Wild Angel (13 page)

Her heart racing, she snatched up the dagger and the
splintered piece of wood, doing her best to replace them before hastily setting
the chest back on top of the stack. Then she plopped down on the nearest chair,
waiting nervously for Ronan to explode into the room.

Except he never did. The footsteps stopped just outside
her door, no sound coming at all for the longest moment.

A moment in which she realized with the most unsettling
stab of disappointment that Ronan must truly be anxious to see her wedded if
his newfound patience could stretch this far. Well, fine with him! She’d be
gone from Glenmalure soon enough, but not before she’d turned that midnight
dark hair of his a nice shade of gray!

As he retreated toward his own room, Triona vaulted
from the chair, startling Maeve who yowled and disappeared back beneath the
bed. Ronan was just shutting his door when she knocked boldly, lifting her chin
as he pulled it open.

"You and I must talk, O’Byrne—" She stopped,
a smile spreading across her face in spite of herself, a giggle welling in her
throat.

"Something amuses you?" Ronan asked tightly,
wrestling all over again with barely controlled anger that still threatened to
explode. By God, turning away from her door had been hard enough without her
coming now to taunt him!

"I-it’s your chin," she said, clearly trying
not to laugh. "There’s grass . . ."

She couldn’t go on, her husky giggles overwhelming her
as Ronan swiped his hand along his jawline. But he must have missed the grass
because she only laughed harder.

"However did you . . .?"

"Your damned horse nearly trampled me." Ronan
took another swipe at himself, exhaling heavily when Triona merely shook her
head and grinned as she pointed now to the left side of his face. "At
least I didn’t end up with a mouthful of din."

This comment brought forth a fresh peal of laughter.
Ronan was amazed to feel his irritation subsiding.

If he had thought Triona beautiful when angry, words
couldn’t describe how lovely she appeared when smiling, her incredible green
eyes alight as he’d never seen them. Recalling all too vividly the enticing
feel of her in his arms, he wondered what she might have done if he had kissed
her, something he had been more than tempted to do—

"Here, let me get it."

Ronan started when Triona’s fingers brushed across his
cheek, her unexpected touch arousing within him a longing as acute as any he’d
known. Without thinking, he took a step toward her only to have her retreat in
surprise, her smile gone,
her
eyes suddenly wary.

"I was only going to return the favor," he
said quickly, more stung by her wariness than he wished to admit. Reaching out,
he gently pulled a golden wisp of straw from her hair and handed it to her. "There
are a few more—"

"Aud can help me later," she cut him off,
jerking her head away. Her tone was no longer light but as determined as it had
been when she first knocked upon his door. "We must talk."

"So you said." Ronan turned and walked back
into his room.

Her reaction to his embrace had convinced him to stay
his course, though he had burned to throw her over his knee for knocking him
from his horse. Convinced him, too, that the sooner he calmed her fears about
marriage, the better. He wanted her gone from here . . . especially now that he
knew part of him—insanely enough—was beginning to want her to stay.

"Come and sit down," he said as he poured two
cups of scarlet-colored wine.

"I’d rather stand." Triona did not want to
step any farther into his room than she must. Her heart was still racing from a
moment ago; she couldn’t believe how easily she’d lost sight of why she’d come
to speak to him. And all because of a wee bit of grass!

"Suit yourself, but you must want something to
drink." He walked over to her and handed her a cup before she could decline.
"I know I do. There’s nothing like a good stretch of the legs to build up
a man’s thirst."

She met his eyes and saw no humor there, only a look as
wry as his tone. Then he left her, sinking into a chair placed at the foot of
the bed and stretching his long legs in front of him.

She took a sip, before blurting, "My things came
today from Imaal—"

"So Niall told me. Arrived just after we left for
our ride . . . or should I say, race."

"Aye, well, it’s made me think about my father—"

"As I imagined it would."

"Are you going to stop interrupting me?" she
demanded, propping her fist on her hip.

This time Triona swore she saw amusement lighting his
eyes. She took another steadying sip of wine as he nodded an apology and
gestured for her to continue.

"Very well, then. I came to ask you what’s being
done to avenge my father."

