"Ronan, duck!"
Triona released her bowstring at the same moment Ronan fell to his haunches, the Norman’s arrow skimming over his head to embed with a sickening thunk in the wood floor. The Norman wasn’t so fortunate. A terrible gurgling noise came from the man as he clutched at the arrow sticking from his throat. An instant later, he slumped dead over the railing as the women below began to scream at the blood dripping down upon them.
"Out of here! All of you!" Ronan roared to his clansmen, his eyes burning into Triona’s as he straightened. "If that guard escaped our notice, then others could have gone to alert the castle! Move!"
Triona wanted to run, but her feet were stuck to the floor as if in warm pitch. She stared at the Norman, at his thick fingers twitching even in death. She had never before killed a man. Deer, wolves, waterfowl, but no, never a man . . .
She scarcely blinked when Ronan jammed her bow back into its leather case and then swept her into his arms, running with her from the hall. Only when she was hoisted with a jolt onto Ronan’s stallion, Ronan mounting behind her, did she rouse enough to murmur, "Where’s Laeg?"
"Flann has him."
No more was said as Ronan wrapped his arms around her and kicked his horse into a hard gallop. The air was filled with the wild thundering of hooves as threescore O’Byrne clansmen burst through the gates, the night wind whistling around them.
They rode and they rode, for how long Triona couldn’t say. But at last Ronan drew his heaving stallion to a stop, waving his men to continue on without them. Triona reasoned they must be at a safe distance from the manor or else Ronan would never have done such a thing. It was her last thought before she began to retch, Ronan dismounting and dragging her from his horse’s back so she could vomit upon the ground.
When she was finished, she felt weak. She just sat there, doubled over, her forehead on her knees. Until she felt Ronan gently lift her to stand beside him, his arm supporting her around the waist.
"Can you walk, Triona? There’s a stream . . .
She nodded, setting one foot shakily in front of the other as he led her to the water. Then he helped her once more to sit, leaving her for only an instant to soak one end of his cloak before returning to her side.
"Here. This will help."
Triona felt him lift her chin, the wet cloth cool upon her skin as he wiped her forehead, her face, her mouth. Gradually, she began to feel better, except for the pain in her abdomen from retching.
She began to grow embarrassed, too; aye, and angry for reacting as she had . . . more like a Lady Emer than the strong, clearheaded woman she had always prided herself to be. She pushed away from Ronan, imagining he must be gloating. She had fallen apart at that manor, no more able to take care of herself than a mewling kitten.
"There’s no shame in what happened tonight, Triona. Many have suffered so after killing a man . . . some more than others."
Astonished that Ronan could have read her thoughts, Triona was struck, too, by the heaviness in his voice. But instead of being soothed by his words, she bristled.
"I suppose now you’ll suggest that I shouldn’t raid with you anymore since I can’t hold my own—"
"No, I was going to thank you for saving my life."
Struck dumb, Triona could only stare at him, his handsome face half-cloaked in shadow, the moonlight glistening off his midnight hair.
"If you hadn’t reacted so quickly, I would have been dead. You’ve instincts that any man would envy, aye, and an aim as true as I’ve seen."
Triona couldn’t believe her ears. Ronan had complimented her . . . not on her appearance, her eyes, her legs, but on her skill! Her instincts! She was so stunned, she didn’t know what to say. She—
She was being a blessed fool, is what she was being! Triona scolded herself, suddenly understanding exactly what he was doing when Ronan reached out to touch her hair. How could she have so easily forgotten that she couldn’t believe anything he said or did? He was only telling her what he knew she wanted to hear, to trick her, to deceive her. As soon as his warm fingers grazed her cheek she was on her feet and backing away from him.
"I—I’m pleased that I could help, but I would have done the same for any O’Byrne. That Norman just happened to be aiming at you." She turned and pulled herself onto Ronan’s horse. "We should catch up with the others. I’m fine now."
