Wild Angel (7 page)

Understanding dawned as brimming buckets were emptied
into the tub, Triona walking backward from Ronan in disbelief. "You can’t
be meaning to . . . to make me . . ."

"Exactly, Triona. I sent these women to assist you
at your bath and I intend to stand here and see that they do. And if by some
foolishness you still insist upon defying me,
then
be
warned that I’m prepared to see to the chore myself."

Her jaw dropped. Glancing around her in desperation,
she saw to her dismay that Niall had vanished. Oddly, knowing she was alone
helped her to recover herself and bolster her courage. Aye, there were more
than a few ways to taunt this overbearing lout.

"Very well, if you insist," she said
pleasantly, fighting the urge to grin at the wary surprise in Ronan’s eyes.
After tugging off her leather shoes, she rolled up one trouser leg and dipped
her big toe into the water. "Hmmm, just right. I’ve always loved cold
baths. Just like swimming naked in the lough."

With that she shrugged out of her jerkin, her action
greeted by shocked gasps from the maidservants as they glanced from Ronan to
Triona.

She set to work at her trousers, undaunted. Keeping her
eyes trained boldly upon Ronan, she dropped her belt to the oak floor with a
plunk, and once again the women gasped, their faces turning bright red with
embarrassment.

"May I ask you something?" Triona said, Ronan’s
resolute stare making her feel suddenly quite nervous as she began to slip her
trousers over her hips. Thankfully her shirt was long and afforded her some
cover, but when Ronan’s gaze traveled with her trousers down her legs, she felt
a bewildering flush of heat from her scalp to her toes.

Damn him, was he really going to watch her then? She
would have thought he’d have left once she had proved she would honor his
command. But he looked as if he had no intention of leaving. As he continued to
stare at her, she began to feel even more flustered and unsure of herself.

"I said may I ask you—"

"I heard you the first time," Ronan
interrupted, although in truth it was impossible to concentrate on anything
being said with Triona stripping to the skin right in front of him.

He had thought himself provoked enough to make good on
his threat, but now his anger was being replaced by something far more potent.
It didn’t help either that with her jerkin
gone,
her
hardened nipples could plainly be seen beneath her shirt as well as the
tantalizing outline of her breasts . . . high and saucy, and generous enough to
fill a man’s hands . . .

A sudden splash jolted his gaze back to Triona’s face
as she sank with a sharp gasp into the tub, her trousers pooled on the floor
where she had stepped out of them. Her eyes were very wide as she worked at the
single tie at her throat with trembling fingers, the lower sodden half of her
shirt floating around her.

"You can see that I intend to bathe," she
said in a small voice that he’d never heard from her before. "But I’m not
used to having so many servants around me. Is it possible that Aud . . .?"

"I will consider it. And the return of your pets.
But the door will remain locked until all six points we discussed earlier are
satisfied. I will be obeyed, Triona. I think you can see that now."

She nodded, her hands gripping the sides of the tub.
Then, as she inhaled raggedly, her beautiful eyes growing even wider, she
started to lift her dripping shirt over her head. Ronan felt his body grow
rigid as first her narrow waist was revealed, her bare flesh the color of sweet
cream . . . then the lushly rounded undersides of her breasts.

"I’ll see you at supper," was all he could
manage before he turned and abruptly left the room, slamming the door shut
behind him.

Triona slowly dropped her shirt as the key scraped in
the lock. Her hands shaking uncontrollably, her flesh puckered with goose bumps
that had nothing to do with the cold water, she waited until Ronan’s footsteps
had receded before uttering a blistering oath that made the servants gasp in
shock all over again.

Chapter 6

"AH, SWEETING, YOU look so lovely! Like an angel!"

"Mayhap, Aud, but I feel like I’m being smothered,"
Triona grumbled as she entered the noisy feasting-hall, her loyal maid waiting
by the doors to greet her. She tugged at the green silk sheathing her hips. "Ronan’s
sister must be thin as a pole—either that or I’ve forgotten just how confining
these miserable things can be."

