The small nod swamped Triona with relief, though her concern was great that Nora looked so pale, her lips tinged with blue. No wonder with her wet clothes plastered to her body!
Triona regretted now that she hadn’t come sooner. She cursed under her breath that Caitlin’s noisy sobbing over Niall and desperate pleading that Triona remain by her side had kept her from the one that needed her most.
“Nora, let me help you to bed. We need to get you warm!” Relief swept Triona again that Nora had the strength to sit up and drape her arm around Triona’s shoulders, and then struggle to her feet.
Together they made their way to the adjoining room, Nora not saying a word though she managed a small, grateful smile. As soon as they neared the bed, Triona stopped her and without blinking an eye, helped her to strip out of her wet clothes.
“Aye, now, sit down on the edge of the bed while I fetch you a sleeping gown.” As Nora, shivering from head to toe, obliged her, Triona flew to a heavy wooden chest across the room and threw open the lid. She was so glad to return and help Nora into the sleeping gown, and then settle her into bed and draw blankets up to her chin.
Triona didn’t stop there, but hurried back into the main room and stoked the hearth fire until the flames crackled. Already the place felt warmer and soon the bedchamber would, too. Then she spied the cups of ale on the table, both barely touched.
Aye, something bracing! She grabbed one, took a sip herself, and then hurried back to Nora. She wasn’t surprised to see her sister-in-law’s stunning blue eyes welling with tears, one trickling down her cheek.
Clucking her tongue as her beloved maid Aud used to do, Triona slipped her arm underneath Nora’s head and brought the cup to her pale lips. “Go on, Nora, take a good swallow. It will revive you, I promise!”
Thankfully Nora did as Triona bade her, though so big a gulp that Nora began to cough and sputter. Triona started to laugh, more out of further relief than humor, she felt so heartened to see Nora’s face flushed a healthy pink.
“Aye, drink up ‘til it’s gone, Nora O’Byrne, and no more tears. I’ll admit it’s been a surprising night, but can you not take heart at how quickly Niall claimed you as his wife?”
Nora sputtered again, wiping the ale from her chin, and nodded.
“Good! I was beginning to think when I found you upon the floor that you’d not noticed. Niall loves you. You love him. It’s been plain for all of us to see. Have some faith in your husband, Nora! Did you not hear him ask you to trust him?”
“Aye, I did,” Nora said softly, handing Triona the empty cup. “How is Caitlin?”
Triona sighed heavily, shaking her head. “As self-centered it appears as her heart is fickle. I don’t know that she’s even considered how things must appear to you, though here you’re asking after her welfare. Aye, Maire would have done the same thing, the two of you cut from a more compassionate cloth than most, truly.”
“So Caitlin did not marry?”
“Apparently not, the MacMurrough’s godson Brian suffering the same fate as Niall—and hopefully he’ll find a lovely true-hearted bride to wed as well!” Triona leaned forward to tuck the blankets more securely around Nora’s shoulders. “I love my cousin, but I pity my poor uncle, too. To have catered to her whim that they ride here so she might wait for Niall—well, at least now we’ve a chance others might come to help us.”
“Help?”
Nora’s eyes grown wide, Triona nodded. “Riders left the stronghold as I ran to your house. God help them that the rain grants them cover out of Glenmalure. Ronan sent me word while I was tending to Caitlin that two men are bound for Ferns and two to Maire’s Duncan in Meath. I never thought I’d see the day when Ronan might ask for aid from a Norman…aye, no matter his own brother now by marriage…”
Now Triona felt tears burn her eyes, Nora reaching out to squeeze her hand. Triona gave a small laugh, and squeezed her hand back. “You’re a wonder, Nora O’Byrne. So kind and caring. Niall is a fortunate man to have found you!”
Teary smiles between both of them now, Triona settled herself on the edge of the bed. “I’ll stay with you a while longer, but you must try to sleep.”
Nora nodded, and once more she squeezed Triona’s hand. “Thank you, Triona…for everything.”
“Jesu, Mary, and Joseph, no thanks are needed! We’re sisters, you and I…and we O’Byrnes stand together!”
