A roar of outrage suddenly carried to them from downstairs, Ronan once more shoving Triona toward the window.
“But we’ll break our necks!”
“You’d rather stay here to see them stretched?”
Triona gulped as she looked down at the street. “All right, all right, then, I’ll do it!”
“You never had a choice, woman.”
Ronan grabbed her beneath the arms and swung her feet first through the window, lowering her as far as he could before he let go. Triona had no chance to shriek before she landed hard on her bottom, dazed yet unharmed. Clutching her shredded shirt to her breasts, she scrambled out of the way just as Ronan leapt from the window, landing on his haunches beside her.
“Is there a fire?” blurted a startled passerby.
Ronan ignored the shocked stares all around him and helped Triona to her feet.
“God’s blood, man, why else do you think we jumped?” he answered, giving his best imitation of a Norman accent. He was pleased when his announcement sent people screaming in all directions for water, the ensuing confusion providing the perfect cover.
Triona, however, appeared astounded, her eyes very round as Ronan swept her into his arms. “Where did you learn—”
“Later.” It took only a quick glance around him for Ronan to realize the “borrowed” steed he had ridden into Kilkenny must have been taken to the stable. There was no time to retrieve the animal. Instead he held Triona close and ran toward the alley that he’d spied her hurrying from earlier, ruefully wishing he’d been close enough then, to grab her. But at least her horse was still tethered where she’d left him.
“But, Ronan, how did you know—”
“I said later, woman!” He lifted her onto the gelding’s back and mounted behind her. “Hold on!”
They burst from the alley at a full gallop, veering down an opposite street and away from the bedlam in front of the public house. To Triona it seemed only an instant had passed before they were almost to the town gates. She tensed when she saw that the well-armed guard had more than tripled.
“Jesu, Mary and Joseph, they’ll surely stop us!”
“A mailed knight?”
“But you’re riding without a saddle, Ronan. They’ll know you’re Irish!”
“Not if you fight me.” He jerked her closer, her bottom wedged between his hard thighs. “Not if you scream. That’s what these raping dogs are more than accustomed to hearing from Irish women.”
Triona began to struggle but it was difficult since she was also trying to hold onto her clothing.
“Not good enough, Triona. You’ll have to do better if we’re going to distract them.”
She gasped as Ronan suddenly wrenched away the remnants of her shirt and flung the tattered garment into the air. But she screamed in outrage when his hand went for the waist of her trousers, fighting him in earnest as she heard an ominous ripping sound.
“You—you spawn! I’ll have no clothes left! No, damn you! No…!”
She had never felt so humiliated as they thundered past the guards, all of them gaping at her bobbing breasts. Gaping with eyes full of lust as Ronan groped her, her indignant screams only making the guards laugh uproariously and elbow each other.
But as soon as they were safely past the gates and careening out into the dark night, Ronan wound his arms tightly around her, murmuring in her ear, “Forgive me, Triona.”
It was enough to stop the hot tears welling in her eyes, the sincerity of his apology striking her more deeply than she could have imagined possible. And the incredible warmth of his arms kept her from trembling though the night was cool, the air still smelling of rain and wet earth.
They rode silently for long moments, the lights of the town fading behind them. At last it seemed as if the nightmare of Kilkenny was only that, a bad dream, and one which she knew could have been far worse if Ronan hadn’t found her. He must have read her thoughts. Again he spoke in her ear, slowing their mount to a trot so she could hear him. “You saw de Roche?”
“Aye.” She shuddered, remembering the man’s harsh laughter. “At least from a distance. I only wish the place hadn’t been so dark so I could have taken a good look at his face.”
“And you had hoped to fell him with this dagger?”
Triona was stunned when Ronan pulled the weapon from his belt, the rubies and diamonds sparkling brilliantly in the moonlight. “I thought I’d lost it downstairs in the public house. Where did you—”
“In the bed.” He shoved the dagger back into his belt. “I spied it just before I jumped from the window.”
She fell silent, her cheeks burning as she remembered all too well what they’d done in that bed. Suddenly she felt that same disconcerting tug deep down below her belly, and she quickly forced herself to focus upon another sensation, the smooth chain mail rubbing against her bare back. But before she could ask where he’d gotten it, Ronan once again seemed to have read her mind.
“A few miles outside of Kilkenny—we’re almost to the place now, I came across a drunken knight wandering lost who was only too willing to exchange his life for his horse and armor. He’d come to join his king, or so he said right before he passed out, the old fool.”
“You let him live?”
“Aye. I’m not one to kill defenseless men, Triona. And if I hadn’t come across him as I did, things would have gone far differently for you tonight. While you somehow stumbled upon de Roche, I was taken for a knight and directed straight to where he was lodging—”
“With that fine Norman accent of yours,” Triona cut him off, growing irritated by his lecturing tone. “I’m surprised that you would stoop so low as to imitate your hated enemy.”
“It has served me well on more than one occasion, woman, even saved my life.” His arms tightened punishingly around her. “And to answer your earlier question, it was Seamus who taught me. He’d spent so many years among Normans that he could speak like one himself. But of course, neither of us can thank him now for what ultimately saved your life, can we?”
