Genevieve cast a look toward her husband, and Ewan quickly changed the subject. “Will Trahern be here?” His older brother was curiously absent. Renowned for his storytelling, Trahern rarely missed a festival.
Bevan shook his head. “Not this time.”
“Why? What happened?” Ewan couldn’t imagine anything that would keep Trahern away.
“Something to do with a woman.”
The pointed look Bevan sent him was undeniable. Ewan did not shirk from the discerning gaze. But instead of reacting to his brother’s unspoken question, he commented, “Trahern will be missed. I hope he changes his mind.”
Bevan gave a nod. “So do I.” He kissed his wife on the cheek and added, “Go and rest, Genevieve. You’re looking pale. I’ll join you later.”
Ewan excused himself and walked toward the crowd gathering. He bypassed the children’s games and the horse racing, until he reached the games of skill. He watched the men wrestling, mentally noting which of the fighters had the greatest abilities.
The sound of metal striking metal rang out in the field, and after a time, he went to join the sword contests. A large crowd had gathered around, and he could hardly see the fighters. All around him, men cast wagers upon the match.
Ewan reached for a silver coin of his own. He didn’t often wager on a match, but this one had caught the eye of his kinsmen.
Ruarc MacEgan, his older cousin, was cheering along with the others. Ewan moved in, straining to see the fighters. “Is it Connor fighting?”Either his brother or Patrick must be one of the swordsmen, for such a large group to encircle the area. Men and women alike were calling out for their own champion.
“It’s one of the Ó Phelan bastards.” Ruarc grinned. “And a woman is skinning his arse.”
Ewan’s good humor evaporated. No. She wouldn’t dare. But then again, Honora St. Leger was as unpredictable as the rain. No other woman was as skilled as she, or as bold. Without another word to his cousin, he forced his way through the crowd.
Honora stood, facing off against one of the Ó Phelan tribesmen. She wasn’t wearing aléineor overdress, but instead a pair of man’s trews, held up by a rope. The trews were tight against her form, and he doubted if he was the only man who’d noticed the curve of her hips. Around her torso, she wore a tunic and ionar jacket. Her hair was tied in a short braid against the back of her neck.
Arrogant and cocky, Ó Phelan let out a roar and charged toward Honora. His sword slashed down, and Ewan reached for his own sword, ready to move into the fight.
But Honora parried the blow, nimbly leaping out of the way. Ó Phelan circled her, rage glittering upon his face. “Are the lot of you such cowards that you send a woman to fight?”
“Even our women are stronger than the best of the Ó Phelans!” Ruarc shouted back, to the approval of the crowd.
But Ewan didn’t share their laughter. All he could see was his woman, facing a dangerous enemy with nothing but a blade. She’d insulted the man’s pride, and Ó Phelan would not grant her mercy. He might not kill her, but he would not hesitate to break a bone or draw blood.
Damn her. Why had she done this? There was no need for it. He tried to move into the circle, but a strong arm held him back. It was Patrick, his brother.
“No. Let her finish this.” There was a glint of approval in Patrick’s eyes. “You never told me she could fight.”
“I trained her.”
“Well done of you.” Patrick nodded thoughtfully. “It isn’t a bad idea. There are several of our own women who might do as well. It would double our forces.”
“You’re not serious.”
His brother shrugged. “Against a trained Norman army, one does what one must. And few would expect a woman to be so skilled.”
Honora braced herself with the shield, then stepped neatly away, sending her opponent sprawling. The Ó Phelan let out a foul curse but found himself facing the point of Honora’s sword at his throat.
“I win,” she said quietly. Although few understood her Norman language, the victory was clear.
The combined noise of the crowd was deafening. Ewan was struck by the coins changing hands, and the large bag of silver that Honora received. Against the odds, she’d defeated her enemy.
Ewan moved forward, but he was nearly trampled by the men and women trying to reach her.
Honora tried to keep her smile, but the din of the people made it difficult. When at last Ewan reached her side, her expression was less confident.
He pulled Honora free of the people and didn’t hesitate to let his tribesmen see his displeasure. They backed away, eventually leaving them in peace.
“Now what in the name of Belenus was that about?” he demanded of her. “You just humiliated one of the Ó Phelans. Our peace with that tribe was fragile enough before you destroyed it.”
