Wild Angel

by Miriam Minger

  "To arrange for the O’Nolan to take over your guardianship, Triona. I told you before that my brother is a man of his word, but he can’t bear that the oath he made to your father has caused you such unhappiness. Ronan would rather you make your home with someone you respect than a man you despise."

  Stunned that she had so easily misjudged Ronan again, Triona nonetheless could not help grumbling, "For a man of his word, Ronan hasn’t shown as much when it comes to his dealings with me."

  "Why? Because he had to reason with you once to spare you humiliation before your clan? Even then he was thinking of what was best for you."

  "Oh, and I suppose his wanting to make me into the proper Irish maiden was best for me? Obviously you didn’t think so, Niall O’Byrne, or you wouldn’t have taken my side, helping me—"

  "I had good reason for helping you, but clearly I was wrong." Niall turned away from her, staring into the fire. "A damned good reason . . . gone to ashes."

  Niall sounded so disheartened that Triona couldn’t help softening her tone. "What reason was that, Niall? If you recall, I asked you this once before—"

  "Aye, the day Ronan released you from your room. Hardly the time to let you know that I hoped one day you’d be marrying my brother." Niall gave a heavy sigh. "I should say we hoped. Maire has been wishing the same thing, too."

  Triona was so astonished that she couldn’t speak.

  "I saw the difference in Ronan from the moment he brought you here, as if you’d set a fire under him. Maire saw it, too, that night at the feast. We knew then that if anyone could help bring our older brother back again, it was you."

  Triona finally managed a whisper. "Bring him back?"

  "Aye, Triona, to make Ronan want to find joy in life again. Do you think you’re the only one who lost a brother the day Conor died? I lost my brother, too, as surely as if that arrow had pierced Ronan through the heart. We used to hunt together, laugh together, but no more. He’s closed himself off from us for years, hiding his hurt behind a strict code of discipline, his guilt eating away the man that the O’Byrnes of Glenmalure once knew—that Maire and I once knew and loved. Until you came along, driving him out of himself with your fiery hair and your spirit to match. Why else do you think I hoped you’d stand up to him?"

  Shocked, Triona sank onto a bench. Given what she had seen last night with Ronan, much of what Niall was saying made perfect sense. Yet there was still so much . . .

  "You and Maire might have wanted Ronan to marry me, Niall, but he swore he didn’t want a wife—"

  "Aye, because the man believes he has no right to happiness! Don’t you see? Then he wouldn’t be paying for Conor’s death. So he’s been punishing himself for years, allowing no woman a place in his heart . . . until you, Triona."

  Her heart was suddenly pounding, but Triona shook her head. "How can that be true? I’m not anything like the woman Ronan could be happy with . . . as—as far away from his precious Lady Emer as a fish to a goat!"

  "If you’d been any different, Ronan would never have given you a second glance. Do you think a modest and dutiful mouse could have broken through such pain? You made him feel as if he had a chance, Triona. A chance at happiness, if only he could somehow make you hate him less—"

  "I never said I hated him!"

  Niall looked as startled as she was for having shouted. "You don’t?"

  She didn’t answer, looking down at her hands.

  "Triona . . ."

  "Of course I don’t hate him," she finally mumbled, glancing up to find Niall watching her intently. "But I should for everything the man’s done to me!"

  "Aye, he wasn’t exactly hospitable to you in the beginning. Plain unreasonable at times."

  Triona snorted. "At times?"

  Her outburst brought a reluctant grin to Niall’s face. Yet he quickly sobered, saying gently, "I know Ronan felt terrible about what happened between the two of you . . . after he helped you escape from Kilkenny."

  "As well he should!" Triona blurted, her face growing uncomfortably warm that Niall would even mention that night.

  "He believed you truly hated him, telling me that he’d made your life nothing short of hell. He even talked of escorting you to a convent—"

  "A convent?"

  "That’s what I said, but he seemed to think you wanted only to be far away from him."

  "He was right," she muttered, remembering how she’d planned to leave Glenmalure as soon as Ronan left on his next raid. But only because he didn’t want her, not because she despised him. And if what Niall was telling her was true—that Ronan had wanted her all along . . .

