Lords of Ireland II

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  Ronan cursed the unreasoning sense of possession that swept him. By God, it was time he released her! Her closeness was torture, the warmth of her body scorching him through her yellow gown. And the way her generous breasts were pressing tightly against her silk bodice, her nipples hard and roused…

  “Enough,” he muttered, not surprised when Triona met his eyes. His breath caught at the emerald beauty of her gaze. The slow-burning outrage reflected there pained him as he recalled her smile days ago when she’d laughed at the grass on his chin.

  “Talking to yourself, O’Byrne?”

  He frowned, amending, “I meant I’ve carried you far enough.” He set her down carefully, but kept a firm grip on her elbow. “If you find your ankle is paining you, don’t hesitate to lean—”

  “Thank you, but I won’t be needing your assistance,” Triona said tartly, wrenching herself free.

  As the hall doors were thrown open for them, she took a moment to shake out her gown. The skirt was twisted around her hips from the way Ronan had been holding her. Before she even lifted her eyes she knew he was watching her, and when she did look up, the sarcastic remark she’d planned to fling at him was stilled along with her breath.

  Why was he staring at her so? she wondered, his eyes a deep brooding gray. But her heart had no more begun to pound again when Ronan resolutely looked away, gesturing for her to walk in front of him.

  “Tyrant,” she muttered. But he didn’t frown, once more exhibiting the forced patience that she was coming to hate. It couldn’t be more clear to her that he was eager for the O’Nolan to whisk her away to his damned mountains. Ha! Soon Ronan would find he was stuck with her for a while longer.

  “The O’Nolan’s waiting, Triona.”

  “I can well imagine,” she said bitterly, entering the hall with Ronan just behind her.

  The first man she noticed was Niall as he rose from a chair facing the huge hearth. Still dressed in dark riding clothes like Ronan, she imagined they hadn’t been back long at the stronghold and again she felt a rush of fury. Obviously Ronan hadn’t wanted to waste any time before dragging her here to meet his special guest.

  “So where is he—” she began, only to stop dead as a stout, curly bearded man rose beside Niall, a toothy grin splitting his face from ear to ear.

  “That’s the O’Nolan?” As Ronan nodded, Triona thought her stomach might turn over. “But he’s so fat!”

  “Sturdily built, Triona. Healthy as a bull.”

  That comment made her feel sicker. No wonder he’d outlasted three wives, and Ronan wanted her to be this man’s fourth! It was enough to make her retch.

  Triona jumped when the chieftain clapped his beefy hands as if he had spotted his next meal. The next thing she knew he was bearing down upon them, apparently unwilling to wait any longer for them to approach. She practically fell back against Ronan as the O’Nolan stopped right in front of her, planting his big fists on his hips as he looked her up and down.

  “Aye, Ronan, you’re a man of your word. She’s a beauty. And that copper hair! I’ve never seen any brighter. You can come a wee bit closer, Triona. I don’t bite—”

  “But mayhap I do!” She wished her ankle was better so she could have ground her heel into Ronan’s toes for even considering her as a match for this large gray oaf. “And just in case the O’Byrne didn’t inform you, I’ll not be marrying you or anyone else, Taig O’Nolan!”

  The hearty shout of laughter that greeted her declaration took Triona by surprise. For a man supposedly heartbroken over the death of his last wife, he seemed very merry.

  “Aye, you said she was high-spirited, too! Just like my first wife, God keep her.”

  “And you should be ashamed for thinking to wed again after losing your third wife only this past winter!” Triona scolded him. To her relief, the chieftain sobered if only a little.

  “It’s a bit soon, I admit, but I’ve never been one to enjoy living alone. And I’ve a curious affliction. I fall in love a bit too easily. But I’m loyal as a hound once I do, so don’t let that trouble you.” Another wide grin stretched his face, his ruddy features neither handsome nor unattractive but somewhere solidly in between. “You seem like a young woman who’d keep me well entertained, Triona O’Toole. Now come and see what I’ve brought you.”