Deep in the night and long after Triona had left her side, Nora awakened to the mattress giving way beneath Niall’s weight as he climbed naked into bed and drew her against him.
She knew how exhausted he must be when he fell asleep within moments, his chin nuzzled against her shoulder and his breathing low and steady.
Lying there with his muscular arms around her, Nora remembered how intensely he had stared at her earlier that night, his fervent words burning in her mind…
Your trust is all I need right now, Nora.
Aye, she had never ceased to trust him…though with Caitlin here and still so infatuated with him and her angelic blond beauty beyond compare—
“No, you will not think of it!” Nora chided herself, closing her eyes and snuggling closer to her sleeping husband.
All would be well between her and Niall. It had to be!
16
“It’s only because I need you to seek an annulment from Rome that I’ve let you live, MacTorkil,” Sigurd grated as he glared at the ashen-faced merchant seated atop a horse next to him. “It galls me still that you thought I wouldn’t notice you’d sent one of your men to warn the O’Byrnes. Look now as the mist rises with the sun! The bastards don’t even know yet that my full forces are here!”
Sigurd followed Magnus’s gaze not to the O’Byrne stronghold appearing through the dense fog that shrouded Glenmalure, but to the captured MacMurrough clansman lying beaten and unconscious upon the ground in front of them.
“Fools! Three others eluded my scouts last night but this one told them enough once they persuaded him to loosen his tongue. Let Ronan O’Byrne and Donal MacMurrough cling to their delusion a few moments more that any help will come soon enough to save them!”
Sigurd signaled for several of his Norsemen to pick up their prisoner and throw his limp body over a horse. The rest of his men and Magnus’s Ostmen stood ready and silent behind him to march from their elevated position to the opposite end of Glenmalure.
Shields raised.
Scores of tall ladders constructed to breach the stronghold’s two outer ramparts and inner palisade.
His men muddy and soaked to the skin from the rainy trek in the dark from Glendalough, but by Odin, what did they care? They had sailed from a land of fjords and mist and thunder and exulted in such weather!
Just as Sigurd exulted now…so close to reclaiming his bride that he could already feel her naked body writhing beneath him as he buried himself to the hilt inside her. Hear her moans, her pleas for him to stop, her screams!
She would pay for humiliating him by fleeing the night before their wedding—by all the gods in Valhalla, she would pay.
Grinding his teeth, Sigurd could contain his impatience no longer, nor his fury.
As the sun broke through the low clouds to burn away still more of the morning fog, he dug his heels into the massive black steed beneath him and signaled for his men to begin their march.
“Niall! By God, Niall, wake up!”
Stunned to find Ronan standing beside the bed with his sword in hand, Niall sat up as Nora gasped beside him. “Ronan…what?”
“Sigurd Knutson and his Norsemen are marching across the glen toward us! Flann O’Faelin spied them from his post as the fog lifted and sounded the alarm!”
Niall vaulted from the bed to retrieve his clothes, Ronan already charging from the room. Nora looked wide-eyed with fright, the blankets clutched to her chin.
“You must get dressed and go to the feasting-hall,” he bade her grimly as he donned his clothing and boots. “All the women and children will be gathering th
ere—and stay close to Triona. We’ve arrows aplenty to fend off an attack, but our enemy has greater numbers. If the word comes from Ronan, Triona will know what to do.”
“Do?”
Niall nodded as he fastened his sword belt around his waist, wishing he’d had a chance to prepare Nora more for what might come. “Aye, an escape route in the kitchen. A trap door in the larder leading to a tunnel. If the stronghold is breached, as many women and children as can make it there must attempt to flee into the hills—”
“Oh, Niall!”
He came around the bed to meet her as she flew to him, nearly tripping on her sleeping gown. He crushed her in his arms, not surprised she was shaking. Yet he couldn’t linger, no matter how much he ached to.
No matter how much he had hoped to awaken her with a kiss and hold her close and make love to her and reassure her that she alone, held his heart.