  "Your brother didn’t offer to send me to a convent, though," she added. "He offered to marry me out of duty as if . . . well, as if that were a fine enough reason to wed!"

  "So you’re saying you might have accepted him if he’d told you then that he cared?"

  "Aye, I might have—" Triona clamped her mouth shut, her eyes growing wide at what she’d just revealed. Niall, meanwhile, had such an array of emotions passing over his face that it was an amazing sight to see: astonishment, delight, and finally, confusion.

  "Yet you didn’t outright refuse him, either. You said you’d consider his offer if he first proved that he was willing to take you as you are."

  "Aye, why not lead him on a fine chase to repay him for some of the pain he’s caused me!"

  This time she glared at Niall. In truth, though, she felt relieved that she’d finally gotten it off her chest. And Niall no longer looked confused as he uttered a low whistle.

  "So that’s what it’s been all along. A deliberate game . . . though I can understand why."

  "Now you’re sounding like Aud," Triona muttered as she rose from the bench. "For your information, Niall O’Byrne, I was planning to apologize to your brother this very morning. I can admit when I’m wrong. But when I heard Ronan had gone to see the O’Nolan, you can well imagine what I thought, after everything . . ."

  Niall nodded, searching her eyes. "You mean after all the heartache he’s caused you. Aye, you can tell me the truth, Triona. For surely you wouldn’t have been feeling so much pain over my brother if you didn’t care about him, too."

  She couldn’t answer, a lump rising in her throat that felt big enough to choke her. But her silence seemed enough to convince Niall, for he came over to her and squeezed her hand.

  "It’s all right, Triona O’Toole. I’m not the one who should be hearing those words, anyway. But if you’ve a mind to travel, we could be at the O’Nolan’s by nightfall."

  The idea roused her spirits, but Triona still was doubtful. "Mayhap we should give Ronan a few days. I’ve hurt him so badly . . . and you said yourself, I’ve only made things worse."

  "Aye, he was in a terrible way when he left, I’ll not deny it. But I can’t believe that once he sees you, he’ll be able to ignore why you’ve come."

  Triona suddenly felt quite nervous as she mustered a small smile. "All right then, we’ll go."

  "Begorra, you can do better than that, girl! You’ve a smile that could charm the very sun to shine. I only hope I’m as lucky as Ronan to find a woman like you."

  Flushing warmly, Triona obliged him with a grin, but in the next moment she was racing for the door.

  "Pack a few things and then meet me at the stable," Niall called after her. As for Triona, she couldn’t run to her dwelling-house fast enough, almost colliding with Aud who was just stepping outside.

  "Saints preserve us, sweeting, where’ve you been? I went to wake you and you weren’t in your bed—"

  "I’m going to Carlow, Aud," Triona broke in, breathless. "After Ronan."

  "He’s not here?"

  She shook her head, gesturing for Aud to follow her. "I’ll explain everything while I pack, but I’ve got to hurry."

  "You don’t have to explain things to me, sweeting, I can well imagine what’s happened," Aud said, not budging from the front door. "I’m just glad to see that you’ve finally come to your senses
about the O’Byrne. You want the man, don’t you?"

  Already halfway to her room, Triona spun. "How . . . ?"

  Aud’s soft chuckle came to her from the threshold. "You forget I’ve known you since you were a wee babe, Triona O’Toole. Not much escapes your Aud. Now on with you and get your things whilst I go pack you some food."

  After throwing Aud a smile, Triona did as she was bade, her nervousness returning with a vengeance as she passed Ronan’s room. One glimpse at that huge bed and she bolted for her door, her face burning hot as flame.

  Chapter 26

  "MORE WINE, RONAN?"

  Ronan didn’t have to answer, Taig O’Nolan seeing to it that his cup was refilled to the brim. And it wasn’t just any cup either, but a huge silver chalice that matched the one in Taig’s beefy hand.

  Stolen from a wealthy Norman merchant, the chieftain had informed him proudly. Sizeable enough for brave thirsts, and in the morning, monstrous headaches. But the morning was still a long way off and Ronan planned to make damned good use of his cup before the night was done. Draining it in two drafts, he thunked the empty vessel onto the table.

