Only on Nora.
***
Nora stared blindly at the walls of the hastily constructed tent where she lay atop a blanket thrown upon the hard ground.
Her prison in Glendalough for the few hours Sigurd had grudgingly allowed his men to stop and rest before they set out again on their march back to Ostmentown.
No lamp had been given to her, the light outside growing dim as dusk fell over the camp.
A guard stood in front of the tent to deny anyone access but Sigurd…even her father. The last she had glimpsed Magnus was when Sigurd had carried her into the tent and dumped her upon the blanket, and then left cursing his men’s fatigue and that they had stopped at all.
Her father had looked so tired, too, more so than Nora had ever seen him. His face haggard and pale, his watery gaze filled with concern as he’d appeared to be fighting to breathe.
That had been several hours ago after a nightmarish ride from Glenmalure clutched in Sigurd’s massive arms. His fetid breath had fanned her face, one huge hand upon the reins and the other straying to her breasts more than she wished to recall to squeeze her cruelly.
Yet it had been his coarse whispers in her ear that had chilled her, Sigurd sharing all the lewd things he planned to do to her once the annulment came from Rome and they were wed…if not before.
Rolling onto her side, Nora bit her lip to prevent herself from becoming sick.
She knew her father’s threat to withhold the gold he’d promised Sigurd, and his aid in seeking the annulment would only go so far to keep that monster from assaulting her. One day that horrifying moment would come—ah, God!
Unable to breathe now herself, Nora sat up in an effort to calm her racing heart. She must think of something else—anything!—but there were few thoughts to cheer her.
At least other than that Sigurd’s attack upon the O’Byrnes had been averted…though she could not get Niall’s tortured cry out of her head.
Nora!
The agony in his voice echoing over and over in her mind, Nora clasped her fists to her ears as if she could shut out the memory.
He had wanted to jump from the rampart to try to save her, which had told her then how much he must love her. Not Caitlin at all…yet there was nothing to be done about it!
Nora had given herself over to Sigurd, and he would battle any attempt to take her from him. He had told her that when squeezing her breasts and whispering how he would force her down onto her hands and knees…
“No, no, no!” Bile rising in her throat, Nora had to bite her lip harder to keep from vomiting. She came close to screaming with relief when lightning flashed against the tent walls and thunder boomed overhead, so loud and long that the ground seemed to shake.
Aye, a storm would drown out the sound of Niall’s voice in her head! She closed her eyes tightly and prayed for wind and rain and more deafening claps of thunder—
“Nora!”
This frantic cry more real than imagined, Nora opened her eyes to find Magnus staggering into the tent, a bloodied knife in his trembling hand.
“Father…?”
“There is no time, Nora, you must run. Flee! The guard is dead…but someone will soon notice…”
His labored voice faltering, he collapsed to his knees. Nora jumped up and rushed to his side to try to help him but he pushed her away.
“No! You must go now! I’m dying, Nora…my heart…this is all I can do to help you. If I know at least that you forgive me for what I’ve done to you—”
“Oh, Father, I forgive you but please come with me!”
“No, you must run as far away from the camp as you can! Men were seen atop the hills…and even now Sigurd is alerting his forces. If help has come you must try and reach them! Now go!”
With great effort Magnus rose to his feet and lurched to the back of the tent, where he slit the canvas with the knife. Nora could hear commotion building outside, and she rushed to throw her arms around her father’s neck.
For a brief moment, Magnus embraced her and then he pushed her toward the opening he’d cut for her. “Please my beloved child, go…”
She did as he bade her, her father crumpling to his knees as Nora ducked outside into a pelting rain, her tears blinding her.
Yet nothing made her wipe them from her eyes faster than Sigurd’s enraged voice bellowing from the opposite end of the tent.
“By the blood of Odin, MacTorkil, you dare to betray me again?”
Nora heard the sounds of a brief struggle, her father’s outcry, and then the sickening thunk of Sigurd’s axe as his weapon sank into flesh.