"You didn’t like the last gown you wore either,"
Aud said with a wry shake of her head. "And that was ten years past. I can
still see you stomping into the house, your gown ripped from hem to thigh to
make room for your legs, and then you standing there and swearing you’d never
wear another. The O’Toole was laughing and Lady Alice was arguing. . ."

"Until you spoke up like the good-hearted soul you’ve
always been and offered to stitch me a pair of trousers," said Triona,
remembering her elation when Lady Alice had thrown up her hands in defeat. "That
put an end to the matter quick enough."

"Aye, your good mother lost all control of you
then. After that, you were your father’s daughter through and through."

Triona didn’t reply, the fond recollection vanishing
when she suddenly noticed the clansmen who’d escorted her to the hall had
positioned themselves at the entrance. She glared at the two men and they
stared stonily back, crossing their arms over their chests.

Obviously Ronan expected she might try to retire
without his sainted permission, she thought irritably as she moved with Aud
away from the doors. "Are these O’Byrnes treating you well?" she
asked, concerned.

"Aye, well enough. They gave me my own sleeping
room in the servants’ house and then sent me straight to work in the kitchen.
But I’d rather be mending your clothes than chopping onions and turnips. I’d
like to be with you, sweeting."

"So you shall," Triona muttered though she
plastered a smile upon her face just for Ronan’s benefit.

She could see him now at the head table, Niall seated
to his left and an empty place at his right, and she could feel his eyes upon
her like a disconcerting weight. Already he was watching her, searching for any
hint of defiance.

But he’d see none tonight, at least not what he
expected. She wanted that damned door left unlocked and the freedom to move
about the stronghold at will. So for now, let him think that his rude bullying
had left her more inclined to obey him . . . no matter how much it galled her.

"Come on, Aud. You’re sitting next to me."
Triona took her maid’s bony arm but to her surprise Aud held back, her large
dark eyes doubtful.

"I don’t know if I should, sweeting. I want you to
find a good husband, I’ve made no secret of that, but I’ve been thinking since
we arrived and I don’t like that the O’Byrne might force some man upon you.
Your father wanted him to give you a home and protect you, not marry you off
against your will! If I go up to that table, I might just tell him so!"

Amazed by this show of temper in a woman usually so
good-natured, Triona gave her maid’s narrow shoulders a reassuring squeeze. "Dearest
Aud. Don’t worry that Ronan will have his way. He won’t, you know. If there’s a
husband for me, I’ll find him myself."

"
Aye,
and you won’t hear
me defending him again, not after he hoisted you over his shoulders as if you
were a sack of corn and not the daughter of Fineen O’Toole!"

Aud was right. Ronan wasn’t just a murderer and a liar,
but a damned tyrant. That was clear enough from the way he’d forced
himself
into her room and demanded that she bathe right in
front of him. And how dare he insist that she conform to his bloodless idea of
the proper Irish maiden? She wasn’t wax to be twisted and pulled into any shape
he fancied.

"I’ll show him a proper maiden," Triona
groused through clenched teeth, nodding for Aud to follow her. Aye, when she
was done with Ronan, he’d wish he had never heard of Lady Emer and her six
precious gifts.

That thought made it easier for Triona to smile; as
demurely as she could she proceeded to the main table with her head slightly
bowed.

She could feel everyone watching her—clansmen, wives,
their children—all conversation momentarily suspended except for an occasional
chuckle or whispered aside. Imagining that talk had flown about Ronan’s
humiliating treatment of her, she couldn’t wait to give these O’Byrnes
something to really set their tongues wagging.

But not yet, she told herself firmly. Ronan rose and
came around the table to meet her. Amazingly enough, he had traded his black
devil’s garb for more festive wear. In fact, she wasn’t prepared for how
handsome he looked in a tunic as deep blue as the Irish
sea
,
the color accentuating the steely gray of his eyes.

She wasn’t prepared either for the familiar way his
gaze moved over her . . . as if now he somehow knew her better. Vividly those
heart-pounding moments in her room came back to her, the way he’d watched her
every movement as she undressed, how breathless she had become, how strange she
had felt

"I see you chose to honor my command. Very wise."

