Wild Angel

by Miriam Minger

  Unsettling, too, the rousing memory of her in his arms when he had pulled her from her horse. It had been a long time since he had held a woman who felt as good as she, her firm breasts swelling against him, her slim hips snug with his

  "Lord! Lord, forgive me, but I must speak with you!"

  Looking up from the fire, Ronan frowned at the young maidservant rushing toward him, one of the four women he’d sent to assist Triona. Already imagining what the girl had to say he had to gesture for her to speak up, his darkening expression clearly daunting her.

  "I–it’s the lady, Lord. She refuses to bathe . . . refuses to let us inside the room! She sent me to tell you that she’ll ready herself for supper only if her maid, Aud, assists her. And she wants her pets, Lord, or else she’ll not budge. And her door unlocked, so she doesn’t feel like a prisoner."

  Incensed by this preposterous list of demands, Ronan rose so suddenly from his chair that the poor girl jumped like a nervous doe. She didn’t wait as he dashed the last of his ale into the hissing flames but scurried from the hall, Ronan following a few strides behind her.

  ***

  Triona spun from the window as a key creaked in the lock. She raced at once across the room and lent her weight to the barricade she had erected. Her heart began to pound as someone tried to enter but when the door held firm, she laughed in triumph. Ha! She could just imagine the angry look on Ronan’s face!

  "So you got my message, eh, O’Byrne?" she taunted him, only to fall silent when a decidedly different male voice came to her through the door.

  "Triona, it’s Niall! Open the door and be quick about it! I just heard from the servants that my brother’s on his way."

  "Niall?" Astonished yet suspicious, she hissed through the crack. "What are you doing here? And how do I know Ronan’s not standing out there with you?"

  "I give you my word that he’s not, because he doesn’t even know that I’m here. Please, Triona, open the door, even if it’s only a little. I’ve something to tell you."

  "What in blazes?" she muttered, unconvinced. Yet remembering the kindness in Niall’s eyes and how his offer of sympathy had moved her, she decided to trust him. Just because Ronan was a liar didn’t mean the trait must run in the family.

  "Triona!"

  "All right, all right, I’ll open it but just a bit." Leaning into the heavy oak chest, Triona moved it back a few inches. Then she cracked the door, meeting Niall’s gaze. "Now you be quick about it. What did you want to tell me?"

  "Just that I’m sorry my brother disappointed you. And I hope you go on standing up to him. I think you can earn his respect."

  "Respect?" she snorted. "As if I need the respect of such an onerous man. I think if he smiled his face might crack," Triona groused, although she was secretly astonished that Niall had taken up her cause. Impatiently, she added, "I don’t need you telling me what I should do, either. I’ve my own mind, never you fear."

  "I never doubted it. I just hope that you’re not planning to escape the stronghold."

  "I could if I wanted to," she said honestly, looking to the three glazed windows on opposite walls. "It would be an easy matter, but why should I? Your brother needs to be taught a lesson. He deserves it, you know."

  "Aye, so he does," Niall agreed, again to her astonishment. "And if you persist long enough, mayhap he’ll relent and allow you to ride with us."

  It was on the tip of Triona’s tongue to tell him that she was already planning to accompany them on their raids, with or without Ronan’s blessed permission, but she decided it wouldn’t be wise to reveal too much. "You think so?" she asked instead, feigning a hopeful tone.

  "It’s possible. Just remember, Triona, if there’s anything I can do to help you, you must let me know."

  To help her? Now truly amazed, Triona was about to ask him why he was being so accommodating, but a sudden commotion caused her to slam the door and heave the chest back in place.

  "Niall? I thought you’d gone to change your clothes. What the devil are you doing here?"

  Ronan! Her heart hammering, Triona pressed her ear to the doorjamb and listened breathlessly.

  "Nothing much, brother," came Niall’s calm response. "I saw the servants running in and out, and thought I’d see what all the fuss—"

  "Triona is causing the fuss, in case you haven’t already guessed."