  Before Triona could protest, her hand was locked in his huge one, but he didn’t drag her across the room as she had feared he might. Instead he seemed most solicitous of her injured ankle, walking slowly with her despite his eagerness to show her his gifts, and even asking her if she wanted a cushion for her foot after she’d sat down.

  To her amazement, she even began to feel a bit guilty for thinking of him so unkindly when he laid two small bundles in her lap, one wrapped in blue silk and the other in purple.

  “I’ve always believed any woman of mine should have pretty things. Especially one as beautiful as you.”

  Although flattered by the sincerity of his compliment—aye, Ronan should take lessons!—Triona shook her head. “I’m not your woman and I don’t want your gifts,” she declared, but not as sharply as she might have a few moments ago. “You’d do better to save them for someone else—”

  “At least open them, Triona.”

  The man looked so damned earnest she couldn’t find it in her heart to refuse him. But she wasn’t going to keep them, whatever they were, she thought determinedly, unwrapping the smallest of the two packages. She would just look at them—

  Triona’s low gasp brought a grin to the chieftain’s face as she held up a delicate gold arm-ring that glittered and sparkled with precious stones of scarlet, green and blue.

  “It’s beautiful,” she murmured, glancing up to find Ronan with the strangest look on his face…almost as if he were somehow displeased with her reaction. As for Niall, he looked both confused and concerned as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

  “I can’t keep this,” she said firmly, as she held out the arm-ring to the O’Nolan. “Besides, I’ve never worn such ornaments.”

  “All the more reason why you must keep it,” the chieftain insisted stubbornly, folding her fingers around his gift. “Now unwrap the other one.”

  Sighing, she did, but she told herself it was only to humor him. And again she gasped as Maire would surely have done when Triona revealed a necklace of glistening pink pearls.

  She thought of yanking it apart right then as her instincts were telling her to do—as Niall was gesturing that she do!—but she had the notion that the O’Nolan would merely laugh, gather the pearls from the floor and present them to her again.

  Damn Ronan for bringing a man to Glenmalure who was just as goodhearted as he had claimed! She wanted no part of this chieftain or his gifts, but neither could she envision herself being deliberately cruel. She wasn’t a banshee!

  Her dilemma only worsened when the feast began a short while later. The hall was filled to capacity with O’Byrnes and O’Nolan clansmen who’d accompanied their chieftain. Maire was there, too, oddly looking as concerned as Niall. They seemed to grow even more concerned as the evening wore on.

  When the mutton soup was passed, Triona could have dumped a steaming bowlful into the O’Nolan’s lap but she didn’t. She could have “accidentally” stabbed his leg with her cutting knife, splashed wine into his beaming face, shrieked in his ear…anything instead of allowing him to serve her himself, always filling her plate with savory morsels before his own.

  Anything instead of finding his lively stories so funny that she laughed until tears came to her eyes.

  Anything instead of being convinced by the end of the night that Taig O’Nolan, chieftain of the Blackstairs O’Nolans, was so kind, attentive and good-humored that it was no wonder his three wives had been happy. But she wasn’t convinced enough to be the next one!

  At last Triona could stand it no longer. Her head spun from searching for a solution.

  It hadn’t helped either that Niall had been staring at her all night as
if trying to tell her something, his frown growing as deep as Ronan’s. And she couldn’t imagine why Ronan was looking so angry when she was behaving so well. It must seem that his matchmaking was proceeding as planned.

  “Forgive me,” she finally interrupted the O’Nolan just as he was about to launch into another tale. “I’m so tired…and my ankle is aching terribly. I’d like to retire—”

  “I’ll help you, Triona,” Niall interjected.

  “Sit, little brother. Keep our guest company while I escort Triona back to her room,” Ronan announced to Triona’s greater astonishment. He’d hardly said a word all night to speak up now?

  She knew he was going to try to convince her to announce a betrothal as he walked her to her room.

  “Actually,” she began, “I’d like the O’Nolan to accompany me.”

  “An honor,” the chieftain enthused, though he seemed concerned by the sudden scowl on Ronan’s face. “Unless you object?”

  “Not at all,” came Ronan’s gruff response. “Your cup will be filled and waiting for your return…which I trust will be soon.”

