Wild Angel (16 page)

"
Older?
"
she echoed, falling still to catch her breath.

"By more than twenty years" —Ronan’s grip
only tightened as Triona resumed her struggles in earnest— "but if you
look upon the difference as wisdom garnered that he will share with you—"

"He could be a drooling idiot for all I care, O’Byrne!
I won’t be marrying him—"

"If he wants you, you
will
marry him. I’d prefer that you meet the O’Nolan with dignity,
but if I must, I’ll carry you like a spoiled child into the hall. The choice is
yours."

Triona went limp as they neared the gabled building,
her mind racing over what Ronan had just said.
If he wants you . .
.

Aye, she’d see that the O’Nolan wanted something, but
it wouldn’t be her. When she was finished with this aging chieftain from
Carlow, he’d want to be heading home to the Blackstairs Mountains without a
bride!

"I’ll walk," she muttered.

"Wise choice," said Ronan, breathing a bit
easier now that she had ceased her wild flailing. But he was no less wary.

"The O’Nolan’s anxious to meet you. He’s brought
gifts," he continued. Somehow his thoughts centered on the last time he’d
held Triona. Then he’d thought he might lose her and now, he had no doubt of
it. Once the O’Nolan saw her, he wouldn’t be able to resist taking her for his
wife.

Ronan cursed the unreasoning sense of possession that
swept him. By God, it was time he released her! Her closeness was torture, the
warmth of her body scorching him through her yellow gown. And the way her
generous breasts were pressing tightly against her silk bodice, her nipples
hard and roused . . .

"Enough," he muttered, not surprised when
Triona met his eyes. His breath caught at the emerald beauty of her gaze. The
slow-burning outrage reflected there pained him as he recalled her smile days
ago when she’d laughed at the grass on his chin.

"Talking to
yourself
, O’Byrne?"

He frowned, amending, "I meant I’ve carried you
far enough." He set her down carefully, but kept a firm grip on her elbow.
"If you find your ankle is paining you, don’t hesitate to lean—"

"Thank you, but I won’t
be
needing
your assistance," Triona said tartly, wrenching herself
free.

As the hall doors were thrown open for them, she took a
moment to shake out her gown. The skirt was twisted around her hips from the
way Ronan had been holding her. Before she even lifted her eyes she knew he was
watching her, and when she did look up, the sarcastic remark she’d planned to
fling at him was stilled along with her breath.

Why was he staring at her so?
she
wondered, his eyes a deep brooding gray. But her heart had no more begun to
pound again when Ronan resolutely looked away, gesturing for her to walk in
front of him.

"Tyrant," she muttered. But he didn’t frown,
once more exhibiting the forced patience that she was coming to hate. It couldn’t
be
more clear
to her that he was eager for the O’Nolan
to whisk her away to his damned mountains. Ha! Soon Ronan would find he was
stuck with her for a while longer.

"The O’Nolan’s waiting, Triona."

"I can well imagine," she said bitterly,
entering the hall with Ronan just behind her.

The first man she noticed was Niall as he rose from a
chair facing the huge hearth. Still dressed in dark riding clothes like Ronan,
she imagined they hadn’t been back long at the stronghold and again she felt a
rush of fury. Obviously Ronan hadn’t wanted to waste any time before dragging
her here to meet his special guest.

"So where is he—" she began, only to stop
dead as a stout, curly bearded man rose beside Niall, a toothy grin splitting
his face from ear to ear.

"That’s the O’Nolan?" As Ronan nodded, Triona
thought her stomach might turn over. "But he’s so fat!"

"Sturdily built, Triona. Healthy as a bull."

That comment made her feel sicker. No wonder he’d
outlasted three wives, and Ronan wanted her to be this man’s fourth! It was enough
to make her retch.

Triona jumped when the chieftain clapped his beefy
hands as if he had spotted his next meal. The next thing she knew he was
bearing down upon them, apparently unwilling to wait any longer for them to
approach. She practically fell back against Ronan as the O’Nolan stopped right
in front of her, planting his big fists on his hips as he looked her up and
down.