“For the last time, O’Byrne, I already apologized for what happened to Seamus!” Her face flushed hotly at his fierce embrace. “But if you’re expecting me to say I shouldn’t have gone into Kilkenny, don’t be holding your breath—”
“You will apologize.” Ronan drew her so roughly against him that she exhaled in surprise. “Not to me but to my men who are wondering even now if their chieftain is alive or dead. And to Niall because you lied to him. You never intended to stand by and watch while we hung de Roche from a tree, but instead to pursue your own reckless course. No matter how many of my men were placed in jeopardy.”
Triona clamped her mouth shut, refusing to say another word. She imagined that Ronan had wanted to berate her the entire journey back to where his men were camped.
And to think she’d allowed herself to be lulled for even a moment by an apology she suspected now had been as false as his Norman accent! No doubt they could have gotten through those damned gates without his rude handling, but he couldn’t resist teaching her a lesson she’d never forget.
Suddenly she froze, wondering if he planned to make her ride back half-naked to Glenmalure to complete her humiliation. Aye, he had purposely embarrassed her before! But she had just opened her mouth to accuse him when he sharply veered their mount toward a thick stand of trees.
“I left my horse here,” Ronan explained tersely, hearing his stallion whinnying to him as they approached. And a damned good thing he and Triona would soon be riding separately, too!
Tonight she had given his emotions a wild ride he doubted he’d ever forget: from fury over her foolhardiness to relief as acute as any he’d known when they had ridden safely through the town gates. And though his ire was mounting again that she could be so stubbornly unrepentant after her escapade, it paled beside the desire ripping through him.
Desire so damned intense that her every bouncing movement against him was excruciating, his efforts to focus on anythi
ng else but on her scantily clad form becoming impossible.
If he had thought that kissing her again had nearly undone him, nothing could have prepared him for the translucent beauty of her bare skin in the moonlight and the provocative swell of her breasts against his arms. Certain that he might explode if he held her a moment longer, he couldn’t dismount fast enough when they reached his stallion.
“You can wear my cloak,” he said, gathering up the clothing he had left beneath the oak where his horse was tethered. “It’s damp but—”
“I’m surprised you’re allowing me to wear anything at all,” Triona interrupted tartly, dismounting and crossing her arms over her breasts.
She couldn’t see his expression in the dark, the canopy of leaves overhead blocking out the moonlight, but she sensed his eyes upon her. Shivering, she considered darting around the gelding to afford herself some extra cover. But before she could move, Ronan was walking back toward her, his silhouette tall and broad and overwhelmingly powerful.
“You truly think I would have done that to you?”
Again she shivered, but this time at the husky anger in his voice as he drew closer. “Aye, just to teach me another one of your crude lessons, you would. You’ve deliberately humiliated me before, O’Byrne. Why should this time be any different?”
“If you’re referring to what I did in Kilkenny, Triona, it wasn’t meant to embarrass you. But I thought my apology—”
“Convinced me that you were forced to paw at me like a wild animal? You’ve forgotten that I know you as a liar, O’Byrne. I don’t trust your apologies any more than I’ve believed any of your fine compliments! Now I’ll take that cloak. It’s cool out here…”
Triona fell silent as Ronan whirled the heavy garment around her shoulders but instead of letting go, he used it to suddenly draw her against him. “What—what are you doing?”
“I’ve never wantonly mistreated any woman, Triona.” His voice had grown angrier, huskier. “I’ll not have you saying that when we return to Glenmalure.”
“Al-all right,” Triona stammered, the incredible heat of his body scorching her right through the chain mail. “Mayhap I spoke too hastily—”
“Aye, you did,” Ronan cut in, knowing that he shouldn’t be holding her so closely but unable to help himself. “If there’s any lesson to be taught here, it’s that I don’t paw at women,” he added pointedly, his hand sliding between them to cover her breast. “I caress them…like this.…”
Triona inhaled in surprise as he gently stroked her, his warm fingers closing over her roused nipple. Stunned, she thought immediately to pull away—the spawn!—but the sensation was so wonderful that she leaned into his touch in spite of herself.
“Do you call this coarse, Triona? Crude?” came his taunting whisper as his hand slid slowly to her other breast, his circling palm huge and warm and altogether arousing.
“No…” she said finally, gasping when he squeezed her. She went mute, her breath snagged, her body beginning to tremble.
“Aye then, woman, what of this?” Ronan demanded, laving her lips with his tongue before plunging into her mouth to savor the sweetness that had haunted him for hours.
He felt her start, but it didn’t take long before she melted against him as if surrendering to his kiss. He groaned when her tongue met his and began to tease and cavort, Ronan warning himself through the desire clouding his brain that this little lesson should go no further. But she was so warm and willing, he told himself that he would allow himself just this one kiss, then he would stop.
“Would you say now that my touch offends you, Triona?” he demanded hoarsely against her wet lips, drawing her even closer, his hands sliding down to cup her taut bottom. In answer, she moaned softly into his mouth, a low husky sound, a thrilling sound.