Reluctantly, he pulled back from her to stare into her eyes, though he hadn’t found the will yet to fully release her. “Nora, I must go. Heed me and get dressed. There’s no time to waste.”
She nodded, her trembling fingers reaching up to caress the side of his face, his lips. So softly she murmured, “I love you,” and Niall felt his throat grow tight.
“I love you, Nora O’Byrne. Nothing has changed between us. Nothing.”
He bent his head to kiss her and she clung to him, while he embraced her fiercely again for one more precious moment. Then he forced himself to release her though her arms still reached for him…his last image of her as he lunged out the door.
Duncan FitzWilliam closed his eyes against the first rays of sunlight streaming through the narrow arched windows, and tightened his embrace around his sleeping wife.
Maire O’Byrne FitzWilliam…his beautiful bride of one week though it felt like only moments ago that they had arrived at Longford Castle and he had roared for a priest to be fetched from the parish church to wed them.
Duncan had vowed that day never to forget that she was an O’Byrne first before a FitzWilliam, for she had given up so much to become his wife.
Her home in Glenmalure. Her family. Everything.
Duncan sighed heavily, abandoning any notion of trying to sleep just a while longer.
He was wide awake now while Maire still slept peacefully, her long midnight hair fanning out behind her like a lustrous veil upon the pillow.
He could not forget, either, the hatred in Ronan O’Byrne’s eyes as they had clashed with swords outside the O’Byrne stronghold a week ago when Duncan had gone to claim Maire as his bride. Two months earlier Ronan had saved his life but this time, he had struck blows intended to kill Duncan until Ronan’s courageous wife Triona had rushed into the fray to stop them.
Ronan despised Normans, Duncan included, for which he could not blame him.
Invading Normans had seized O’Byrne lands in Kildare, burned their homes, and forced them to take refuge in the Wicklow Mountains.
Invading Normans had pillaged, raped, and slaughtered their way across Leinster and left festering resentment and rage in their wake.
Most of those clans had nonetheless accepted the yoke of foreign rule, including the MacMurroughs whose own Dermot, King of Leinster, had invited the Normans to Ireland forty years past to help him regain his kingdom from rival chieftains. Yet rebel clans like the O’Byrnes and O’Tooles had never bowed to the invaders, and instead were bent upon driving the Normans out by raiding against them.
By the blood of God, Duncan would allow no one to harry him from the lands King John had granted him, yet he craved peace, too!
Especially now. His battle-scarred hand tender as he caressed Maire’s shoulder, Duncan thought again of Ronan and wished things could be different…if only for her.
He knew how much she loved her family though she had left them to follow her heart…and for that Duncan would be forever grateful.
“Duncan?”
Maire’s sweet voice like balm to his troubled musing, Duncan gazed into the lovely face of the woman he loved more than life.
She looked up at him drowsily, still satiated from their lovemaking that had carried them well into the night. “You cannot sleep?”
He drew her close and kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose, and last her lips that parted beneath his, her breath catching as he swept his tongue into her mouth.
After being separated from her for those two agonizing months when he had healed from his grievous wound and then sailed to England to seek permission from King John to wed her, he could not get his fill of her. He never would!
Already he was hard for her, painfully so. He eased her onto her back to gaze down into her smiling gray eyes.
“You tease me, woman. It’s not sleep you’re thinking of.”
She laughed softly, and lifted her hand to caress his face. “Aye, you’ve read me well, husband. I don’t wish to fault you…but I believe there’s a place you neglected to kiss last night—oh!”
Her delighted cry drowned out by his lusty roar, she was soon giggling as he threw aside the blankets and then raised himself to his hands and knees above her.
“Hmmm, did you mean here?” He lowered his head to press a burning kiss to her navel while she sucked in her breath, her giggling ceased. “Or mayhap here?”
He began to trail kisses down her trembling abdomen, the tempting midnight triangle at the apex of her thighs beckoning to him—
“Lord FitzWilliam, forgive me, but I must speak to you at once! Lord FitzWilliam!”
