Wild Angel (30 page)

"You don’t have to explain things to me, sweeting,
I can well imagine what’s happened," Aud said, not budging from the front
door. "I’m just glad to see that you’ve finally come to your senses about
the O’Byrne. You want the man, don’t you?"

Already halfway to her room, Triona spun. "How . .
. ?"

Aud’s soft chuckle came to her from the threshold.
"You forget I’ve known you since you were a wee babe, Triona O’Toole. Not
much escapes your Aud. Now on with you and get your things whilst I go pack you
some food."

After throwing Aud a smile, Triona did as she was bade,
her nervousness returning with a vengeance as she passed Ronan’s room. One
glimpse at that huge bed and she bolted for her door, her face burning hot as
flame.

Chapter 26

"MORE WINE, RONAN?"

Ronan didn’t have to answer, Taig O’Nolan seeing to it
that his cup was refilled to the brim. And it wasn’t just any cup either, but a
huge silver chalice that matched the one in Taig’s beefy hand.

Stolen from a wealthy Norman merchant, the chieftain
had informed him proudly. Sizeable enough for brave thirsts, and in the
morning, monstrous headaches. But the morning was still a long way off and
Ronan planned to make damned good use of his cup before the night was done.
Draining it in two drafts, he
thunked
the empty vessel
onto the table.

"At that rate we’ll soon be carrying you to your
bed," Taig said, the concern in his eyes belying his grin. Gesturing for a
servant to pour Ronan more wine, he added, "Aye, but mayhap that would be
a good thing. At least you’d get some sleep. I have to say, Ronan O’Byrne, you’ve
looked better."

"Felt better, too," Ronan said tightly,
surprised that his words weren’t slurred. Nor was the wine having much effect
on the pain gnawing at his gut. But give him time. He shoved away his untouched
plate and took another long draft.

"Aye, man, drink up. Food won’t help what ails
you."

Nothing could help what ailed him, Ronan thought
bitterly, glancing around a packed hall that had yet to show any signs of
blurring. Even drinking himself into the ground would only prove a temporary
solution. Come morning, he would be hit again by the realization that Triona
would soon be leaving him forever.

"Good riddance to her," Ronan muttered
vehemently, the boisterous clamor drowning out his words.

And pity the O’Nolan who would soon have that
coldhearted chit under his roof. The chieftain had readily agreed to take
Triona into his care, though Ronan suspected it was more that Taig was eager to
see Aud again. The O’Nolan had asked after Aud before Ronan even had a chance
to say why he’d come to Carlow.

Then the O’Nolan had tried to convince him to give
Triona a little more time to come around to the idea of marrying him. A little
more time!

To torture himself?

To torture her, when she clearly wanted nothing to do
with him? She might as well have cut out his beating heart and thrown it into
the fire, so fierce was her contempt. And after he had laid himself open to her
as he had done to no other. . .

Grimacing at the pain cramping his insides, Ronan made
short work of emptying the chalice. Taig, meanwhile, seemed deep in
conversation with a clansman who’d suddenly come up to him. Ronan took it upon
himself to shout for wine. And this time his words were slurred a bit, which
perversely pleased him.

"More guests?" he bit off to the servant who
hurried to fill his cup, Ronan noting that several places were hastily being
set along the table. As the woman nodded, he realized that the O’Nolan had
risen from his chair.

"Ah . . . Ronan."

He turned, puzzled by the curious expression on Taig’s
face. The stout Irishman looked highly distracted, almost as if he didn’t know
whether to grin or frown.

"If I’ve given offense by ordering my own wine—"

"No, no, no offense was taken. We’ve visitors,
Ronan."

"So I gathered," he said, his voice grown
dark with sarcasm.

"You might do well to warn them that I’m not the
best of company this night."

"Mayhap they’re already aware—" Taig didn’t
finish, saying simply as he left the table, "I must greet them."

Ronan focused back on his cup, wondering at the O’Nolan’s
cryptic words. Who might already be aware?

A sudden giggling nearby made Ronan raise his head, his
gaze falling upon a pretty blond serving girl who was whispering to another servant.
She giggled again when she realized he was staring at her, her cheeks reddening
at his attention. But she soon looked crestfallen when he looked away, her
high-pitched tittering annoying him.

