Wild Angel (34 page)

"You forgot your trousers, Ronan."

He laughed, caressing her cheek. "That would be a
fine sight to see, wouldn’t it? The O’Byrne returning to his people clad only
in his tunic . . ."

He left her to retrieve his trousers, and Triona seized
her chance.

"Race you to shore!"

She was gone before he could catch her, Triona diving
from the ledge into the frothy lough. But when she surfaced, she heard loud
splashing behind her and knew Ronan was swimming hard and fast in her wake.

And when she rose breathless and laughing from the
water, he was right at her side, catching her in his arms and carrying
her the
rest of the way up the bank.

Chapter 30

A DEEP
GRAY dusk had settled
over Glenmalure by the time Ronan and Triona left the lough. Ronan cast a wry
glance at the woman who’d proved far too great a temptation for him to resist
making love to again. But they no sooner cleared the fir trees, riding at a
hard gallop toward the stronghold, when he sensed suddenly that something was
wrong.

Even from here, a good distance still remaining for
them to cover, Ronan could see that the stronghold’s stout outer gates were
yawning open.

Triona had noticed, too. She glanced at him
questioningly, shouting above the pounding of their horses’ hooves, "Do
you think it’s because they’re expecting us?"

Ronan didn’t
answer,
his eyes
on the line of glowing torches that was fast approaching the stronghold from
the southeast. He counted thirty altogether, and now he could hear horses neighing
and men calling out to those who were spilling from the gates with more bright
torches.

Relief filled him, his hand moving away from his sword
hilt. The large
band of riders were
his own clansmen.
Yet he bade Triona all the same, "Stay close to me!"

They rode at a breakneck pace toward the stronghold,
shouts of alarm going up as they approached—all the more strange to Ronan since
his people should have known from Niall that he was soon to return. Fearing his
men might not recognize them in the gathering darkness, Ronan had Triona rein
in sharply beside him several hundred feet from the gates, a distance well out
of range of any arrows.

"Name yourselves!" came Flann O’Faelin’s
great bellowing voice, the fierce command evidencing that Ronan had correctly
judged his wary clansmen.

"The O’Byrne of Glenmalure!"

Immediately the host of riders came barreling down the
hill, their blazing torches held high, Ronan and Triona soon encircled as they
kicked their horses toward the gates.

"Why the commotion?" he demanded at once of
Flann, who had whirled his mount sharply alongside him.

"Your brother was attacked, Lord—"

"Niall?" Triona blurted, her face gone pale
in the torchlight.

"Aye, as he was riding to the stronghold,"
Flann continued grimly. "The men saw everything from the gates—rushing out
as quickly as they could before the bastards had a chance to finish the job."

"How is he, man?" Ronan roared, a sick
feeling welling inside him when Flann shook his head.

"Not good, Lord. He took an arrow clean through his
right shoulder, and another caught him in the thigh. Not fatal of themselves,
so the healer told us, but he’s lost much blood. Nor has he regained his
senses. He fell hard as a stone from his horse—"

"How could this have happened?" Triona cut in
shrilly, her gaze jumping from Ronan to Flann. "It was still daylight!"

"Mayhap the MacMurroughs thought Niall was the O’Byrne
and decided they’d rather slay a chieftain than wait for nightfall to steal
back their cattle."

"MacMurroughs?" Ronan interjected.

"Aye, Lord, a dozen or more. We managed to bring
down one of them with a spear, the wretch dying with the foul name of Dermot
MacMurrough on his lips. We gave chase after the others but—"

"So it was from that you were just returning?"

"Aye, we lost them over the pass, the dogs."

Ronan was silent for a moment, his gut churning. Aye,
it could have been him
those devil’s
spawn had brought
down, and Triona as well if they’d ridden on with Niall.

"See that the guard is tripled, Flann. I leave you
in charge since my brother—" Ronan couldn’t finish, his eyes meeting Triona’s.
She looked as stricken as he felt, her expression pleading with him to say it
was nothing but a terrible dream. "Come. We must see him."

They set off together through the gates, Ronan’s men
closing grim ranks behind them.