Cursing at the anxious voice of one of his knights outside their bedchamber, followed by fierce pounding, Duncan vaulted from the bed as Maire gathered the blankets to cover herself. He didn’t bother to pull on his braies, but threw open the door.
“God’s teeth, man, what is it?”
“Two O’Byrne clansmen from Glenmalure, my lord, bearing an urgent message from their chieftain Black O’Byrne and Donal MacMurrough. They face imminent attack and ask for your help!”
“My brother?”
Duncan didn’t have to glance at Maire to know that she stared at him in shock. Already he was thrusting one leg and then the other into his braies, and then he lunged past his grim-faced knight to descend the tower steps two at a time.
Maire had never seen such a show of force as what had assembled so quickly in the bailey, and she felt both awed and terrified.
Fifty armored knights atop heavy horse, their chain mail glinting in the sunlight, and twice as many mounted men-at-arms bearing crossbows awaited Duncan’s signal as he mounted his powerful bay stallion.
His farewell kiss still burned upon Maire’s lips and she could not tear her eyes from him as he sought her gaze, too. A glance of such fierce love flew between them that she felt her heart race even faster.
Duncan FitzWilliam, Baron of Longford, had answered her brother’s call. He had answered her brother’s call!
So overcome that her husband would be willing to risk life and limb to aid Ronan and her clansmen, Maire felt grateful tears burn her eyes even as fear gripped her for Duncan’s safety.
Would he return home to her safe and whole? More frightening questions assailed her as he tore his gaze from her and gave the signal for his men to ride with him from the fortress.
Might the Norsemen’s attack have already begun? Would Duncan and his men arrive at Glenmalure in time to save her family? Ronan and Triona and little Deirdre…and Niall and his new bride, Nora—his new bride!
Maire couldn’t have been more astounded to hear from Duncan as he dressed for battle what the two exhausted O’Byrne clansmen had relayed to him about Niall’s marriage. Yet any joy she had felt for her beloved brother had been overshadowed at once by their dire circumstances.
Caitlin and her father Donal MacMurrough and their clansmen were in grave peril, too—dear God, protect them all!
Maire wanted so desperately to catch a last glimpse of her husband as he and his men thundered across the drawbridge, but with her awkward gait he was beyo
nd her view by the time she was halfway to the gatehouse.
“Oh, Duncan…” Fresh tears bit her eyes though she would not allow herself to cry.
She was mistress of Longford now, and Duncan’s people looked to her for courage and resilience in such times of trial.
Bravely she lifted her chin and nodded for the mailed guards that remained behind to protect Longford Castle to raise the massive drawbridge.
17
“Where is the thief that stole my promised bride?”
Sigurd’s roar echoing around him, he cursed as a tall Irishman with dark brown hair appeared on the parapet atop the massive rampart to stand beside who he’d guessed were Ronan O’Byrne and Donal MacMurrough.
With his forces amassed far enough away so the O’Byrnes’ arrows wouldn’t reach them, Sigurd brandished his broad axe at the three men.
“You have a choice to make, Niall O’Byrne! Give up Nora to me and live to see another day, or we will slaughter all of you!”
Again his thundered words echoed from surrounding hills, Sigurd’s rage mounting when no answer came…until a torrent of arrows from the stronghold were suddenly unleashed upon them.
Sigurd didn’t flinch, knowing the barrage of deadly missiles would fall short, but the blatant message behind them was clear.
Incensed now, he signaled for his men to bring forth their prisoner, the MacMurrough clansman still unconscious, but no matter. Sigurd knew well enough how to summon a death scream even from men more dead than alive, which had earned him the name Skullcrusher.
He dismounted from his snorting steed while Magnus MacTorkil remained as ashen-faced and silent atop his mount not far from him. Sigurd hacked up a ball of phlegm in disgust.
“Damned useless merchant.” Striding over to where his men had dumped the prisoner’s limp body upon the ground, Sigurd spat upon him and then kicked him in the stomach. He was rewarded by a low groan, which made Sigurd drop to one knee and drive the blade of his axe into the ground.
Her Knight in Tarnished Armor: A Medieval Romance Collection Page 52