Wild Angel

by Miriam Minger

  "Mayhap, but all women love compliments. You know how it pleases Maire when you praise her embroidery. Did you think to praise Triona’s gown? Her hair? The beauty of her eyes?"

  Ronan remained silent, remembering how he had thought Triona lovely, but said nothing.

  "You see? A few well-chosen words might have swayed her temper. Did you suggest she try a particular dish? Did you ask her if the wine pleased her? If she might like a soft cushion for her chair?"

  "So she could pummel me with it?" Shaking his head, Ronan turned and looked out onto the yard. "You’re mad if you think this idea could work."

  "Am I? I recall that you used to charm the wenches easily enough, Ronan, so much so that they would have done anything for you. I remember you and Conor always vying with each other over who could win the most attention."

  Ronan stiffened, but didn’t turn around. "That was a long time ago. You were only a boy—"

  "But not so young that I didn’t watch you and Conor in awe, hoping some day I’d find as much favor with the fairer sex. You both knew how to please them, how to tease them and make them laugh so even the plainest girls felt pretty around you. Now if you spend time with a woman, it’s only to take her to your bed for a single night’s tumble—"

  "Are you done?" Ronan demanded, rounding upon him. "Because if you’re not, little brother, I tell you now that I’ve heard enough!"

  "Aye, I’m done." Sighing heavily, Niall brushed past Ronan. "Do what you will with Triona. You’ll hear no more brotherly advice from me. But if I could venture one guess as to why she doesn’t want to marry, I’d wager it’s because she fears being wed to a man who’d treat her with as heavy a hand as you."

  Niall was gone before Ronan could reply, his brother’s long strides noticeably marked by weariness. They had scarcely slept these past two nights, having ridden deep into Wexford to steal cattle. A raid Ronan had called for after returning to the dinner, his gut still aching from Triona’s unexpected blow.

  And he was to appeal to her feminine nature? Ronan thought incredulously, heading for his dwelling-house.

  Triona possessed a face and body beautiful enough to haunt any man’s dreams, and a grace about her as natural as breathing, but there her resemblance to any woman he’d ever known ended. She would more likely be charmed by his complimenting a target hit dead-center than upon the color of her eyes.

  Ronan paused at the door, a pang hitting him as he thought again of the tears he had seen.

  Perhaps Triona truly was more a maiden than she appeared—though obviously from her reaction something she would have preferred to hide. By God, could she be hiding more from him as well? Might she simply be afraid to marry?

  If that was so, perhaps he would have to temper his methods. She’d never accept a husband and marriage if he couldn’t convince her that she had nothing to fear . . . from him or the man he would choose for her. And perhaps if he gave her a bit more freedom, she’d be less intent upon defying him.

  "Anything’s worth a try," he said to himself, turning away from the door. "But, little brother, you’d better be right."

  ***

  "I’m going to scream." Triona threw a glance at Aud as she paced furiously around the large sunny room. "Scream I tell you, so loud and long it’ll be heard all the way to Dublin! Three days Ronan’s been gone, and I’ve been stuck in here! Three whole days!"

  "Stuck only because you won’t break one of those windows." Aud looked up from the borrowed linen gown she was shortening. "You could do it easily—"

  "And have that tyrant extend my sentence by another week? I’ve already told you a hundred times, Aud. I will not give him the pleasure!"

  "But he wouldn’t be able to force you to stay in here even an hour longer than you wanted to if you left Glenmalure altogether, now would he?"

  Triona stopped, sighing with exasperation. "Aud, for the last time, that’s just too easy. First of all, I’d never leave here without you and all of my pets. And secondly, I’ve a few things to do before I bid this miserable place farewell."

  "Aye, so you’ve said."

  Hearing the uneasiness in her maid’s voice, Triona went to her side. "What’s this now? You don’t believe I’ll find a way to join Ronan when he rides against Maurice de Roche? I will, you know, and one of my arrows will send that baron straight to hell for what he and his men did to my father."

