Wild Angel (20 page)

"God’s blood, the little bugger’s gone! Must have
jumped out the window there . . . while these two kept right on—"

"Can you blame the man, William? Look at her!
Would you come up for air if you had a red-haired wench as fine as that
spreading her legs for your pecker?"

Coarse laughter rang out and the door slammed shut,
leaving Triona and Ronan alone.

Chapter 17

EXCEPT RONAN DIDN’T stop kissing her, though his hips
slowed to a rhythmic thrusting as his tongue plunged deeply into her mouth. And
this time it was Triona who moaned as her hips rose to meet Ronan’s, craving
some answer to the heat suddenly building inside her . . . some answer to the
insistent tug deep down where his body was bulging rock hard against hers.

"Woman . . . you’re going to be the death of me
yet,"
came
his ragged whisper, his warm mouth
lifting from hers even as his lower body pressed her deeper into the mattress.
Then with a low vehement oath he was gone from her, pulling her so abruptly to
her feet that she gasped in surprise, shocked back to reality. He shoved her
toward the window.

"We’ll have to jump."

"Jump?" She snatched her torn clothing in
front of her as she realized almost stupidly that she was naked from the waist
up.

"Those idiots might not have seen me helping you
up the stairs when they collided into each other, but someone else probably
did. I’ll wager they’ll be back when they realize they’ve been duped—"

A roar of outrage suddenly carried to them from
downstairs, Ronan once more shoving Triona toward the window. "But we’ll
break our necks!"

"You’d rather stay here to see them stretched?"

Triona gulped as she looked down at the street. "All
right, all right, then, I’ll do it!"

"You never had a choice, woman."

Ronan grabbed her beneath the arms and swung her
feetfirst through the window, lowering her as far as he could before he let go.
Triona had no chance to shriek before she landed hard on her bottom, dazed yet
unharmed. Clutching her shredded shirt to her breasts, she scrambled out of the
way just as Ronan leapt from the window, landing on his haunches beside her.

"Is there a fire?" blurted a startled
passerby.

Ronan ignored the shocked stares all around him and
helped Triona to her feet.

"God’s blood, man, why else do you think we
jumped?" he answered, giving his best imitation of a Norman accent. He was
pleased when his announcement sent people screaming in all directions for
water, the ensuing confusion providing the perfect cover.

Triona, however, appeared astounded, her eyes very
round as Ronan swept her into his arms. "Where did you learn—
"

"Later." It took only a quick glance around
him for Ronan to realize the "borrowed" steed he had ridden into
Kilkenny must have been taken to the stable. There was no time to retrieve the
animal. Instead he held Triona close and ran toward the alley that he’d spied
her hurrying from earlier, ruefully wishing he’d been close enough then, to
grab her. But at least her horse was still tethered where she’d left him.

"But, Ronan, how did you know—"

"I said later, woman!" He lifted her onto the
gelding’s back and mounted behind her. "Hold on!"

They burst from the alley at a full gallop, veering
down an opposite street and away from the bedlam in front of the public house.
To Triona it seemed only an instant had passed before they were almost to the
town gates. She tensed when she saw that the well-armed guard had more than
tripled.

"Jesu,
Mary
and Joseph,
they’ll surely stop us!"

"A mailed knight?"

"But you’re riding without a saddle, Ronan. They’ll
know you’re Irish!"

"Not if you fight me." He jerked her closer,
her bottom wedged between his hard thighs. "Not if you scream. That’s what
these raping dogs are more than accustomed to hearing from Irish women."

Triona began to struggle but it was difficult since she
was also trying to hold onto her clothing.

"Not good enough, Triona. You’ll have to do better
if we’re going to distract them."

She gasped as Ronan suddenly wrenched away the remnants
of her shirt and flung the tattered garment into the air. But she screamed in
outrage when his hand went for the waist of her trousers, fighting him in
earnest as she heard an ominous ripping sound.

"You—you spawn! I’ll have no clothes left! No,
damn you! No . . .!"

