Wild Angel

by Miriam Minger

  "Aye, that he is."

  "And stronger."

  "No doubt of it."

  "And he was furious at me, too."

  "Aye, I can just imagine what you said to bring that out in him."

  Triona exhaled in a rush, growing twice as exasperated. "Even if I’d kicked him, or struck him, or scratched him, it wouldn’t have made a bit of difference."

  "So you didn’t."

  "No, I—" She stopped, her eyes narrowing. "What are you trying to make me say, Aud? That I might have wanted Ronan to do what he did?"

  "Of course not, sweeting. Never entered my mind. Don’t you think you should be on your way? I thought you and the O’Byrne were going hunting." With that, Aud immediately resumed tidying the room as if she hadn’t expected an answer.

  Not that Triona felt like giving her one. She gestured to Conn who’d been lying patiently by the bed, the huge wolfhound a shaggy blur of energy as he raced ahead of her out the door. After grabbing her bowcase Triona was close on his heels, her face still burning.

  Of course she hadn’t wanted Ronan to make love to her! How could Aud have even suggested such a thing? Aye, she’d be a liar not to admit that she’d given in easily enough to his caresses and his kisses, unbelievable as it still seemed to her. But she hadn’t expected him to . . .

  "Just pretend it never happened," she said firmly to herself as she left the dwelling-house and headed for the stable, Conn running in excited circles around her.

  Yet little good it did. She had repeated those same words a thousand times during the past weeks, even last night when once again she hadn’t been able to sleep. Damn him, it made no sense that she’d been thinking about what had happened more and more instead of the other way around! It’s not like she wasn’t trying to forget.

  "I’ll just refuse to go hunting with him," she muttered, throwing her bowcase over her shoulder. Aye, she’d visit Maire instead. She’d been gone raiding so much that their times together had been few, Aud helping Maire to exercise her legs whenever Triona couldn’t.

  It was still a secret. Nobody knew, not even Ita, Maire’s overprotective maid. And Maire was growing stronger, too, her cheeks not half so pale. She still couldn’t walk unassisted with the crutch, but maybe in a few months . . .

  Triona frowned. Of course, she wasn’t going to be here in a few months. But what would happen to Maire after she and Aud left Glenmalure? Would Maire keep trying to walk on her own? Aye, she really should visit her, if only she wasn’t so curious about what Ronan was up to.

  "I’d say it’s far too fine a day to be frowning, wouldn’t you?"

  Triona glanced up to see Niall just leaving his house; she slowed her pace until he caught up with her. She was tempted to tell him she had every reason to be sullen with Ronan so much on her mind, but she held her tongue. She wasn’t really sure where Niall stood with her anymore. Not since he had seemed so pleased that Ronan has asked her to wed him.

  "If I’m frowning, it’s only because your brother and I are getting too late a start to have any luck at hunting—"

  "Hunting?" He sounded surprised.

  Triona nodded.

  "I’m almost envious of you. Ronan and I used to do a lot of hunting together before . . ." Niall had sobered, sighing. "Well, he’s always been so busy with everything else. I suppose that means we won’t be setting out on any raids today."

  She shrugged. "Your brother is of the mind that his men need time with their families—or so he told me last night."

  "I see."

  She shot Niall a sideways glance to find him smiling to himself as if he knew some secret. "See what?"

  She didn’t get an answer, Niall jutting his chin instead. "There’s Ronan now."

  Triona looked to the stable, suddenly feeling nervous as she watched Ronan lead their prancing horses out into the yard. So he had been expecting her, the spawn! But her agitation was nothing compared to the breathlessness that swept her when she met his eyes. There was a stirring warmth in those silver-gray depths that could not be denied.

  Begorra, was she mad? Why the devil had she allowed herself to be goaded into hunting with him? The last thing she wanted was to be alone . . .

  "Niall, you must join us." She looped her arm through his before he could answer, tugging him along. "You said yourself that you haven’t been hunting with Ronan for a while and I’m sure he wouldn’t mind—"

  "Niall has other things that demand his attention today," Ronan interjected, clearly having overheard her. "Don’t you, little brother?"

