John leaned in, staring into her eyes. He didn’t deny it. “I’m going to find it, Honora.”
Her eyes blurred with the torment of her wrist. Saints, help her, she had to break free of him. More footsteps sounded from behind her. She heard a male growl, and then she blinked as Ewan appeared in the doorway.
When he saw them, he attacked John with no warning. John released her, and Honora sank to the stone floor, cradling her wrist. She heard the crunch of fists against flesh, both men grappling with one another. When she scrambled toward the open door, she caught a glimpse of Ewan’s face.
His expression was deadly. “I’m going to kill him for touching you.”
Chapter Twelve
Honorasatback,herfeet tucked beneath her skirts. Dear God, she’d never seen Ewan like this. Enraged, as though he’d lost control of his temper.
Blood poured from John’s nose, and Ewan tripped him, knocking his head against the stone. John roared, reaching with his fingers to gouge Ewan’s eyes.
Horrified, Honora stood up, searching for something to use as a weapon. Anything to end this. But save the wooden chest and candles, there was nothing.
John rolled toward her, his hand reaching for the sword at his belt. Honora stepped on it, and John sent her sprawling.
At that, Ewan became a man possessed. His fist snapped John’s head backwards, and he closed both hands around the man’s neck.
Oh Jesu. He truly was going to kill John. Though she wanted to see Ceredys gone, Ewan could face execution if he murdered a nobleman. The king would not stand for it.
“Ewan, don’t!” Her voice seemed to break through the haze of battle rage, and Ewan loosened his grip on John’s throat.
His fist plowed into John’s rib cage, and Honora leaped to her feet, racing to Ewan’s side. Dodging another fist, she reached out to stop him. “He’s not worth it,” she pleaded. “You’ve done enough.”
John lay unconscious, blood pooling into his tunic.
Ewan was out of breath, his face burning with fury. His tunic hung open, and beneath it, his chest gleamed with sweat. Tight muscles were tense as he waited for John to get up.
“We’re going to go now,” she murmured, taking him by the hand.
Though she was grateful he’d stepped in, she now worried that he shouldn’t have. Her heart pounded at the sight of John’s body. For the first time, she prayed Ceredys would live.
Leading Ewan away, she alerted the guards and ordered them to send the healer to the chapel. In the meantime, she wanted to talk to Ewan, to soothe his temper. She sensed that his anger was not only directed at John.
She brought him outside, into the small garden inside the inner bailey. The darkness was only broken up by a few torches, the stark flames bright against the night sky.
“Thank you for coming to my aid,” she said gently. Touching his shoulder, she was conscious of his strength. “But you didn’t need to beat him that soundly.”
Ewan raked a hand through his hair and as he steadied himself, his demeanor grew colder. “I wasn’t going to let him escape justice this time.”
“He thought I had his grandmother’s ruby,” she explained. “But I don’t. It was a misunderstanding.”
“That isn’t all John wanted.” His hand cradled her jaw, his thumb brushing her temple. “I’ve seen him watching you.”
Honora closed her eyes, drinking in the sensation of his hands. God in heaven help her, she wanted so badly to be held by him, to be comforted in his arms.
“Why did you announce a betrothal?” he asked, his hand falling away.
She pulled away from him, moving toward the stone wall surrounding the garden. The night air was warm, and she let her cloak fall open to cool her skin. “Katherine the woman you want. And I thought it would . . . make it easier.”
“Easier to do what?”
She couldn’t find the right words, for she didn’t know what she was feeling. All she knew was that she wanted Ewan to be happy. And it was the best way to let him go.
He forced her to look at him, his hand resting on her nape. “I can’t wed your sister, Honora. Not anymore.”
She didn’t speak, too afraid of what she might say. She was as guilty as he, for what she’d done to Katherine. She sat down on the grass, holding her bruised wrist, feeling as though her heart were just as battered.