She heard Ronan’s sigh in the darkness as he got up and walked toward her; she held her breath as he mounted behind her and thrust his arms through hers to take the reins. But he said nothing more, their ride a silent one all the way back to Glenmalure.
Chapter 21
RONAN’S WEARINESS WAS great, but it was nothing compared to his frustration. He rolled onto his side and stuffed his pillow beneath his head.
Four damned weeks! Almost an entire month now he had waited for some sign that Triona might be growing more inclined to wed him, certainly twice as long as he had ever intended. But he would swear she was no closer to accepting his offer of marriage than he was to regaining his own bed. By God, and it didn’t help that this was the lumpiest mattress he had ever slept upon!
Ronan thrust himself onto his other side, this time jamming the down pillow against the headboard with such force that tiny white feathers burst from one corner. But he barely noticed them drifting around him, his frustration become like a raging fever.
Aye, even calling for three times as many raids had done him little good!
He had told his men that it was because they might never have a chance at such rich pickings again once King John quashed the rebellion among his subjects and left Eire. Even now the Norman army was still waging battle far to the north while to the south lay countless manors so poorly guarded they were like chickens waiting for the slaughter.
Yet behind that sound explanation lay the fact that he’d wanted to prove to Triona that he meant to stand by his word. And what better way than to raid so often that there had been barely time between to catch a few hours’ sleep before they were up and riding again.
Or so he had thought. But obviously it hadn’t worked for here he was, still sleeping alone while the woman he wanted no doubt hated him as much as before.
Ronan lunged from the bed, cursing his foolishness.
Damn her, he should have forced her to marry him. He would have forced her to marry the O’Nolan if the chieftain had wanted her. So why, then, hadn’t he spared himself this torment?
Ronan thrust his legs into a pair of trousers, giving up for the moment any notion of sleeping. Instead he went outside.
The night was warm. A light breeze ruffled through his hair. He doubted a walk would help, but it was worth a try. He turned and headed away from the dwelling-house where Triona was sleeping—his own damned house!—deciding it was best not to go too near. It was dangerous, given his mood.
"Lord?"
"Aye." Ronan said no more to the guard who’d approached him, pleased to see that his men were being vigilant about their duty.
He walked on, nodding to the clansmen standing at their posts, their numbers doubled of late. It was unlikely that any Normans would dare stray into Glenmalure, the cowards preferring to fight their battles on the open plains. But he and his men—and Triona, had stolen some MacMurrough cattle a week past, and though Ronan was certain much of that traitorous clan had ridden north to join King John, it never hurt to be cautious.
"Brazen wench," he muttered, remembering how fearlessly Triona had plunged Laeg into that herd even as arrows had been flying all around her. Mayhap recklessly was a better word, his gut cramping at the memory.
His concern had hardly lessened over these past weeks, in fact, it had grown worse. Yet time after time, Triona had proven that she could look out for herself as well as his men. He had only to think of how narrowly he had escaped death thanks to her quick instincts to know she had earned her place among them.
Aye, he could not deny it. Triona O’Toole was a wonder, as courageous and adventuresome as any man.
Yet he couldn’t allow her to go on raiding forever. One day there might be children who would need their mother with them. Maybe there was even a babe now. His babe . . .
Ronan’s low oath rent the night silence, his frustration hitting him again with violent force. Deciding that Triona was as much a woman who could drive a man to drunkenness, he turned around and strode for the hall. But he hadn’t gone far when a stirring sound carried to him, lilting and yet huskily soft. He realized it was coming from the stable, dim light shining beneath the doors.
"The woman should be abed," he bit out, though his heart had begun to pound. Wondering what Triona might be up to at this late hour, he drew closer then stopped altogether, listening just outside the doors to the bewitching sound of her singing.
Aud hadn’t exaggerated. Triona had the most beautiful voice he’d ever heard. As her song of ancient heroes spun out into the night, he felt his throat tighten.
Conor’s little sister.
