Wild Angel (46 page)

"Aye, you look like Eva" —a small smile came
to his lips— "except for your wild hair. For that you’ve my mother to blame,
though as I recall, your father Richard’s hair bore some red as well." He
sobered then, glancing to where Maurice was scowling at his captors before
looking back at Triona. "We’ve some business with King John, though you
and Ronan can leave at once for Glenmalure if you’ve a mind to—"

"I haven’t come all this way not to see that spawn
pay for his crimes," Triona broke in, warmed when Ronan reached out to
squeeze her hand. "Maurice de Roche not only murdered my true father and
caused my mother’s death, but he and his kind struck down the man who reared me
as his own daughter."

"Lies, all of it!" Maurice shouted, only to
have a sword pressed to his throat to silence him.

"King John will determine your guilt or innocence,"
Donal MacMurrough muttered, his eyes narrowed with fury. He turned to Triona. "I’d
prefer if you and Caitlin ride near the back where it’s safe."

"Near the back?" Triona blurted, bristling. "I’ll
ride at the front, Uncle, with the man I plan to marry when all this is done!"

"Aye, you’re a stubborn one, just like your
mother," Donal observed dryly though his gaze softened as he glanced at
Caitlin. "I fear it’s rubbed off on my daughter as well. She refused to
stay home, insisting she ride to Dublin, too."

Triona shot a smile at Caitlin, a warm look passing
between them that clearly meant no apologies were needed. But in the next
moment, Ronan was leading her to his horse; he mounted and held out his hand to
her. Yet first Triona went up to Maurice, who’d been hauled to his feet, his
guards keeping him well subdued. As she rested her dagger point against his
belly, he glared at her with impotent rage.

"I wish you had moved so I could stick my mother’s
knife in your throat," she said icily. "But no matter. If your King
John is just, you’ll soon be rotting in hell."

Maurice couldn’t answer, a sword blade resting beneath
his Adam’s apple. Satisfied for the moment, Triona sheathed her weapon and
returned to Ronan.

"Begorra, woman, if glances could kill we’d have
just won our vengeance," he murmured, hoisting her up in front of him. He
clasped her close as their huge entourage set out down the street, Maurice de
Roche being driven on foot toward the castle gates followed by three hundred
grim-faced Irishmen.

It must have been an astonishing sight because the
guards fell back without any protest, recognizing Donal MacMurrough at their
lead. Word of their approach reached the hall well before their arrival, King
John and his courtiers awaiting them outside the massive stone building.

Triona was amazed by the Norman king’s small stature,
most of his mailed knights towering above him. Surely he stood no more than
half a head above
herself
, with dark hair worn long to
the neck, his rather ordinary face sporting a moustache and trim beard. But if
he appeared unassuming, he more than made up for it with his thunderous
countenance. King John looked furious.

"You herd one of my most loyal barons before me
like a sheep, Donal MacMurrough?"

"For good reason, my lord. There are serious
crimes to be stated against him—"

"Aye, he’s a murderer!" Triona shouted,
sliding from Ronan’s horse to stand beside her uncle. "He slew his own
brother Richard de Roche of Naas to lay claim to his land and title."

"And who are you, young woman?" the king
demanded.

"Triona O’Toole, daughter of Richard and his wife,
Eva MacMurrough."

"And who is that?" the king added when Ronan
dismounted as well to stand at Triona’s side.

"Black O’Byrne, the devil!" a portly knight
interjected, pushing forward from the throng. "He and his foul band of
rebels robbed me blind last year . . . holding me at sword point in my own tub!
I’d never forget that face."

"So they’ve done to me!" another knight
shouted. "While we were north these past weeks fighting at your side, my
lord king. Harrying south Leinster they’ve been, the thieving bastards, when
there were few at home to defend against it!"

At that, a great rumbling went up from the crowd,
several Normans pulling their swords. But King John waved for silence, his
expression all the darker as he addressed Donal MacMurrough.

"One of the most powerful chieftains in Leinster
riding side-by-side with rebels? The very man whom I’ve always trusted and
counted upon to keep the allegiance of his people firmly with the Crown?"

