Wild Angel (39 page)

"Aye, be careful, girls."

Triona and Caitlin slipped from the tiny room, both of
them stopping at the outer door.

"Remember, Caitlin. Keep your head down and say
nothing."

The young woman nodded and Triona thrust open the door,
clearly startling the guards who spun to face them.

"That didn’t take long," Fiach noted, rain
dripping down his long nose and into his beard.

"The tear wasn’t as bad as I’d thought,"
Triona said with a shrug, hurrying with Caitlin out into the downpour. "We’ll
be back in a short while with more blankets. It’s so chilly in that
cell,
the poor girl might catch her death."

Fiach gave an unsympathetic grunt but held his tongue
until they’d moved away—but not so far that Triona couldn’t hear him grumbling
to the others, "You’d think from all the fuss there was a queen in there
and not some stinking MacMurrough."

Triona felt Caitlin stiffen beside her; she knew the
young woman had heard him, too.

"I’m sorry," she began, feeling she must
apologize for Fiach. But Caitlin shook her head, meeting Triona’s eyes as they
made their way across the muddy yard.

"To hate my clan is all those men have ever known,
Triona. You can’t expect otherwise."

Her throat tightening, Triona wondered suddenly if she
had made a terrible mistake to bring Caitlin with her but they were already at
their destination. Hoping her plan wouldn’t meet the same outcome of five days
ago,
she held open the door and pushed Caitlin gently
inside.

Chapter 35

"WHO LIVES HERE, Triona? Is this your house?"

She didn’t have to reply as Niall’s voice called to
them from the other room.

"If you’ve come to make me another one of your
nasty herb brews, man, then turn right around and go back whence you came! It’s
bad enough I have to lie here like a log while this damned leg of mine mends
without having to down any more of that foul-tasting stuff."

"The O’Byrne’s brother?" Caitlin asked incredulously,
her wide eyes telling Triona that the young woman had realized it was Niall at
once from everything she’d been told about the attack.

"Aye, Caitlin, but don’t be frightened. Niall’s
not at all like Ronan—well, he is but he isn’t. I mean their looks are similar,
they’re both terribly handsome, but—"

"What’s all that whispering out there? Is that the
healer or no?"

"No, Niall,
it’s
Triona,"
she called, giving Caitlin’s arm a reassuring squeeze.

"Well, come on with you, then. I’ve been wondering
when you were going to pay me another visit given all the trouble between you
and Ronan."

"You see?" Triona hissed, hoping she appeared
more confident than she felt at that moment. "He’s in a fine humor, so
come on." Grasping Caitlin’s hand, she began to steer her toward the door.

"Is that Aud with you? Now this is a pleasant
surprise. Mayhap I can hope you brought me a sip of ale, too—"

"It’s not Aud." Triona smiled nervously in
spite of her best efforts to remain calm. She stepped into the room, drawing a
reluctant Caitlin with her. "I’ve someone I want you to meet, Niall . . .
Caitlin MacMurrough. I hope you—"

"Good God, Triona, have you lost your mind?"

Why was everyone demanding that of her?
she
thought, feeling affronted despite her stomach
performing an anxious flip-flop at Niall’s outburst. But he didn’t look
entirely furious; no, he looked more stunned, which gave her a boost of
courage.

"Not at all, Niall O’Byrne, I’ve my wits about me.
But is shouting how you welcome your guests? I remember you once chided Ronan
for his lack of hospitality, but I never thought I’d be doing it to you. The
least you could allow us is the chance to remove our hoods. They’re dripping
wet, you know."

Triona didn’t wait for his assent but lowered her
sodden hood as Niall gaped at her, Caitlin following her lead. In the next
instant Niall wasn’t staring at Triona anymore, but at the beautiful young
woman who was standing at her shoulder.

"Would it pain you too much if we sat down?"

Silence reigned in the room, Triona’s light query
receiving no answer.

"Niall?"

He started, to her amazement a flush racing across his
handsome features. "I’m sorry, Triona, did you say something?"

She had to fight hard not to smile, suddenly feeling
very much heartened. "Just that we’d like to sit a while and visit . . .
if that’s all right with you."