  Hearing the hard edge to his voice, Triona imagined that was his way of warning her against trying any tricks. How he’d gloat if he knew she hadn’t thought of a single one!

  As she and the chieftain left the hall, Triona managed to catch Aud’s eye. “My maid,” she hastily explained when Aud rose from the servants’ table to walk behind them.

  “Aye, it wouldn’t be proper without her,” the O’Nolan agreed.

  Even now he was only thinking of what was best for her, Triona marveled, aware that a lesser man might have seized an opportunity to be alone.

  Suddenly likening the O’Nolan to her father, she wondered if he might accept that as an excuse for why they couldn’t marry. Surely it wouldn’t be right for her to wed a man that reminded her so strongly of Fineen…

  “I’m only surprised Ronan isn’t following us as well,” the chieftain added, his voice grown philosophic.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Triona stopped to stare at the O’Nolan, confused.

  “I’m sure that Ronan trusts you,” she began. Then, embarrassed, she added, “I mean…that you wouldn’t have—”

  “Taken advantage of you?” the chieftain finished for her, gesturing for Aud to catch up to them. “I may have seen many winters come and go, Triona O’Toole, but that doesn’t mean my blood doesn’t grow warm at the sight of a fine woman like you. But there’s a younger man whose blood is boiling hot as pitch right now, though I doubt he’d ever admit it.”

  “I—I don’t understand—”

  “Ronan. He wasn’t himself tonight, well, not that he hasn’t been the same since…” The O’Nolan didn’t finish, clearing his throat instead before adding, “He’s been scowling all night, not like him at all. Aye, I’m not blind. He may have brought me here to wed you, but it’s clear he wants you for himself. And I’ll not stand in his way.”

  Her heart suddenly pounding, Triona knew she must be gaping at the man.

  Ronan…want her? Of course that couldn’t be true. If he’d been scowling when they’d left the hall, it was only because he probably suspected she had some wild plot brewing.

  “Ronan doesn’t want me!” she finally managed to blurt out even as she realized with horror that the O’Nolan had given her the escape route she needed and now she was refuting him. “At least I don’t think he does,” she quickly amended. “He claims he has no time for a wife.”

  “Aye, so he’s long said. But his words ring false.” Signaling for Aud to come take his place beside Triona, the chieftain said to her, “You’ve a fine mistress here…”

  “Aud, Lord.”

  “Aud, is it? Begorra, now, that was my second wife’s name. I’ve always loved the sound of it.”

  Triona couldn’t believe her ears when Aud actually giggled. And she was looking so queerly at the O’Nolan…

  “T-thank you, Lord. That was very kind of you to say.”

  Triona glanced at the O’Nolan to find him grinning again, and it made her glad that he didn’t seem heartbroken at all that she would not be his bride. In fact, he was fairly beaming at Aud…and in the torchlight, Triona could swear her maid was blushing!

  “Aud, my ankle’s feeling much better. I think I’ll walk the rest of the way by myself. Why don’t you accompany the O’Nolan back to the hall?”

  As if her suggestion had burst a spell, Aud was suddenly at her side, her hands slightly trembling as she took Triona’s arm. “No, no, I’ll help you.”

  “Aye, you shouldn’t be walking alone,” interjected the chieftain, although he sounded disappointed.

  “I’m fine,” Triona insisted, gently breaking free of Aud and walking a few steps just to prove to both of them that she was practically no longer limping. “See?”

  “Are you sure, sweeting?”

  Triona’s answer was to turn back around and keep walking, smiling to herself when a moment later she heard another giggle followed by a burst of robust laughter. She didn’t look over her shoulder until she reached the dwelling-house. By then, there was no sign of Aud or the O’Nolan.

  Triona laughed, suddenly quite pleased with herself. Now she felt like the matchmaker! But it didn’t take her long to sober when she thought of how angry Ronan would be when he learned she’d not be going to Carlow. Yet it was his own fault for scowling so much and giving the O’Nolan the wrong impression!

