"Conn! Conn!"
She had only reached the front door, when she ran straight into something hard that seized her by the arms and shook her.
"By God, woman, now what have you done?"
Chapter 12
IN THE NEXT instant, several guards running up behind him with blazing torches, Ronan felt the color drain from his face as he spied the bloody splotches staining the front of Triona’s gown. He didn’t wait for an explanation, but swept her in his arms, shouting to his clansmen, "Fetch the healer! Run with you! Go!"
"But Ronan—"
"Sshh, you must keep still, Triona," he bade her, holding her tightly against his chest as he ran with her toward his dwelling-house. His heart was pounding. His stomach cramped in gut-wrenching knots.
By God, what terrible thing could have happened to cause such wounds? Had she been attacked? If so, he would throttle the wretch himself with his bare hands!
"Ronan . . . !"
"I said keep still, Triona," he repeated firmly, surprised that she would have the strength to wriggle so strongly in his arms after losing so much blood. Or maybe she was growing delirious, her injured body going into spasms. He had seen such a thing before . . .
"Where is that damned healer?" he roared into the night as he neared his dwelling-house. By now, clansmen and their wives were running from their homes, crying, bewildered children stumbling at their heels. Everywhere people mere shouting for the healer as fresh torches were lit, the stronghold ablaze with light and confusion.
Ronan kicked in the door, swallowing hard at the stickiness between his fingers as he rushed toward Triona’s room. She had ceased her struggling, an ominous sign. God help him, he would never forgive himself if he had failed in his oath to Fineen to protect her! Never!
"Lie still, Triona," he commanded softly, a catch in his voice as he lay her gently upon the bed. "The healer will be here soon, but you mustn’t move. It will only make the bleeding worse, the pain worse—"
"But I’m not bleeding! That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you! It’s tart filling. Raspberry tart filling!"
In shock, Ronan had no time to reply as the room was flooded with bright torchlight, the balding healer’s eyes very round as he was practically carried to the bed by two strapping clansmen. Spilling behind them came more clansmen, Niall among them. Shoving her way through them all, her knobby elbows jabbing and poking, came a stricken-faced Aud.
"Out of my way! My sweeting needs me! Out of my way, I tell you!"
"Aye, I want everyone to step back!" demanded the healer, apparently having recovered himself from his rough handling. "Step back so I can see what needs to be done—"
"Silence!"
Triona started as all faces turned in astonishment to Ronan.
It had been an amazing thing to watch his expression grow more thunderous by the moment. She was all the more anxious because she knew his mounting fury was directed toward her. She could just imagine what he was thinking, that once again she had roused his people into chaos and commotion. And he didn’t even know yet that—
"Make way, make way! I must speak with the O’Byrne!"
Triona sank back upon the pillows, wishing desperately that she was a thousand miles away as a flush-faced clansman pushed his way to the front of the room.
"Lord, I’ve terrible news! It’s Seamus, the cook! He’s dead!"
"Dead?" Ronan’s voice was so ominously low that Triona felt a chill plummet down her spine.
"Aye, Lord, we found him in the kitchen! There’s no mark upon him, but his face. . ." Shuddering, the clansman continued in a hushed voice, "His eyes were wide open, Lord, as wide as they could be—like something had frightened the wits from him. I’ve never seen such a look upon a dead man’s face . . . as if . . . as if . . ."
"As if what?" Ronan demanded when the man fell silent. Everyone in the room was listening intently.
"Why, Lord, as if he’d seen a ghost."
As shocked gasps filled the air, a few clansmen hastily crossing themselves, Triona blurted out, "It was me, not a ghost! I was going to tell you what had happened, but then you thought I’d been wounded and you wouldn’t listen—"
"You killed my cook."
She gaped at him, stunned and actually hurt that he would accuse her of so cold-blooded a thing until indignation bubbled up to save her. "I did not kill him! Mayhap if you’d allow me to explain instead of interrupting me . . ."
"Then explain, Triona, and quickly."
