Wild Angel (21 page)

And she found she wanted to be devoured, opening her mouth
to him as hungrily as he delved his tongue inside to taste her. Her hands moved
with
a wildness
over his chest, her palms, her
fingertips pressing urgently against cold hard metal as that same burst of heat
suddenly overwhelmed her, driving her to cling to him as if his very nearness
could answer the incredible craving building inside her.

Just one more
caress!
Ronan warned himself again when her arms flew unexpectedly round
his neck to hold him tight. Just once more to feel the silky splendor of her skin,
its softness, its tantalizing
curves
and hollows. Then
he would stop! By God, he would stop!

Ronan slipped his hands between them and worked
feverishly at her leather belt until it dropped with a thud at their feet. Then
he was sliding her torn trousers from her hips, the garment no sooner pooling
around her ankles before he lifted her and crushed her lithe body against him.
She felt like flame in his arms, her skin so sleek, so hot . . .

Suddenly something snapped inside Ronan, a great
shuddering coming from deep within him as he carried her out from beneath the
tree and into the moonlight.

He wanted to see her, to see all of her. He pulled the
cloak from her shoulders and flung it out over the ground. Her body was creamy
white perfection as he knelt and laid her down, the lush triangle at the crown
of her thighs and the deep hue of her nipples the only contrast to her fair
coloring.

"If I said I’ve never seen a woman as beautiful as
you, would you believe me, Triona?" he demanded hoarsely, bending over her
to capture a hard swollen peak in his mouth.

She couldn’t answer, her back arching as his tongue
swirled round and round her nipple, his hands sweeping over her body as if he
wanted to touch every inch of her. But she froze when his strong fingers found
the place where she was burning . . . where that same insistent tug had become
an ache like nothing she had ever known.

"Ronan!"

Her wild impassioned cry was answered as his powerful
body came down upon hers, the smooth links of his mailshirt pressing into her
breasts as his fingers slipped deeply inside her and then out again, teasing
and circling until she thought she’d go mad. From some distant dizzying place
she heard him groan, felt his weight lift from her for only an instant, then
his hips settled heavily over hers once more, his knee spreading her legs wide.

But it wasn’t his fingers that returned to torment her.
She gasped as a hard bulging heat suddenly thrust into her flesh . . . crying
out when she felt a blistering pain.

"Oh God, Triona," Ronan said hoarsely, her
outburst shattering the haze that gripped him. But he couldn’t stop the fierce
pounding of his blood, his loins,
his
heart any more
than he could undo the damage already done. Instead he thrust inside her more
deeply, commanding in a ragged whisper as she cried out again, "Do what I
do, Triona! I promise . . . it will ease the pain."

Desperately she obeyed him, meeting his quickening
thrusts with her own as his body seemed to expand to an even greater fullness
inside her. And she had no sooner begun to do so than the sharp stinging
swiftly receded, becoming no more than a wisp of memory and then, not even that
as a sensation far more compelling overwhelmed her.

It was both heat and fire, that mysterious ache growing
so powerful she was trembling to her toes. She threw her arms around Ronan’s
broad back and held on to him, certain if she didn’t she would die right then
from the sheer intensity of her pleasure.

And when he suddenly tensed, his body growing rigid but
for the fierce throbbing at the very core of her, she thrust her hips upward
one last time, crying out at the glorious height of her climax.

Crying out Ronan’s name until his mouth captured hers .
. . her ecstasy echoing all around them.

Chapter 18

BUT RONAN DIDN’T kiss her long. When he lifted his head
a moment later, his sated body still buried inside her, the full weight of what
he had done hit him more forcefully than any blow.

It must have struck Triona, too, for suddenly she grew
very still beneath him, her eyes large dark pools in the moonlight as she
stared up at him. It seemed as if she were waiting for him to speak with held
breath. But he had no words to express the depths of his sudden self-loathing.

