She squeezed his palm. “You are a fine man. And if I were to wed again, you would make an excellent husband.” Lowering her voice even more, she admitted, “It was my father’s wish that I remarry, not mine. He swore he would not allow Katherine to choose a husband until I agreed to wed.”
His cheeks reddened, and there was no denying the anger when he pulled his hand away from hers. “And you . . . thought to use me.”
Honora nodded slowly, feeling like the most terrible woman in the world. “I only wanted my sister’s happiness. Not to embarrass you.”
He pulled his hand away, a flash of irritation in his eyes. “Were you . . . planning to refuse me, before . . . the priest?”
“I wasn’t going to let it go that far.”
“And if your father h-had asked us . . . to speak vows first . . . b-before your sister? Would you have wed me then?” No longer did the Norman knight appear quite so obliging. Instead, his mouth hardened, his eyes angry. She remembered that, despite his awkwardness, he was an excellent fighter.
She’d violated his sense of honor, simply by taking this course. Meeting his gaze directly, she apologized, “It was wrong of me to consider it. I will speak to my father.”
“He is with MacEgan. There will be . . . justice after what he d-did to Ceredys.”
“Justice?” What was her father planning to do to Ewan? Nicholas wasn’t known for leniency, and without Honora there to defend him, he would believe Ewan had attacked John without cause.
The ground on which she’d been standing seemed to crumble. “I need to speak with my father.” Now. Before Nicholas did something unthinkable.
Sir Ademar caught her arm. “Why?”
She almost forced his hand away but stopped herself. “He did nothing but defend me. I don’t want to see him punished for no reason.”
The knight softened his grip. Knowing eyes stared into hers, as though he suspected the secret truth. Without questioning her further, he let her go.
“There will be . . . no betrothal between us,” he said quietly. “I will . . . speak to your father.”
It was a matter of salvaging his pride, she realized. “I am sorry for what I did.”
“Go to him.” Ademar gestured toward the Hall. “The man you truly want.”
Honora didn’t bother arguing but picked up her skirts to hurry. Inside, a soldier barred her path, preventing her from entering her father’s private chamber.
“Let me pass,” she ordered.
“Lord Ardennes has forbidden it.” The guard kept his hand upon his sword hilt, though she knew he would never use it against her. He expected her to be intimidated by him, to walk away meekly.
She eyed him closely, judging his weight and girth. Slowly, she turned, as if to walk away. She visualized her opponent in her mind, remembering exactly the position of his sword and knife blade.
Swiftly, she turned and ran at him, pulling his weight off-center and kicking his legs out from underneath. He crashed to the ground and she stumbled over him, throwing open the door to her father’s chamber.
Conversation halted when she intruded. John sat before the earl. His face was heavily swollen, his nose at an awkward angle.
Good. He deserved every blow and worse for what he’d done, both to her and the people of Ceredys.
Her father’s grim expression turned furious. “Honora, you were not asked to be a part of this.”
“Did John tell you that he attacked me while I was in the chapel last night? Ewan came to my defense.”
“So MacEgan said.” Nicholas glanced over at Ewan, who was standing with his arms bound behind him. “But John also told me that you cut him with your own blade. And that you took jewels that rightfully belonged to him.”
Her hand tightened upon the dagger at her waist. “There were no jewels.”
John regarded her with a cool expression. The menace behind his eyes made her want to step further away, but she held her ground.
“Before she died, Marie St. Leger told me that she gave them to you.” John crossed his arms.
“Then they would be mine, wouldn’t they?”
