Ewan stepped in front of her. “Are you all right?”
Honora nearly stumbled, and he caught her arm. “Yes, I am fine.”
His shoulders relaxed. He was about to excuse himself when she held out the chest.
“I found this in the underbrush over there. It’s what I was searching for the other night.”
“The chest you thought was stolen.”
“Itwasstolen,“ she insisted. “Wooden chests don’t grow legs and walk out into the trees.”
But if someone had taken it, why would they leave it behind? “I’ve heard nothing, Honora. Most of the men speak of your sister and little else.”
“Keep your eyes open.” Her gaze snapped to the cut upon his arm. Gently, she examined it. “What happened to you?”
“I let Beaulais cut me, in order to move in closer.”
Her hand stayed upon his shoulder a moment longer than it should have. Though her palm was callused from holding the sword, her touch warmed his skin.
“Honora, don’t.”
“Don’t what?” She drew back, her fingertips coated with his blood.
He chose his words with care, not wanting to offend her. “I’m going to wed your sister.”
Embarrassment flooded her face. “If she’ll have you.” With another step backwards, she added, “I did nothing except examine your wound. You’ve too high an opinion of yourself if you believe I wanted you.”
This was going badly. He tried to apologize. “I didn’t mean—“
“Your match is next,” she cut him off. “Go and fight Sir Ademar. Perhaps he’ll cut your other arm.”
With the chest tucked against her side, she strode off toward the dais. Ewan stepped toward the ring, his annoyance rising.
Why did he always seem to fall into her trap whenever he was near her? And why, in God’s name, did she provoke him so? He’d meant only to be polite, to see to her safety. But within a few moments in her presence, they were arguing.
Ewan unsheathed his sword and prepared for the fight against Sir Ademar. The tall knight wore chain mail armor, his coif and aventail hiding all but his face. Ewan circled his opponent, waiting for the right opening. The weight of the armor would slow the knight down, and Ewan intended to take full advantage of the weakness.
Sir Ademar lunged forward, and Ewan sidestepped, blocking the strike with his own sword. They exchanged a few blows, each trying to gain the other’s measure.
Upon the knight’s shoulder, Ewan spied a blue ribbon. Honora’s token, he realized. As he parried another blow, he asked, “Are you courting Honora?”
“I am. And I saw you . . . s-speaking with her just now.” Sir Ademar swung his sword full-force, and Ewan barely blocked it with his shield. “You made her angry.”
“I make her angry by breathing.” Ewan moved in, striking fast, forcing the knight to retreat. This was his chance to end the fight, and he used his full speed and agility, attacking without ceasing.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Katherine watching him, her hands pressed to her mouth. Honora’s expression was intent, and her gaze locked with his. She lifted her left hand in a silent message.
The switch.
Ewan transferred his shield to the other arm, narrowly missing a slice to his flesh. Sir Ademar fought just as hard with his left hand, as with his right, and Ewan had to give his full concentration to the man’s sword. Over and over, the knight struck, until the victory began to slip away from Ewan’s fingertips.
Frustration at his weakness provoked a rage. He ignored technique, relying on brute strength. As a boy, too many times he’d been cut down, told he wasn’t good enough. His brothers had tried to protect him, ordering him not to fight.
But he’d stubbornly refused to give up. And he wasn’t about to lose this match now.
Sir Ademar’s sword slashed toward his middle, and Ewan had no time to raise his shield. The blade sliced deeply into his arm, and he threw himself backwards, rolling away. Energy roared through him, his pulse pounding as he avoided another blow. His grip on the weapon loosened, but he managed to regain it.
Mud caked the right side of his face and shoulders, as he backed away from the knight, waiting for the right moment to attack. Sir Ademar sliced his sword downward, but Ewan blocked the strike, using his legs to trip the man.
