Wild Angel (42 page)

"Mayhap your father had planned to keep the dagger
there until he could rid himself of it, but forgot—"

"Enough, Caitlin! I will hear no more!"

"But you must listen! This makes us cousins, you
and I, and your name isn’t Triona. You’re Juliana Margaret de Roche, heiress to
one of the richest baronies in Eire if you only lay claim to it. And you must,
for your true parents’ sake! You owe that to them—"

"I owe them nothing!" Triona broke in, tears
tumbling down her face. "My father was Fineen, chieftain of the Imaal O’Tooles,
my mother the Lady Alice. I would die before I ever called myself a de Roche!"

She fled to the door and this time, Caitlin made no
move to stop her. The last thing Triona saw before she dashed from the room was
Caitlin’s stricken face,
then
she slammed the door
shut, her fingers shaking so badly she could barely turn the key in the lock.
But somehow she managed, swiping the tears from her face as she rushed past the
hearth. She noticed at once that Conn was gone, imagining the wolfhound had tagged
along with Ronan.

Ronan.

Dear God, what was she going to do now? If he ever
found out that she was everything he hated—

"Triona?"

She started, her gaze flying to Aud as her maid entered
the dwelling-house carrying a covered platter.

"I just saw the O’Byrne—I mean Ronan, in the hall.
He’s beginning to pace a bit, sweeting, so I suggest you hurry—"

"Tell me what you know about this dagger,"
Triona demanded, racing up to her and yanking the weapon from her pocket. Her
spirits sank even lower when Aud blanched, but her maid quickly recovered
herself, shrugging as she walked past her.

"You found it with your father’s things. Inside a
brass-fitted chest, as I recall."

"Aye, and you know well enough why he put it
there," Triona accused, following her. "You were shocked when I first
showed you the dagger, Aud, and I thought it strange. But you said it was only
because you were tired, snapping at me as you’ve never done before."

"A body can become weary now and again, but if you’re
holding a grudge against me for being short with you that day, then I’m sorry."

"Aye, but you acted just as strangely when I told
you about Seamus, Aud. Remember? When I said the poor man seemed to know me,
calling me Lady Eva?"

"I thought it was queer, is all," Aud said
stiffly, though her determined step had faltered a little. That was enough to
bring fresh tears to Triona’s eyes, her voice gone hoarse.

"Aud, you can’t hide the truth from me any longer.
You can’t! I know about my true parents."

The older woman stopped, her face gone deathly pale.
But she nonetheless made a brave attempt to change the subject. "Ronan is
waiting for you, sweeting. Shouldn’t you go to him? And . . . and Caitlin’s
supper is growing cold—"

"Please, Aud," Triona broke in, smudging away
tears with the back of her hand. "My father told me that my parents were
killed by wolves, but that’s not the truth, is it?"

For a long moment Aud simply stared at her, but finally
she shook her head. "No, it wasn’t the truth."

"And my real mother’s name was Eva."

Aud nodded, tears clouding her eyes. "Saints helps
us, sweeting, how could you have discovered—"

"Caitlin told me."

"Caitlin?" Aud looked stunned, but she seemed
confused as well. "No, that couldn’t be—"

"She recognized my dagger, Aud, just a few moments
ago. Her father, Donal, has one just like it, matching exactly the weapon that
once belonged to my mother. Eva MacMurrough."

"MacMurrough?" Aud blurted. "But I’ve
always thought your mother was Norman. And I’d never have known that if I hadn’t
come into the house of a sudden and overheard the O’Toole telling the pitiful
tale to Lady Alice shortly after he brought you home. He made me swear on a
crucifix right there and then that I’d never say a word to anyone, and I did so
gladly. You were my sweeting from the first moment I laid eyes upon you, no
matter your Norman blood."

"Half Norman, Aud. And half MacMurrough. I don’t
know what could be worse." Triona thought again of Ronan, despair filling
her. But she couldn’t allow herself to succumb to it. The last thing she needed
was for him to sense that something was wrong. "I must go, Aud. Ronan is
waiting."

"But your true father, Triona. The O’Toole never
mentioned any names and if he ever found out the identity of the Norman baron
who wanted to see you dead, he said nothing of it to me."