How could he have known this bold hellion would give him hope where only gnawing emptiness had been before? That she could make him feel as if there were a chance the terrible weight he’d carried for so long could be lifted?
Aye, he could still force her to marry him. But what would she think of him then? By God, he didn’t want her hate! He wanted her—
"Is there anything wrong, Lord?"
Ronan swung to face the guard who had come up behind him. "No, nothing. I was listening . . ." He didn’t finish, realizing Triona’s singing had stopped. She must have heard their voices. His voice. Pained, he waved the guard away as he shoved open one of the stable doors.
The interior was full of shadows and warmer than outside, the still air smelling pungently of hay and horses. His gaze immediately went to Laeg, the magnificent animal swinging his great sculpted head to look at him. But Ronan didn’t see Triona, and he guessed she must be hiding. That pained him, too.
He slowly approached Laeg’s stall, searching the shadows, his senses alert for any clues that might give her away. He even stopped twice just to listen. But still he saw nothing, heard nothing. It wasn’t until he was almost to the stall that he caught a flash of movement, lunging just in time to grab the back of her shirt as she darted from behind a stack of hay.
"Let me go! Damn you, let me go!" Triona demanded, flailing her arms wildly and on purpose as she tried to free herself. She felt her fist connect with Ronan’s ribs, his sharp intake making her swing at him all the harder. "I’ll tell the O’Byrne, I will! I’ve a right to be here if I want—"
She gasped as she was suddenly spun around to face him, his hand sweeping the tousled hair out of her eyes. "It’s me, woman! Ronan!"
"What?" She blinked. "I—I thought you were one of the guards come to make me leave the stable." She dropped her gaze to where Ronan was rubbing his side. "Begorra, I hope I didn’t hurt you," she said, feigning dismay.
"Would it have made any difference if you had?"
Triona didn’t answer, disconcerted by the searching look in his eyes as well as the steely pressure of his arm locked around her waist. He was bare-chested, too, a heart-stopping sight she’d only seen a time or two, which didn’t help matters.
Jesu, Mary and Joseph! Here she had managed since that first raid to avoid getting too close to him . . . to avoid being left alone with him only to find herself once more in his damnable embrace. Grateful when he released her, she immediately went to Laeg’s stall, putting a good safe distance between them.
"If you were worried about the guards finding you then you shouldn’t have been singing."
Triona shrugged as she picked up a brush and set once more to grooming Laeg’s back. "It wasn’t that loud."
"Mayhap not but it carried all the same. And fair singing it was, too. The prettiest I’ve ever heard."
Triona’s hand fell still for a moment. An unexpected compliment. She flushed to her toes, wishing in spite of herself that he might have meant it.
"You’re up late tonight," she said stiffly. "I would have thought you’d gone to bed hours ago."
"I could say the same for you, Triona."
Bristling, she glanced over at him. He’d come no closer, but now he was leaning against a timber support post, his arms folded over his chest swelling all too noticeably with hard muscle. He looked to her annoyance as if he fully intended to stay.
"You gave me the right to do as I wish, did you not?"
"Aye, four weeks ago."
Though his expression had hardly changed, Triona felt her cheeks begin to burn. "Has it been that long?" she said lightly, hoping to cover her sudden nervousness. "We’ve been so busy raiding that it’s been hard to keep track of the days—"
"I haven’t lost track."
This statement was more vehement than his last. Triona braced herself for the worst. Now it seemed the freedom she had been flaunting in front of him had forced his true colors after all.
"You must know by now if you’re with child."
The brush fell still again as she stared at Ronan, but not because she was surprised by his words. It was the way he’d said them. His voice had softened, almost as if he were hoping . . .
"I’m not," she said bluntly, angry with herself for even thinking that he might have wanted there to be a babe between them.
"You’re sure?"
"Of course I’m sure! My proof came two weeks’ past—" She didn’t elaborate, blushing.
"You could have told me sooner, Triona."