  Hearing Ronan’s determined footfalls approaching the door, Triona once again braced herself against the barricade. She heard the key turn, felt him test the door and finding it blocked, he warned through his teeth, "By God, woman, open this door or I’ll break it down."

  "Good, I hope you do! You’ll have nothing left to lock and I’ll have a nice breezeway! It’s a bit too stuffy in here for my liking."

  Triona grew tense when it became quiet outside the door . . . too quiet. She screamed in surprise when the chest began to move beneath her, Ronan shoving himself into the room as if her barricade had been no more substantial than a bag of feathers.

  "Easy, brother, I heard she simply wants her maid," Niall’s raised voice carried to her as she darted to the bed.

  Whirling, she found the room suddenly full of people—Ronan standing at the front, his expression truly ominous to behold, the maidservants gaping at her as if she were mad and Niall in the background, smiling encouragingly. Daring to believe she had found a friend and ally, she threw her shoulders back and lifted her chin.

  "That’s right. I only want my own maid—"

  "Bring in the tub."

  Triona started at Ronan’s grated command, then watched wide-eyed as the servants scuttled to do his bidding. It seemed no more than an instant had passed before a large wooden tub was being rolled into the room.

  "And the water. Cold now, but she’s only herself to blame. We’ll dunk her if we have to."

  Understanding dawned as brimming buckets were emptied into the tub, Triona walking backward from Ronan in disbelief. "You can’t be meaning to . . . to make me . . ."

  "Exactly, Triona. I sent these women to assist you at your bath and I intend to stand here and see that they do. And if by some foolishness you still insist upon defying me, then be warned that I’m prepared to see to the chore myself."

  Her jaw dropped. Glancing around her in desperation, she saw to her dismay that Niall had vanished. Oddly, knowing she was alone helped her to recover herself and bolster her courage. Aye, there were more than a few ways to taunt this overbearing lout.

  "Very well, if you insist," she said pleasantly, fighting the urge to grin at the wary surprise in Ronan’s eyes. After tugging off her leather shoes, she rolled up one trouser leg and dipped her big toe into the water. "Hmmm, just right. I’ve always loved cold baths. Just like swimming naked in the lough."

  With that she shrugged out of her jerkin, her action greeted by shocked gasps from the maidservants as they glanced from Ronan to Triona.

  She set to work at her trousers, undaunted. Keeping her eyes trained boldly upon Ronan, she dropped her belt to the oak floor with a plunk, and once again the women gasped, their faces turning bright red with embarrassment.

  "May I ask you something?" Triona said, Ronan’s resolute stare making her feel suddenly quite nervous as she began to slip her trousers over her hips. Thankfully her shirt was long and afforded her some cover, but when Ronan’s gaze traveled with her trousers down her legs, she felt a bewildering flush of heat from her scalp to her toes.

  Damn him, was he really going to watch her then? She would have thought he’d have left once she had proved she would honor his command. But he looked as if he had no intention of leaving. As he continued to stare at her, she began to feel even more flustered and unsure of herself.

  "I said may I ask you—"

  "I heard you the first time," Ronan interrupted, although in truth it was impossible to concentrate on anything being said with Triona stripping to the skin right in front of him.

  He had thought himself provoked enough to make good on his threat, but now his
anger was being replaced by something far more potent. It didn’t help either that with her jerkin gone, her hardened nipples could plainly be seen beneath her shirt as well as the tantalizing outline of her breasts . . . high and saucy, and generous enough to fill a man’s hands . . .

  A sudden splash jolted his gaze back to Triona’s face as she sank with a sharp gasp into the tub, her trousers pooled on the floor where she had stepped out of them. Her eyes were very wide as she worked at the single tie at her throat with trembling fingers, the lower sodden half of her shirt floating around her.

  "You can see that I intend to bathe," she said in a small voice that he’d never heard from her before. "But I’m not used to having so many servants around me. Is it possible that Aud . . .?"

  "I will consider it. And the return of your pets. But the door will remain locked until all six points we discussed earlier are satisfied. I will be obeyed, Triona. I think you can see that now."