"Of—of course. I mean, I suppose there’s no harm
in it, though Ronan might . . . " Niall shot a glance at Triona, but his
eyes almost at once skipped back to Caitlin.
"
Ronan
has no idea that you’re here, does he?"

"I doubt we’d have made it this long if he did,"
Triona said wryly, taking the straight-backed chair at the foot of the bed. The
closest one she left for Caitlin who, so far, hadn’t uttered a word though her
cheeks were as flushed as Niall’s.

"Begorra, it’s warm as Hades in here," Triona
continued, hoping to spur some conversation. "Why don’t you take off your
cloak, Caitlin?"

"Aye, that damned healer ordered the hearth be
kept roaring at all hours for fear the rains might bring on some fever," Niall
said in a rush of explanation.

Caitlin gently pushed the cloak from her shoulders. "I
hope you don’t catch a fever. That would be terrible after everything you’ve
suffered."

He stared at her, clearly as stunned by the fetching
sight Caitlin made in her snug fitting blue gown as by the lilting sound of her
voice. But he couldn’t have looked more shocked when she added sincerely, "I’m
sorry for what my clan did to you, Niall O’Byrne. Truly sorry."

Triona’s breath jammed as she watched Niall’s face, the
momentary tightening of his jaw reminding her ominously of Ronan. Wondering if
she’d been too quick to think that her plan was going well, she was relieved
when Niall finally murmured, "It was no fault of yours, Caitlin
MacMurrough. I accept your apology."

Silence fell again for the longest moment, but this
time it seemed strained . . . almost as if Niall felt inhibited talking further
with Caitlin in front of Triona. Realizing suddenly that
she
had become the third wheel on a cart needing only two, Triona rose
hastily from her chair.

"Aye, well, I should see about that cup of ale you’ve
been wanting, Niall."

"You’re leaving, Triona?" Caitlin asked, half
rising herself as if Triona expected her to come, too.

"No, no, sit," she insisted, not missing the
flicker of pleasure across Caitlin’s face. "I’ll be back soon. Stay and
talk with Niall."

"Aye, tell me how you managed to elude the guards
who’ve been watching you night and day," Niall said as Triona made her way
from the room and closed the door behind her. She leaned upon it for a moment,
astounded in the next to actually hear Niall chuckling, Caitlin joining him.

Triona had herself seen this lighter side of Caitlin,
the young woman growing less intimidated over the past days at Triona’s
assurances that all would be well. But to hear Caitlin laugh as she must at
home in Ferns was a welcome sound, and for that, Triona had Niall to thank. Now
if Niall might be able to convince Ronan that their innocent hostage was hardly
deserving of the scorn being heaped upon her . . .

"Ale," Triona reminded herself when Niall’s
laughter burst through the door, grown teasing this time. She threw her hood
over her hair and set off through the rain toward the kitchen, feeling more
hopeful than she had in days.

***

"Those stout timber posts should hold no matter
how heavy the rains, Lord. But we’ll check on them again in the morning just to
make certain," Flann O’Faelin informed Ronan.

Ronan nodded, though his mind was hardly on timber
posts any longer. He parted ways with his drenched, mud-splattered clansmen at
the stronghold’s inner gates and strode full face into the stinging rain.

"You’re not coming with us to the hall, Lord?"

Ronan gave no answer; the last thing he wanted was to
spend another late afternoon and evening downing ale. He was wet and cold and
muddy and most of all, sick to death of avoiding the woman he loved. He wanted
a hot bath and he wanted Triona, not necessarily in that order.

And if the only way to have her back with him was to
yield to her requests, then aye, he would do it.

Four restless interminable nights had convinced him
that no MacMurrough wench was worth the strife between him and Triona. In a few
weeks’ time the damned girl would be gone, maybe even sooner. He could suffer
her presence in his home for Triona’s sake, no matter that the thought of
catering to a MacMurrough still disgusted him.

"You men have a new post," he commanded as he
approached the grain house, his three clansmen casting startled looks at each
other. "I’m moving the hostage to my dwelling-house. From now on, you will
stand guard at the windows outside her room."

The men stepped aside as he got to the door, Ronan
already imagining the delighted look on Triona’s face when she saw that he had
relented. Anticipating as well the feel of her arms around him and the soft
grateful kisses he could almost taste, he couldn’t enter the grain house fast
enough, shoving open the door to the cell.