Glaring at him, she continued. "I was hungry so I went to the kitchen, and there were these fresh tarts—"
"Raspberry." Ronan’s gaze fell to the bright red splotches on her gown, then to the fingers of his right hand which were practically stuck together from the sweet stuff, his expression growing even darker.
"Aye, raspberry. But I tripped and Seamus must have heard me because he rushed into the kitchen, and the next thing I knew . . ." She paused, shaking her head. "I don’t know what he thought, but he screamed and then he was dead. Just like that."
"Just like that."
She bristled at his scathing tone. "If you don’t believe me, then fetch a priest and I’ll swear to him that what I’ve told you is the truth. I don’t know what else I can do but to say I’m terribly sorry. All I wanted was to get a little something to eat and then come right back to bed. If I’d known that Seamus was so superstitious, I’d never have gone to the kitchen . . . at least not at night."
Regretting now that he’d ever unlocked her door, Ronan could think of a hundred ways to make her feel even sorrier. He was just about to name one when Aud piped up.
"Aye, Lord, it’s a terrible thing that’s happened, but you cannot blame my poor sweeting. I heard Seamus say more than a few times that he’d been feeling ill of late."
Ronan shot a look at the older woman. Aud met his gaze with fire in her eyes, reminding him of a mother hen ready to peck at him to protect her chick.
"I’m sure Triona’s suffered quite a shock herself," Niall said calmly. "As would any young woman if in her place. Mayhap if the room was cleared so she might rest . . ."
Tempted to say she deserved the double shock of finding herself once more a prisoner in her room, Ronan resisted the impulse. Such a move would only undo any progress he’d made with her. If indeed he’d made any at all.
But progress or not, he’d wait no longer to invite potential husbands to Glenmalure. He’d lost all control of himself tonight and he didn’t like it—by God, his emotions running amuck since Triona had come to his stronghold. His relief that she hadn’t been injured was still so intense that even now it threatened to overwhelm him.
"Go back to your homes," he commanded, his gaze sweeping his clansmen’s faces. "Calm your wives and children." Then he turned to Triona, saying as evenly as he could, "I trust that other than the obvious damage to your gown, you’ve suffered no injury."
"Except for my ankle," Triona admitted, thinking that she’d never seen Ronan’s eyes so stormy. "I must have twisted it when I tripped in the kitchen."
"See to it, healer." With that, Ronan left the room, Niall throwing her a reassuring smile as he followed after his brother. Within a moment, there was no one left but herself, Aud and the healer who gingerly examined her ankle.
"Ouch!"
"There is much swelling, lady, but thankfully nothing is broken. I must go and make you a plaster."
As the healer hastened out the door, Aud shook her head, tears glistening in her large brown eyes. "You near scared the life from me as well, sweeting. When I heard that you’d been hurt—"
"But I wasn’t, Aud, as you plainly see." Hoping to make her maid smile, Triona quipped, "Too bad all this wonderful raspberry filling ended up on my gown instead of in my stomach. It’s still growling."
Aud began sobbing, sinking down on the bed beside her.
"Now, now, Aud, I’m fine," Triona insisted, throwing her arm around her maid’s quaking shoulders. "I believe I gave Ronan a scare, too, but look
how quickly he recovered."
Funny, Triona thought as Aud wiped her face with her sleeve. Until she had just now said it aloud, she hadn’t really considered Ronan’s feelings.
She had been so frustrated that he wouldn’t listen to her, she’d scarcely considered that he must have been terribly concerned. At least when she ran everything back in her mind, his actions would lead her to think so. And his voice had caught so strangely when he had laid her upon the bed . . .
"Aye, I’m better now, Triona." Aud’s bony shoulders were no longer shaking. "That’s enough worrying about me. I should be worrying over you and not the other way around. It must have been an awful thing to have Seamus fall dead in front of you."
"It was awful," Triona said softly, shuddering. "That clansman of Ronan’s was right, you know. I think Seamus truly believed he was looking at a ghost. He seemed to know me, Aud, though I’d never met him before."
Aud reached over and squeezed her hand. "Now why would you say that, sweeting?"
