“Take me off your—“ Her words broke off, the fury building up so much that it was hard to breathe. “Am I a burden to you? Your own daughter?”
“Honora, you have a home. You have lands of your own, lands that you’re neglecting, I might add. I didn’t mind that you came to visit, but I never expected you to run away from your responsibilities.”
Honora’s throat closed up, and she fought the urge to throw something. She clenched her knife, struggling to keep her temper still. “I will return to Ceredys,” she said, her voice tight and drawn. “When I am ready. You can be assured of that.”
And when she did, she would see to it that John never again raised his hand against the people.
Her father was already shaking his head. “For your sister’s sake, I want you to leave Ardennes now.” He lifted his hand in dismissal. “It matters not to me, where you go. But you’ll not interfere in Katherine’s marriage prospects again.”
Honora stilled, for she wasn’t ready to go. Not yet. She hadn’t made any plans, nor had she thought beyond the next sennight. “You’re casting the blame upon me. And I don’t know why.” The ill feeling in her stomach worsened.
“You are to blame,” he said softly. “Katherine accepted MacEgan’s suit, and that very night, she saw you embracing him.”
The blood seemed to cease flowing within her body, for she hadn’t known. She hadn’t stopped to think who might have seen them, she was so caught up in the moment. And the truth was, she should have pushed Ewan away. She’d allowed him to kiss her, allowed him to touch her in ways she never should have permitted.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. Idly, she rubbed at her aching wrist, wishing she could somehow wipe out everything that had happened. Her life was falling into pieces all around her, and she could do nothing to stop it.
She was about to leave when her father stepped in front of her. Nicholas reached toward her side and withdrew her dagger from its sheath. Tilting it in the light, it cast shadows upon her face.
“Heed my words, Honora. A true lady would never strike out at a man. She would be obedient and dutiful. That is the only way you will ever find happiness. Never try to exert your will upon a man’s.” With a flick of his hand, he cast the blade against the stone wall. The pommel struck hard and shattered from the impact, breaking free of the blade.
Her father closed the door behind him, leaving her alone. Honora stared at the broken weapon, feeling as though it were herself that was scattered across the floor. Once again, her dagger had been destroyed. It was as if he’d cast her aside, the same as the weapon. She bit back the swell of tears, staring at the pieces.
The grip and blade were separated, and she knelt down to pick them up. She doubted if it could be repaired this time. The tang of the knife blade was honed down so thin, it was no wonder it had shattered at the blow.
When she retrieved the pommel, the decorative handle felt awkward in her hand, the balance awry. It had been this way ever since she’d left Ceredys. But when she tilted it forward, she realized it was hollow. Something small and round rolled onto the stone floor.
Honora caught her breath when she spied Marie St. Leger’s ruby. Jesu. The oval-shaped gem was slightly narrower than her thumb. She slid it back into the pommel, uncertain of what to do now. She’d never liked the decoration when the blacksmith had added it, but now she realized Marie had made the pommel as a hiding place for the gemstone. The blacksmith must have wedged the stone inside the hollowed pommel, sealing it to the dagger grip. No one else could have reattached the blade with such skill.
Why had Marie done this? It was clear she had given the gem to Honora for a purpose, knowing how much the blade meant to her. It was a gift, and Honora felt unworthy of it.
Kneeling upon the floor, she said a silent prayer for the woman’s soul, the ruby clenched in her palm.
Marie St. Leger had been an extraordinary woman, a lady who eschewed tradition for the way she believed things ought to be done. She had been delighted to learn of Honora’s skills with a sword and had asked her to demonstrate, sneaking weapons of every sort into the chamber, though Ranulf had forbidden it. Swords, daggers . . . even a spiked mace at one interval.
But it was the sword Honora knew best, and Marie never grew tired of watching her fight.
“Show me what you know,” the older woman had urged. She’d bribed one of the soldiers to join them one afternoon.
The poor man hadn’t known what to do at first when Honora had challenged him to a sword match. But when he began losing the fight, he was forced to intensify his efforts, using strength Honora lacked. But blow for blow, Honora struck back until the soldier’s blade went flying out of his hand.
Marie had laughed with delight and handed the embarrassed soldier a bag of coins, ordering him to leave. After he’d gone, she embraced Honora.
“How I wish I could have learned to fight like you.” She smiled, tucking Honora’s hand into hers. The wrinkled fingers were frail, but the strength beneath them was undeniable.
“My son Ranulf might be a fool, but his wife is not.” She fingered the golden chain around her neck, where the ruby hung. “I wish you were the daughter of my blood. I would like to see you rule over all of Ceredys.”
Honora’s smile faded. “I don’t know how to manage the estate. I haven’t the knowledge to—“
“You have the heart.” Marie touched her shoulder. “You know what needs to be done.” An iron glint sparked within her blue eyes. “And you will do it. Rid this place of the evil that grows within it . . . “ Her voice drifted off, and Honora helped her ease onto the bed. “I pray for the day when you will put to rights, all that has fallen into disarray.”
Honora held the two pieces of her knife, bowing her head in memory. When she rose, she slid the ruby back inside the pommel, fitting the two pieces of the dagger back together. She would not allow John to find this.
It was not stolen; it was the reminder she’d needed. And she owed it to Marie to help the people of Ceredys.
Hersisterwassittingon the bed, her head bent down. As soon as Honora entered, Katherine raised her chin. The cool expression on her face was quickly masked, and she looked away without a word of greeting. It was no less than Honora expected.
She sat down, waiting for her sister to speak. But a quarter of an hour passed, and Katherine said nothing. At last, Honora attempted an apology. “I’m sorry. I never expected—“