Incredibly, the man sounded wounded that she’d failed to share with him what to her had been a relief—which made little sense. She had actually avoided saying anything to postpone a disagreeable confrontation for as long as possible, but there seemed no way to dodge it now.
"Aye, I’ll admit I should have said something, but it’s not as if we’ve ever had much chance to talk with all the raiding . . ." She didn’t go on, deciding she’d explained herself enough as she resumed grooming her horse.
Ronan, however, was stunned.
By God, had he heard correctly? Was she trying to tell him that she might have liked to spend time with him rather than raiding so much? If that was true, maybe these past weeks had helped to soften her hatred after all. Even a little would be a start.
"Have you decided where we’re riding next?" Triona asked. "We’ll be staying in Glenmalure for a few days. My men need time with their families."
"Aye, poor Flann’s been complaining that his wife will soon forget his name if he doesn’t get a few nights at home with her."
As she smiled to herself, Ronan envied that one of his men had conjured what he had done so rarely. But more and more, he was taking heart. "So you don’t object?" he said softly.
"Why should I?" Deciding that Ronan was looking at her very strangely, Triona did her best to keep focused upon her task. "Everyone could well use the rest. And mayhap when we’re ready to ride again, we could head for Kildare. Surely we can think of a way to rout the men who stayed behind to protect de Roche’s castle."
"Mayhap, Triona. We’ll talk of it tomorrow."
She was astonished that Ronan was willing to discuss something that he had determined weeks ago to be far too risky. Yet nothing could have surprised her more than what he suggested next.
"Mayhap you might enjoy some hunting later in the morning? Wild boar? You could join me if you like."
"I’d rather not," she began, not wanting to go anywhere alone with him. But before she could utter another word, she was taunted by his sudden challenge.
"Don’t tell me you’re afraid I could do better than you."
"Better? You don’t even wield a bow, O’Byrne. How could you ever hope to best me?"
His expression momentarily darkened, but then he shrugged. "Join me and find out."
He was gone from the stable before she could answer, leaving Triona to wonder what the devil he might be up to now.
Chapter 22
"HOW MUCH LONGER will you play this spiteful game, sweeting? To my mind, w
e should have left weeks ago if you’ve no intention of marrying the O’Byrne."
"It’s not a game, Aud," Triona said tersely, fastening her leather belt around her waist. She glanced over her shoulder to where her maid was plumping a pillow with extra vigor this morning. "And I don’t see what I’ve been doing as spiteful. I’m teaching Ronan a lesson, is all."
"And why, might I ask" Because the man chose to do the honorable thing in saying he’d wed you?"
"No, because he damn well deserves it!" Triona rounded upon the older woman, exasperated. "He deserves it for lying to me!"
"But I’ve seen no evidence that he’s lying about letting you do as you like—"
"How could you when you’ve been defending him since the word marriage first tumbled from his mouth? It’s blinded you, Aud. I remember when you told me you’d never defend him again after he lied to me that first time. For days you had nothing good to say about him—even calling him a beast!"
Aud sighed, but she didn’t look at all daunted. "Aye, that name would have justly suited him if he’d come to say he still planned to force some man upon you. Or if he’d forced you to wed him. But there’s been no forcing of any kind, sweeting. None at all. I have to tell you I’ve been wondering if you might have even exaggerated about that night—"
"I never said he forced me," Triona cut in, her face growing uncomfortably warm.
"No, that’s true. Just that he took advantage of you."
"Which he did! One moment he was gathering up some clothes for me to wear, then the next he was . . ." She blushed in earnest now, the warmth spreading like wildfire throughout her body. "It all happened so fast . . . too fast. There wasn’t anything I could do."
"Aye, I suppose not."
Triona stared incredulously at Aud, not liking at all her dry tone.
"There wasn’t, Aud."
"I believe you, sweeting."
Then why was Aud fighting hard not to smile? Triona observed indignantly. "He’s much bigger than me."
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