"So the spawn did try to hunt me down,"
Triona murmured, Caitlin’s words coming back to her.

"Oh aye, and he might have found you, too, if the
O’Toole hadn’t come along when he did, saving you from a pack of wolves as
well. The O’Toole heard you crying, and it’s a good thing you were so young
that you don’t remember what happened to your brave mother. She died protecting
you from a wild boar, sweeting. The O’Toole found that dagger sticking from the
beast’s throat."

Triona stared at the bloodred rubies studding the hilt,
for the first time pitying the mother she had never known.

"It was when the O’Toole was about to bury the
poor soul that the Normans came upon him," Aud rushed on. "He hid behind
a tree and heard everything—the baron saying how he’d planned upon murdering
you if the wolves hadn’t found you first."

"But how would he ever have thought that wolves—"

"The O’Toole had thrown your bloodied swaddling
blanket to the wild creatures to flush them from the trees. The baron’s men
found what shreds were left. Then they took up your mother’s body and rode
away, but not before the O’Toole heard the baron say he’d murdered your true
father to make Eva his bride."

"Richard de Roche," Triona said under her
breath although Aud had heard her well enough, her maid’s eyes growing very
wide. "Baron of Naas—at least until his younger brother saw fit to slay
his own blood for the land and title."

"His brother?"

"Maurice de Roche."

Aud gasped, her eyes nearly popping from her head. "So
the O’Toole
was
warning you in that
dream, sweeting! Warning you to stay well away from that monster! Saints
preserve
us,
you’re in terrible danger just as I
thought."

"Aye, of losing the man I love." Her throat
was so tight that she thought she might choke. Triona pocketed the dagger and
then whirled the cloak around her shoulders, walking on wooden legs to the door
only to have it suddenly open in front of her.

"By God, woman, what surprise could keep you this
long from my side?"

Chapter 38

"RONAN!" HEARING AUD
echo
her, Triona practically pushed him back outside, fearful that her distraught
maid might say something they’d all regret. But she was quickly able to cover
her action, spouting with feigned lightness as she looped her arm through his, "Black
O’Byrne, you’ve no patience at all!"

"Not when it comes to you," he countered with
a roguish smile, clearly finding no fault with her odd behavior. "Now
where’s my surprise?"

"You’ll see at supper," she tossed back
although she was finding it very difficult to talk. But she couldn’t allow him
to think that something was wrong. She couldn’t! She began to tug him playfully
in the direction of the feasting-hall only to have him sweep her into his arms.

"If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re wearing a
maiden’s soft slippers," he said, kissing the sensitive shell of her ear. "And
if that’s the case, we can’t have you ruining them in the mud. The rains might
have stopped, but the yard looks as wet as a bog."

With a start, Triona realized that it was no longer
raining; she felt so distracted that she hadn’t even noticed. Somehow she
managed again to keep her voice light, though she felt inside as if her heart
were breaking.

"Ronan, just pretend you didn’t see any slippers
or you’ll spoil my surprise. Now are we just going to stand here or . . .
"

She fell silent as a clansman suddenly came around the
corner of the dwelling-house, the night so dark that she didn’t realize it was Fiach
O’Byrne until he was almost upon them. The man looked so grim that Triona went
tense, swept by another terrible niggling of intuition.

Jesu,
Mary
and Joseph, if
Fiach had been standing guard just outside Caitlin’s windows, then he must have
overheard everything! He knew!

"By God, Fiach, you’ve been guarding that wench
all day," Ronan said with easy good humor before the clansman could speak,
setting off with Triona toward the hall. "I’ll send replacements at once
so you and the other two guards can join us for supper. The cook has outdone
himself tonight. I’ve already tasted a bit of roast mutton."

"But, Lord—"

"Later, man! My bride-to-be has a special surprise
for me that cannot wait."

Triona’s heart was pounding so fiercely at that close
call she was certain Ronan could hear it. But he seemed oblivious to her
distress, and thankfully so. Wiping her hand over her cheeks as swiftly as
possible to rid herself of any last traces of tears, she masked her purpose by
saying, "I think I just felt a bit of rain."

"Then we’ll have to hurry, won’t we?" He
pressed another warm kiss against her ear. "Don’t think I’ve forgotten our
plan, Triona. A bite of supper and it’s back to our room."