  "Aye, that I do."

  Before Triona could blink, Niall had disengaged himself from her grasp and stepped aside, leaving her standing awkwardly in front of Ronan.

  "But . . . but surely there is nothing so important . . ." she began, only to switch to another tack when Ronan firmly shook his head. "I—I can’t go. I don’t feel well."

  "You look fine to me. Never lovelier."

  Growing flush-faced in spite of herself, she snapped, "Just because I look fine doesn’t mean I feel fine, Ronan O’Byrne. I’m sorry but you’ll just have to go by yourself."

  Ronan sighed. He could see now that he must have jumped to conclusions last night. But if challenging her had brought her this far, it could work again.

  "Enough of this nonsense, Triona. Our quarry will be napping safely in its den if we delay any longer and then neither of us will have a chance at bringing home the prize. Unless of course you’re truly worried that I might do better—"

  "Better, O’Byrne? With those unwieldy javelins?"

  Ronan followed her skeptical gaze to the leather spear case strapped to his mount. "They fly straight if aimed well."

  "Mayhap, but I don’t see why you won’t use a bow. It’s much more efficient—"

  "I prefer javelins." Ronan’s tone had grown stiff, some of the light gone from his eyes. "They’ve been known to bring down a wild pig or two."

  "Well now, that would be an amazing sight to see. But what a shame we won’t because my arrows will win the day long before you ever think to throw one of those things!"

  As she grabbed Laeg’s reins, Triona noted that Ronan looked pleased now and she suddenly realized what he was up to. She mounted her horse, fuming.

  Too bad Aud hadn’t witnessed this little exchange. Aye, it was clear that he was so sure of himself that he didn’t think he had to impose his will.

  What a witless impressionable dolt he must think her! A few weeks of raiding, a little hunting, and she might come to think it was worth it to marry him just to enjoy such freedom . . .

  "Tell the cook we’ll have wild boar for the spit tonight," Ronan called out to Niall, jolting Triona from her thoughts.

  "Aye, that I will, brother. Enjoy the hunt, Triona!"

  "I intend to," she said through clenched teeth as Ronan drew his horse alongside her, the spirited black beast trying to take a nip out of Laeg’s neck.

  "Did you say something?"

  Attempting with little success to ignore Ronan’s thigh rubbing against hers, Triona somehow managed, "Just that Conn must come, too. He’s a good nose for wild beasts."

  Except when it comes to you, she thought resentfully as Ronan signaled for her dog to come before she had a chance to, Conn bounding after them out the gates.

  ***

  "This looks like a good place to leave the horses," Triona said as she slowed Laeg to a halt.

  Ronan glanced wryly at Triona, trying very hard to stifle his mounting annoyance. "Are you sure? I’d swear it looks much like the last three clearings I suggested."

  "Absolutely sure. This is the perfect place."

  "As you say." Ronan threw his leg over his stallion’s neck to dismount when suddenly he heard an exasperated sigh.

  "On second thought, mayhap Laeg would be happier if there was just a wee bit more grass. We should look some more."

  Easy, man, Ronan warned himself, turning away from her so she wouldn’t see him frown. Four weeks of constant raiding and he�
��d almost forgotten how easily this woman could rile him. And he suspected that was exactly what she was trying to do, which was all the more reason to tread lightly. He wanted to endear her to him, not drive her away even further.

  "Very well, we can move on if you wish."

  Triona sighed again, but this time out of sheer frustration.

  "No, no, this place will do fine."

  "You’re sure?"

  In answer, she slid from Laeg’s back and tethered him to a birch, Ronan dismounting just a few feet away from her. He was so close in fact, that she couldn’t resist taking advantage of the opportunity by shrieking at the top of her lungs, "Conn, where are you?"

  "By God, woman!"

  She grinned as Ronan grabbed for his stallion’s reins, the huge animal rearing and snorting in fright. Yet by the time he had controlled his horse and spun to face her, Triona had recovered herself, hoping she appeared suitably contrite.

  "I’m sorry. Truly."

  "I thought you said Conn knew to come at a single command?"