  "Aye, I don’t doubt you could do it, Triona, and that’s why I grow more worried every time I hear of your plans. I already told you of the strange dream your father had just before the O’Byrne arrived at his deathbed—how he was tossing and moaning and saying first your name and then the baron’s—"

  "And I said then that I’ve no fear of dreams, Aud."

  "No, but I do! And it gave me a chill just to hear him, as if an evil hand had passed over my heart. I think your father was trying to warn you away from avenging him, sweeting, and if you’d heard him cry out your name as I had . . . as if he saw you in the clutches of the devil himself—"

  "Aud, this is nonsense." Triona settled her arm around her maid’s shoulders but to her surprise, Aud shrugged it off as she twisted around to face her.

  "And mayhap it isn’t! I told myself when you agreed to leave Imaal with the O’Byrne that I shouldn’t worry. He would protect you if the need ever came. I’m certain that’s why your father summoned him at the end, that, and knowing this place was safe. But the O’Byrne deceived you, and when you ride with him now he won’t even know you’re among his men to protect you! So I’m asking you as sure as I love you, Triona, give up this idea of seeking revenge for your father!"

  Sighing to herself, Triona sank to her knees beside the chair. "You know I can’t, Aud. I swore—"

  "Aye, you can, just as easily as you could break one of those fine glass windows and find a way out of this stronghold, out of this glen and to the west coast of Eire if you have to. Far enough away for you to be safe."

  "And leave you here? I already told you I wouldn’t—"

  "Your father didn’t cry out my name, sweeting. You’re the one in danger."

  "For the last time, Aud, I’m not in danger!" Triona rose, annoyed with her maid’s stubborn insistence. "It would take more than a dream for me to believe that. We’re staying, I tell you. After my father is avenged, and after I teach Ronan a lesson or two about betrayal we’ll leave Glenmalure. But not a day sooner."

  While Aud sighed heavily, shaking her head, Triona moved to the nearest window. She’d just have to wait until the spawn let her out of here, no matter how much it made her feel like screaming.

  She stared sullenly outside, wishing she had more of a view than the oak palisade. But at least she had a view. The few small windows at her father’s stockade had been so thick and grainy that seeing anything through them had been impossible; these windows couldn’t be clearer.

  "More compliments of the Normans, no doubt," she said dryly to herself, yanking at the tight collar of her gown. It was amazing to her that she was still dressing herself in the damned things after the other night when she’d stormed in here and slammed the door in Ronan’s face.

  She remembered swearing a dozen times into her sodden pillow that she didn’t care what he did to her anymore, she’d never wear another gown or pretend a moment longer that she intended to obey him. Not after the humiliation she’d suffered at his hands.

  But her angry tears had soon given way to cold reason. She could do nothing until that door was left unlocked, and it wouldn’t be unlocked until she convinced Ronan that she was at least willing to play the maiden—

  A throaty bark beyond the door made Triona whirl from the window, her eyes meeting Aud’s.

  "That sounded like Conn! Conn!"

  Triona’s cry was greeted by another bark that became frantic whimpers, heavy paws scratching at the door. A key had no sooner grated in the lock than a huge furry flash burst into the room. Triona was thrown laughing against the bed as Conn jumped up on his hind legs and pounced upo
n her, whining and licking her face.

  "Oh, Conn, I’ve missed you! My brave Conn!"

  Triona was soon able to calm him by rubbing his wiry coat, the panting wolfhound flopping to a sitting position in front of her. It was then she spied Ronan standing in the doorway, a sleepy-eyed Maeve draped comfortably over his arm.

  "I thought you might like the company of your pets."

  Astonished, Triona sank down on the mattress while Ronan came over and deposited Maeve beside her, but not before giving the purring cat another good scratch behind the ears.

  "Curious creature. She spit like a serpent until I gave her a stroke or two, then she didn’t seem to mind my picking her up."

  "Aye, she’s like that sometimes," Triona murmured as Ronan gave Conn’s head a rough pat. Conn seemed to be enjoying every moment, even going so far as to lick Ronan’s fingers.

  "Ah, your Ferdiad is well and roosting with the other falcons. You are free to visit him whenever you like."