By God, he was her guardian! Sworn to protect her!
Instead he had ravaged her, stealing not just an embrace, a kiss, a caress, but
the one thing that should have been reserved for her husband. Muttering a low
curse, he withdrew from the tight sheath of her body and rolled from her,
adjusting his trousers as he rose to his feet.

Triona was stunned, watching him. She felt like
bursting into tears. "So your little lesson is over?" she asked
bitterly, feeling more crushed than she could have ever imagined. He had left
her so quickly. If she had dared to hope for even an instant that what had
happened so unexpectedly between them might mean he truly wanted her for
himself after all, she knew now that she was wrong.

Triona yanked the cloak around her naked body when
Ronan made no reply, flinging at him as he went to collect the horses, "I
suppose you’ll want me to keep silent about this deed as well! We can’t have
the next man you bring to Glenmalure thinking that his intended bride is
damaged goods!"

"There won’t be a next man," Ronan muttered
far too low for Triona to hear, the pain in her voice making him that much more
furious with himself.

If she had disliked him before, she must hate him now.
He wasn’t so deluded to think that she would have given herself to him if he
had granted her a choice. Instead he’d forced himself upon her so suddenly that
she had had no chance to protest.

"Damn you, O’Byrne, I can’t find my trousers!"

Hearing her frustrated tears, Ronan wanted to go to her
and crush her in his arms. But certain that would be the last thing she wanted
from him, he swiftly found her belt and trousers and took them to her, not
surprised when she snatched the clothing out of his hand.

"You blackhearted spawn! Of course you would know
right where to find my things since you’re the one who stripped them from me!"

He said nothing, returning to the horses. Nor did he
say a word when she approached, swathed in his heavy cloak.

She asked him for no assistance as she mounted the
gelding and he didn’t offer to help her, knowing that he would be refused. Nor
did she wait for him as he mounted beside her, but kicked her horse into a
gallop.

He had been expecting as much, deciding it was a very
good thing he carried her dagger in his belt. He caught up with her on his
superior animal and took the lead. If she had the dagger, he knew he might very
well have found the blade sticking in his back.

***

"No wonder she was so quiet when you returned to
the camp. The ride home, too. So what are you going to do with her now,
brother?"

Ronan stared into the flames, his throat so tight that he
could barely swallow his ale.

He had asked himself that same question all the way
back to Glenmalure, Triona’s sullen silence haunting him every interminable
mile. Even when they had arrived at the stronghold, the warm midday sun already
high above the mountains, she had refused to say a word to him or anyone else.
Instead she had headed straight for her room while Ronan had gone to the hall,
a grim-faced Niall striding after him.

"Ronan?"

Exhaling heavily, he met Niall’s eyes. "She’ll be
welcome at the convent in Glendalough. I plan to escort her there in the
morning."

"A convent?" Clearly stunned, Niall leaned
across the table. "This is madness! First you tried to foist her off on
the O’Nolan and now you want to exile her. By God, brother, why won’t you just
admit that what happened was because you want Triona? At the very least you
should be offering to marry her—"

Ronan slammed his fist down so hard that the female
servant stoking the fire jumped, dropping the poker with a clatter to the
floor.

"Marry the woman, Niall? Against her will? That’s
the only way I’d ever have her now, and I’d say I’ve already made her life
enough of a hell. At least in Glendalough she’ll be safe and still have exactly
what she wants, to remain unmarried and . . . to be far away from me."

As the hall fell silent, Niall stared at him with
amazement. "What in blazes are you gaping at?" Ronan demanded. "So
you have considered marrying her."

Ronan snorted. "That surprises you? Do you think I’m
some kind of a callous lout? It was my first thought after—" He didn’t
finish, staring into the flames again.

Nothing was said for a long moment until Niall gave a
low whistle. "Begorra, brother, there’s hope for you yet. I was beginning
to believe the day would never come, but that damned guilt of yours is finally
loosening its devil’s hold. Triona’s broken through, hasn’t she? You’re smitten
with her."

Ronan looked up to find Niall grinning from ear to ear
as if quite pleased with
himself
.

"Smitten? I recognize my responsibility if that’s
what you’re implying."