"Aye, Ronan, you’re a man of your word. She’s a
beauty. And that copper hair! I’ve never seen any brighter. You can come a wee
bit closer, Triona. I don’t bite—"

"But mayhap I do!" She wished her ankle was
better so she could have ground her heel into Ronan’s toes for even considering
her as a match for this large gray oaf. "And just in case the O’Byrne didn’t
inform you, I’ll not be marrying you or anyone else, Taig O’Nolan!"

The hearty shout of laughter that greeted her
declaration took Triona by surprise. For a man supposedly heartbroken over the
death of his last wife, he seemed very merry.

"Aye, you said she was high-spirited, too! Just
like my first wife, God keep her."

"And you should be ashamed for thinking to wed
again after losing your third wife only this past winter!" Triona scolded
him. To her relief, the chieftain sobered if only a little.

"It’s a bit soon, I admit, but I’ve never been one
to enjoy living alone. And I’ve a curious affliction. I fall in love a bit too
easily. But I’m loyal as a hound once I do, so don’t let that trouble you."
Another wide grin stretched his face, his ruddy features neither handsome nor unattractive
but somewhere solidly in between. "You seem like a young woman who’d keep
me well entertained, Triona O’Toole. Now come and see what I’ve brought you."

Before Triona could protest, her hand was locked in his
huge one, but he didn’t drag her across the room as she had feared he might.
Instead he seemed most solicitous of her injured ankle, walking slowly with her
despite his eagerness to show her his gifts, and even asking her if she wanted
a cushion for her foot after she’d sat down.

To her amazement, she even began to feel a bit guilty
for thinking of him so unkindly when he laid two small bundles in her lap, one
wrapped in blue silk and the other in purple.

"I’ve always believed any woman of mine should
have pretty things. Especially one as beautiful as you."

Although flattered by the sincerity of his
compliment—aye, Ronan should take lessons!—Triona shook her head. "I’m not
your woman and I don’t want your gifts," she declared, but not as sharply
as she might have a few moments ago. "You’d do better to save them for
someone else—"

"At least open them, Triona."

The man looked so damned earnest she couldn’t find it
in her heart to refuse him. But she wasn’t going to keep them, whatever they
were, she thought determinedly, unwrapping the
smallest
of the two packages. She would just look at them—

Triona’s low gasp brought a grin to the chieftain’s
face as she held up a delicate gold arm-ring that glittered and sparkled with
precious stones of scarlet,
green
and blue.

"It’s beautiful," she murmured, glancing up
to find Ronan with the strangest look on his face . . . almost as if he were
somehow displeased with her reaction. As for Niall, he looked both confused and
concerned as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

"I can’t keep this," she said firmly, as she
held out the arm-ring to the O’Nolan. "Besides, I’ve never worn such
ornaments."

"All the more reason why you must keep it,"
the chieftain insisted stubbornly, folding her fingers around his gift. "Now
unwrap
the other one."

Sighing, she did, but she told herself it was only to
humor him. And again she gasped as Maire would surely have done when Triona
revealed a necklace of glistening pink pearls.

She thought of yanking it apart right then as her
instincts were telling her to do—as Niall was gesturing that she do!—but she
had the notion that the O’Nolan would merely laugh, gather the pearls from the
floor and present them to her again.

Damn Ronan for bringing a man to Glenmalure who was
just as good-hearted as he had claimed! She wanted no part of this chieftain or
his gifts, but neither could she envision herself being deliberately cruel. She
wasn’t a banshee!

Her dilemma only worsened when the feast began a short
while later. The hall was filled to capacity with O’Byrnes and O’Nolan clansmen
who’d accompanied their chieftain. Maire was there, too, oddly looking as
concerned as Niall. They seemed to grow even more concerned as the evening wore
on.

When the mutton soup was passed, Triona could have
dumped a steaming bowlful into the O’Nolan’s lap but she didn’t. She could have
"accidentally" stabbed his leg with her cutting knife, splashed wine
into his beaming face, shrieked in his ear . . . anything instead of allowing
him to serve her himself, always filling her plate with savory morsels before
his own.

Anything instead of finding his lively stories so funny
that she laughed until tears came to her eyes.

Anything instead of being convinced by the end of the
night that Taig O’Nolan, chieftain of the Blackstairs O’Nolans, was so kind,
attentive
and good-humored that it was no wonder his three
wives had been happy. But she wasn’t convinced enough to be the next one!