  Oh, he was irritated now, she thought smugly, his eyes a deep stormy gray. "He does, it’s just that . . ." She shrugged, raising her hands as Conn came crashing through the woods toward them. "I wasn’t thinking, I guess."

  "No, you weren’t. We’ll be lucky if we find any prey now for miles."

  "Well, my father always said I had lungs like a banshee when I was a babe. It appears I still do."

  Ronan seemed ready to make a comment, but then he must have thought better of it. He turned to pull two javelins from his spear case. Triona concentrated upon her weapons as well, shouldering her bowcase and then checking to see that the jeweled dagger was sheathed securely in her belt. She hadn’t had to ask Ronan to give the weapon back. He’d returned it along with her hunting knife the same day as her bowcase, though she preferred carrying the dagger since it reminded her of her father.

  More of Ronan’s false gestures of goodwill, she thought, feeling a cold nose nudging her hand.

  "Are you ready to hunt, my brave Conn?" she murmured, dropping down on one knee to give him a hug. "But you must be careful. I’ll not lose you to some wily old pig."

  "We should set out, Triona. The day is slipping away from us.

  She looked up to find Ronan watching her, the familiar warmth returned to his eyes. Quickly she rose, regretting once more that she was alone with him in these woods—thank God at least she had Conn—but determined to make the best of this chance to spite him.

  "You should lead," she suggested, not liking the thought of him following her, his gaze roaming where it would.

  "Very well, but stay close to me," he said to her surprise.

  "Why should I do that? I’m not some helpless maiden lost in the forest, O’Byrne. I know its dangers."

  "I’m aware of that, Triona." His voice had lowered to a husky timbre. "But there may be others in these woods besides ourselves. As a precaution, just humor me."

  "MacMurroughs?" She noticed for the first time that Ronan also wore his fighting sword.

  When he nodded, she found herself warmed that he would be so concerned for her safety, but she did her best to shrug it off just as she often had done during their raids. Yet some of the pleasant feeling still remained as they set off through the thick trees, Conn already forging ahead with his nose to the ground.

  As they proceeded in silence, Triona found, too, that her spirits were buoyed just by being out walking in the wild again.

  She loved the pungent earthy smell of moss, loved its soft sponginess beneath her feet and the swish of filmy ferns against her legs. She loved the way the sunlight was filtering through the lush canopy of leaves overhead, narrow shafts bathing the forest around them in hazy gold. It was so magical, it was easy to imagine impudent wee fairies watching them from beneath creamy toadstools and behind ivy-covered rocks, the occasional rustling breeze through the trees masking their merry whispers.

  "Begorra, it’s beautiful out here."

  She’d spoken in a mere whisper herself, but Ronan stopped and looked around him.

  "Aye, I’ve always loved these woods. When I was a boy, I’d roam about for hours—well past dark, until my father would come hunting for me."

  She nodded, understanding his passion. "I did the same thing in Imaal. It used to give my mother a fright—she feared wolves so, but my father didn’t mind." She sighed softly. "He didn’t mind anything I did."

  A long silence fell, Triona gazing at the bluebells and wood sorrel nestled at the foot of a towering oak.

  "Fineen must have been very proud of you."

  She looked up in surprise, but she saw no mockery in Ronan’s face. "Aye, so he often told me."

  "I can understand why. Your courage and skill during our raids these past weeks have more than shown that you were deserving of such praise."

  Truly stunned, Triona had never wished more fervently that Ronan’s words were sincere. Nor had she ever felt so flustered. She quickly sought to change the subject back to the trees, the leaves, the moss, anything but to talk more of her. "Just—just look at this place, Ronan. It’s so green it hurts your eyes."

  Ronan was looking, but not around him anymore. His heart was slamming in his throat, the way she’d said his name, so soft and husky, touching him deeply.

  "And over there the way the sunlight is shining through those trees. Like gold mist spilling from the sky. Have you ever seen anything more wondrous?"

  He didn’t want to break the spell, it was so sweet, every part of him wishing that things could always be like this between them. But finally he spoke, his eyes upon her face, "No, Triona. I’ve never seen anything more wondrous . . . than you."