"My allegiance has not been swayed, my lord. But
Ronan O’Byrne and I share a like cause—to protect the only child of my sister,
Eva. And it was that man" —he pointed at Maurice— "who hounded my
poor sister to her death twenty years past and who would have murdered her
child had he found her! He might have done so today, too, if Triona hadn’t
known how to wield a knife!"

"Lies!" Maurice countered heatedly, but King
John waved him, too, into silence.

"Your elder brother, Richard, was long a friend to
me ere I knew you," he said grimly to the outraged baron. "I will
hear a full accounting of this matter from Donal MacMurrough."

As the chieftain obliged him, Triona felt Ronan squeeze
her fingers reassuringly. Mayhap they could hope that justice would be served
this day.

But as if sensing that the tide was turning against him
just by the king’s ominous expression alone, Maurice barely waited for Donal
MacMurrough to finish before roaring, "A judicial trial of combat will
prove my innocence!" He fixed his dark burning eyes upon Triona,
demanding, "Choose a champion, wench, for it is your right as my first
accuser."

Everything was happening so fast that Triona had no
sooner looked to Donal for counsel when Ronan’s voice rang out. "I will
fight him."

"No!" she cried, grabbing his arm. But Ronan
shook his head.

"I promised you vengeance, Triona—"

"So let it begin," King John suddenly
announced, his eyes shifting to the silk-clad officials at his side who nodded
solemnly. "I see no better solution for this prickly matter of word
against word."

"No, there has to be another way!" Triona
lashed out at him even as Donal threw her a cautioning look. "You’re only
allowing this because you hope that Ronan will fall, not your loyal baron!"

"God will defend the right," King John said
cryptically, waving for the battle to begin. And he’d barely done so before
Maurice flew at Ronan, drawing his sword so violently from its sheath that the
metal sang.

Courtiers,
knights
and
Irishmen alike scattered out of the way, Donal wrenching Triona to his side.
She watched in horror as Ronan dodged the first blow, his sword still lodged in
his belt. But he managed to pull out the weapon before the second blow came,
the heavy Norman sword hitting his much lighter Irish sword with an ominous
ring.

"It’s not a fair fight," Triona breathed, her
eyes wide as Ronan barely ducked in time to save his skull. "Ronan’s
weapon is no match—"

"Have faith in the man you will wed, Triona O’Toole,"
Donal chastened her, his voice low. "The O’Byrne has at least ten years on
de Roche. The baron will tire—"

Triona’s gasp cut him off, her stomach flipping as
Ronan continued to dodge and parry blow after vicious blow, Maurice’s enraged
roars rending the air.

"You call this a fight, Black O’Byrne? You
sidestep like a frightened ferret looking for its hole!"

"If anyone should crawl into a hole, it’s you, de
Roche," came Ronan’s taunting reply. "Like the evil serpent you are!"

Cursing at the insult, Maurice intensified his attack.
Triona watched with mounting alarm as Ronan was driven back farther and farther
until he came up hard against one of the castle’s defensive walls.

Above him, Norman guards jeered and spat from their
high walkway, Ronan ducking and twisting away just as Maurice struck the wall
where his head had been an instant before. But the worst came when Ronan was
forced to retreat through the doorway leading into a great round tower, Maurice
disappearing after him.

"No, this must stop!" Triona shouted, but
Donal held on to her tightly, whispering into her ear.

"Think, Triona! The O’Byrne knows what he’s about!
What better way to exhaust a foe laden with chain mail than to wage an upward
battle around a staircase?"

She couldn’t reply, her throat
so
tight as she waited to catch a glimpse of Ronan at the top of the tower that
she could hardly breathe. She could hear the muffled ringing of swords, at
least that being a hopeful sign that Ronan hadn’t fallen. But she nearly choked
when he finally appeared on the walkway, a bright red slash across his left
arm.

And still Maurice attacked on the offensive, though he
was showing signs of tiring just as Donal had said. His labored breathing and
broken curses could be heard over the hushed yard, all necks craned as the
battle raged atop the walkway.

It was then Triona spied two de Roche knights slipping
into an opposite tower, the bastards obviously fearing for their lord’s life.
Yet she had no sooner grabbed Donal’s arm to tell him when another man appeared
at the top of the tower, Triona’s eyes flaring when she recognized William.
Crouching in the doorway, he looked down at King John as if for a signal. Then
he rose swiftly, aiming a spear right at Ronan’s back.