She had never felt
so
humiliated as they thundered past the guards, all of them gaping at her bobbing
breasts. Gaping with eyes full of lust as Ronan groped her, her indignant
screams only making the guards laugh uproariously and elbow each other.

But as soon as they were safely past the gates and
careening out into the dark night, Ronan wound his arms tightly around her,
murmuring in her ear, "Forgive me, Triona."

It was enough to stop the hot tears welling in her
eyes, the sincerity of his apology striking her more deeply than she could have
imagined possible. And the incredible warmth of his arms kept her from
trembling though the night was cool, the air still smelling of rain and wet
earth.

They rode silently for long moments, the lights of the
town fading behind them. At last it seemed as if the nightmare of Kilkenny was
only that, a bad dream, and one which she knew could have been far worse if
Ronan hadn’t found her. He must have read her thoughts. Again he spoke in her
ear, slowing their mount to a trot so she could hear him. "You saw de
Roche?"

"Aye." She shuddered, remembering the man’s
harsh laughter. "At least from a distance. I only wish the place hadn’t
been so dark so I could have taken a good look at his face."

"And you had hoped to fell him with this dagger?"

Triona was stunned when Ronan pulled the weapon from
his belt, the
rubies
and diamonds sparkling
brilliantly in the moonlight. "I thought I’d lost it downstairs in the
public house. Where did you—"

"In the bed." He shoved the dagger back into
his belt. "I spied it just before I jumped from the window."

She fell silent, her cheeks burning as she remembered
all too well what they’d done in that bed. Suddenly she felt that same
disconcerting tug deep down below her belly, and she quickly forced herself to
focus upon another sensation, the smooth chain mail rubbing against her bare
back. But before she could ask where he’d gotten it, Ronan once again seemed to
have read her mind.

"A few miles outside of Kilkenny—we’re almost to
the place now, I came across a drunken knight wandering lost who was only too
willing to exchange his life for his horse and armor. He’d come to join his
king, or so he said right before he passed out, the old fool."

"You let him live?"

"Aye. I’m not one to kill defenseless men, Triona.
And if I hadn’t come across him as I did, things would have gone far
differently for you tonight. While you somehow stumbled upon de Roche, I was
taken for a knight and directed straight to where he was lodging—"

"With that fine Norman accent of yours,"
Triona cut him off, growing irritated by his lecturing tone. "I’m
surprised that you would stoop so low as to imitate your hated enemy."

"It has served me well on more than one occasion,
woman, even saved my life." His arms tightened punishingly around her. "And
to answer your earlier question, it was Seamus who taught me. He’d spent so
many years among Normans that he could speak like one himself. But of course,
neither of us can thank him now for what ultimately saved your life, can we?"

"For the last time, O’Byrne, I already apologized
for what happened to Seamus!" Her face flushed hotly at his fierce
embrace. "But if you’re expecting me to say I shouldn’t have gone into
Kilkenny, don’t be holding your breath—"

"You will apologize." Ronan drew her so
roughly against him that she exhaled in surprise. "Not to me but to my men
who are wondering even now if their chieftain is alive or dead. And to Niall
because you lied to him. You never intended to stand by and watch while we hung
de Roche from a tree, but instead to pursue your own reckless course. No matter
how many of my men were placed in jeopardy."

Triona clamped her mouth shut, refusing to say another
word. She imagined that Ronan had wanted to berate
her the
entire journey back to where his men were camped.

And to think she’d allowed herself to be lulled for
even a moment by an apology she suspected now had been as false as his Norman
accent! No doubt they could have gotten through those damned gates without his
rude handling, but he couldn’t resist teaching her a lesson she’d never forget!

Suddenly she froze, wondering if he planned to make her
ride back half-naked to Glenmalure to complete her humiliation. Aye, he had
purposely embarrassed her before! But she had just opened her mouth to accuse
him when he sharply veered their mount toward a thick stand of trees.

"I left my horse here," Ronan explained
tersely, hearing his stallion whinnying to him as they approached. And a damned
good thing he and Triona would soon be riding separately, too!