"Everything that can be done, for now."

Vexed as much as unsatisfied with his terse answer,
Triona said sarcastically, "And how shall I interpret that bounty of news?"

Ronan gave a low sigh of exasperation. "I already
swore that Baron de Roche of Naas would pay for your father’s death. That
should be enough for you—"

"It’s not enough!" Triona forgot she held a
cup of wine as she rushed farther into the room, spilling some. Yet she paid
little heed to the dampness now soaking her gown. "He was my father, O’Byrne!
Aye, mayhap not of blood but I knew no other. Damn you, I loved him! Surely
that should warrant some consideration from you!"

As the room fell silent, Triona could not tell from
Ronan’s stem expression if he was going to answer her or not. But when he
sighed again, this time resignedly, she knew she had swayed him.

"Men have been sent north to Kildare to keep watch
and ask questions of the tenants who work the baron’s land."

The bitterness in Ronan’s voice was understandable. The
fertile plains Baron de Roche claimed had once belonged to the O’Byrnes. "What
kind of questions?" she asked in a quieter tone.

"About the baron’s comings and goings. It is my
plan to capture him by surprise, but with as few of his knights around him as
possible. I’ll not have any unnecessary shedding of my people’s blood, none if
I can prevent it."

"And after you capture him?"

"He will hang."

Triona exhaled with impatience, wondering how long it
would take for Ronan’s men to return. A few days? A week or more?

"Surely there must be a quicker way," she
murmured half to herself. She lifted her gaze to find Ronan watching her
closely. "The plan I had in mind was for some kind of ruse, something to
draw that bastard from his castle. What if a fire was started in the fields, or
an outbuilding set ablaze?"

"Such a commotion would only draw much of his
force with him. There is an order to these things, Triona. Recklessness only
breeds injury" —he paused, his jaw growing tight— "or worse. I told
you I’d not needlessly risk my men’s lives."

"But you wouldn’t have to! All it would take is
one well-aimed—" Seeing Ronan lean forward in his chair, Triona abruptly
fell silent, biting her tongue.

Jesu,
Mary
and Joseph! Was she
mad? She had nearly given away the heart of her plan.

"You’re right, of course," she amended
hastily, backing herself out of the room. "I wouldn’t want any O’Byrne’s
death added to my father’s." She glanced down with feigned dismay at her
gown. "I should go . . . take a bath, I mean. I must look a sight . . .
smell horrible, too. Horses, spilt wine . . . aye, and straw in my hair—"

"Aye, you’re indeed a sight," Ronan
interrupted, rising from his chair. "Even if you went to supper just as
you are, Triona O’Toole, you’d still outshine any other woman there."

Triona was so startled by his unexpected compliment
that she backed right into the door.

"Th-that’s very kind of you to say . . ." she
began lamely, unable to wrest her eyes from his as he walked toward her. "Not
kind at all. It’s the truth—"

"Sweeting, they’re coming with your bathwater. Are
you still dressed so I can let them in to fill the . . . Triona? Triona, where
are you?"

"In here, Aud!" Triona gestured over her
shoulder as she blurted to Ronan, "I—I should go."

And she did, flying out the door and past a wide-eyed Aud
into the safety of her own room.

Chapter 11

TRIONA DIDN’T ATTEND supper. Not after she heard from
Aud that the O’Toole clansmen who’d brought her belongings to Glenmalure would
be at the feasting-hall. Ronan had invited them to stay the night.

She didn’t want those O’Tooles to see her. She could
just imagine how Murchertach would gloat if he discovered she had been reduced
to wearing gowns, just as she imagined Ronan would boast to his astonished
guests that his firm hand had forced her compliance. But there would be no
boasting or gloating because she wasn’t stepping foot from this room until the
O’Tooles left for Imaal.

So after her bath—made more pleasant, she had to admit,
by some violet-scented soaps Maire had sent—Triona sent Aud to the hall with
her excuses, instructing her to tell Ronan that she had retired for the night,
simply too tired even to eat. Of course, that could be a problem because she
was starving, her belly alive with grumbling noises. But one night without food
was not a tragedy.