"Oh God, no!" Horrified, Triona wrenched
herself free of Donal’s grip. "Ronan, behind you! Look out behind you!"

Chapter 42

HE MUST HAVE heard her for in the next
instant,
Ronan lunged into a gap between the battlements as
the spear hurtled past him to strike Maurice. The baron’s high-pitched death
scream sent chills plummeting down Triona’s spine. Clutching wildly at the
shaft protruding from his chest, Maurice pitched from the walkway to the ground
below, his body landing with a sickening thud.

Silence reigned for the longest moment, everyone
appearing as if in shock. But Triona had never known such relief as she raced
to the tower to meet Ronan when he exited the doorway.

"Your arm . . ." she murmured, blanching at
the blood oozing from the gash through his clothing.

"It would have been far worse, woman, if not for
those fine lungs of yours." His breathing hard, sweat dripping from his
face, Ronan still managed to give her a smile. "Your dream was wrong. You
were able to help me after all—"

"Seize the O’Byrne rebel!"

As the king’s furious command echoed around the yard,
Triona looked unbelievingly at Ronan. But she had no chance to say a word as a
dozen Norman guards suddenly descended upon them. Triona was shoved roughly out
of the way as Ronan was overpowered despite his fierce struggling.

"What . . . what is this?" she cried, rushing
to Donal who appeared just as stunned as she. Instead her answer came from King
John, his decree directed to everyone though he glared at Triona.

"You’ve won your justice, young woman, and now I
will have mine. I declare Ronan Black O’Byrne a traitor to the Crown and hereby
condemn him to hang!"

"No!"

The roar had come from Donal MacMurrough. All eyes
turned to the chieftain as he drew his sword, the loud buzz that had greeted
the king’s pronouncement swiftly become a shocked hush. Every MacMurrough and O’Byrne
likewise drew his weapon, their grim faces now turned to the irate king.

"You raise your sword against me, Donal of Ferns?"

"Aye, my lord king, in this matter I do. Ronan O’Byrne
and his clansmen came into the city under my protection, and so they will
leave. Rebel or no, the man is the betrothed of my niece. She loves him and,
therefore, I stand with him this day. If you proceed, you will fight all of us."

Triona had never seen so many gaping mouths, the king’s
courtiers
and officials taking a few steps backward as
if ready to lift their fine silk tunics and run like rabbits. Meanwhile, every
Norman knight drew his sword, clearly eager for a fight. Several began to close
ranks around the king to protect him. But King John waved them back, a dark
brow lifting shrewdly at Donal MacMurrough.

"You’ve always served me loyally, Donal of Ferns.
Always striven to help maintain order in this unruly land, especially among
your people."

"I have, sire."

"And you give me your oath that your fealty will
continue, no matter this" —he glanced with distaste at Ronan— "unpleasant
dispute?"

"I do, sire."

"Very well. I renounce my sentence of death upon
the rebel Black O’Byrne and grant him safe conduct from the city. But I vow,"
King John added swiftly, fixing a warning gaze upon Ronan as his captors
reluctantly released him, "that if you’re ever caught raiding against my
vassals, you
will
hang." The
king then turned his eyes to Triona, who raised her chin and stared back at him
though she wanted nothing more than to run to Ronan.

"You’re aware, young woman, that you now are the
heiress to one of my richest fiefs?"

"Aye."

"Then you can understand if I say you will lose
all rights to the land if you marry this man. I’ll not have an Irish rebel as
lord of Naas."

"Aye, I understand, so you might as well find some
other de Roche to take it off my hands." That said
,
Triona couldn’t hold herself back any longer. She ran to Ronan and flung her
arms around his neck. "I’d trade all of Eire to become the bride of Black
O’Byrne," she announced for everyone to hear, smiling into Ronan’s eyes as
he embraced her. "My only regret is that I can’t give back to him the
lands which are rightfully his."

"Enough!" King John shouted, outraged by
Triona’s defiance. "Take these rebels from Dublin at once, Donal
MacMurrough, or I promise I’ll hang them all!"