Triona wasn’t surprised to find Aud sitting beside
Niall’s bed, her faithful maid having helped her through enough childhood
illnesses to know a fair amount of remedies herself. Maire was there, too, her
face ashen, her eyes brimming as she sat holding Niall’s limp hand.

On the other side of the bed, intently mixing a
strong-smelling herbal paste to serve as a poultice for Niall’s
wounds,
was the bald healer. He was sweating profusely,
clearly hard at his labors, the sickroom reeking of sour wood sorrel and the
juice of overripe mashed apples. Triona hoped the man knew what he was doing.
After his cures had had so little effect on her ankle, she prayed fervently he’d
have better luck with Niall.

"How is he?" she asked of the healer while
Ronan stared silently at Niall’s white face as if he couldn’t believe what had
happened to his brother.

"No better, no worse."

"Can’t you tell us anything more than that, man?"
Ronan suddenly exploded, his voice resounding in the large room.

"It will be a long night, Lord," Aud
interjected calmly as the healer gaped like a startled owl at Ronan, the man
clearly too astonished to speak. "The bleeding has long since been
stopped, a good sign. And the swelling on his head has grown no larger—that,
too, a promising
sign
."

"Has he said anything?" Ronan asked in a much
quieter tone, Triona hoping that Aud’s soothing words had reassured him.

"No, Lord. Not yet."

Triona was warmed when Ronan took her hand and clasped
it tightly as if to seek comfort from her, their fingers lacing. Aud must have
noticed the intimate gesture, for suddenly her eyes were full of tears, a
trembling smile on her lips. Yet she quickly recovered herself when the healer
bade her to lift the cloth dressing covering Niall’s upper thigh so he could
slather fresh poultice on the wound.

"Damn those MacMurroughs to hell!" Ronan
muttered fiercely as the angry red hole was revealed, Triona feeling sickened
at the sight. Maire began to cry silently, her maid
Ita
hugging her delicate shoulders. But when the healer pressed gingerly around
Niall’s wound, a trickle of bright scarlet blood oozing forth, Ronan’s vehement
curse made all of them jump. He stormed from the sickroom, Triona following
after him.

"Ronan?"

He seemed not to hear her, his clansmen surrounding him
as soon as he stepped outside Niall’s dwelling-house into the night. There were
so many men gathered that Triona couldn’t begin to push through them, and
before she could try again to gain Ronan’s attention, Flann’s voice carried
above the crowd.

"Word came from Kildare earlier this day, Lord.
King John has triumphed over his vassals. His army still lies far to the north,
but those who went to join him have been granted leave to return to their homes
or journey with him back to Dublin."

"Then now is the time to strike," came Ronan’s
harsh reply, his men loudly voicing their assent. "Those accursed
MacMurroughs must pay for their deed, and before their clansmen return to swell
their numbers. You will remain here, Flann, with enough men to protect the
stronghold, but the rest of you prepare to ride south to avenge my brother!"

As Ronan’s clansmen hastened to obey him, the night
suddenly exploding with their clamorous shouts for revenge, Triona at last was
able to elbow her way through the rapidly thinning throng. To her dismay Ronan
was no longer standing where she’d last seen him, but now striding across the
yard with Flann.

Stung that he had forgotten about her, she ran after
him, knowing that to try and shout above the din would be futile. But he must
have seen her because suddenly he turned around, catching her by the shoulders
as she nearly slammed into his chest. Her heart sinking, she knew what he was
going to say the moment she looked into his eyes.

"You must stay here, Triona. This is no well-planned
raid where we’ve enjoyed the element of surprise. Dermot’s kin will probably be
waiting for us—"

"My place is with you!" she insisted
stubbornly even as he shook his head.

"And I’m telling you this time you
will
stay. Do not push me, Triona. If I
have to lock you in your room just to know that you’re safe, I will do it!"

Incredulous, Triona felt tears stinging her eyes but
she angrily swallowed them down. "You . . . you would imprison me again?"

"Not imprison you, Triona. Protect you—"

"As if I haven’t shown you enough times that I can
damned
well take care of myself?" Furious, she
wrenched herself free. "Don’t bother to send for the priest when you
return, Ronan O’Byrne, for I’ll not be marrying a tyrant such as you! And don’t
be surprised if I’m not here when—"

He lunged for her so suddenly that she
gasped,
his embrace as fierce as any she’d known.

