“Did you think you would take him away from me?” Katherine reached out and tripped her sister, rolling Honora onto the grass.
Ewan took another bite, resting his arm upon a knee. A pity Bevan couldn’t see this. Or his other brothers. He’d never been so entertained.
Honora fought hard, and used her full strength to pin Katherine to the ground. Her sister struggled but could do nothing to free herself.
“I’m going to let go of you now. Don’t try to fight me again, or I’ll only embarrass you more. Do you think Ewan wants to see you behaving in such a manner?”
Actually, yes, but he couldn’t say that.
Katherine let out a foul curse, but stopped struggling. Honora released her, and she sat up, rubbing her wrists.
“Ewan, I am sorry for this,” Honora apologized. “Please bring my sister home.” With a dark look, she added, “And if you aren’t back within an hour, I will hunt both of you down.” With that, she started walking back toward the forest.
It occurred to Ewan that she’d come without an escort. Not wise at all, given the animosity she felt toward John of Ceredys.
He was about to suggest that they all return together, but the ire upon Katherine’s face made it clear that she would not welcome such an idea. Her face was smeared with dirt, her hair coming loose from her veil. She looked ready to murder her sister.
“You’ve quite a fist, for such a lady,” he ventured.
Katherine let out a huff, wiping at the dirt upon her gown. “There is more to me than you might think.”
So it would seem.
Chapter Eight
Honorawenttoherold trunk in the corner of the room. She’d left it behind when she’d married Ranulf, believing she’d never need it.
But now, she wanted a few hours to escape her worries. The morning had gone badly, and she deeply regretted what she’d done. She had only intended to protect Katherine and ensure her safety.
But when she’d seen Ewan kissing her sister, something inside her had snapped. She’d deliberately rustled the trees, wanting him to keep his hands off of Katherine. And it had worked.
She was a terrible sister for feeling this way. There was nothing wrong with Ewan MacEgan. Certainly, he would make a good husband for Katherine, even if his fortunes were less than other men.
Honora sat down upon the floor, resting her hands upon the wooden surface of the trunk. Once, she had been as carefree as her sister, believing that her wedding would be a moment of joy. She’d been so hopeful that Ranulf was a man as kindly as her father. But she’d been wrong.
A heavy sigh escaped her. She couldn’t ruin her sister’s happiness. No doubt if Katherine wed Ewan, their union would be different. Ewan was a steady man and would take care of her younger sister.
Why then, was she feeling so morose? She didn’t want Ewan for herself. She wasn’t the sort of woman who could make any man a good wife. Ranulf had made that clear enough.
And now, it seemed she wasn’t a good sister either. Katherine was right to despise her for spying. For that was what she’d done, no matter what her intentions had been.
Honora needed a distraction, a means of distancing herself from her problems and letting out her frustration. Her hands were positively itching for another sword fight. But when she opened her trunk, her clothing was no longer in neat folded piles. Instead, bliauds and shifts were tangled up with veils, and it was clear that someone had searched the chest. For what purpose? She didn’t like the idea of anyone going through her belongings, whether friend or enemy.
She doubted if her sister had touched the trunk, for Katherine had more gowns than most women would ever need. There was nothing of value within it, except . . .
Her throat nearly closed up as she reached to unlatch the false bottom. Still there. Thank the Blessed Virgin. Honora sighed with relief as she lifted up the suit of heavy chain mail armor, along with a pair of men’s chausses, braies, and a tunic.
Though she loathed the armor, it was necessary for concealing her identity. She could move among her father’s soldiers, and none were the wiser. She’d stolen it off a dead soldier after a Welsh lord had tried to conquer their lands, a few years ago.
Honora set the armor aside and busied herself, folding up the rest of the gowns. More than ever, she sensed that someone was watching her movements in the castle. Possibly John or one of the others.
She removed her gown, stripping it away and replacing it with the men’s clothing. She lifted the chain mail shirt over the tunic. The byrnie hung down over her torso, straining her shoulders under the weight. The skull cap and coif hid her shorn hair, and it made her neck ache, just to wear it. Last, she donned a conical helm. She wore no further armor, unable to tolerate the heaviness.
Only for a short time, she promised herself. Then she would return and no one would know.
Right now, she needed to test the weight of a sword, to feel the rush of blood pumping through her veins. And though she could wear the armor for only an hour at best, it would help her to forget about this disastrous afternoon.
Katherine would confront her about Ewan, and she still didn’t know how to respond. She doubted if an apology would mean anything to her sister.