Instead he found himself longing for another woman’s
soft, husky laughter, though he’d heard it far too rarely. And not the sight of
blond hair but bright copper red, riotous with curls, and eyes as emerald green
as Eire itself.

"Damnit, man, it’s done!" he raged to
himself, remembering how Triona had merely stared at him last night as he
waited for what had seemed a lifetime for her to answer. Waiting as all hope
within him died.

Feeling suddenly as if he couldn’t breathe, Ronan
lurched to his feet, the overheated hall grown close and stuffy. Or maybe the
copious wine he’d drunk was finally affecting him, his vision grown blurred. He
needed fresh air. Aye, that would help him.

Ronan half stumbled in his haste to leave the table,
but fortunately few seemed to have noticed as he made his way out of the hall.
He knew it had been a sound move as soon as the balmy night air hit his face.
Leaning his shoulder against the timber wall, he drank in deep breaths.

"Brother?"

Ronan spun so fast that the world swayed around him,
but nothing could have brought things more sharply into focus than the sight
that greeted him. Astonished, he gaped at Niall, who was flanked by the O’Nolan
on one side and Triona on the other, her eyes large and luminous in the
torchlight.

"What in blazes . . . ?"

"Our visitors," Taig began, but Ronan didn’t
let him utter another word, bitterly exploding.

"So you couldn’t wait until I got back to tell you
the fine news, could you, Triona? You had to pull it out of my all too
unsuspecting brother and then demand that he bring you here at once. Well, enjoy
your new home! The O’Nolan is more than happy to have you—ah, and don’t worry
that your father won’t be avenged. I honor my obligations—"

"Ronan, enough," Niall interjected. "If
you’d only take a moment to hear what Triona has to say—"

"We haven’t a damned thing to say to each other."
Ronan roughly brushed past Niall when his brother made a move to block him. "By
the way, little brother, there’s plenty of good wine left in the hall. I didn’t
drink it all."

"I fear he’s drunk," Taig murmured as Triona
watched Ronan disappear into the shadows, his vehement verbal attack confirming
the mounting nervousness she’d felt during the entire journey.

"Aye, I’ve never seen him like this before,"
Niall said, sounding shaken. "Ronan’s never been one to drown himself in
drink, even after Conor—"

"It’s my fault," Taig broke in. "I
encouraged him. I thought it might help—at least tonight . . ."

"You’re a good-hearted man, Taig O’Nolan, and this
isn’t your fault," Triona tried to reassure him. "It’s my fault. I’m
the only one who can mend this mess."

"Not now you won’t," Niall objected, grabbing
her arm as she started to go after Ronan. "He’s furious and drunk, Triona,
you heard the O’Nolan. You’d do better to wait until morning when Ronan’s more
likely to listen to reason—"

"I can’t wait, Niall! If he’s sotted, it’s because
I drove him to it. I must try to talk to him."

Triona twisted away from Niall before he could reply,
Taig firmly admonishing him as she hurried across the sloping yard.

"Let her go, man! Can’t you see she’s right? There’s
nothing else you and I can do."

Triona heard no more. The moon was full and
bright,
lending ample light, but her spirits began to sag
when she saw no sign of Ronan. Stupidly she’d failed to ask where he’d be
sleeping the night, but she couldn’t go back to the hall. Niall might again try
to stop her—

Triona gasped as someone suddenly grabbed her and
pulled her into the shadows. Strong fingers funneled through her hair to yank
her head back as she was enveloped in a steely embrace.

"So you’re following me, woman? Come to taunt me
further with your adder’s tongue?"

"Ronan," she rasped, feeling as if her hair
might be pulled from its roots. "Please . . ."

To her relief, he eased his fierce hold but only
slightly, his hot wine-scented breath fanning her face.

"Keep away from me, Triona. Do you hear? Go back
to the hall and drink a fine toast that you’re finally free of me and the oath
I should
never
have sworn."

He thrust her away from him so roughly that she fell to
the ground with a sharp intake of breath, and this time, he made no motion to
help her to rise. Instead he stepped over her sprawled legs, staggering a
little as he strode into the moonlight.

"Oh no, you won’t, Ronan O’Byrne," Triona
muttered, picking herself up and setting out after him. "You’re not going
to chase me away that easily."