Startled from her thoughts, Triona followed his gaze to
her gown. How he must be gloating! Drawing a quick breath, she met his eyes,
grateful for the arrogance in his tone. That proved more steadying than
anything he could have said. "You approve?" she asked softly, fearing
if she spoke any louder she’d scream.

Ronan ran his eyes over her again, thoughtfully.

If he had thought a maiden’s garb would suit her, he
could never have imagined how much. The shimmering emerald silk seemed woven
just for her, the rich jewel-like color making her hair shine redder, her fair
skin appear much more flawless, her stunning eyes that much greener.

Eyes whose mood did not match her carefully composed
expression. Her resentment was clear and put him on his guard. He was not fool
enough to believe that this hoyden would bend so easily to his will. Far from
it. He’d heard the scathing curse that she had flung at him from the tub.

"Approve?" he echoed grimly. "My
approval will be won when you accept the husband I choose for you. Now come.
You’ve delayed our meal long enough."

Feeling her tense as he took her arm, Ronan knew she
had been tempted to resist him. But she quickly collected herself, asking in a
tone that this time held an undeniable edge, "Is there room enough for
Aud? She’s more a beloved aunt to me than a servant."

"Very well, she can sit beside you."

Anything to preserve some peace, Ronan told himself as
he led Triona to her chair, Aud following behind. And if the talkative maid
lent him some more useful information about his unpredictable charge, so much
the—

"Oh . . . oh, no!"

"What the devil . . .?" Ronan caught Triona
just as she stumbled forward, grabbing her around the waist and hauling her
against him. Looking down into her flushed face, he fought the urge to embrace
her more tightly, her silk-clad body seductively warm and soft.

"I—I must have tripped," Triona lied,
disconcerted by the strength of Ronan’s arms. She had planned to fall flat on
her face. Still determined to appear the clumsiest maiden in the land—so
awkward and ungainly that no man would ever want her—she took a step backward
in such a way that she trounced soundly on Ronan’s toes. She had to fight not
to smile when his startled expletive rose to the very rafters.

"By God, woman, watch what you’re doing!"

"It’s the gown! My foot is caught in the hem!"
she cried as she feigned losing her balance once more, twisting at the waist so
suddenly that her elbow jabbed him right in the ribs. As he exhaled in pain,
she blurted in hasty apology, "Oh dear, I’m so sorry. Wearing a long skirt
isn’t anything like trousers. I can hardly move."

"So stand still!"

Triona froze, her ears ringing from his command, his
grip bruising as he righted her. Yet any discomfort she felt at that moment was
worth it. Ronan looked so exasperated that she was tempted to laugh. Delighted
with her performance, she lowered her head so she wouldn’t give her scheme
away.

"Sit down. Carefully."

As she did what she was told, she caught Niall’s amused
wink out of the corner of her eye. She winked back as Ronan retook his seat,
then
she sighed loudly as if thoroughly disgusted with
herself for creating such a scene. Lifting her eyes to look out across the huge
room, she realized from all the stunned faces that she had indeed fooled them
all, heightening her sense of satisfaction.

"Don’t think this incident has changed my mind,"
Ronan added with finality. "You’ll grow used to wearing gowns soon enough."

When goats fly,
Triona thought smugly to herself as Ronan gestured for the servants to begin
carrying in the meal.

"You may keep that gown, if you’d like," a
sweet sounding voice said. "I think it looks far better on you than it
could ever look on me."

Triona turned, focusing for the first time on the pale
lovely girl seated next to Niall. She guessed at once that this must be Maire
from her thick midnight tresses and gray eyes, so like Ronan’s. Triona
suspected, too, that she and Maire must be very close in age. Yet there all
similarity ended. Triona had always prided herself upon being healthy as a
horse, but this poor girl looked fragile enough to break.

"I hope you’ll keep the others, too." A
delicate smile curved lips the color of faded pink roses as Maire glanced
fondly at her two older brothers and then back to Triona. "Ronan and Niall
spoil me overmuch with so many gowns. I really don’t need them."

Triona wanted to spout that she didn’t need them
either, but the offer had been made so generously, so graciously, she
refrained. "You’re very kind."