  "At that rate we’ll soon be carrying you to your bed," Taig said, the concern in his eyes belying his grin. Gesturing for a servant to pour Ronan more wine, he added, "Aye, but mayhap that would be a good thing. At least you’d get some sleep. I have to say, Ronan O’Byrne, you’ve looked better."

  "Felt better, too," Ronan said tightly, surprised that his words weren’t slurred. Nor was the wine having much effect on the pain gnawing at his gut. But give him time. He shoved away his untouched plate and took another long draft.

  "Aye, man, drink up. Food won’t help what ails you."

  Nothing could help what ailed him, Ronan thought bitterly, glancing around a packed hall that had yet to show any signs of blurring. Even drinking himself into the ground would only prove a temporary solution. Come morning, he would be hit again by the realization that Triona would soon be leaving him forever.

  "Good riddance to her," Ronan muttered vehemently, the boisterous clamor drowning out his words.

  And pity the O’Nolan who would soon have that coldhearted chit under his roof. The chieftain had readily agreed to take Triona into his care, though Ronan suspected it was more that Taig was eager to see Aud again. The O’Nolan had asked after Aud before Ronan even had a chance to say why he’d come to Carlow.

  Then the O’Nolan had tried to convince him to give Triona a little more time to come around to the idea of marrying him. A little more time!

  To torture himself?

  To torture her, when she clearly wanted nothing to do with him? She might as well have cut out his beating heart and thrown it into the fire, so fierce was her contempt. And after he had laid himself open to her as he had done to no other. . .

  Grimacing at the pain cramping his insides, Ronan made short work of emptying the chalice. Taig, meanwhile, seemed deep in conversation with a clansman who’d suddenly come up to him. Ronan took it upon himself to shout for wine. And this time his words were slurred a bit, which perversely pleased him.

  "More guests?" he bit off to the servant who hurried to fill his cup, Ronan noting that several places were hastily being set along the table. As the woman nodded, he realized that the O’Nolan had risen from his chair.

  "Ah . . . Ronan."

  He turned, puzzled by the curious expression on Taig’s face. The stout Irishman looked highly distracted, almost as if he didn’t know whether to grin or frown.

  "If I’ve given offense by ordering my own wine—"

  "No, no, no offense was taken. We’ve visitors, Ronan."

  "So I gathered," he said, his voice grown dark with sarcasm.

  "You might do well to warn them that I’m not the best of company this night."

  "Mayhap they’re already aware—" Taig didn’t finish, saying simply as he left the table, "I must greet them."

  Ronan focused back on his cup, wondering at the O’Nolan’s cryptic words. Who might already be aware?

  A sudden giggling nearby made Ronan raise his head, his gaze falling upon a pretty blond serving girl who was whispering to another servant. She giggled again when she realized he was staring at her, her cheeks reddening at his attention. But she soon looked crestfallen when he looked away, her high-pitched tittering annoying him.

  Instead he found himself longing for another woman’s soft, husky laughter, though he’d heard it far too rarely. And not the sight of blond hair but bright copper red, riotous with curls, and eyes as emerald green as Eire itself.

  "Damnit, man, it’s done!" he raged to himself, remembering how Triona had merely stared at him last night as he waited for what had seemed a lifetime for her to answer. Waiting as all hope within him died.

  Feeling suddenly as if he couldn’t breathe, Ronan lurched to his feet, the overheated hall grown close and stuffy. Or maybe the copious wine he’d drunk was finally affecting him, his vision grown blurred. He needed fresh air. Aye, that would help him.

  Ronan half stumbled in his haste to leave the table, but fortunately few seemed to have noticed as he made his way out of the hall. He knew it had been a sound move as soon as the balmy night air hit his face. Leaning his shoulder against the timber wall, he drank in deep breaths.

  "Brother?"

  Ronan spun so fast that the world swayed around him, but nothing could have brought things more sharply into focus than the sight that greeted him. Astonished, he gaped at Niall, who was flanked by the O’Nolan on one side and Triona on the other, her eyes large and luminous in the torchlight.

