It was Beaulais. Ewan sensed a blow coming and stepped sideways, causing the Norman’s fist to strike the stone wall instead. Beaulais’s face turned purple with rage, and he clutched his hand.
“Your fighting hasn’t improved, I see,” Ewan commented. When another punch sliced toward his face, he blocked it, cracking his fist across Beaulais’s jaw.
The Norman countered with a blow to his arm, and Ewan sucked in air, the pain rippling through him. He slammed the full force of his fist into Beaulais’s stomach, but the man followed through with another hit to his mouth.
Ewan tasted blood and threw himself to the ground, knocking the nobleman off his feet. Rolling back up, he grasped Beaulais and lifted him up high. It was an act meant to demonstrate his strength and to humiliate his opponent. A gasp resounded through the crowd, to his satisfaction. With his muscles burning from the strain, he tossed Beaulais into the dirt.
Leaning down, he lowered his voice so only Beaulais could hear. “Don’t threaten me again, Norman. Or the next time, you’ll be unable to rise without help.”
He stood, facing the crowd of people. Lord Ardennes appeared indifferent to the fight while Katherine was horrified, her cheeks scarlet with embarrassment. Honora didn’t spare a glance toward Beaulais, but the gleam in her green eyes revealed a hint of satisfaction. It was quickly replaced with anger. Ewan suspected that if they were alone, she’d blister his ears.
To Katherine, he gritted out, “Forgive me,” and turned to leave. His eye was swelling up and blood ran down his arms.
He passed his brother on the way to the stairs, and Bevan sent him a warning look. The silent censure irritated his already foul mood. He’d had enough of this night.
As he reached the bottom of the winding stairs, he heard the sound of quiet footsteps. Ewan spun and saw Honora standing behind him.
“You frightened my sister,” she said. There was no anger in her tone, only a resigned air. “I’ll send her to tend your wounds, and you can apologize in private.”
He hadn’t expected that. His shoulders lowered, his anger softening. With a low voice, he added, “I did not intend to offend her, or you, by fighting in your presence.”
She studied him, her clear green eyes discerning. “It was my fault. I shouldn’t have struck Beaulais when I did.” She rested her palm against the stone wall, her eyes revealing guilt.
“I can take care of myself, Honora,” he murmured softly. He reached out and tucked the wayward strand of hair back beneath her veil. She gave an involuntary shiver at the touch.
“You’ll have to watch your back,” she warned. “Beaulais won’t stand for the insult.”
“I’m not afraid of him, Honora.”
“Perhaps you should be.” She took a step backwards, her gaze sweeping over him. Ewan became conscious of the damp trews and dried mud from earlier. “In the meantime, you should let Katherine help you.”
His forearm stung with the slickness of blood. She was right. “Where shall I await your sister?”
“In the solar. I’ll send her there within the hour.” With a nod from her as dismissal, he turned to leave. Raking his hand through his hair, he wondered exactly what he could say to Katherine to make amends.
“Ican’ttendhiswounds,” Katherine protested, in the privacy of their chamber. “I’m not good at healing.”
“He wants to speak with you,” Honora replied. When she’d watched Ewan fighting, a part of her had been fascinated at his massive strength. He’d picked up Beaulais and tossed him like a stick of kindling.
She’d been unable to tear her gaze from him, and when it had ended, her skin had prickled with awareness. A bead of sweat had run down his neck, outlining the gleaming chest. He hadn’t looked like that at sixteen, still a skinny lad not yet grown into manhood. But now . . .
Sweet Jesu, she’d wanted to touch him, to know that strength for herself. And though he drove her to madness with his stubborn arrogance, she couldn’t deny what she felt when she was around Ewan. The very air seemed charged with desire, every movement intensifying the startling ache inside her.
When she’d seen Beaulais attacking him earlier today, she’d struck out without thinking of Ewan’s pride. He’d needed help, and she’d given it, nothing more. Any soldier would do the same for a friend. But he’d taken it as an insult, one she hadn’t intended.
It was just as well that he’d renewed his dislike toward her. She was finding him more and more difficult to resist. Strong and bold, Ewan had become a man she couldn’t help but admire.
He needed the softness of Katherine to balance his fierce demeanor. Not a woman like her, as quick to argue with him, unwilling to yield. If she wed a man like Ewan, they’d shred each other to pieces.
Or they’d set one another on fire.
Her body tingled at the thought. She could envision fighting with him, and afterwards, making up. Having tasted the warmth of his mouth and the flames that seemed to burn her up inside, she knew he was far too dangerous.
“I asked him to await you in the solar,” Honora told her sister. “You needn’t do anything but tend his cuts and let him apologize.”
Katherine blanched. “Honora, it isn’t a good idea. Really, I don’t think—“
“It will be fine,” Honora interrupted. There was no question Ewan needed to be stitched up. And her sister would have to tend wounds from time to time, once they were wed. It was a good chance for them to have a moment alone. She changed her tactics. “Didn’t you say you thought he was handsome? He was the best fighter of any man there. You saw it for yourself.”
