“The Lady of Ceredys bid me give this to you,” he’d said.
“Thank you.” She took the bundle, her heart heavy. “I will find a way to repay you for what you’ve done.”
The older man had lowered his head. “God speed, my lady.”
As a final farewell, she’d sliced off her heavy braid, leaving it behind. No longer would she be enslaved by a man. Relieved of the burden, she’d donned the armor and helm of a soldier, slipping away at last.
It had been too long. She didn’t know what had become of the blacksmith, or anyone. The people were suffering under John’s rule, and she’d found no means of helping them. An appeal to the king would do nothing; a man could treat his serfs however he wished, so long as he paid his taxes and offered his fealty.
There had to be a way to stop him.
Honora gripped her arms so hard, there would be bruises, come the morn. Her skin was freezing, but she let the discomfort pass through her. Steeling herself, she put on a brave front. John of Ceredys would not touch her. Nor would any man.
Chapter Seven
Thechapelwasempty,save the soft glow of torches lighting the whitewashed stone walls. After Mass that morning, Ewan had spent the past quarter of an hour in quiet contemplation.
Honora had returned the wooden chest, and it rested behind the altar, against the back wall. Made of yew, it reminded him of a chest his grandfather Kieran had carved. The surface contained a simple design, of scrolls and slanted lines. He touched the outside band, feeling as though the pattern had a meaning he could not quite grasp.
He rubbed his eyes, feeling suddenly weary. Something wasn’t right about this thief. For the chest to reappear with nothing amiss, suggested that the man hadn’t intended to steal it.
When he’d spoken with Honora, she’d claimed that the man had used a sword, that he’d attacked her in the chapel. Or there might have been two men.
Likely one had taken the chest, while the other had fought her. Anger slid over him at the thought of her coming to harm. She took too many risks, forgetting herself when it came to a fight.
He reached out and turned the chest over. Sometimes a skilled carver could hide something within a secret opening. But as he studied every inch of the wood, he could see nothing.
Ewan left the chapel and ventured outside onto the battlements. Rain clouds swept over the skies, and he stopped to look over the castle grounds. For a moment, he studied the defenses, contemplating the way his own fortress would appear, once he built it.
He’d dreamed of this. And he sensed it was so close now, almost within his grasp. His own estate, and a wife at his side to help him tend it.
A hand touched his shoulder, and he whipped around, his blade unsheathed. Honora’s forearm blocked his knife from her throat.
Shaken, Ewan lowered the blade. “My apologies.”
“I didn’t mean to startle you.”
He offered a wry grin. “I’m the youngest of five brothers. Used to be six, when Liam was alive. If I didn’t move quickly, I paid the price.”
“Tormented you, did they?”
“Every day of my life.”
She ventured a smile, and it warmed him. His attention focused on the curve of her cheek and the brightness of her green eyes. Her veil hid her dark hair completely, and he suspected he was one of only a few who knew about her shorn length. It should have been unattractive and mannish. Instead, the harsh cut enhanced her beauty, emphasizing a soft jaw and full lips.
He shouldn’t be thinking of her in such a way. It troubled him, for he’d come here to win the hand of Katherine of Ardennes. And he was spending entirely too much time with Honora.
“What brings you outside in this fine weather?” he asked. The dark clouds were shifting, a light mist of rain beginning to fall.
“I’m avoiding John.” She crossed her arms, as if to ward off an evil spirit.
He gripped his sword hilt, the metal biting into his scarred palm. “What did he do to you, Honora?” He kept his voice soft, though underneath, he held back the rising apprehension.
“It’s nothing.”
She refused to look at him, and it blackened his temper, his imagination conjuring up all the reasons why a woman would fear a man. “I don’t believe you.”
“Believe whatever you want, MacEgan. My reasons for avoiding John are my own.” She turned away from him, staring back at the wooden door.