“Damn you, Nora, you cannot escape from me!”
“Oh God, oh God!” Her heart slamming in her chest, she wrenched her gown above her knees and began to run even as the storm she’d desperately prayed for erupted in fury above her.
Lightning flaring, thunder crashing, the darkened skies opening up into a driving downpour.
Still she ran wildly as the camp had erupted too, men screaming and scrambling past her as what she swore were arrows whizzed above her head.
And above it all, Sigurd roaring out her name—dear God, coming after her!
Chapter 19
Nora had never run so hard and so fast, uphill now as she left the camp behind her, cold rain stinging her eyes.
Was Niall out there somewhere? He must be if Sigurd’s forces were under attack! She didn’t dare to glance behind her, terrified of what she might see in the flashes of lightning streaking like bony fingers across the sky.
Soaked to the skin now, she gasped for breath and struggled to keep her sodden gown above her knees. She felt the muscles cramping in her legs. She cried out when she stumbled upon loose rocks and nearly fell.
“Oh, God, keep going!” she admonished herself, but nothing spurred her more than Sigurd’s violent cursing not too far behind her.
“By Odin, woman, when I catch you...!”
Tasting her tears, Nora knew then that she could not outrun him.
All hope dying, she felt as if everything had grown still inside her, nothing around her feeling real any longer.
Not the deafening claps of thunder.
Not her chilled hands shaking so badly that she could no longer hold up her gown.
Not the harsh breathing drawing closer and closer behind her.
Again she stumbled and this time she fell hard to the ground…while out of the corner of her eye she saw as if in a dream the dark silhouettes of horses charging down the hill.
Atop them riders wielding swords and wearing mail shirts that glinted as lightning flared and Nora felt all strength leave her body, Sigurd’s crashing footfalls telling her that he was almost upon her.
She closed her eyes, the side of her face pressed into the cold mud…while as if from afar she heard men shouting, horses snorting, and Sigurd’s howling battle cry as she felt him seize her by the hair.
Yet she felt no vicious tug…only something wet and warm that rained down upon her as a dull thud sounded next to her ear.
She heard Sigurd screaming in pain and then a harsh voice coming from someone standing above her…oh, God, Niall’s voice.
“Aye, let’s see you crush skulls now! Raise your weapon, man, while you’ve blood left in your body to fight me!”
Nora heard other familiar voices then, Ronan shouting for everyone to stand back to give Niall plenty of room.
Triona crying out Nora’s name as she felt herself rolled over, Triona sinking down in the mud to hug her tightly.
Only then did Nora spy the severed arm upon the ground…Sigurd’s arm.
Dazed, she looked up to see Niall wielding his sword and circling the Norseman, who brandished his broad axe with his remaining arm.
“You Irish bastard! You stole what was mine—”
“No! You dared to take what was mine!”
Lightning glinted off Niall’s sword as he lunged with such fury that Sigurd had no chance to swing his axe.
Struck through the
heart, the giant Norseman’s face contorted in a terrifying grimace as he fell dead before he hit the ground.
The top of his shaven head only inches from Nora’s feet, his sightless eyes staring up at her.
She screamed in horror…and in unspeakable relief as Niall rushed toward her to gather her into his arms.
To hold her close and whisper soothing words to her while he strode with her to his horse. He gave her over to Ronan for only a moment while he mounted, and then Nora was lifted up into his arms.
Her cheek pressed to Niall’s chest, his heartbeat so strong and reassuring against her ear, Nora watched as Ronan embraced Triona fiercely and then led his wife to her horse as well.
They had both no sooner mounted, other O’Byrne clansmen astride their horses gathered all around them, when a rider approached. Wearing chain mail and seated atop a mighty bay stallion that tossed its great head, the man reined in beside Niall.
“I see the thing is done…and your wife safe in your arms.”
“Aye, Duncan,” Niall said as he hugged Nora closer. “The O’Byrnes have much to thank you for this night…do we not, Ronan?”
