He saw the hesitation in Trahern’s eyes, the unwillingness to let him go. And so, he struck the final blow. “Free them, the way you would have freed Ciara.”
Trahern’s dark gray eyes were cold and silent. But at last, he gave a nod of assent, turning his back.
Ewan urged the horse into a hard gallop. As he rode, his mind seized up with fear. A dark hollowness invaded his heart at the thought of Honora coming to harm. He couldn’t let it happen.
Though she wasn’t alone, he didn’t want her to face John without him. He couldn’t strike out the memory of seeing her on the ground of the training field, John’s sword at her throat. Or worse, the thought of Honora becoming John’s prisoner.
Wind tore at his face, while a light rain began to fall. When he reached the pathway, Ewan slowed the gelding to prevent the horse from stumbling. The moment he reached the strand, he first saw Bres and Conand lying wounded on the beach. Then his gaze snapped to the Lady Katherine held prisoner by John’s soldiers. But worst of all was the sight of Honora, her sword in her hand, while John threatened her with his own weapon drawn.
Ewan urged the horse faster, not even aware of the sounds tearing from his throat as he charged toward the mounted Norman. With his sword raised, he slashed it toward John's head. His strike landed harmlessly upon John’s shield when Ceredys turned.
The Norman wore full chain mail armor, his helm hiding the clipped fair hair. A faint red scar lined his cheek, the mark Honora had given. And it would not be the last scar he received.
Raising his own weapon, the baron swung hard, and steel struck steel. Ewan drew his horse up beside Ceredys’s and threw himself at the man, forcing him off his mount. The Norman twisted, and Ewan struck the sand first. The air knocked from his lungs, but he had no time to dwell upon it, for Ceredys shoved him toward the rearing horse’s hooves.
Críost.Ewan tried to lurch sideways as he saw the animal stumble. John kept him pinned, but as the stallion started to fall, Ewan used all of his strength to avoid the crushing weight.
His right shoulder popped from its socket, the pain ripping through him. Ewan cursed, but his arm hung limply at his side. He reached for his fallen sword with his left hand, but another weapon slid between them.
“He is mine, Ewan.” Honora’s cool voice intruded, and she never took her eyes from John. “This fight belongs to me.” Her face was flushed, her green eyes focused upon her quarry. There was no fear, only determination.
John got to his feet, a sneer upon his face. “You haven’t the strength to lift that sword for longer than a minute, Honora."
“Haven’t I?” she mused. “We’ll find out.”
Ewan rose to his feet slowly, his left hand gripping the sword. Though every instinct told him to interfere, to move Honora to the side, he didn’t. Until he could force his shoulder back into its socket, his sword arm was useless. She had a better chance at defeating John than he did.
But if she faltered in the slightest, he fully intended to intervene.
“Do it, then.” He met her gaze, offering her a confidence he didn’t completely feel.
Her reaction was disbelief, before a faint smile spread over her face. This meant something to her, he realized. Not whether or not she won, but the chance to try.
“Are you going to hide behind a woman’s skirts, MacEgan?” John taunted. He stood, gripping the sword in a tight grasp.
“I’d rather watch her defeat you,” Ewan found himself saying. Wincing at his shoulder, he stepped back, trying to ease the joint back into place. Moving into her line of sight, he urged, “End this quickly, Honora.”
Honora adjusted her stance, waiting for John to make the first move. The baron’s patronizing expression showed amusement. “Your sister brought me great comfort in your absence.” He tapped his sword against hers, making mockery of his opening strike. "After I disposed of that knight who tried to defend her."
She guessed he was speaking of Sir Ademar, and regret flooded through her. The knight had been kind, and her anger toward John only intensified. “You are a fool,” she said softly. “My father will have your head removed if you harm a single hair upon Katherine's head.”
He exerted pressure against her blade, trying to disarm her. “I thought the Lady Katherine might be useful in coaxing you home to Ceredys. It seems there was no need.”
Honora stepped backward on the sand. John swung hard, and she blocked his blow. He tried to force her blade away, but she held steady, her muscles tight. “Let my sister go,” she commanded.
“Oh, she’ll not be harmed, so long as she obeys.” He glanced toward Katherine, his expression hard. “And so long as you show me the location of the treasure.”
“You don’t know that it exists.”
“The ruby is proof of that, though you tried to steal it from me.” He lunged forward, pressing his blade close to hers. “But that isn’t the only reason I want you at Ceredys.”
His eyes grew hooded with unspoken desire. It made her skin crawl, the way he seemed to touch her with his gaze. “You could also do with a lesson on how to obey a man.”
“I am not in the habit of obedience,” Honora gritted out.
“Nor in womanly pursuits, it seems.” His sword struck hers once again, aggressively seeking a weakness. Honora met each blow with her own parry.
Though this fight went on longer than the last, she took satisfaction that she was not tiring beneath the onslaught. Over and over, her blade struck his, while Ewan watched.