  She shrugged. Let Ronan do what he would. He was proving his own worst enemy, which was fine with her. At this rate he’d not be done with her until she was ready to leave Glenmalure.

  “Where the devil is he?”

  “You brought the O’Nolan here to woo Triona, brother. Mayhap that’s exactly what he’s doing.”

  Ronan thrust himself back in his chair, bracing his foot on the table as he glared out over the boisterous hall. At first he had attempted to appear unconcerned that the chieftain still hadn’t returned; now nearly a full hour later he could barely contain himself.

  “If you’re implying what I think you are, Niall, then you’re wrong. Triona would never let him near her…at least not so soon.”

  “No? She seemed to enjoy his company well enough tonight, laughing at his stories, eating the food he set on her plate—”

  “Drinking the wine he poured for her.” Maire’s normally sweet voice was edged with a hint of reproach.

  “Aye, so she did,” Niall agreed as he glanced at his sister. “But then, mayhap Ronan didn’t notice—”

  “I noticed.” Seeing Niall’s slow smile—and the curious light in Maire’s eyes—Ronan angrily added, “I noticed that all was going as it should be. If I’m any judge, Taig has found himself another wife.”

  “Then drink with me, brother!” Not smiling any longer, Niall raised his cup. “Your duty to Fineen O’Toole will soon be ended! That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” When Ronan didn’t respond, Niall leaned over in his chair and said in a low aside, “Don’t concern yourself with the O’Nolan’s absence. He and Triona are probably playing chess.”

  Ronan slammed his cup upon the table, scarcely noticing that the hall had suddenly become less noisy. Many of his clansmen turned his way as he rose while Niall looked up at him in mock surprise.

  “You didn’t like my toast?”

  “Stay here with Maire, little brother, and tend to our guests. I don’t want to cause an alarm.”

  “If you’re going to search for the O’Nolan, you might find that he won’t welcome the intrusion.”

  “I’ll take that risk. Better that than to find him dead like Seamus.”

  At least Ronan tried to tell himself that was his reasoning for leaving the hall. Yet something else was driving him, something he didn’t want to name. By God, here he was incredibly hoping that Triona had made some drastic move and he wouldn’t find her with the O’Nolan!

  “Get hold of yourself, man,” Ronan muttered, scanning the darkened yard for any sight of the chieftain.
Surely if his guards had seen anything suspicious, they would have reported to him immediately. And since they hadn’t, the feast continuing undisturbed, that could only mean…

  It seemed Ronan was at Triona’s door in a moment’s time. His jaw tightened painfully as he forced himself to knock rather than kicking it down. No answer came so he knocked again, louder. He heard Conn growling, then a sleepy voice calling, “Aud? Is that you?”

  At least Triona was in her room. But alone?

  Ronan’s breath jammed as he thrust open the door, his eyes adjusting to the faint light cast by a flickering oil lamp. Conn lay on the floor, his tail thunking heavily, while Triona bolted upright in bed, the covers clutched to her breast.

  “Ronan?”

  “Where is he?”

  “Who?”

  “Taig O’Nolan, woman!”

  “Why, in the hall with you…isn’t he?”

  Ronan’s fierce relief was short-lived as fury swept him. “No! He never returned!”

  Triona gasped as Ronan was beside the bed in two strides. Suddenly she was wrenched from beneath the covers to her knees, Ronan’s fingers biting cruelly into her arms.

  “I said the O’Nolan never returned,” he repeated, his voice ominously low. “You will tell me what happened from the moment you left the hall, Triona.” He gave her a rude shake. “Do you hear me?”

  “Nothing happened!”

  “Something did or the O’Nolan would have come back to the hall. Did he try to kiss you? Is that what happened? He tried to kiss you and you somehow retaliated, knocked him over the head, kicked him, punched him—”

  “Why do you care if he kissed me?” Triona demanded, growing furious at his rough handling. “That’s what you would have wanted him to do, isn’t it?”

  “I could not care a whit if he did, I just want to know what happened afterward—”

  “Damn you, O’Byrne! I’ve never been kissed so obviously that didn’t happen, or I’m sure I would have known about it!”