"He called me by a name . . . Eva, I believe it was. Lady Eva."
Feeling Aud’s grip suddenly tighten, Triona glanced at her in surprise. "Aud?" But instead of answering, her maid rose to her feet and busied herself with pulling a fresh sleeping gown from the chest at the foot of the bed, her expression decidedly tight-lipped.
"Aud?" Triona repeated, perplexed.
"Here you go, sweeting. Let’s have you changed before the healer returns with your plaster."
Shrugging, Triona kept silent. But as Aud helped her from the bed and then lifted the soiled gown over her head, she decided that she’d never experienced so much strangeness in one day’s time.
Yet at least she could easily reason through Ronan’s odd behavior tonight. That he had once again contained his obvious anger was proof enough of his desire to make her biddable enough to marry her off.
"Bastard," she muttered once she was settled again in bed. Aud plumped the pillows.
"Aye, it’s a good thing that he’s dead."
"What was that, Aud?"
Appearing startled that she had spoken aloud, Aud added hastily, "Only that it’s a good thing no bones were broken. You should be up and about in no time."
So she would, Triona vowed, cursing her clumsiness. She would allow nothing to stop her from gaining her father’s vengeance. Nothing.
***
"Aye, brother, he does look like he saw a ghost."
Ronan said nothing. He dropped the blanket over Seamus’s stricken face.
"I’ve already sent men to Glendalough for the priest," Niall added, following after Ronan as he made his way back through the kitchen. "They should be here by midmorning."
"Good. Tell the rest we’ll be riding out after Seamus’s burial."
"Another raid, Ronan? We just got back from the last one."
Ronan spun, some of the emotion he had bridled for so long spilling over. "Thanks to Triona, little brother, we’re in need of a new cook. But if you’d rather stay here and keep her company, by all means—"
"Easy, Ronan. I didn’t mean to make it sound as if I don’t want to ride with you. It’s just that this is the second time Triona’s antics have spurred you into calling a raid."
"I said nothing about a raid." Ronan left Niall to stride after him as he stepped outside into the faint morning light. "I’ve decided to pay the O’Nolan in Carlow a visit. He might be more than willing to trade his cook for a copper-haired bride."
"The O’Nolan?" Niall caught Ronan by the arm and pulled him to a stop. "You can’t be serious. The man’s already outlived three wives and he’s more than twice her age!"
Ronan stared at his brother, never having felt so tightly wound. It was all he could do not to shove Niall into the dirt. "The O’Nolan’s hale enough. Still hunts. Raids. And he’s a genial man. Mayhap he’s of the mind that a spirited young wife might add some amusement to his days. I only wish I’d considered him before Triona frightened my cook to death."
Ronan yanked his arm free and stalked across the yard. But he hadn’t gone far before Niall was dogging him again.
"This has nothing to do with Seamus, Ronan, and you know it! But it has everything to do with Triona. You’re beginning to care for her, aren’t you? Aye, and it’s tearing you apart, making you crazy. I’ve never seen you like this! You want her, but you think you don’t deserve her—think you don’t deserve even a moment’s happiness! So now you’re going to foist her off on the O’Nolan—"
"If he’s willing to put up with her, he’s welcome to the task," Ronan cut in, ignoring the bulk of Niall’s words.
"And if he isn’t willing?"
Not wanting to consider that possibility, Ronan growled, "Then I will proceed as before but only" —he rounded upon Niall so suddenly that his startled brother fell back a step— "only if you cease badgering me. Triona will wed. If not the O’Nolan than some other man I choose for her. By God, Niall, are we understood?"
"Aye, brother. Couldn’t be clearer. How long shall I tell the men we’ll be gone?"
Surprised Niall had given up so readily, Ronan wondered if he had actually convinced him to put the whole unsettling matter of Triona to rest. "A few days. Mayhap longer if we see any Norman manors that look tempting and not too well guarded."
"They’ll be ready."
As Niall strode away, Ronan resumed his own course. He had to change clothes before anything else could be done. Yet he wasn’t prepared upon entering his dwelling-house that the scene from only an hour past could come back to him with such gripping force.