  She nodded, her hands gripping the sides of the tub. Then, as she inhaled raggedly, her beautiful eyes growing even wider, she started to lift her dripping shirt over her head. Ronan felt his body grow rigid as first her narrow waist was revealed, her bare flesh the color of sweet cream . . . then the lushly rounded undersides of her breasts.

  "I’ll see you at supper," was all he could manage before he turned and abruptly left the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

  Triona slowly dropped her shirt as the key scraped in the lock. Her hands shaking uncontrollably, her flesh puckered with goose bumps that had nothing to do with the cold water, she waited until Ronan’s footsteps had receded before uttering a blistering oath that made the servants gasp in shock all over again.

  Chapter 6

  "AH, SWEETING, YOU look so lovely! Like an angel!"

  "Mayhap, Aud, but I feel like I’m being smothered," Triona grumbled as she entered the noisy feasting-hall, her loyal maid waiting by the doors to greet her. She tugged at the green silk sheathing her hips. "Ronan’s sister must be thin as a pole—either that or I’ve forgotten just how confining these miserable things can be."

  "You didn’t like the last gown you wore either," Aud said with a wry shake of her head. "And that was ten years past. I can still see you stomping into the house, your gown ripped from hem to thigh to make room for your legs, and then you standing there and swearing you’d never wear another. The O’Toole was laughing and Lady Alice was arguing. . ."

  "Until you spoke up like the good-hearted soul you’ve always been and offered to stitch me a pair of trousers," said Triona, remembering her elation when Lady Alice had thrown up her hands in defeat. "That put an end to the matter quick enough."

  "Aye, your good mother lost all control of you then. After that, you were your father’s daughter through and through."

  Triona didn’t reply, the fond recollection vanishing when she suddenly noticed the clansmen who’d escorted her to the hall had positioned themselves at the entrance. She glared at the two men and they stared stonily back, crossing their arms over their chests.

  Obviously Ronan expected she might try to retire without his sainted permission, she thought irritably as she moved with Aud away from the doors. "Are these O’Byrnes treating you well?" she asked, concerned.

  "Aye, well enough. They gave me my own sleeping room in the servants’ house and then sent me straight to work in the kitchen. But I’d rather be mending your clothes than chopping onions and turnips. I’d like to be with you, sweeting."

  "So you shall," Triona muttered though she plastered a smile upon her face just for Ronan’s benefit.

  She could see him now at the head table, Niall seated to his left and an empty place at his right, and she could feel his eyes upon her like a disconcerting weight. Already he was watching her, searching for any hint of defiance.

  But he’d see none tonight, at least not what he expected. She wanted that damned door left unlocked and the freedom to move about the stronghold at will. So for now, let him think that his rude bullying had left her more inclined to obey him . . . no matter how much it galled her.

  "Come on, Aud. You’re sitting next to me." Triona took her maid’s bony arm but to her surprise Aud held back, her large dark eyes doubtful.

  "I don’t know if I should, sweeting. I want you to find a good husband, I’ve made no secret of that, but I’ve been thinking since we arrived and I don’t like that the O’Byrne might force some man upon you. Your father wanted him to give you a home and protect you, not marry you off against your will! If I go up to that table, I might just tell him so!"

  Amazed by this show of temper in a woman usually so good-natured, Triona gave her maid’s narrow shoulders a reassuring squeeze. "Dearest Aud. Don’t worry that Ronan will have his way. He won’t, you know. If there’s a husband for me, I’ll find him myself."

  "Aye, and you won’t hear me defending him again, not after he hoisted you over his shoulders as if you were a sack of corn and not the daughter of Fineen O’Toole!"

  Aud was right. Ronan wasn’t just a murderer and a liar, but a damned tyrant. That was clear enough from the way he’d forced himself into her room and demanded that she bathe right in front of him. And how dare he insist that she conform to his bloodless idea of the proper Irish maiden? She wasn’t wax to be twisted and pulled into any shape he fancied.

  "I’ll show him a proper maiden," Triona groused through clenched teeth, nodding for Aud to follow her. Aye, when she was done with Ronan, he’d wish he had never heard of Lady Emer and her six precious gifts.

