She reached out for the sword hilt and offered it back to Honora. “Take this. It was a gift from Ewan, long ago. I should like you to have it. He won’t mind.”
The lightweight sword was perfect, its blade well-balanced and the hilt polished. But Honora declined the gift, saying, “I really shouldn’t.”
“Keep it,” Genevieve insisted. “And if you don’t mind my interfering, I think you should return to Ewan.” With a wicked smile, she continued, “Greet him naked in his home, and let him beg your forgiveness.”
Chapter Nineteen
Thatnight,thetribesmenand women lit the fires upon the hillsides. The priest, Father Brían, offered a blessing of his own for the forthcoming summer. Every man, woman, and child circled the fires three times in a clockwise direction, stopping to drop handfuls of pebbles upon the flames.
Then young men took turns, leaping across the fire. A newly-wedded couple joined hands and jumped across the fire, laughing and sharing in a passionate kiss afterwards.
Ewan stood back, unwilling to watch them. It made him think of Honora and the power she held over him. He’d tried to stay away from her, but it was like trying to give up food and drink. He’d missed holding her, stroking her smooth skin and tasting the sweetness of her lips when he kissed her.
When he’d seen the Ó Phelan’s sword swinging toward her earlier, he’d wanted to drag her away from the match. She could have been killed in a heartbeat, and he’d have been too late to stop it.
Then she’d cast the bag of silver at his feet, and his anger had deepened. Her win had bothered him, not only because of the unnecessary danger, but because she’d cast up his desire for wealth in his face. He couldn’t accept the coins.
He’d asked Patrick to hold the silver for safekeeping, and Honora could use it to buy her army. He sobered at the thought. It was a fool’s errand, wanting to overthrow John of Ceredys. But it meant everything to her. Honora would never belong to him until she had laid the past to rest.
And he would do what was necessary to relieve that burden.
From behind him, he scented Honora’s light floral fragrance. “You’re angry with me,” came her voice.
“I was.” He hadn’t wanted her to risk her own safety against an enemy tribe.
Honora stepped into view and he saw that she had discarded the men’s trews. An emerald overdress and whiteléineaccentuated the lines of her figure, while around her shoulders she wore a long crimsonbrat. The cloak offered warmth against the evening chill, the flash of color bright against her skin. At her waist, she wore a sword he had once given to Genevieve. As if embarrassed by it, her hand covered the hilt.
“Genevieve offered this to me. She said it was a gift from you, years ago. Would you rather I returned it to her?”
“No.” The sword reminded him of his awkward youth, when he’d sparred against Genevieve. He’d had the weapon made as a wedding gift, and the weapon was lighter, intended for a woman’s palm. “Keep it. Your dagger isn’t of use to you anymore.”
“Thank you.” She stood beside him, as though she didn’t know what else to say. Her cropped hair was longer now, touching her shoulders. He wanted to touch it, to draw her close in a warm kiss. But there was a cool distance surrounding Honora, an invisible warning.
“Will you walk with me?” He reached out to take her hand. “I want to show you something.” He pointed toward the hillside where one of the fires had burned down to glowing embers.
She looked doubtful, but nodded. “All right.”
He led her up the hillside, trudging through the long grasses. The night air was warm, but it did little to assuage the uneasiness he felt inside. He sensed that there was more Honora hadn’t said.
As the incline grew steeper, they used both hands and feet to climb higher. One side of the hill leveled out, and from the vantage point, they could see across the land, to the sea upon the horizon. One of the fires blazed nearby. Encircled by earth and stones, the fire had burned upon this sacred hillside for as long as he could remember.
Ewan sat down upon on outcropping of stone, leaning back against the hill. Honora did the same, and for a time there was nothing, save the popping of the fire and the distant sound of rolling waves. Below, near the festivities, came the sounds of laughter, conversation, and music.
Honora reached down and plucked a handful of grass, twisting it into a bundle. “Is it true what Connor said? That if I toss this into the fire, I can make a wish?”
“It is.”
She grew pensive, as if imagining her heart’s desire. Then she tossed the bundle of grass into the flames. It landed among the coals and smoldered, the edges flaring briefly before it died into smoke.
“What did you wish for?” he asked.
A wistful smile touched her lips. “Victory.” She sat down beside him upon the hill, a short distance away from the fire. Her fingers twined with his, and he guided her to lie back. Together, they stared up at the stars glowing against the night sky.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, the curve of a smile at her lips. “It reminds me of the night we spent outside when we were younger.”
“The earl had me whipped for sneaking out.” He propped his head up on his elbow, watching her. “And you thought it was a wonderful adventure.”
“It was. I have no regrets. I’d never slept out of doors, and it felt like I was one of the soldiers, going off to battle.” She turned to look at him, her body reclining against the grass. With only the firelight and the moon shining upon her, she looked like the goddess Danu, waiting to greet her lover.