  "What in blazes . . . ?"

  "Our visitors," Taig began, but Ronan didn’t let him utter another word, bitterly exploding.

  "So you couldn’t wait until I got back to tell you the fine news, could you, Triona? You had to pull it out of my all too unsuspecting brother and then demand that he bring you here at once. Well, enjoy your new home! The O’Nolan is more than happy to have you—ah, and don’t worry that your father won’t be avenged. I honor my obligations—"

  "Ronan, enough," Niall interjected. "If you’d only take a moment to hear what Triona has to say—"

  "We haven’t a damned thing to say to each other." Ronan roughly brushed past Niall when his brother made a move to block him. "By the way, little brother, there’s plenty of good wine left in the hall. I didn’t drink it all."

  "I fear he’s drunk," Taig murmured as Triona watched Ronan disappear into the shadows, his vehement verbal attack confirming the mounting nervousness she’d felt during the entire journey.

  "Aye, I’ve never seen him like this before," Niall said, sounding shaken. "Ronan’s never been one to drown himself in drink, even after Conor—"

  "It’s my fault," Taig broke in. "I encouraged him. I thought it might help—at least tonight . . ."

  "You’re a good-hearted man, Taig O’Nolan, and this isn’t your fault," Triona tried to reassure him. "It’s my fault. I’m the only one who can mend this mess."

  "Not now you won’t," Niall objected, grabbing her arm as she started to go after Ronan. "He’s furious and drunk, Triona, you heard the O’Nolan. You’d do better to wait until morning when Ronan’s more likely to listen to reason—"

  "I can’t wait, Niall! If he’s sotted, it’s because I drove him to it. I must try to talk to him."

  Triona twisted away from Niall before he could reply, Taig firmly admonishing him as she hurried across the sloping yard.

  "Let her go, man! Can’t you see she’s right? There’s nothing else you and I can do."

  Triona heard no more. The moon was full and bright, lending ample light, but her spirits began to sag when she saw no sign of Ronan. Stupidly she’d failed to ask where he’d be sleeping the night, but she couldn’t go back to the hall. Niall might again try to stop her—

  Triona gasped as someone suddenly grabbed her and pulled her into the shadows. Strong fingers funneled through her hair to yank her head back as she was enveloped in a steely
embrace.

  "So you’re following me, woman? Come to taunt me further with your adder’s tongue?"

  "Ronan," she rasped, feeling as if her hair might be pulled from its roots. "Please . . ."

  To her relief, he eased his fierce hold but only slightly, his hot wine-scented breath fanning her face.

  "Keep away from me, Triona. Do you hear? Go back to the hall and drink a fine toast that you’re finally free of me and the oath I should never have sworn."

  He thrust her away from him so roughly that she fell to the ground with a sharp intake of breath, and this time, he made no motion to help her to rise. Instead he stepped over her sprawled legs, staggering a little as he strode into the moonlight.

  "Oh no, you won’t, Ronan O’Byrne," Triona muttered, picking herself up and setting out after him. "You’re not going to chase me away that easily."

  She kept well to the shadows as she followed him, surprised when instead of turning into one of the dwelling-houses along the way, he made his way to the stable.

  Was he thinking of riding back to Glenmalure? she wondered as he disappeared inside the gabled building, slamming the door behind him.

  Triona suspected as much when she eased open the door and peeked around it. Ronan was fumbling with a bridle that, in his inebriated state, he couldn’t seem to untangle. If the situation weren’t so grave, she might have giggled. Truly, he looked so frustrated. Her heart going out to him, she slipped through the door.

  "Do you need some help?"

  She’d clearly startled him because he dropped the bridle into a ripe pile of horse dung, his fierce oath ringing from the rafters.

  "By God, woman, I told you to go back to the hall!"

  She shrugged, imagining it would only infuriate him further but unable to help herself. "There’s nothing in the hall that interests me. I’d rather be with you."

  Again she seemed to have caught him off guard as he stared at her for a moment, but in the next instant his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You’re a coldhearted wench, Triona O’Toole. Always eager to twist the knife deeper. But you’ll forgive me if I don’t stay to humor you."