Ewan stood watching the men, each bringing Katherine a gift. She’d already bestowed smiles upon those who had given her silks and ribbons.
Gerald Elshire, heir to the barony of Beaulais, had brought her an emerald. From the clouded surface of the gemstone, Ewan wondered if it was coloured glass.
Not that Ewan could afford gems or silks. Instead, he’d bribed one of the serfs to fetch him a kitten from the village. His brother’s wife, Isabel, loved her cats, and no doubt Katherine would feel the same. The mewing animal rested within a basket, lightly covered with a cloth.
Katherine sat within the solar, her white veil hiding the length of sable hair. Pearls adorned her sapphire silk bliaud, and the sleeves were fitted tightly to slender arms, the cuffs draping to the floor. She reminded him of a princess, ethereal and enchanting. Just looking at her made him feel unworthy. She appeared sweet-tempered, beautiful … and completely out of his reach.
The idea of invading a man’s bedchamber would horrify the Lady Katherine. A jolt of remembrance shot into his groin at the memory of Honora. He imagined her body would be lean and sleek. Honora would never lie passively upon his bed. She would meet him, thrust for thrust, crying out with pleasure.
Damn. He blinked, forcing the vision away. He didn’t care anything for Honora. The brief kiss he’d stolen had been a mistake. Nothing of any importance to either of them.
Ewan tried to envision kissing Katherine. Her kiss would be as gentle as her spirit. When she became his bride, he would have to be mindful of her virginal softness, tempting her slowly until she yielded to him. And she would marry him. He would find a way to coax her into accepting his suit.
The group of men gradually shifted until at last Ewan was standing before her. With a deep bow, he greeted her. ‘Lady Katherine, it is good to see you again.’ He set the basket down at her feet.
Katherine managed a smile, but her nose wrinkled, as though she were fighting a sneeze. Offering both hands to him in welcome, she smiled. ‘Ewan MacEgan. It has been many years since I’ve seen you.’
‘I’ve thought of you often, since my fostering ended.’ He sent her a sincere smile, hoping she would look upon him with favour. ‘And I’ve brought you a gift.’ He uncovered the basket, revealing the grey-striped kitten. The animal perched its paws upon the edge of the basket, mewing softly.
Katherine’s smile seemed forced. ‘How … kind of you.’ But she made no move to take the animal.
Ewan picked up the cat, holding it out to her. The feline nipped at his fingertips. Katherine’s smile grew strained, but she reached out and stroked the animal’s head. The kitten purred with delight, rubbing its head against her fingertips.
Her nose wrinkled again, and this time, she did sneeze. ‘Thank you.’ She gestured for a maid to take the cat away, and sneezed again.
A suspicion suddenly took root in his mind. Could Honora have played him false? As Katherine’s eyes grew red, and she continued sneezing, it was apparent that he’d fallen neatly into her sister’s trap.
‘I didn’t realise the animal would offend you,’ he said, taking the basket back from the maid. ‘I’ll bring you a different gift.’
Katherine rubbed her eyes. ‘No, it’s all right. Truly. I like cats, but I seem to have trouble whenever I’m around them.’ She tried to smile, but sneezed again.
No doubt Honora had known this. A slow fury built up inside him, anger that he’d believed her. He’d thought there was no harm in asking for help, never realising she would trick him so.
Honora would have much to answer for when he saw her again. He did not stay in the solar with Katherine for long, for he needed to bring her something else. Since his funds were limited, he could not buy expensive trinkets. Perhaps a ribbon to match her blue eyes.
He frowned, thinking. They were blue, weren’t they?
It didn’t matter. As long as his gift made her smile, that was enough. Ewan grimaced, not wanting to waste time with bargaining and purchasing. He needed to train for the tournament on the morrow, proving his abilities. He had no doubt he could best any man there.
The only men who had ever truly presented a challenge were his brothers. As the youngest MacEgan, they’d tormented him in every manner, never sparing him, even when he’d begged for mercy. Because of it, he’d gained strength beyond that of most men.
There was a bond among them, a knowledge that he could ask his brothers for anything, and they would be there for him.
Bevan would help him prepare for the tournament. And right now, Ewan needed the distraction of a fight to take his mind off his failed gift.
He searched the donjon, but his brother was nowhere to be found. Outside, the rain had increased, spattering against the mud so that training would be nigh impossible.
Ewan cursed, resting his hand upon his own sword hilt. The weapon held no jewels, nor was it as finely made as his brother Patrick’s. Serviceable and simple, the blade was all he’d been able to afford. But it belonged entirely to him.
He 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.
