“And one more,” came a different voice, speaking her language. Honora glanced over her shoulder and saw a man with a terrifying appearance. His head was shaved, his face devoid of any hair. Cold gray eyes stared into hers.
Ewan stood, his face transfixed with shock. “Trahern. My God, when did you arrive? What’s happened to you?”
The man was so large, Honora had to lean her head back to see his face. Built like a giant, his excessive height would intimidate anyone.
“I arrived last night. Patrick told me you needed fighters.” His steel eyes bored into her own, and Honora forced herself to stare back. She would not let him intimidate her.
When she got a closer look at the man, her wariness deepened. This was a man who didn’t care if he lived or died. Perhaps he was seeking death, from the look of it.
“This is my older brother Trahern,” Ewan introduced, clasping his brother’s hand in greeting.
Honora gave a nod. “I have no more silver,” she managed. “I’m afraid I cannot pay another fighter.”
“Like Ewan, my services require no coin.” He barked out an order in Irish to the men who were moving the ramp away from the vessel. “I fight of my own will.”
The giant sat down, fixing his gaze upon the sea. Not toward his family, nor his kinsmen.
Ewan lifted his hand in farewell as they set their course toward England. But not once did Trahern look back. Only when Erin was far in the distance, did he shift his attention to the occupants of the boat.
“Did you find her?” Ewan asked. “The woman you sought?”
Anguish flashed over the man’s face, and Trahern shook his head. “She’s dead.”
Honora wondered if the woman was someone he’d loved. But Trahern offered no further explanations. It was clear he had no desire to talk about it.
When she met Ewan’s gaze, she understood his unspoken message. He was here to protect her, whether she wanted his help or not.
It hadn’t resonated with her earlier, the realization that Ewan was not going to let her go. Aye, she’d been angry, feeling that he didn’t trust her abilities.
But that wasn’t why he was here.
It struck her that she’d have done the same. If he were about to face an enemy in a battle he might not win, she would be at his side. Her throat closed up, her gaze drifting downward.
She would be as lost as Trahern, if anything happened to Ewan MacEgan. For she was falling in love with him.
Theyatealightmeal that night, of bread, cold mutton, and crisp spring peas. Trahern didn’t speak, though Ewan attempted to coax his brother into conversation.
Before the evening light faded, Honora decided to seek Ewan’s help with the parchment. She reached into a fold of her overdress and withdrew the broken dagger grip. Removing scrap of vellum, she handed it to Ewan. “I’ve decided to look for the treasure. Marie would have wanted me to find it; else, she wouldn’t have hidden the parchment.”
“It might not exist.”
She knew it, but if it did, Marie had tried to protect it from John.
Ewan took the vellum from her, unfolding it. “I think the markings across the bottom are runes. I’ll ask Conand. His mother was Norse, and he might be able to translate it.”
He spoke to the Irishman, handing him the parchment. Conand stared at the pattern of runes, his mouth moving silently. When at last he looked up, his expression was a mixture of interest and fear. “It’s a curse. Upon those who seek to gain the fortune of the gods.”
Ewan adjusted one of the sails, tying it down, but Honora could tell he was listening. “Go on,” she said.
“The birds represent gold,” Conand explained. “And the man who seeks to find it must overcome the power of Ægir.”
“Who is Ægir?” Honora asked.
“The Norse sea god.”
His revelation made perfect sense. Marie St. Leger had been fond of the sea, taking many walks along the shoreline. Honora had often accompanied her, and they’d walked barefoot in the sand.
If any treasure was to be found, it could be hidden somewhere along the coast.