  She started as if stung and met his gaze.

  He stared back, daring to hope . . .

  A distant frantic barking made Ronan turn his head just as Triona opened her mouth to speak, but whatever she might have said was lost as she shouted, "That’s Conn! He must have found something!"

  They both began to run, Ronan with a javelin in each hand while Triona deftly pulled out her bow.

  Her heart was racing, but it wasn’t because of her exertion. She couldn’t forget the burning look in Ronan’s eyes even as she told herself fiercely that his flattering words meant nothing to her. Nothing! She damned well would have told him, too, if Conn hadn’t—

  A shrill yelp rent the air, Triona feeling the blood drain from her face.

  "Conn! Oh God, Conn!"

  Chapter 23

  NO BARKING CAME back to her, only the nervous chattering of birds overhead as she and Ronan plunged onward, dodging trees and jumping over fallen logs. But they didn’t go much farther before Ronan came to a sudden halt, his breathing as hard as hers as he gestured for them to split up.

  "Go that way, Triona, there! Call me if you find him and I’ll do the same." Then he was gone, wending through the trees as swiftly and surely as any man she’d ever seen while she veered off to the right.

  She was almost to the rise of a hill when she heard Conn’s barking, her relief intense that it sounded hale and strong. Wondering if Ronan might have heard it, too, she shouted his name as she burst into a small clearing, an arrow set to the bowstring and ready to fly.

  "Conn . . . what in blazes?"

  The frantic wolfhound, reared up on his hind legs, barely gave her a glance, his full attention focused upon the spitting creature he had cornered high in a tree. Cautiously Triona approached, keeping her arrow trained upon the large, wicked-looking wildcat just in case it decided to spring.

  "Conn, back! That’s not a pig."

  Still barking, Conn obediently retreated a few feet only to rush forward again when the cat swatted at the air with its paw. Triona edged closer herself, more than anything to get a better look.

  She had seen only a few of these rare dangerous creatures and this cat was by far the largest, probably three times the size of Maeve. Triona shivered as the animal fixed its yellow eyes upon her, yet she was awed by its wild be
auty. No wonder such creatures had been immortalized in Eire’s ancient legends.

  "Conn, no. I don’t want to shoot him, so back away. Back!"

  This time the wolfhound retreated to her side, whining in frustration. Probably a bit of pain, too, Triona realized after risking a glance and seeing the bloodied claw marks alongside his snout. The cat had taken a good swipe at him, but fortunately it appeared only a minor grazing.

  "Aye, I know you’d like to get back at him for spoiling your handsome face, my Conn, but trust me," she said in a low steady voice, her bowstring still pulled taut as they backed out of the clearing. "You’re no match for such a creature. And Ronan’s cook would hardly want a wildcat in his kitchen."

  Triona fell silent, wondering suddenly what had become of Ronan. He must have heard her shout, and Conn’s barking had been loud enough to summon the saints.

  Confident that she had retreated far enough away from the wildcat to venture a glance around her, Triona scanned the forest. It had grown darker, the patches of sky visible through the trees heavy with clouds, the sun disappeared. She felt another shiver, unease gripping her.

  Ronan should have been here by now.

  After he’d made it a point to warn her to stay close to him, surely he wouldn’t have wanted them to be apart for this long . . . there might be some MacMurroughs.

  "Jesu, Mary and Joseph," she whispered, her eyes darting all around her as she half crouched beside a broad tree trunk. Tapping Conn’s nose in a command for him to keep silent, she thought back over the last few moments.

  If there had been fighting, she would have heard the melee. Shouts, the clang of swords. Unless the weapons used had been arrows, the attack having come so swiftly—

  "Oh, God. Ronan."

  Swallowing hard, she shoved away from the tree and began to cut stealthily through the woods, her path the one Ronan should have taken. Her heartbeat was drumming so loudly in her ears it was almost impossible to listen for anything else, her eyes cutting to the left and right. But she saw nothing out of the ordinary, finally daring to send Conn ahead of her with a vehement whisper, "Find Ronan, Conn. Go!"