“Aye, you have our thanks, FitzWilliam. Shall we ride with you to escort what’s left of Sigurd’s forces to Ostmentown?”
“No, I’ll not have you risk danger by venturing too close to Dublin. Though I would have it otherwise, there is still a price on your heads. Donal MacMurrough and I will ensure that the bastards board their ships…and with their vow never to sail to Ireland again if they value their lives. The Ostmen will know as well never to march again into Leinster.”
In the moonlight breaking through the stormy clouds, Nora could see that the faces of Niall, Ronan, and Duncan—Maire’s Duncan!—were grim though tears glistened in Triona’s eyes.
Grateful tears, Nora knew, as mayhap her courageous sister-in-law’s prayers to see Maire again one day were that much closer to being answered.
No more was said, the men nodding to each other as Duncan FitzWilliam veered his mount away to rejoin his men in the camp below.
Until Triona broke the silence, calling out to him, “Give Maire our love!”
With a wave of his hand Duncan galloped down the hill, while Nora watched as Triona nudged her stallion Laeg between Niall and Ronan.
“Shall we get your bride home to Glenmalure, Niall O’Byrne? I believe we’ve postponed your wedding feast long enough.”
Niall’s arms tightened around Nora, while she looked up at the man who had so completely won her heart. “Aye, husband, take me home.”
***
“Do you think they’ll even attend their own wedding feast? They disappeared into their dwelling-house two days ago and we haven’t seen them since!”
Triona laughed at Ronan’s dark scowl, though she knew he wasn’t angry at all.
Just hungry. Everything lay in readiness, the feasting-hall alight with torches and filled to the brim with their clansmen, wives, and children as all awaited Niall and Nora to join them.
The tables were laden with savory things to eat and cups were filled to the brim with wine or ale. The lanky wild-haired harper began another rousing tune to attempt to keep everyone distracted from the lengthening delay.
Even little Deirdre sitting on Triona’s lap appeared impatient, and pounded her tiny fists upon the table. That made Ronan throw his head back and laugh, though he then shook his head at Triona.
“I fear she’s even more willful than you, wife. Soon she’ll be demanding a bow and arrows and a fine leather bow case just like her mother’s, and a pony, and trousers—”
“Begorra, she’s not even two, Ronan! Mayhap she’ll prefer wearing pretty gowns like Nora and Maire, did you ever think of that?”
Ronan’s snort told Triona that he knew as well as she Deirdre possessed a headstrong nature that one day would try them—ah, but those worries were for years ahead!
Mayhap, too, Deirdre would find herself with brothers to help keep an eye out for her and gentle-hearted sisters like Maire to temper her stubbornness. Triona had made no secret of her hopes to have a slew of children with Ronan. As if guessing her thoughts, he reached out to squeeze Triona’s hand.
“Whatever the future brings, my beautiful bride of two years, we’ll weather it together, aye?”
Triona nodded at Ronan, tears welling in her eyes although that wasn’t like her at all. She knew it was the babe growing within her making her emotions so raw.
Because of their unborn babe, too, Ronan had urged her to remain at the stronghold rather than join him, Niall, their clansmen, and the MacMurroughs in going after Nora. Yet Triona had refused and saddled Laeg to ride with them, determined to do whatever she could to help them find her beloved sister-in-law.
Once he knew of Ronan’s plan, Donal MacMurrough had decided to send half of his clansmen to Ferns to escort Caitlin home, and to alert his reinforcements to change their course to Glendalough. As the rest of them had headed north, they’d had no idea if Duncan FitzWilliam had answered Ronan’s urgent message. Triona had wept then, too, when they had come upon Maire’s husband and his armored knights on their way to Glenmalure!
Yet those grateful tears had been nothing to the ones she’d shed when they spied Nora running desperately from the camp with that vile Norseman so close upon her heels. Or when Triona had jumped from Laeg’s back to rush to Nora’s side and gather her terrified and blood-splattered sister-in-law in her arms to hug her close.