  Triona met Ronan’s eyes, shocked anew. "Free . . .?"

  Ronan nodded as he turned to leave.

  "You mean I can come and go as I please?"

  Again he nodded, then he was gone, the door left open behind him.

  Incredulous, Triona gaped after him. "Jesu, Mary and Joseph . . . O’Byrne, wait!"

  Chapter 8

  CONN BARKED EXCITEDLY as Triona ran from the room, her gown hiked up above her knees.

  "O’ Byrne—oh!"

  She stopped short, surprised to find Ronan leaning against an opposite doorjamb as if he had fully expected her to fly after him. Following his gaze, she felt her cheeks flare and she quickly dropped her gown to cover her legs, her bare toes peeking from beneath the silken hem.

  "You’ve no slippers to wear . . . T’

  "Aye, I’ve slippers," she mumbled, strangely flustered at seeing him adopting such a casual stance, his arms crossed loosely over his chest.

  Or maybe she was disconcerted because he wasn’t glaring at her sternly. She’d never seen his expression more relaxed. Or because he’d spoken to her evenly instead of giving her a blunt command. Suddenly she grew wary.

  "Are you feeling well?"

  He didn’t smile, but his eyes held a hint of something quite unusual. Amusement? Her suspicions mounted.

  "Quite well. Why?"

  "You’re acting very . . . unlike yourself. Did you take a bump on the head during your raid?"

  "No bumps." His expression tightened a little, but he didn’t alter his stance. "Who told you we’d been on a raid?"

  "The servants who brought Aud and me our food made no secret of it." Triona eyed him narrowly, his sudden caginess making her all the more wary. "You did go raiding after cattle, didn’t you?"

  He nodded, and she relaxed a little. So he hadn’t ridden out yet to avenge her father. Now if he would only explain why he was being so damned—nice to her.

  "It pleases me that you’re still wearing gowns, Triona. I thought I might find you in trousers again, especially after upsetting you the other night."

  "You didn’t upset me." Triona lifted her chin. "Made me furious is more the truth of it. After I’d done everything you wanted—"

  "I know, and I owe you an apology. I shouldn’t have expected so much from you, especially that first night. Change takes time, and I’ve granted you precious little. I plan to amend that."

  Triona knew she must be staring at him, but she couldn’t help herself. An apology . . . from Black O’Byrne? The man who had done nothing but bully her and make her life miserable since she’d come to Glenmalure? She scratched her palm with her fingernail, hard, just to make sure she was awake.

  "That’s why I’ve decided to leave your door unlocked—unless of course you give me serious reason to confine you again. But I believe you and I have finally come to an understanding, haven’t we, Triona?"

  So, he thought he’d already won, she thought angrily even as she gave him a short nod. Ha! Now that she was no longer a prisoner, she’d won, and he didn’t even realize

  His fingers cupping her chin made her start, her eyes flaring in surprise. The warmth of his touch was almost as disconcerting as the way he was looking at her, his gaze intense and searching.

  "You’ve no reason to fear the marriage I plan to arrange for you. I would never wed you to a man who’d mistreat you."

  Bewildered, Triona parroted, "Mistreat me?"

  He stroked her jawline with his thumb, adding, "I’ve Niall to thank for helping me understand what’s been troubling you. It is all clear to me now . . . why you claim you don’t want to marry, why you’ve long acted the hellion—"

  "I don’t want to marry!" Triona blurted out heatedly, growing all the more confused when instead of becoming angered by her outburst, Ronan touched his finger lightly to her lips.

  "So you say," he said in a low husky voice that made her heart do the strangest flip-flop. "Just as you told me you’ve spurned your every suitor because you didn’t like them."

  "I didn’t! Those blessed louts were all the same, just like you! They all wanted to—"

  "Triona, you can’t hide behind your argumentative tongue and hotheaded willfulness forever. Surely you can see that lashing out at your suitors and chasing them away with arrows is not the answer. Marriage may seem frightening, but to the right man—"

  "There is no right man!"