He had heard Triona leave her room with Conn, and he had taken only a moment to wrench on some clothes before following after her. But by the time he was outside she had disappeared. Suspecting she might be plotting some mischief, he had gone first to check the stable.
Then that terrified scream had split the air. He had run to the kitchen only to have Triona rush headlong into his arms. And when he saw the blood upon her gown . . .
"Raspberries," Ronan muttered, wondering how he could have been so fooled even as his stomach twisted painfully. "Damned raspberries."
Chapter 13
"JESU, MARY AND Joseph!"
"It still hurts that much?" Aud asked as Triona sank back down upon the mattress, swearing in frustration.
"Aye, and when I see that Ronan O’Byrne again, I’m going to tell him that his healer is no more worthy of the title than a goat! It’s a good thing I wasn’t truly bleeding, otherwise I’d probably be dead!"
"Now, Triona, the healer’s done everything he knows to help you. Mayhap it will just take a little more time—"
"A week isn’t enough? I’ve done everything that balding buffoon asked of me—stayed in this bed though I nearly died of boredom—"
"But you’ve had Maire’s visits to cheer you."
"Aye, Aud, but that’s not the point. I’ve also had to endure that healer’s smelly lard plasters and his foul-tasting herb potions because he insisted they would make my ankle like new. But they haven’t, so I say no more! If I’d been walking on my ankle all along, I’m certain I’d be doing much better."
Pulling herself up with the aid of a bedpost, Triona winced. But she was determined to both ignore the pain and prove that her theory was correct. She managed to limp around the room, although she had to call Conn to her side once when she almost lost her balance.
Her poor wolfhound had had a miserable week, too, after eating practically all the leftovers in the larder. No wonder he hadn’t come running after her when she had called for him, the glutton. When Aud had finally found him snoring atop a pile of hay in the stable, she said he looked a bitch ready to birth pups from the bulging size of his stomach.
"There, this works very well," Triona said, patting Conn’s head after she’d circled with him again. "I’ll just keep him near me until I’m walking without this limp."
"I’m afraid that won’t be possible."
Triona spun to face Ronan, almost toppling over until she grabbed Conn
for support. At the same moment Ronan’s strong arms flew around her, easily lifting her back to a standing position.
"Do you always make a habit of startling people, O’Byrne?" she demanded. She hoped her irritable tone would cover her amazement at seeing him again. The devil take him for being such a handsome man! It was astonishing how good he looked to her after his being gone a week, no matter the serious look on his face. She was grateful when he released her, the strength of him making her heart thump all the faster.
"It wasn’t my intent to startle you. It’s just that Conn won’t be able to accompany you today. I can’t have him scaring away our guests."
"Guests?" Triona found it difficult to concentrate upon what Ronan was saying with his still standing so close to her. "You call your new cook a guest? At least that’s what the servants told me you’d gone to do . . . find a cook, I mean. It must have been difficult if it took you a full week."
"I had other things to do," he answered cryptically, his jawline tightening. "But aye, I’ve a new cook. He’s already hard at work in the kitchen . . . preparing a feast in honor of the chieftain who’s come all the way from the Blackstairs in Carlow to meet you."
Ronan’s last statement took her completely by surprise. "To meet me? Why would a chieftain . . .?" She gaped at Ronan, suddenly comprehending.
"Taig O’Nolan’s an honorable man, Triona. A good-hearted man. I wouldn’t have allowed him to come if I thought he was anything less than the husband you deserve—"
"So you finally brought someone here to take a look at me, did you?" Triona cried, backing away from him. "Just like you said that first day I came to Glenmalure!" She would have run if she could, but her twisted ankle was still sore. She turned her back on Ronan but he caught her and swept her fighting and cursing off her feet.
"Calm yourself, Triona. I told you I’d never wed you to a man who’d mistreat you. The O’Nolan may have had three wives—"
"Three!"
"But they were happy with him, each one. He was a broken man when his last wife died just this winter."
Wild Angel Page 11