  That thought made it easier for Triona to smile; as demurely as she could she proceeded to the main table with her head slightly bowed.

  She could feel everyone watching her—clansmen, wives, their children—all conversation momentarily suspended except for an occasional chuckle or whispered aside. Imagining that talk had flown about Ronan’s humiliating treatment of her, she couldn’t wait to give these O’Byrnes something to really set their tongues wagging.

  But not yet, she told herself firmly. Ronan rose and came around the table to meet her. Amazingly enough, he had traded his black devil’s garb for more festive wear. In fact, she wasn’t prepared for how handsome he looked in a tunic as deep blue as the Irish sea, the color accentuating the steely gray of his eyes.

  She wasn’t prepared either for the familiar way his gaze moved over her . . . as if now he somehow knew her better. Vividly those heart-pounding moments in her room came back to her, the way he’d watched her every movement as she undressed, how breathless she had become, how strange she had felt

  "I see you chose to honor my command. Very wise."

  Startled from her thoughts, Triona followed his gaze to her gown. How he must be gloating! Drawing a quick breath, she met his eyes, grateful for the arrogance in his tone. That proved more steadying than anything he could have said. "You approve?" she asked softly, fearing if she spoke any louder she’d scream.

  Ronan ran his eyes over her again, thoughtfully.

  If he had thought a maiden’s garb would suit her, he could never have imagined how much. The shimmering emerald silk seemed woven just for her, the rich jewel-like color making her hair shine redder, her fair skin appear much more flawless, her stunning eyes that much greener.

  Eyes whose mood did not match her carefully composed expression. Her resentment was clear and put him on his guard. He was not fool enough to believe that this hoyden would bend so easily to his will. Far from it. He’d heard the scathing curse that she had flung at him from the tub.

  "Approve?" he echoed grimly. "My approval will be won when you accept the husband I choose for you. Now come. You’ve delayed our meal long enough."

  Feeling her tense as he took her arm, Ronan knew she had been tempted to resist him. But she quickly collected herself, asking in a tone that this time held an undeniable edge, "Is there room enough for Aud? She’s more a beloved aunt to me than a servant."

  "Very well, she can sit beside you."

  Anything to preserve
some peace, Ronan told himself as he led Triona to her chair, Aud following behind. And if the talkative maid lent him some more useful information about his unpredictable charge, so much the—

  "Oh . . . oh, no!"

  "What the devil . . .?" Ronan caught Triona just as she stumbled forward, grabbing her around the waist and hauling her against him. Looking down into her flushed face, he fought the urge to embrace her more tightly, her silk-clad body seductively warm and soft.

  "I—I must have tripped," Triona lied, disconcerted by the strength of Ronan’s arms. She had planned to fall flat on her face. Still determined to appear the clumsiest maiden in the land—so awkward and ungainly that no man would ever want her—she took a step backward in such a way that she trounced soundly on Ronan’s toes. She had to fight not to smile when his startled expletive rose to the very rafters.

  "By God, woman, watch what you’re doing!"

  "It’s the gown! My foot is caught in the hem!" she cried as she feigned losing her balance once more, twisting at the waist so suddenly that her elbow jabbed him right in the ribs. As he exhaled in pain, she blurted in hasty apology, "Oh dear, I’m so sorry. Wearing a long skirt isn’t anything like trousers. I can hardly move."

  "So stand still!"

  Triona froze, her ears ringing from his command, his grip bruising as he righted her. Yet any discomfort she felt at that moment was worth it. Ronan looked so exasperated that she was tempted to laugh. Delighted with her performance, she lowered her head so she wouldn’t give her scheme away.

  "Sit down. Carefully."

  As she did what she was told, she caught Niall’s amused wink out of the corner of her eye. She winked back as Ronan retook his seat, then she sighed loudly as if thoroughly disgusted with herself for creating such a scene. Lifting her eyes to look out across the huge room, she realized from all the stunned faces that she had indeed fooled them all, heightening her sense of satisfaction.