  Shoving away from him, Triona almost tripped over Conn. Regaining her balance as the wolfhound sprang to his feet and began playfully wagging his tail, she whirled back to Ronan. "You must have taken a blow to the head because you’re making little sense! Now if you don’t mind" —she gestured to Conn— "I’d like to go outside with my dog."

  Ronan sighed heavily, trying to muster all of his patience. Obviously Triona’s fears about marriage were more deeply ingrained than he had imagined.

  "Go on, then. I’d accompany you, but I haven’t gotten any sleep since—"

  "I’d rather go by myself, thank you."

  Ronan felt a muscle twinge at his jaw, but he held his peace and turned into his room.

  "Where are you going?" Triona asked.

  "To lie down," he said over his shoulder, working at his sword belt.

  "But surely you don’t mean in there."

  Ronan looked back at her as he dropped the belt with a heavy clank onto a low table. "Why shouldn’t I? This is my room, my house—"

  "Your house?"

  "Aye. My parents’ before me and now mine."

  She didn’t reply, glancing nervously from her open doorway to his. Only a short few feet separated them.

  Imagining the direction of her thoughts, Ronan wondered if he should offer to reside elsewhere during the remainder of her stay. But something made him hold his ground; perhaps his presence might deter her from doing anything foolish. Although he now felt he understood her better, she was still unpredictable.

  "I thought you were going outside," he said. Her eyes were upon him as he hauled his tunic over his head, but when he looked again, she was gone.

  ***

  "He’s mad," Triona muttered with certainty, squinting in the bright morning sunshine as she hastened from the building. "Touched in the head. One too many raids, too much strain, too many responsibilities." She threw up her hands as Conn bounded along barking in front of her. "He’s gone mad."

  And she was mad to have stood there like a gaping fool as he undressed, she berated herself, her heart still beating a little too fast.

  She’d seen men before without their shirts, but no one who looked as powerful as Ronan. She had felt how rock hard his abdomen was beneath her fist—both times!—and she was not surprised after seeing his sharply defined muscles. He had the honed, lean look of a man who’d worked his body long and strenuously, and she could just imagine what the rest of him . . .

  "Triona!"

  Shocked by the turn of her thoughts, Triona was grateful for Niall’s interruption. She waited for him to catch up to her, a joint of beef in one hand
and a brimming cup of ale in the other. His grin stretched from ear to ear as if he couldn’t have been happier to see her.

  "You’re outside!"

  Smiling wryly at his obvious observation, Triona picked up a stray stick of birch kindling and tossed it for Conn. "So I am, and it’s about time, too." She sobered, glancing at Niall. "Why aren’t you resting like your madman of a brother?"

  Niall shrugged, though his smile, too, faded. "I lay down, but my stomach was grumbling so loudly I decided I should fill it first. If he is so sensibly resting, why is my brother a madman?"

  "Because he’s proved it to me!" Triona swept up the slobbery stick that Conn had dropped at her feet and threw it farther this time. "I was surprised enough when he brought me my pets and said from now on I could come and go as I pleased, but when he started talking to me so nicely—"

  "He did?"

  Hearing the amazement in Niall’s voice, Triona nodded. "I thought that was strange, too. But then," she paused, "then he apologized to me."

  "Did he now, the devil."

  Grabbing Niall’s arm, Triona yanked him to such an abrupt halt that ale sloshed down the front of his shirt. "I don’t like the way you said that, Niall O’Byrne." She studied him suspiciously. "Are you and Ronan plotting together? He said he had you to thank for telling him what’s been troubling me."

  "Troubling you?"

  "Aye, you heard me!"

  Niall stared at her as if confused. Sighing with exasperation, Triona prompted, "He seems to think I’m afraid of marriage, afraid of being mistreated. Did you tell him this swill?"

  Understanding now shone in Niall’s eyes as he murmured, "Not exactly . . . but I imagine that’s it, isn’t it?"

  Now Triona was stumped, her temples beginning to pound.

  "I can’t think of any other explanation why a beautiful young woman like yourself wouldn’t want to wed."