“Be sure to bar the door,” Ewan warned. “And I’ll keep watch over John of Ceredys. He won’t harm you.”
Honora paused on the stairs, looking back at Ewan. His dark blond hair framed a strong face that made her heartbeat quicken. For a moment, she wished he would pull her into his arms and hold her close. She wanted the comfort of a man’s embrace, to lose herself in it.
She ascended the stairs, wondering why she was having these sudden, unexpected thoughts about Ewan. She had no right to think of him in that way.
Put it aside, Honora. Let him go. He wants Katherine, not you.
She tried to convince herself that she didn’t want Ewan. She’d had her chance at marriage, and it had been a miserable failure of her own making. Not only that, but she was avoiding her responsibilities at Ceredys. She couldn’t stop thinking about the people, wondering what they were enduring in her absence.
What to do, what to do . . .
She rested her palms against the stone. Her father’s suggestion, that she wed a man for his army, began to metamorphose. She needed a strong enough warrior, a man with influence enough to subdue John. Sir Ademar had not come into his full inheritance yet, and Ewan did not possess nearly enough wealth to hire the men she needed. The only suitor with enough wealth was Gerald Elshire of Beaulais.
She dismissed the thought, unable to consider it. Beaulais and John were like brothers in their way of thinking—cold and calculating. And the other suitors had not the funds, nor the strength, to fight against John.
She needed to hire men of good reputation, men who could be trusted. But that would require a king’s treasure.
An unexpected smile faltered at her lips. A pity she could not find the legendary treasure of Ceredys. Marie St. Leger had spoken of gold and thousands of silver coins, enough to buy a kingdom. She claimed that the ruby she wore about her neck had come from the original treasure before it was buried again in the midst of a siege.
Had she not seen the jewel for herself, Honora would have believed it to be a child’s tale. But Marie had kept the ruby, until Ranulf died. Then it had disappeared, but her mother-in-law would not say where.
Viking treasure would be enough to hire a band of soldiers. If it could be found . . .
Honora shook the idle thoughts away. They were foolish and impractical.
She reached for the dagger at her side, her palm tracing the rounded pommel. If she truly wanted to help her people, she should wed again, putting aside her own feelings. Yet, the thought made her insides twist into knots of worry.
When she reached their chamber, Katherine had already gone to sleep. Honora undressed, and when she stood in her shift, she pulled the heavy wooden bar across the door. The cool spring air chilled her skin, and she burrowed beneath the coverlet, huddling her knees up for warmth.
Outside, the wind rattled the wooden shutters in a rhythmic thumping noise. Over and over, the sound jarred her consciousness.
She tried to shut the noise out of her ears, but it continued, battering her senses. Dark memories invaded, despite her efforts to avoid them. John was here, within these walls now. And though she told herself not to fear him, she retrieved her blade and hid it beneath the mattress. If he dared to invade this chamber, she would be ready.
It wouldn’t be the first time he’d done so.
She’d sensed him that night at Ceredys when she’d heard the door quietly open. Her hand had reached for the dagger she’d kept hidden beneath the covers.
When she;d felt his cold hand touch her shoulder, she’d sliced the blade against his chest, shoving the bedclothes aside. John had roared with anger, but she’d forced him down upon the bed, holding the blade to his heart.
“I should kill you,” she’d whispered. “Here and now, for what you’ve done.”
His breathing quickened, and whether it was out of fear or excitement, she couldn’t be certain.
“Leave the women alone,” she demanded.
Like a rutting dog, John had forced many of the young maidens against their wills. Their fathers and husbands were enraged at his actions, but the few who had sought revenge had lost a hand or their lives.
“They wanted me,” he argued. Against her palms, she felt the warmth of his blood, and it was all she could do not to finish this.
“The only thing they want is your death,” she said, inching the blade toward the hollow of his throat. “And were I you, I should be careful of my actions. You might happen upon an accident.”
“Do you dare to threaten me?”
What she’d hoped was to frighten him. Let him feel the same fear he’d spawned upon the people of Ceredys. “Be assured of it. The next woman you touch, the next bag of grain you steal from them, will be your last.”
Honora reached up and fingered the ends of her hair. She should have killed John that night. It would have been better for everyone. But she’d foolishly let him go.
Within hours, she’d been taken prisoner within her own home, locked up in a storage cellar. She’d gone for a day without food or water until the blacksmith had found her. He’d set her free, giving her a bundle containing her possessions.