“Can you tell me, then, that you don’t believe me when I say your lips are the softest I’ve ever known?”
“No, I believe you…” Triona whispered dazedly as his kiss once more deepened, becoming so possessive that she felt as surely as the other night that he would devour her.
And she found she wanted to be devoured, opening her mouth to him as hungrily as he delved his tongue inside to taste her. Her hands moved with a wildness over his chest, her palms, her fingertips pressing urgently against cold hard metal as that same burst of heat suddenly overwhelmed her, driving her to cling to him as if his very nearness could answer the incredible craving building inside her.
Just one more caress! Ronan warned himself again when her arms flew unexpectedly round his neck to hold him tight. Just once more to feel the silky splendor of her skin, its softness, its tantalizing curves and hollows. Then he would stop! By God, he would stop!
Ronan slipped his hands between them and worked feverishly at her leather belt until it dropped with a thud at their feet. Then he was sliding her torn trousers from her hips, the garment no sooner pooling around her ankles before he lifted her and crushed her lithe body against him. She felt like flame in his arms, her skin so sleek, so hot…
Suddenly something snapped inside Ronan, a great shuddering coming from deep within him as he carried her out from beneath the tree and into the moonlight.
He wanted to see her, to see all of her. He pulled the cloak from her shoulders and flung it out over the ground. Her body was creamy white perfection as he knelt and laid her down, the lush triangle at the crown of her thighs and the deep hue of her nipples the only contrast to her fair coloring.
“If I said I’ve never seen a woman as beautiful as you, would you believe me, Triona?” he demanded hoarsely, bending over her to capture a hard swollen peak in his mouth.
She couldn’t answer, her back arching as his tongue swirled round and round her nipple, his hands sweeping over her body as if he wanted to touch every inch of her. But she froze when his strong fingers found the place where she was burning…where that same insistent tug had become an ache like nothing she had ever known.
“Ronan!”
Her wild impassioned cry was answered as his powerful body came down upon hers, the smooth links of his mailshirt pressing into her breasts as his fingers slipped deeply inside her and then out again, teasing and circling until she thought she’d go mad. From some distant dizzying place she heard him groan, felt his weight lift from her for only an instant, then his hips settled heavily over hers once more, his knee spreading her legs wide.
But it wasn’t his fingers that returned to torment her. She gasped as a hard bulging heat suddenly thrust into her flesh…crying out when she felt a blistering pain.
“Oh God, Triona,” Ronan said hoarsely, her outburst shattering the haze that gripped him. But he couldn’t stop the fierce pounding of his blood, his loins, his heart any more than he could undo the damage already done. Instead he thrust inside her more deeply, commanding in a ragged whisper as she cried out again, “Do what I do, Triona! I promise…it will ease the pain.”
Desperately she obeyed him, meeting his quickening thrusts with her own as his body seemed to expand to an even greater fullness inside her. And she had no sooner begun to do so than the sharp stinging swiftly receded, becoming no more than a wisp of memory and then, not even that as a sensation far more compelling overwhelmed her.
It was both heat and fire, that mysterious ache growing so powerful she was trembling to her toes. She threw her arms around Ronan’s broad back and held on to him, certain if she didn’t she would die right then from the sheer intensity of her pleasure.
And when he suddenly tensed, his body growing rigid but for the fierce throbbing at the very core of her, she thrust her hips upward one last time, crying out at the glorious height of her climax.
Crying out Ronan’s name until his mouth captured hers…her ecstasy echoing all around them.
Chapter Eighteen
But Ronan didn’t kiss her long. When he lifted his head a moment later, his sated body still buried inside her, the full weight of what he had done hit him more forcefully than any blow.
By God, he was her guardian! Sworn to protect her! Instead he had ravaged her, stealing not just an embrace, a kiss, a caress, but the one thing that should have been reserved for her husband. Muttering a low curse, he withdrew from the tight sheath of her body and rolled from her, adjusting his trousers as he rose to his feet.
Triona was stunned, watching him. She felt like bursting into tears. “So your little lesson is over?” she asked bitterly, feeling more crushed than she could have ever imagined. He had left her so quickly. If she had dared to hope for even an instant that what had happened so unexpectedly between them might mean he truly wanted her for himself after all, she knew now that she was wrong.
Triona yanked the cloak around her naked body when Ronan made no reply, flinging at him as he went to collect the horses, “I suppose you’ll want me to keep silent about this deed as well! We can’t have the next man you bring to Glenmalure thinking that his intended bride is damaged goods!”
“There won’t be a next man,” Ronan muttered far too low for Triona to hear, the pain in her voice making him that much more furious with himself.
If she had disliked him before, she must hate him now. He wasn’t so deluded to think that she would have given herself to him if he had granted her a choice. Instead he’d forced himself upon her so suddenly that she had had no chance to protest.
“Damn you, O’Byrne, I can’t find my trousers!”
Hearing her frustrated tears, Ronan wanted to go to her and crush her in his arms. But certain that would be the last thing she wanted from him, he swiftly found her belt and trousers and took them to her, not surprised when she snatched the clothing out of his hand.
Lords of Ireland II Page 129
