already selected to break his fast. Honeyed cakes, bread, braised lamb and fresh salmon were piled high before him.
It was a wonder there was any food left, Honora thought to herself. Ewan had always been one to enjoy a meal, but from the look of him, there was not a trace of fat—only raw muscle.
‘Did you find the man you were looking for?’ he asked, when she was forced to walk past him.
Honora pretended as though he hadn’t spoken. Blood rushed to her face at the memory of last night. It was easier to remember Ewan as the boy, not the man. When she walked past the trestle table, he reached out and caught her wrist.
‘Let me pass.’
‘Not yet. Where is your sister? I’ve not seen her this morn.’
Honora took his palm, trying to force her way out of his grasp. ‘I imagine she is surrounded by her other suitors, listening to them describe the pearl of her skin or the silk of her hair. Now if you’ll excuse me—’
Ewan stood, still holding her wrist. If she twisted away, the skin would bruise. But standing this close to him, she could smell the clean scent of him, like summer rain. He wore a forest-green tunic and brown trews, rather like a huntsman. His fair hair was cut short, resting against his neck. Vivid green eyes warmed as they looked upon her.
‘Your father spoke of a tournament. To prove my strength and ability to protect his daughter, so he said.’
No, it was more like parading the men in front of them. Like animals for the choosing, Honora thought sourly.
‘Let go of me, Ewan.’
He turned over her palm, studying the rough calluses from years of wielding a sword. ‘Are you still as good as you used to be?’ There was a hint of challenge beneath his words.
She knew what he meant. And though she had kept it hidden from her father, she trained among the men at least once every sennight. ‘Better.’
‘I am glad to hear it.’ His shrewd expression revealed that he hadn’t forgotten any of the sword matches they’d fought against one another. And though she had won often, Ewan had never once complained about being bested by a woman. Many a time he could have revealed her secret. Instead, he’d held his silence and trained even harder.
Now, she wasn’t so certain she could win against him. His body was larger, his muscles firm. When he’d lifted her up, it was as if it took no effort at all.
As he bit into a piece of bread, she found herself watching the way his tunic clung to his body, tightening across his chest. She remembered Ewan’s warm skin pressing close to hers, and his ardent kiss, the rush of sweet aching.
The