Tonight she had given his emotions a wild ride he
doubted he’d ever forget: from fury over her foolhardiness to relief as acute
as any he’d known when they had ridden safely through the town gates. And
though his ire was mounting again that she could be so stubbornly unrepentant
after her escapade, it paled
beside
the desire ripping
through him.

Desire so damned intense that her every bouncing
movement against him was excruciating, his efforts to focus on anything else
but on her scantily clad form becoming impossible.

If he had thought that kissing her again had nearly
undone him, nothing could have prepared him for the translucent beauty of her
bare skin in the moonlight and the provocative swell of her breasts against his
arms. Certain that he might explode if he held her a moment longer, he couldn’t
dismount fast enough when they reached his stallion.

"You can wear my cloak," he said, gathering
up the clothing he had left beneath the oak where his horse was tethered. "It’s
damp but—"

"I’m surprised you’re allowing me to wear anything
at all," Triona interrupted tartly, dismounting and crossing her arms over
her breasts.

She couldn’t see his expression in the dark, the canopy
of leaves overhead blocking out the moonlight, but she sensed his eyes upon
her. Shivering, she considered darting around the gelding to afford herself
some extra cover. But before she could move, Ronan was walking back toward her,
his silhouette tall and broad and overwhelmingly powerful.

"You truly think I would have done that to you?"

Again she shivered, but this time at the husky anger in
his voice as he drew closer. "Aye, just to teach me another one of your
crude lessons, you would. You’ve deliberately humiliated me before, O’Byrne.
Why should this time be any different?"

"If you’re referring to what I did in Kilkenny,
Triona, it wasn’t meant to embarrass you. But I thought my apology—"

"Convinced me that you were forced to paw at me
like a wild animal? You’ve forgotten that I know you as a liar, O’Byrne. I don’t
trust your apologies any more than I’ve believed any of your fine compliments!
Now I’ll take that cloak. It’s cool out here . . ."

Triona fell silent as Ronan whirled the heavy garment
around her shoulders but instead of letting go, he used it to suddenly draw her
against him. "What—what are you doing?"

"I’ve never wantonly mistreated any woman, Triona."
His voice had grown angrier, huskier. "I’ll not have you saying that when
we return to Glenmalure."

"Al-all right," Triona stammered, the
incredible heat of his body scorching her right through the chain mail. "Mayhap
I spoke too hastily—"

"Aye, you did," Ronan cut in, knowing that he
shouldn’t be holding her so closely but unable to help himself. "If there’s
any lesson to be taught here, it’s that I don’t paw at women," he added
pointedly, his hand sliding between them to cover her breast. "I caress
them . . . like this. . . ."

Triona inhaled in surprise as he gently stroked her,
his warm fingers closing over her roused nipple. Stunned, she thought
immediately to pull away—the spawn!—but the sensation was so wonderful that she
leaned into his touch in spite of herself.

"Do you call this
coarse
,
Triona? Crude?" came his taunting whisper as his hand slid slowly to her
other breast, his circling palm huge and warm and altogether arousing.

"No . . ." she said finally, gasping when he
squeezed her. She went mute, her breath snagged, her body beginning to tremble.

"Aye then, woman, what of this?" Ronan
demanded, laving her lips with his tongue before plunging into her mouth to
savor the sweetness that had haunted him for hours.

He felt her start, but it didn’t take long before she
melted against him as if surrendering to his kiss. He groaned when her tongue
met his and began to tease and cavort, Ronan warning himself through the desire
clouding his brain that this little lesson should go no further. But she was so
warm and willing, he told himself that he would allow himself just this one
kiss, then he would stop.

"Would you say now that my touch offends you,
Triona?" he demanded hoarsely against her wet lips, drawing her even
closer,
his
hands sliding down to cup her taut bottom.
In answer, she moaned softly into his mouth, a low husky sound, a thrilling
sound.

"Can you tell me, then, that you don’t believe me
when I say your lips are the softest I’ve ever known?"

"No, I believe you . . ." Triona whispered
dazedly as his kiss once more deepened, becoming so possessive that she felt as
surely as the other night that he would devour her.