“You fought well this afternoon,” he said at last, leaning upon one elbow to face her. “But I don’t understand why you felt the need to compete against the men.”
“Because there were no women to fight me?” Though she spoke the words with a light teasing note, he didn’t smile.
“Why?” he repeated.
She kept her gaze upon the stars, “You’ve always been able to fight. At any time, any place. You never had to hide your skills.”
One hand lowered to touch the sword hilt at her waist. “I’ve hidden behind a suit of chain mail armor so that no one would know I was a woman. And I am weary of it.”
She continued. “My father would have whipped me, had he known. And Ranulf—“ She stopped speaking, her chest rising as if to shut out the words. “He forbade me to touch any blade, ever again. Especially after . . . our wedding night.”
“What happened?”
“He was rough with me during the bedding,” she admitted. “I didn’t think; I just grabbed my dagger.” Her knuckles tightened. “I cut my own husband.”
“Good.” It was all he could manage, to strike back the jealous rage. The bastard had hurt her, taken her innocence. If Ranulf weren’t already dead, he’d have had no difficulty killing the baron.
“They kept me a prisoner in my own home,” Honora continued. “Only Marie helped me.” She sat up, drawing her knees to her chest. “I’ve never felt so helpless. I was afraid of Ranulf and John.”
“Anyone would be afraid, after what you endured.”
“I didn’t like the woman I became when I was there.”
He sat up and moved behind her, pulling her back against his chest. With his arms around her, he tried to grant her comfort. And though she held him in a light embrace, his senses warned that she was slipping away, like water through his fingers.
“You couldn’t accept me fighting openly, could you?” Her voice revealed her doubts, and he sensed her sadness.
Ewan thought about lying to her, of saying what she wanted to hear. But it wasn’t about her abilities—it was about wanting to protect her. It went against every instinct he had, to let her fight.
Slowly, he shook his head. “It isn’t that I don’t believe you can fight. You’ve proven that before. But I’d never allow another man to hurt you. I couldn’t stand back and watch.”
Though he understood her desire to cast off the façade of helplessness, neither could he go through his own life waiting for the moment when someone would strike her down. For warriors tempted fate at every turn.
She pulled out the broken pieces of her dagger and set them in his hands. “If I can’t fight, then this is all I am. I have no value, no use at all.”
He took the pieces and returned them to the girdle at her waist. Then he set her hand upon the sword hilt at her side. “You can fight Honora. But not alone.”
He lowered his mouth to her neck in a soft kiss. He felt a wetness against his cheek of her silent tears falling.
“I’m going to Ceredys in a few days,” she said. “Your brother Patrick offered to let me talk to some of his soldiers.”
“No.” His arms tightened around her. “Putting yourself in John’s path is foolishness. It’s a battle you can’t win.”
She colored at the reminder. “I’d rather fight him and lose, than to remain here like a coward.”
“Don’t you understand?” Ewan wanted to shake some sense into her. “He desires you, as a man wants a woman. He will force himself upon you, if you go near him again.”
Her face turned a furious shade of pale. “And what do you think he’s been doing to the women of Ceredys? He made me watch while he took them, one after the other. Because I refused him.”
Her rage ignited, and she pulled free of embrace, rising to her feet. “With every day I’m here, they continue to suffer. I can’t stand back and let it continue.”
There would be no dissuading her. He could see the futility of it. But he’d not let her go alone. He would follow her and ensure that she was safe, regardless of her arguments.
Honora let out a shuddering sigh. “It was my fault he violated them. Mine, because I would not endure his advances. I threatened his life if he touched me.”
“It isn’t your fault at all,” he argued. “You aren’t accountable for what he did.”
“I still blame myself.”
