Wild Angel (10 page)

"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."

Ignoring his compliment, Triona was tempted to tell him
that she wasn’t afraid of anything, least of all marriage! If only these dense
men had bothered to ask
her
why she
didn’t want to marry instead of reasoning it out so neatly for
themselves
! She could have told them that she’d bind herself
to no man unless she found one who’d want and respect her just the way she was.
Respect her without changing her. Instead they’d gotten it all wrong . . .

Triona glanced down at the ground, fighting the sudden
urge to grin.
They had it all wrong!
Oh, it was too perfect! Why hadn’t she realized before that she now had full
license to act exactly as she pleased?

"I’ve upset you."

Meeting Niall’s eyes, Triona had all she could do to
feign irritation. "Aye, you’ve upset me! I don’t want to talk about this
anymore!"

"Then we won’t," Niall said quickly,
lengthening his strides to keep up with her as she set out at a brisk pace.
Conn trotted along beside them. "Let’s talk about supper the other night
and how wonderful I found your singing."

This time she couldn’t help smiling, although only a
small one. She was supposed to be upset, after all. "You said you hoped I’d
stand up to your brother, so I decided to oblige you.

And now she could continue to do just that, Triona
thought smugly as Niall chuckled to himself. Since Ronan was so concerned about
her fears he’d think twice before punishing her for any lapses she might suffer
. . .

"I’d say you sounded like a lark," Niall
commented wryly, "but a very big one."

"A giant crow is more the truth of it,"
Triona countered, deciding there was little harm in playing along.

This reply drew a hearty laugh from Niall, who slowed
down before a stout wooden structure.

"Your house?" At his nod, Triona added, "A
good rest to you." She began to walk away, then stopped and glanced back
at Niall. "Whatever you said to Ronan, it’s clear I’ve you to thank for my
freedom."

He shrugged
lightly,
looking
around them to make sure no one else was near. "I told you I’d help you
any way I could."

"A strange thing, you have to admit, Niall O’Byrne."
Triona searched his face. "I doubt your brother would be pleased to know
you’d sided with me against him . . . if indeed that’s what you’ve done. I’ve
been meaning to ask you why—"

"You’re a hard one not to help." Niall
laughed as he glanced down at his sodden shirt. "This place hasn’t been so
lively in years."

"
Aye,
and I’m not
finished yet," she said without thinking. She clamped her mouth shut as
Niall sobered, although his blue-gray eyes still shone with humor.

"Not finished? Is there the slightest wee bit of a
chance that we’ve read you wrong, Triona O’Toole?"

She didn’t answer, changing the subject instead. "Where’s
my falcon?"

"Over there. That small building by the stable."

Triona smiled her thanks and set off before he could
speak again. "Come, Conn! Let’s see how Ferdiad has been faring, and then
we’ll go visit Laeg."

Yet she didn’t get far. Curiosity overcame her when she
spied the serving woman who’d brought her Maire’s gowns stepping from the
adjacent dwelling-house.

"Does Maire live here?"

The older woman, a plump kindly-looking soul, eyed her
carefully. "Aye."

Did everyone protect Maire so diligently? Triona
wondered, gesturing to Conn to sit and wait for her before glancing back at the
woman. "I’d like to greet her if I may."

There was a weighty pause,
then
the serving woman nodded. "She’s at her sewing in the back chamber."

As the woman moved away, Triona headed to the door. At
least Niall must trust her with his sister, she thought, noting that he’d
already gone into his house.

She, too, went inside, the smell of wild roses greeting
her. She saw at once that fresh bouquets of pink and yellow blossoms were
placed here and there, their lush fragrance adding to the air of femininity
that permeated the large room. A room that was filled with fine things, beautiful
things, unlike any place Triona had seen before.

Hangings of painted cloth graced the
walls,
richly colored woven carpets covered the floor. Delicately wrought candle
holders, made of gold, gleamed in the light cast by glowing ivory candles. An
embroidered cloth of startling white was spread upon a table, rose-colored
cushions with gold tassels upon the chairs. An elegant jewel chest, decorated
with enamel of many hues, was placed upon a smaller table. Triona could only
guess at the wonders it must hold—-costly spoils taken on a raid. She had no
doubt that many of these things had once belonged to Normans.

"
Ita
, is that you?"

Once more Triona was struck by the sweetness of Maire’s
voice; she felt chagrined that she hadn’t announced herself sooner.

"No, it’s Triona." She went at once to the
back room, an equally well-appointed bedchamber, stopping in the door. Maire
was sitting at a recessed window seat that must have been built especially for
her. The bright sunlight poured in upon her fragile beauty. And upon her face
was a smile of such welcome that Triona could not help but smile back.

"I’m so pleased to see you. Come and sit by me,
Triona. There’s more than enough room for two."

Triona obliged, noting the soft fur blanket draped over
Maire’s legs and the embroidery lying idle in her lap. Triona noticed, too, as
she sat down opposite the young woman, how translucent Maire’s skin appeared in
the sunlight, almost as white as milk. She found herself thinking that Maire
could use some wind and fresh air upon her cheeks to add some color,
then
wondered if Maire had ever been atop a horse. Probably
not . . .

"I was hoping you might visit," Maire’s
gentle voice broke into Triona’s thoughts. "I’m glad that Ronan decided to
let you out of your room. I told him the other night that I didn’t think it was
fair what he did to you."