At last Triona could stand it no longer. Her head spun
from searching for a solution.

It hadn’t helped either that Niall had been staring at
her all night as if trying to tell her something, his frown growing as deep as
Ronan’s. And she couldn’t imagine why
Ronan
was looking so angry when she was behaving so well. It must seem that his
matchmaking was proceeding as planned.

"Forgive me," she finally interrupted the O’Nolan
just as he was about to launch into another tale. "I’m so tired . . . and
my ankle is aching terribly. I’d like to retire—"

"I’ll help you, Triona," Niall interjected.

"Sit, little brother. Keep our guest company while
I escort Triona back to her room," Ronan announced to Triona’s greater
astonishment. He’d hardly said a word all night to speak up now?

She
knew
he
was going to try to convince her to announce a betrothal as he walked her to
her room.

"Actually," she began, "I’d like the O’Nolan
to accompany me."

"An honor," the chieftain enthused, though he
seemed concerned by the sudden scowl on Ronan’s face. "Unless you object?"

"Not at all,"
came
Ronan’s gruff response. "Your cup will be filled and waiting for your
return . . . which I trust will be soon.

Hearing the hard edge to his voice, Triona imagined
that was his way of warning her against trying any tricks. How he’d gloat if he
knew she hadn’t thought of a single one!

As she and the chieftain left the hall, Triona managed
to catch Aud’s eye. "My maid," she hastily explained when Aud rose
from the servants’ table to walk behind them.

"Aye, it wouldn’t be proper without her," the
O’Nolan agreed.

Even now he was only thinking of what was best for her,
Triona marveled, aware that a lesser man might have seized an opportunity to be
alone.

Suddenly likening the O’Nolan to her father, she
wondered if he might accept that as an excuse for why they couldn’t marry.
Surely it wouldn’t be right for her to wed a man that reminded her so strongly
of Fineen . . .

"I’m only surprised Ronan isn’t following us as
well," the chieftain added, his voice grown philosophic.

Chapter 14

TRIONA STOPPED TO stare at the O’Nolan, confused.

"I’m sure that Ronan trusts you," she began.
Then, embarrassed, she added, "I mean . . . that you wouldn’t have—"

"Taken advantage of you?" the chieftain
finished for her, gesturing for Aud to catch up to them. "I may have seen
many winters come and go, Triona O’Toole, but that doesn’t mean my blood doesn’t
grow warm at the sight of a fine woman like you. But there’s a younger man
whose blood is boiling hot as pitch right now, though I doubt he’d ever admit
it."

"I—I don’t understand—"

"Ronan. He wasn’t himself tonight, well,
not that he hasn’t been the same since . . .
" The O’Nolan
didn’t finish, clearing his throat instead before adding, "He’s been
scowling all night, not like him at all. Aye, I’m not blind. He may have
brought me here to wed you, but it’s clear he wants you for himself. And I’ll
not stand in his way."

Her heart suddenly pounding, Triona knew she must be
gaping at the man.

Ronan . . . want
her?
Of course that couldn’t be true. If he’d been scowling when they’d
left the hall, it was only because he probably suspected she had some wild plot
brewing.

"Ronan doesn’t want me!" she finally managed
to blurt out even as she realized with horror that the O’Nolan had given her
the escape route she needed and now she was refuting him. "At least I don’t
think he does," she quickly amended. "He claims he has no time for a
wife."

"Aye, so he’s long said. But his words ring false."
Signaling for Aud to come take his place beside Triona, the chieftain said to
her, "You’ve a fine mistress here. . .

"Aud, Lord."

"Aud, is it? Begorra, now, that was my second wife’s
name. I’ve always loved the sound of it."

Triona couldn’t believe her ears when Aud actually
giggled. And she was looking so queerly at the O’Nolan . . .

"T-thank you, Lord. That was very kind of you to
say."

Triona glanced at the O’Nolan to find him grinning
again, and it made her glad that he didn’t seem heartbroken at all that she
would not be his bride. In fact, he was fairly beaming at Aud . . . and in the
torchlight,
Triona could swear her maid was blushing!