Besides, it would help keep her mind clear and she
needed to think, Triona told herself as she doused every lamp save the one by
her bed. After giving a drowsy-looking Conn a fond pat on the head, she climbed
under the covers. Maeve, already curled into a tight white ball atop the other
pillow, didn’t so much as twitch a muscle as Triona made
herself
comfortable, propping her arm beneath her head.

She still couldn’t believe how flustered she’d become
by Ronan’s bold compliments. Aye, she could have kicked herself when she got
back to her room. Of course he didn’t mean any of those fine flattering words.
So why couldn’t she just ignore them instead of becoming all quivery inside, or
worse yet, gaping at him like a landed fish?

"Must be those damned eyes of his," she
muttered, yanking the covers over her breasts. Gray as twilight but with a hard
glint of silver in them. Any woman might find them compelling. Certainly enough
of them had back in Imaal.

A soft rap at the door made Triona grip the covers
tightly. Conn perked up his ears as he growled low in his throat. But both she
and the wolfhound relaxed when Aud peeked inside the room.

"I saw your light and thought you might still be
awake, sweeting. I brought you some bread."

"Oh, Aud, you’ve saved my life!" Triona
eagerly threw back the covers as her maid hastened to the bed. "You must
have heard my stomach growling all the way to the hall."

"Well, not that far, but I can hear it rumbling now.
Here you go, and a nice wedge of cheese, too. It’s all I could grab from the
servants’ table without the O’Byrne noticing."

Triona bit hungrily into the crusty bread, asking with
her mouth full, "He was watching you?"

"I think so. Especially since I’d told him you
were too tired to eat. From the look he gave me, I’m not sure if he believed
me." Aud’s plain face lit into a smile. "But then again, he probably
thinks he has good cause to be wary. I imagine he hasn’t forgotten how I
defended your fine singing."

Triona smiled, too, smugly remembering.

"Oh, aye. Those O’Tooles were sitting right beside
him, sweeting, just as you expected."

Snorting in comment, Triona split the pungent yellow
cheese in half and tossed a chunk to Conn. "Poor dog. He won’t get a proper
supper tonight, either."

"Don’t be worrying about Conn," Aud said with
a chuckle. "He was feasting well enough when I went to the kitchen to see
about some hot water for your bath. That cook Seamus has taken quite a liking
to him, which is a wonder. He’s a grouchy one, always complaining about this
pain or that, either his heart or his innards. Doesn’t seem to like much of
anything save for food and from the looks of him, he’s eaten more than his fair
share."

"I wish you’d told me Conn had made such friends
with the cook before I’d given him half my supper," Triona said, reaching
down to rub behind Conn’s ear.

"I could try to get you some more—"

"No, Aud, I was only jesting." Triona tore
off another chunk of bread and popped it into her mouth.

"Well then, I suppose I’ll head for my room and
slip into a warm bed myself—"

"No, no, wait! I’ve something to show you first."
Hoisting her white linen sleeping gown above her knees, Triona climbed out of
bed and ran across the room. "I accidentally knocked over this chest and
guess what fell out of the bottom? A false bottom, Aud!"

"A trinket?" Aud ventured uncertainly as
Triona ran back to the bed with one of her hands behind her back. "Some
coins?"

"No, something better. Look!"

Producing the dagger, Triona was so fascinated by the
bloodred rubies and crystalline diamonds glittering round the silver hilt that
she didn’t notice Aud had turned very pale.

"Beautiful, isn’t it? I haven’t been able to place
the design. I’ve never seen anything to match it. But that hardly matters. I
couldn’t have found it at a better time, especially since Ronan has locked away
my bowcase. I only wonder why my father hid the dagger . . . but mayhap because
it looks to be so costly—" Triona stopped, realizing that Aud had remained
oddly silent. "Aud? Is something wrong?"

"Wrong?" As if snapping out of a daze, Aud
shook her dark head. "No, nothing at all, sweeting . . . just a little
tired—"

"But you seemed fine a moment ago," Triona
interrupted, growing concerned. "You look so wan all of a sudden. Are you
not feeling well?"

"I told you I’m tired, Triona O’Toole, and there’s
nothing more to it than that!"