Around him, he heard the crowd shouting their approval, though most encouraged Sir Ademar. Blood flowed freely down Ewan’s arm, but he felt none of the pain.
With all of his strength, Ewan raised his shield to deflect another blow, then he swung hard, holding his strike at the edge of his opponent’s undefended throat.
“Halt!” Lord Ardennes called.
Ewan kept his blade steady, but then he looked down and saw the knight’s own sword positioned at his gut. He cursed, for it seemed he hadn’t won the match.
The Norman knight smiled, stepping back to sheathe his sword. “A draw, MacEgan.”
Ewan gave a brief nod, though he wasn’t pleased. He’d intended to show his skills to Katherine, and though he hadn’t lost, neither had he been victorious.
His mood was black when he approached the dais. Sir Ademar walked alongside him, his own armor also caked with mud.
“You fought well, Sir Ademar.” Katherine smiled, then offered the same praise to Ewan.
Lord Ardennes lifted a hand. “It is time for the feasting. Since you held the victory in most of the contests, MacEgan, you may sit between my two daughters this day.”
It was not an offer of Katherine’s hand, he noticed, though it was an honor. He should have been glad of it, but at the moment, he was filthy, his body ached, and he was bleeding.
Ewan asked the Earl’s permission to leave the fighting ring. He wanted a few moments alone to clear his head and to wipe off the mud.
When it was granted, he walked back toward the grove of trees that lay beyond the fighting ring, remembering a creek that he’d spied on their journey here.
The fight unsettled him, for he’d nearly lost. Ewan swiped at the blood on his arm, wincing at the depth of the cut. Sir Ademar was a worthy opponent, a man not easily defeated. Ewan would simply have to work harder to win. If it meant training an extra hour each day, so be it.
When he reached the icy water, Ewan stripped off his tunic and dunked his head beneath the surface. The cold chill slowed the bleeding from his arm slightly, but the wound needed to be stitched.
He waded into the water, still wearing his trews in the hopes of cleansing them. He wished he’d thought to bring a change of clothing with him.
A rustling noise caught his attention, and Ewan spun, startled by the intrusion. Gerald of Beaulais emerged from the trees. His hand rested upon his sword hilt.
“Your sword skills are lacking, Irishman.”
Críost.Hadn’t he defeated the man already in the wrestling match? And here he was, half-naked, with his weapons lying upon the shore.
“But I defeated you.” He remained in the water, inching his way closer. He reached down into the water and closed his palm over a round stone. “What is it you want, Beaulais? A lesson in hand-to-hand fighting?”
The nobleman reached for the dagger at his belt. “Leave Ardennes. And abandon your courtship.”
A flash of metal caught the sun, and Ewan threw himself sideways. The blade sank below the water, and a second later, Beaulais collapsed. Behind him stood Honora, a stout limb in her hands. A line of blood trickled down Beaulais’s forehead.
“What in the name of God do you think you’re doing?” Ewan bellowed, striding from the water. “Did you murder him, then?”
“He was about to murder you!”
“He threw the knife as a warning. I saw it coming and avoided the blade.” Ewan approached Beaulais’s body and nudged it with his foot. Thanks be, a low groan resounded from the man’s throat. “I don’t need you, or anyone else, to defend me.”
Honora’s face transformed from pale white to furious red. “Fine. Let the next man kill you, then. I’ll stand back and do nothing.”
“Why are you even here?” Ewan demanded. “You’re supposed to be with your father, preparing for the feast. Or have you forgotten that you are meant to choose a suitor?”
“I haven’t forgotten.” But she looked embarrassed, suddenly aware of what she’d done. Her gaze drifted down to the ground, and she held the branch as though it were a sword hilt. Her sleeves stretched against her arms, and he could see the outline of her lean muscles.
Cold water from his swim dripped down his torso, down to soaked trews. Honora’s stare traveled from his feet, past his thighs and stomach before she met his firm stare.
“Stop chasing after me, Honora,” he warned.
Her lips pressed tightly together, her green eyes flashing fire. “I wasn’t chasing. I was trying to save your ungrateful hide.”
