All they had were these stolen moments. And one day soon, those would be gone.
WhenHonoraawoke,shesmelled fish cooking. Ewan was seated beside the fire, a fresh trout spitted over the flames. He was fully dressed, and his gaze warmed when he saw her bare skin peeping from beneath the cloak.
She tried not to be self-conscious, though she remembered everything they’d done last night. Perhaps tonight, he would finish what they’d begun. Her skin prickled to imagine it, though she was uneasy about the joining.
She rubbed her arms in the morning chill. Without Ewan’s body heat to warm her, she’d become cold. She’d never been one to leap out of bed in the mornings. More often, she’d snatch the coverlet and roll over, trying to steal another hour of sleep.
“Is that the only fish you managed to catch? It’s rather small, isn’t it?” she teased. Reaching for her shift and bliaud, she dressed, trying not to feel embarrassed about her nudity.
“There is nothing small about my fish.” Ewan’s voice was almost a growl, as if she’d threatened his manhood with the description. “It’s big enough for both of us.”
Catching her about the waist, he added, “I’ll share, if you kiss me.”
She tilted her chin up to meet his mouth, and his tongue slid inside, tangling with hers. Oh, Jesu. He knew just how to unravel her willpower, stripping away her defenses.
Unfamiliar sensations poured through her, a fierce need she’d never known with any man, save him. Her body craved his bare skin against her own, his talented hands touching every inch of her.
But they still had a long journey ahead. She pulled back, her hands shaking. “The food, Ewan,” she reminded him.
His green eyes were dark with desire, but he released her. He removed the fish from the spit and brought it over to a large rock to divide it. With his dagger in one hand, he cut off a piece for her. Honora took her piece and struggled to pull it apart.
“What happened to your dagger?” he asked, eying the broken pieces.
“My father broke it,” Honora admitted. She went on to tell him that Marie St. Leger had hidden a ruby within the weapon, and that John had stolen it back. “He thinks it’s part of a larger treasure. But I’ve only seen the ruby.”
“That was why he attacked you that night.”
“Yes. I didn’t know Marie had given it to me. Were it not for my father breaking the weapon, I’d never have found it.” Honora rubbed her eyes, sighing heavily. “John has it now. But I don’t know if he’ll leave me in peace.”
“If he thinks there is more, I doubt it.” Ewan studied the grip. The pommel had broken off, and he touched the hollowed space with a single finger. “Do you think a larger treasure exists?”
“John thought so.”
He lifted the dagger grip to peer inside. Inside the hollow where the blade tang was meant to rest, he slid his smallest finger. A moment later, he withdrew a tightly-folded piece of vellum, only larger than his thumbnail. “Honora, have you seen this?”
She hadn’t. “What is it?”
Ewan opened it and she saw strange black markings etched along the bottom, in a foreign design. Above them was a spiral emblem and the figure of a bird.
“What is it?” Honora asked.
“I’ve seen similar carvings on the chest in the chapel. But I’ve never seen a bird like that.” Ewan peered closer at the unusual illumination. “It isn’t one bird, Honora. It’s six.”
The strange spirals and birds meant nothing to her. Nor did the black markings.
“Should we look for it?” Honora wondered aloud. “If we ever learn what the markings mean.”
“Perhaps,” Ewan drew closer to her, spanning her waist with his hands. With his mouth, he nuzzled her neck. “But right now, I think you should finish eating.”
He reached down and fed her from his fingertips. The flaky trout was delicious, but his warm tongue only caused more desire to spark within her.
They had nearly finished when Ewan froze suddenly, his gaze focused in the distance. Honora shielded her eyes and immediately spied the threat.
A silvery ribbon flashed in the morning sun, the glint of chain mail armor. Whether it was John’s men or her father’s didn’t matter. Both were dangerous.
“How many?” she asked, her hand reaching toward the grip of her dagger, out of habit. She’d forgotten it was broken.
“A dozen, perhaps.”