She kept well to the shadows as she followed him,
surprised when instead of turning into one of the dwelling-houses along the
way,
he made his way to the stable.

Was he thinking of riding back to Glenmalure?
she
wondered as he disappeared inside the gabled building,
slamming the door behind him.

Triona suspected as much when she eased open the door
and peeked around it. Ronan was fumbling with a bridle that, in his inebriated
state, he couldn’t seem to untangle. If the situation weren’t so grave, she
might have giggled. Truly, he looked so frustrated. Her heart going out to him,
she slipped through the door.

"Do you need some help?"

She’d clearly startled him because he dropped the
bridle into a ripe pile of horse dung, his fierce oath ringing from the
rafters.

"By God, woman, I told you to go back to the hall!"

She shrugged, imagining it would only infuriate him
further but unable to help herself. "There’s nothing in the hall that
interests me. I’d rather be with you."

Again she seemed to have caught him off guard as he
stared at her for a moment, but in the next instant his eyes narrowed
suspiciously. "You’re a coldhearted wench, Triona O’Toole. Always eager to
twist the knife deeper. But you’ll forgive me if I don’t stay to humor you."

As he turned to wrest another bridle from the wall,
nearly staggering into another smelly dung pile, Triona ventured closer.

"Going riding?"

"No, I plan to flail myself with the thing!"
he shouted as he rounded on her, his handsome face a mask of fury. "I was
only—"

"Of course I’m going riding, woman. To get as far
away as I can from you! At least you’ve saved me the task of escorting you here
to Carlow, and for that, you’ve my thanks!"

Stung, Triona nonetheless remained undaunted. "You’re
hardly in any shape to stand let alone ride, Ronan. Mayhap if you sat down for
a while, we could talk."

Again he seemed taken by surprise, but it was
short-lived.

"We’ve nothing to discuss," he said in a
voice grown so low that it seemed strikingly more ominous than his belligerent
ranting. "As I told you to stay well away from me, Triona. I’ve no stomach
any longer for your spiteful tricks or accusations."

"What if I haven’t come to accuse?" she
asked, stubbornly standing her ground no matter that his eyes were blazing into
hers like silver fury. "What if I told you that I’ve come to apologize? I
wanted to last night, but you were so angry. I’ve been wrong about Conor. To
blame you, I mean. I can see now how much you’ve suffered. And—and I don’t hate
you, Ronan."

He gave no answer, a muscle flashing at his jaw. Taking
that as a much hoped for cue he might be ready to listen, Triona opened her
mouth to say more only to have him suddenly lunge for her. She stumbled
backward in surprise, but there was nowhere for her to go as she crashed up
against a stall. The next thing she knew she was pinned there by the shoulders,
Ronan’s face mere inches from her own.

"You don’t listen to warnings, do you? You persist
in torturing me, taunting me—"

"It was no taunt!" His grip hurting her,
Triona tried to twist free. "Niall was right! You’re too drunk to listen
to reason. But like a fool I said I couldn’t wait—"

"No, you couldn’t wait to show me one last time
how much you truly despise me. Well, go on, then! You have my full attention—as
much as a goodly intake of wine will allow, and I’m within range as I’m sure
you wanted. Scream your taunts in my ear, stomp on my toes, strike me, slap me
like the wild hellion you are, but have done, woman, and then leave me in
peace!"

As Ronan released her shoulders, Triona wasted no time.
She rose on tiptoes and Ronan seemed to brace himself, but his eyes widened
when she flung her arms around his neck.

"So now you’re going to throttle—"

He was silenced as she pressed her lips against his,
hoping desperately that if he wouldn’t listen to her words at least he would
understand her kiss. She exulted when his arms flew around her to crush her
body against him, a ragged groan breaking from his throat. But when he lifted
his mouth from hers, breathless moments later,
his
eyes held even more pain.

"Witch. I should have known you’d strike at me
with the cruelest trick of all. To tease me so wantonly with what I can never
call my own . . ."

Triona was stunned, tears leaping to her eyes. "You
. . . you think I’m just playing some spiteful game?" She was so hurt that
now she did try to stomp on his toes, but before she could prove successful he’d
swept her into his arms. "No, let me down! Coming here was a mistake. Let
me down!"