"There was nothing of value."
"A suit of chain mail armor has great value."
Honora rubbed her arms, staring out at the dark water of the sea. "None of it was worth our lives."
He reached out and took her hand. Lowering his voice so that Connor would not hear, he murmured, "Why did you do it, Honora? You nearly stopped my heart."
"I couldn't let you give yourself into captivity."
He touched his forehead to hers, and forgiveness slid over her.
Connor cleared his throat. "Are you going to kiss her or not?"
Ewan's answer was to pull her tightly into his arms, his mouth grazing her lips.
Thegreencolorsofhis homeland welcomed them, conjuring a smile on Ewan's face. Though it had only been a few weeks since he'd seen it last, he'd missed Éireann. And from the expression in Honora's eyes, she saw the beauty as he did.
His brother's ringfort Laochre was no longer a blend of stone and wood, but rivaled some of the strongest castles in England and Normandy. Patrick had designed it with tall square towers, built out of limestone with twelve-foot high outer walls, and a deep fosse filled with water to keep out invaders.
Thankfully, their tribe had strong ties with the Normans, and they had survived the difficult transition when King Henry had claimed Éireann for his own. They had been permitted to keep their lands, largely due to their alliances with the Norman lords Thomas de Renalt and Edwin de Godred.
Although Norman by birth, his brothers' wives had become so deeply a part of the tribe, few would know their heritage. No doubt Honora would get along well with them.
"Is this where you live?" she asked, as they crossed through the gates of Laochre.
"It is where my brother, the king, lives," he corrected. The awe on her face made him slightly uncomfortable, for his own dwelling was far more humble.
Ewan walked slowly to hide the discomfort in his feet. The blistered soles had begun to heal, no thanks to the seawater. But he'd not reveal any of his pain to his family. His wounds would close up, soon enough.
When they reached the inner bailey, he heard a female voice mingled with a child's laughter. "Liam, come back here, I say!"
His eight-year-old nephew came fleeing across the courtyard while Queen Isabel chased him. She reached for the boy just as he jumped with both feet into a large mud puddle. Dirt and water flew up into her face, splashing the front of her gown.
Abruptly, his laughter stopped.
"Now you've done it, Liam." Ewan shook his head. Glancing around, he pointed toward the far gate. "I imagine your mother will put it over there."
The boy's face turned puzzled. "Put what over there?"
"Your head after she removes it."
Isabel was already gripping her young son by the arm. The boy grimaced and pleaded, "Buta matháir, I couldn't help myself."
"Yes, you could have. And not only will you beg my pardon, you'll also beg the pardon of your uncle Ewan's guest." She ventured a smile toward Honora, switching into the Norman tongue without effort. "My apologies for this young scamp. I am Isabel MacEgan."
Ewan glanced at Honora, suddenly realizing that she hadn't understood a word of the exchange. He was accustomed to both languages, for his older brothers had forced him to learn the Norman tongue at an early age.
He put his arm around Honora, smiling at his brother's wife. "Queen Isabel," he corrected, "this is Honora St. Leger, of Ceredys, daughter of the Earl of Ardennes."
Honora started to curtsy, but Isabel waved her hand. "You needn't treat me any differently. My husband may be a king, but I am simply his wife."
Her gaze studied both of them, and Ewan realized that both he and Honora looked travel-worn. Although their clothing had dried upon the journey, Honora's gown had torn in a few places, while her cropped hair was unveiled and stood out against her head.
"You'll want to bathe and refresh yourselves, after your journey," Isabel invited.
Honora grew flustered at the mention of her appearance. Wincing, she reached out and touched the ends of her hair.
Ewan didn't miss the piercing gaze his sister-in-law shot him, along with the silent question of whether or not Honora would be his wife. He shook his head slightly, warning her not to say anything.
