Why didn’t he raise his sleeve? Or have Katherine examine his ribs? Honora had seen the blows he’d suffered earlier in the tournament. He might have cracked a bone. Yet her sister appeared oblivious, forcing a smile and tending minor wounds.
When Honora lifted her gaze once more, Ewan was watching her over Katherine’s shoulders. His deep green eyes stared into hers in a silent message. He needed help. And Katherine’s nerves were beginning to show as she talked faster and faster.
Honora jerked her attention back to her sewing, not knowing what to do. Would Ewan want her to intervene? He might not trust her to tend the wound.
After a time, he rose and thanked Katherine, bidding her a good eventide. He kissed her hand, his fingers lingering upon her wrist. Honora stabbed the bone needle into her embroidery, tossing it in the basket.
‘My lady, if you would not mind …?’ Ewan sent Katherine a chagrined smile. ‘I would like to have a word with your sister.’
Katherine shook her head. ‘Not at all. I will see you on the morrow, Ewan. Remember—near the stables, past terce.’
He bowed his head. ‘I look forward to it, my lady.’
When the door closed, Honora studied him. ‘Do you want me to look at your arm?’
He nodded, wincing as he tried to lift up the sleeve of his tunic. The caked blood made it impossible.
‘I’ll work quickly,’ she promised, because being alone with him was not wise. She needed to escape his presence, to sort out the strange longings she shouldn’t feel.
‘Your sister looked about to faint. I didn’t want to offend her with my blood.’
Clearly, he felt no such compunctions with her. She resisted the urge to ask what he would do when he married Katherine. Her younger sister was softhearted and loathed blood. ‘I’ll do what I can. What about your ribs?’
She lifted the tunic away, being careful of his wounds. Upon his upper arm, the angry gash seeped blood. ‘This will need stitching, I think.’
‘My ribs aren’t broken. Bruised, perhaps, but it’s nothing.’
‘I can bind them for you, if you like.’ Without waiting for a reply, she went to fetch the needle and thread from her basket.
She was relieved that her voice sounded so calm, as though he were any other man. He’d never guess how much it unnerved her, seeing his bare skin once again. She could think of nothing else but the first night she’d seen him naked, and the way his warm body had felt pressed up against hers.
When she reached his side, she examined the wound. Dirt and dried blood edged the gash. ‘I need to wash your skin or else the blood may become poisoned.’ She spied an ewer of wine and poured it on to the cut, sponging it clean. Ewan let out a hiss of pain.
The skin was torn open, the edges refusing to mend. ‘You’ll have a scar from this.’
‘I know it.’ He didn’t flinch when she pricked the needle into his flesh. ‘But scars are the mark of honour.’
‘Or the mark of a man who didn’t move quickly enough.’
‘Have you any scars, Honora?’
‘None that I’ll show to you.’
His mouth curved upwards in a smile, turning intimate. ‘Every warrior has scars.’ With his free hand, he reached out and touched her shoulder. ‘Even ones you cannot see.’
Especially those, Honora thought. She concentrated on sewing the wound with tight, even stitches. She wasn’t going to think about the closeness between them, or the way she was standing between his thighs. He smelled good, a masculine scent of earth and rain. In the firelight, his green eyes watched her.
‘Why did you cut your hair?’ he asked.
Honora nearly stabbed herself with the needle. An innocent question, but one she didn’t want to answer. She managed to keep stitching, fumbling for a better response. ‘It makes it easier to wear a helm.’
It was the truth, but not the real reason.
‘Sometimes I train with the other soldiers,’ she continued. ‘They don’t know who I am.’
‘The armour is heavy.’
It was, but she’d trained for several years to accustom herself to its weight. Enough that she could stand it for short intervals.
‘I can’t wear it for very long before I tire,’ she admitted. ‘But it’s the only way I can fight against the other men, without them knowing who I am. I’d lose my skills otherwise.’
‘Why is it important to you? Why should it matter, whether or not you can fight?’
She didn’t know what to say. He would never understand. ‘It matters to me.’
‘You’re a woman.’ His voice was deep, like a caress. Honora shivered at the sound of it.
‘I am a warrior. Even if no one knows it.’
She could see the dissent in his eyes, but to his credit, he said nothing. Honora knew full well that she wasn’t the sort of woman her sister was. Katherine was the fresh-faced beauty, the virginal woman who knew everything about tending a household.
She had known nothing, a fact that Ranulf had never failed to remind her. Despite her best efforts, she had given her husband no pleasure in his home, nor in his bed. Had she fallen ill and died, she doubted if he would have noticed.
‘Why do you fight?’ Ewan asked again, staring as if he could see the answers in her profile.
‘Fighting is something I can do well,’ was her answer. It was the only thing she could do with any sort of expertise, save the embroidery. And even that, she’d only learned because it was necessary when tending wounded men. Blood had never bothered her, and she’d sewn up countless wounds.
After she tied off the thread, she packed the wound with comfrey and crushed garlic that Katherine had left behind. There were no cobwebs to help the wound bind, but with a tight bandage, it might do well enough. She wound his arm firmly with the clean linen. ‘Do you want me to wrap your ribs now?’
Against her desires, she found herself staring at his mouth. The heat of the room grew stifling, and perspiration rose up on her skin.
‘That won’t be necessary.’ His hand reached out to hers, and she grew self-conscious of the rough calluses upon her palm.
‘The cut will be better in a sennight or two,’ she remarked. ‘But try to keep it covered when you fight.’ Taking a step backwards, she drew her hand away and waited for him to leave.
Ewan didn’t take the pointed hint. Instead, he moved in until she was cornered against a wall. ‘Don’t ever take a risk like that again. Beaulais might have harmed you.’ He rested his hand against the wall behind her. Once again, the familiar scent of him seemed to pull at her senses.
Honora tried to keep her breathing steady, to ignore the rapid pulsing of her heart. ‘I could have blocked him, had he tried to strike me.’
‘You take too many chances,’ he argued. ‘And while I am glad you can defend yourself, there’s no reason to seek trouble.’ He cupped her chin. ‘You find it well enough on your own.’
‘Don’t patronise me.’ Her face felt as though it were on fire, and he was far too close. The gentle pressure of his fingertips against her chin made her hands tremble. ‘And don’t touch me.’
He lifted his hands up and stepped away. ‘As you wish. But let there be peace between us, Honora.’
‘Why does it matter?’
‘If I’m going to wed your sister, I would like for us to be friends.’
Friends.