Or during the ride home when Nora had told them about her father and that Sigurd had thankfully not ravaged her—
“Sweeting, the danger is past and Nora is safe with us again,” came Ronan’s low voice to draw her from such thoughts, his thumb gently wiping a tear from her cheek.
It never ceased to amaze her that he could so easily read her mind, aye, and that he knew just when to soothe her by calling her ‘sweeting’ like her maid Aud used to do.
Triona so missed her, but Aud was living happily with her husband Taig O’Nolan, chieftain of the Blackstairs O’Nolans, in Carlow. It had been so long though, since Triona had seen Aud…and it felt so long since she had seen Maire.
Duncan probably wasn’t home yet at Longford Castle so he could share with her that all was well and give her their love. Oh, how Triona wished there would be a day soon when they could all be together!
“Jesu, Mary, and Joseph, I must be a wretched sight,” Triona said as she stood up and handed their wriggling daughter to Ronan. “I’ll go and see what’s taking Niall and Nora so long.”
“Not before a kiss,” Ronan said huskily, his slate gray eyes darkened with emotion as she bent her head to oblige him.
His lips so warm against hers, Triona felt thrilled to her toes like she always did when kissing her handsome husband. Yet Deirdre’s squeal of protest made both of them laugh, their beautiful wee daughter not liking at all that she had been smothered between them.
Nor was the mood in the feasting-hall growing any less impatient as Triona rushed to the doors, though the harper still played furiously to amuse everyone.
She was glad that Nora and Niall had enjoyed some time to themselves, and she’d made sure no one interrupted them other than maidservants with a plate of food, a pitcher of wine, or hot water for bathing. Yet if they didn’t arrive soon, the evening’s festivities might have to start without them!
Clansmen drinking and shouting out for more ale, their wives trying their best to control squirming children—dear God, where were they?
***
“Kiss me again.”
Nora did, pressing her lips to Niall’s for another breathless moment even though the tumult inside the feasting-hall seemed to grow louder. As his arms crushed her against him, she had never felt more loved…or more beautiful.
Niall had claimed as much when the maidservants stepped aside in their bedchamber so he might view their handiwork. Nora had twirled around for him in her lovely white and lavender gown chosen especially for this night while his admir
ing gaze had filled her with such joy.
Aye, the past two days had been filled with more contentment than Nora could have imagined as she and Niall had secreted themselves away in their dwelling-house simply to be alone and together.
To make love and free themselves from any misunderstanding, to laugh and savor the sweetness of being safe and sound in each other’s arms.
Even now as Niall’s kiss deepened, Nora felt such radiant happiness overwhelm her that she scarcely heard the huge doors to the feasting-hall thrown open. Triona’s laughter made Nora gasp in surprise against Niall’s lips.
“Well, Niall O’Byrne, will you be sharing your lovely bride with us this night or will you just stand there kissing each other?”
Niall’s teasing smile thrilled Nora as the entire feasting-hall erupted in boisterous cheers and shouts of well wishes.
“What do you think, my love? I’d say we’ve worked up a fine appetite and it sounds like my clansmen are famished, too. Shall we join them?”
Nora nodded, smiling up at Niall as he clasped her hand and led her inside to their wedding feast.
*****
Read on for an excerpt from Miriam Minger's Regency historical romance
Secrets of Midnight—and don’t miss the thrilling sequel, My Runaway Heart!
Miriam Minger is the bestselling author of emotion-packed action adventure historical romances that sweep you from lusty medieval times to Regency England—and with some dangerously seductive 18th century tales in between. With two dozen books published in five languages, Miriam is also the author of contemporary romance, romantic suspense, inspirational suspense, and children’s books. She is the winner of several Romantic Times Reviewer's Choice Awards—including Best Medieval Historical Romance of the Year for The Pagan's Prize—and a two-time RITA Award Finalist for The Brigand Bride and Captive Rose.
Miriam loves to create stories that make you feel the passion, live and breathe the adventure, laugh and cry, and that touch your heart.
Wild Moonlight (The O'Byrne Brides Book 3) Page 13