Triona didn’t reply, the husky promise in his voice
only filling her with dread.

Realizing now that she would have to tell him before
someone else did what she still found so hard to believe herself, she prayed
when the moment came she would find the right words. But would Ronan be willing
to listen to anything further after he heard that she was both MacMurrough and
Norman? The heiress to vast lands that had been stolen from the O’Byrnes?

"Smile, Triona, so my people can see that all is
well."

Somehow she did, blinking at the brilliant torchlight
as Ronan carried her into the feasting-hall. He didn’t set her down
straightaway but conveyed her to the head table amid rousing shouts of approval.

To her surprise Niall was there, reclining in a
makeshift litter drawn to the table, his wide grin telling her that he must already
know Caitlin was faring better. Maire was there, too, the most curious smile on
her lips, her gray eyes alight and her cheeks flushed bright pink with color.
Triona wondered fleetingly what they both might say if they knew she and
Caitlin were cousins,
then
she thrust the thought away
as Ronan gently put her down.

"Is my surprise underneath your cloak?" he
whispered in her ear, his teasing expression leading her to believe that he had
guessed she wore a gown. When she nodded, her smile pasted upon her face, he
chuckled and drew the garment from her shoulders.

Triona almost burst into tears at the look he gave her,
his eyes so full of love that she couldn’t bear to think of the contempt that
would soon replace it. "You’re pleased?" she asked brokenly, the
emotion between them so palpable that she reasoned he wouldn’t think anything
was amiss if she looked about to cry.

"In all ways, Triona," he murmured, bending
his head to kiss her soundly in front of everyone. Cheers were rocking the hall
when he finally lifted his mouth from hers to whisper against her ear, "What
became of all those little presents I gave you when you were a child? The
ribbons, the gold trinkets—"

"I—I threw them in a bog," Triona stammered,
his question taking her entirely by surprise. "After Conor—"

"Aye, and you had every right," Ronan
murmured, pulling away to stare into her eyes. But Triona saw no pain in his
eyes, only love, and again, she came very close to tears. Then she felt his
large strong hands capture hers and bring them up to his chest, a small
silk-wrapped package pressed into her palm.

"What . . . ?"

"A gift, Triona." He gave her a wry smile. "I
only hope this one doesn’t end up in a bog. It belonged to my mother."

She was stunned, staring dumbly at the bundle until
Ronan began to chuckle and unwrapped it for her himself. A low gasp rippled
through the hall as he held up the most beautiful necklace Triona had ever
seen, delicate gold beads alternating with sparkling gems of every hue:
emeralds, blue sapphires, topazes, red
garnet
and
amethysts.

"These pearls from Taig O’Nolan are very lovely,
Triona," Ronan said huskily as he lifted the pink strand over her head and
replaced it with his glittering surprise. "But I want only my gifts to
adorn you."

Triona had to blink away tears as he replaced her
jeweled arm-ring, too, with a heavy bracelet of purest gold.

"
Aye,
and you’ll need a
coffer for all of your beautiful things," Maire said behind Ronan, her
voice oddly catching.

Triona understood why when Ronan stepped aside, Maire
rising from her chair with only the aid of her crutch while
Ita
stood close by, the plump serving woman’s eyes shining as brightly as her young
mistress’s. Maire gestured to the jewel chest a servant placed upon the table,
the same elegant coffer Triona had seen at Maire’s house that first day she’d
gone to visit.

"It’s for you, Triona. I’ve a gift for Aud, too,
for helping me . . ."

"Then you know?" Triona blurted, meeting
Ronan’s gaze.

"Aye. Maire had a special surprise for me tonight
as well." He took her hands and brought them to his lips, his breath warm
as he looked into her eyes. "You’re a kind, compassionate woman, Triona O’Toole.
Thank you for helping my sister."

As he gently kissed her fingers, Triona had never felt
more wretched, the evening that should have been so perfect become a nightmare.

She had never seen the O’Byrne clan so merry, the
feasting-hall alive with good cheer, while she was miserable. Yet she continued
to smile and tease and banter, to sample the smoked salmon, venison sausage and
roast goose Ronan set upon her plate though she tasted nothing, to drink the
scarlet wine he poured into her silver cup though it made her want to choke.