“I don’t need your protection. I can handle myself.”
He shot a glance toward her bruises. “Of course, you can.”
“Stop mocking me.”
“You cannot defeat John of Ceredys, and you know this.”
Honora stormed toward him, and reached for the sword at his waist. She unsheathed it, her face determined. “I can, and I will.”
A second later, the weapon fell from her hands, and she clenched her wrist. Her face went white with agony. “Wrong hand,” she winced.
Ewan led her to a flat stone and guided her to sit down. “Breathe through the pain. It will pass.” He soaked her fallen veil in the cold river water and wrung it out, wrapping the icy linen around her wrist.
“I have to go back to Ceredys, Ewan,” Honora insisted. “I can’t let John win.”
The pain etched on her face was about more than her wrist, he realized. Even if he wed Katherine and left Honora behind, she wouldn’t give up her quest to defend her people.
“He doesn’t fight fair,” Ewan reminded her. “And you’re used to fighting by the rules.”
“I can learn to fight differently,” she insisted. “Show me how.”
“You’re hurt.”
“Please, Ewan.” She held the linen against her wrist, rising up onto her knees. There was such earnestness in her eyes, he didn’t want to deny her. “You’re the only man who will help me.”
He didn’t want to. She didn’t truly understand what a man like John was capable of. She could lose her life if she attempted an attack. “It’s too dangerous.”
She drew closer to him, resting her hands upon his shoulders. “I won’t forget what he did to the women of Ceredys. And whether or not you believe I should face him again, I intend to.”
The fearless vengeance upon her face made him aware that she would not hesitate to give up her own life in this battle. Without question.
And he wasn’t about to have her death upon his conscience.
He picked up his fallen sword and held it up. “You lost your fight against John as soon as you lost your sword.”
“I won’t lose it next time.”
He didn’t want there to be a next time. But Honora wasn’t the sort of woman to admit any weakness. Perhaps there was no harm in showing her a few methods of hand-to-hand fighting. At least she could protect herself, if she no longer had a weapon.
He took her left hand in his. “You should learn what to do, in case you have no weapon.”
From the guilty look upon her face, he supposed she was reliving her earlier failures. Exerting pressure on her left hand, Ewan murmured, “Take control of my blade. Don’t let me overpower you.”
She gripped his wrist with her left hand, waiting for his next move. “Now what?”
The light touch of her hands upon him shook his concentration. Her leg rested against his, braced in a fighting stance. The hem of her gown had ridden up, baring her calf.
“Use one of your legs to kick my feet from under me,” he instructed. “The way you did before.”
“I only managed because your sword was caught in the wall.”
“Do it.”
Perhaps she’d bash some sense into his head when he struck the ground. Perhaps then, he’d remember the woman he was going to marry, and not the woman he desired.
Honora kicked her leg toward him, but only struck the back of his calves. The blow did nothing to his balance, though he’d get another bruise from it.
“Is that the best you can do?” he teased.