"Oh aye, your responsibility. I suppose we can
call it that until you’re ready to admit you’re as entitled to some happiness
as anyone else. So why, then, are you sitting here talking about taking Triona
to a convent when what you really think you should do is wed her?"

Again Ronan’s fist hit the table, his roar filling the
hall.

"Damn you, Niall, didn’t you hear me? I already
told you she’d never marry me willingly—"

"And reasoning with her hasn’t helped you in the
past? Or have you forgotten how you persuaded her to come to Glenmalure in the
first place? You accomplished that feat easily enough."

Ronan lunged from his chair so suddenly that the poor
serving woman stoking the fire whirled in surprise. But Niall didn’t appear at
all startled, his grin grew all the wider.

"In
a hurry
, brother?"

Ronan didn’t bother to answer, nor did he turn around
when Niall shouted across the hall after him, "If I were you, I’d say
nothing about any convent. It’s just one less choice to give her!"

Ronan didn’t need the advice. He’d already decided that
he would offer no choice at all.

***

just
think what she could do
to frustrate him before she left Glenmalure altogether. Triona laid her head
against the tub’s hard rim, willing herself to relax. But if the steamy
bathwater was proving a balm for her aching muscles, it was doing nothing to
improve her mood. She felt as tightly strung as a bow. It wasn’t helping either
that Aud was hovering over her, clucking her tongue indignantly.

"Look at those scratches on your skin! He’s a
beast is what he is! Saved you from that Baron de Roche only to . . . to—"

"I already told you they’re not scratches, Aud."
Exhaling heavily, Triona sank farther into the tub. "They’re red marks
from his damned mailshirt."

"Scratches, red marks, it makes no difference to
me, Triona O’Toole! They shouldn’t be there!"

"But they are, and there isn’t anything I can do
to change that except wait for them to fade."

"
Aye,
and I’m glad that
we won’t be waiting here! I’m just sorry that it took something like this to
make you come to your senses, sweeting. Sorry more than I can say."

"That makes two of us," Triona muttered as
Aud went to the clothes chest and pulled out a sleeping gown. Aud had already
insisted a half dozen times that Triona should at least try to rest after
riding all night, but right now she was no closer to wanting to sleep than
being able to relax.

She already knew that Ronan wasn’t resting. Aud had
just checked and informed her that his room was still empty. No doubt he was at
the feasting-hall, downing ale and wondering who among his clan alliances
wouldn’t mind wedding a tarnished bride. But they’d find no bride waiting at
Glenmalure. She and Aud and all of her pets would be leaving this wretched
place as soon as Ronan and his men rode out on their next raid.

Triona hoped that blessed opportunity would come
tomorrow. She couldn’t bear the thought that she and Ronan would be sleeping
tonight under the same roof after . . .

She splashed water on her face, but it did little to cool
the sudden flaring of her cheeks. Nor did it chase away the heated memories,
making her swear once more that there couldn’t be a bigger fool anywhere in
Eire than her.

How could she have surrendered to Ronan so wantonly? It
wasn’t as if she cared about him—impossible thought! Knowing what he had done
to her brother, how could she? And he certainly didn’t care about her.

"Someone’s coming, sweeting."

Someone? Triona knew immediately it was Ronan,
recognizing those determined footfalls. "My robe, Aud. I don’t want to be
sitting here like a turtle in this tub!"

She had no sooner risen and wrapped the garment around
her, the light wool sticking to her skin since she’d had no chance to dry
herself, when Ronan knocked heavily. She nodded, imagining her eyes were as
wide as Aud’s as her maid went to open the door.

Her heart was hammering, too, breathlessness,
panic
and fury seizing her all at once. She pressed her hand
to her breast to steady herself, lifting her chin.

Yet no amount of steadying could have eased her hurt
when Ronan suddenly was facing her. It was almost as if she were reliving how
wretched she’d felt when he rolled from her so abruptly, refusing even to speak
to her. She had to fight hard to keep tears from blurring her eyes.