"Cease your hot-tempered spouting and hear me,
woman! The thought that any harm might have come to you drives me mad! If we’d
continued with Niall instead of going on to the lough, that could have been you
lying there in that bed, or worse."

"
Aye,
or it could have
been you!" Her chest tightening painfully, Triona searched his eyes. "Let
me go with you, Ronan. If we’re both watching out for each other, then surely
nothing could happen—"

His kiss silenced her, so impassioned that she felt
herself
melting against him. But again, it was achingly
brief. When he pulled away to look at her, she knew that she hadn’t changed his
mind.

"Humor me this once, Triona. I want to ride out
tonight knowing you’re safe. Stay with Maire. She’s so fragile. She could use
your company. And I know my brother would want one of us beside him when he
wakes . . . God willing that he wakes."

He kissed her again before she could answer, and then
he was gone, mounting the fresh horse that had been brought for him.

As he issued final commands to Flann, once more Triona
felt as if she’d been forgotten. Yet Ronan’s eyes were riveted upon her when he
spun his horse around, though she could tell from his harsh expression that his
mind was already consumed by revenge.

Strangely enough, she almost felt sorry for the
MacMurroughs at that moment to have such wrath soon to descend upon them. But
remembering Niall lying so still and pale in his bed, Triona cursed herself for
such foolishness as Ronan and his men rode out the gates.

***

"Triona . . ."

She awoke with a start from her half sleep, lifting her
head from her crossed arms to find Niall watching her. Immediately she thought
to fetch the healer, who had gone to lie down for a short nap in the next room.
Then she would have to alert Maire, who’d reluctantly agreed to get some rest.
But Triona no sooner rose from her chair when Niall caught her hand.

"No. Stay."

She obliged him, so relieved to see Niall conscious
again that it was a good thing she’d sat back down. Her knees had gone a bit
wobbly.

"You and Ronan . . . You’re both sound? Safe? I
feared when that first arrow struck me that they might find you, too."

"No, no, we’re fine," she assured him,
touched that Niall would be so concerned for their welfare when he’d been the
one attacked. "Ronan’s just not back yet—"

"Back?"

"Aye, he and his men went after the spawn
who
did this to you. MacMurroughs from the sound of it."

Niall gave a low, very weak whistle. "So they
ventured into Glenmalure after all." Before Triona could stop him, Niall
tried to sit up only to slump back to the mattress, groaning in pain.

"Jesu, Mary and Joseph, are you trying to do
yourself more damage, Niall O’Byrne?" she scolded, wondering if the healer
had heard him. "Isn’t it enough that your clansmen found you looking like
a prickly hedgehog with all those arrows stuck in you? Lie still
now,
or you’ll only make things worse!"

Her indignant tirade was rewarded by a wan smile, but
it was fleeting.

"How long has Ronan been gone?" Niall asked
,
his concern plainly etched on his forehead.

"Since dark last
night,
and I imagine now it’s almost dawn." Triona sighed with exasperation. "I
wanted to go with them, too, but Ronan wouldn’t allow it. Do you know what that
fine brother of yours said to me?"

"Whatever it was, Triona, please don’t hold it
against him. You know how much he loves you."

She grew silent and looked away, only meeting Niall’s
eyes again when he squeezed her hand.

"I’m truly sorry all this came along to spoil
things for you."

"Begorra, Niall, what nonsense! As if you
personally invited those MacMurroughs to visit Glenmalure—"

"Aye, but this should have been your wedding day."

"Well, mayhap Ronan might think to bring a priest
back with him and surprise us," she tossed out, the idea secretly
thrilling her. But she sobered when Niall groaned. "You’re in a bad way,
aren’t you?"

He didn’t have to answer, his handsome face gone white
from the pain.

"Rest easy, Niall. I’ll fetch the healer."

To her astonishment, he held fast to her hand when she
tried to rise. "God, no, Triona, spare me that torment. He’ll just make me
drink some foul-tasting brew."