"Get up, girl."

He saw her start beneath the blanket, but she made no
move to rise which angered him.

"Didn’t you hear me, wench?" He went to the
pallet and bent down to wrest away the blanket. "I said get—"

"Forgive me, Lord!"

Astounded, Ronan straightened as Aud threw back the
covering and clambered to her feet, her small plain face gone white. But she
appeared no more stricken than his three guards as Ronan shot them a glance and
then turned back to Aud.

"I-I’m sure this looks worse to you than it is,
Lord—"

"Where’s Triona taken the hostage?" he
demanded. "To our dwelling-house?"

"I don’t think so," Aud said in an anxious
rush. "She didn’t really say. All she told me was that she’d thought of a
way to set everything to rights . . . a way to bring the both of you back
together and—and I could do aught but help her—taking the MacMurrough girl’s
place—"

"Your lady left here no more than an hour past,"
broke in Fiach O’Byrne, the brawny clansman’s face red with chagrin. "She
said she was coming back in a short while" — his questioning gaze skipped
to Aud— "with blankets for the hostage."

"Aye, Lord, Triona told me herself that she’d be
back for me as soon as she could," Aud seconded.

Ronan didn’t stay to hear
more,
the guards following close behind him as he stormed outside into the rain.

"Gather more men and search every corner of this
place!" he ordered, setting out himself. But he didn’t know where to
search first, much of what Aud had said making little sense.

A way to set things right? A way to bring them
together? Yet Triona had planned to come back? Surely if she had left the grain
house with the MacMurrough wench posing as Aud, Triona knew she would have to
return in the same way to get Aud out again without the guards suspecting . . .

"Unless Aud was deceived as well," Ronan
muttered, his gut knotting as his gaze flew to the stronghold gates. All of
them had been left open much of the day so his men could come and go while
repairing the outer embankments. By God, had Triona taken it in her head to aid
the wench in an escape?

His heart pounding fiercely, Ronan ran toward the
stable, his first instinct to check and see if Laeg was gone. But he’d gotten
no farther than Niall’s dwelling-house when he spied a hooded figure stepping
out of the front door, wooden cup in hand.

He thought at first it might be the healer until the
figure glanced up and saw him, uttering a most femininelike gasp. Before he
could call her name, Triona had spun back into the house, slamming the door
behind her.

"By God, woman, if I find. . ." Ronan didn’t
finish, bursting inside to a scene that he’d hardly expected. Triona was standing
just beyond the door, her rain-streaked cloak still swirling,
her
expression the very picture of indignation as she
pressed her hand over her heart.

"Jesu, Mary and Joseph, Ronan, do you have to come
upon a person so suddenly? You can’t blame me for being startled and running
back inside—"

"You didn’t duck inside because I startled you,
Triona."

"Of course I did! And it’s a good thing this cup
was empty or I would have spilled ale all over myself. I was just going to the
kitchen to fetch Niall another—"

"Where is she, Triona?"

His harsh tone appeared to rattle her, but she stared
at him as blankly as a fish.

"Who? Aud? Why, I left her doing some mending when
I came over to visit Niall—"

"Enough tales, woman! I just found Aud posing as
the hostage I’d expected to escort to our dwelling-house. Now where is she?"

Triona couldn’t have been more stunned, wondering if
she’d heard him correctly. "Escort to our . . . You
were
going to let Caitlin come and stay with us?"

"Aye, but it seems you got to the grain house
before me—"

Triona didn’t let him finish, flinging her arms around
his neck to hug him tight. "Oh, Ronan, I knew you would come around to
seeing it my way! I knew you couldn’t be so heartless!"

He embraced her, too, crushing her slim body against
him. But he just as swiftly pushed her away to arm’s length so he could look
into her face.

"Triona, the hostage. You didn’t help her escape,
did you?"

"Caitlin’s in here with me, brother."

Now it was Ronan’s turn to look stunned, doubly when
Niall’s door was opened by the MacMurrough wench herself. She stared back at
him, her eyes wide and apprehensive,
her
fingers
twisting in her blue gown.