“Smile, Triona, so my people can see that all is well.”
Somehow she did, blinking at the brilliant torchlight as Ronan carried her into the feasting-hall. He didn’t set her down straightaway but conveyed her to the head table amid rousing shouts of approval.
To her surprise Niall was there, reclining in a makeshift litter drawn to the table, his wide grin telling her that he must already know Caitlin was faring better. Maire was there, too, the most curious smile on her lips, her gray eyes alight and her cheeks flushed bright pink with color. Triona wondered fleetingly what they both might say if they knew she and Caitlin were cousins, then she thrust the thought away as Ronan gently put her down.
“Is my surprise underneath your cloak?” he whispered in her ear, his teasing expression leading her to believe that he had guessed she wore a gown. When she nodded, her smile pasted upon her face, he chuckled and drew the garment from her shoulders.
Triona almost burst into tears at the look he gave her, his eyes so full of love that she couldn’t bear to think of the contempt that would soon replace it. “You’re pleased?” she asked brokenly, the emotion between them so palpable that she reasoned he wouldn’t think anything was amiss if she looked about to cry.
“In all ways, Triona,” he murmured, bending his head to kiss her soundly in front of everyone. Cheers were rocking the hall when he finally lifted his mouth from hers to whisper against her ear, “What became of all those little presents I gave you when you were a child? The ribbons, the gold trinkets—”
“I—I threw them in a bog,” Triona stammered, his question taking her entirely by surprise. “After Conor—”
“Aye, and you had every right,” Ronan murmured, pulling away to stare into her eyes. But Triona saw no pain in his eyes, only love, and again, she came very close to tears. Then she felt his large strong hands capture hers and bring them up to his chest, a small silk-wrapped package pressed into her palm.
“What…?”
“A gift, Triona.” He gave her a wry smile. “I only hope this one doesn’t end up in a bog. It belonged to my mother.”
She was stunned, staring dumbly at the bundle until Ronan began to chuckle and unwrapped it for her himself. A low gasp rippled through the hall as he held up the most beautiful necklace Triona had ever seen, delicate gold beads alternating with sparkling gems of every hue: emeralds, blue sapphires, topazes, red garnet and amethysts.
“These pearls from Taig O’Nolan are very lovely, Triona,” Ronan said huskily as he lifted the pink strand over her head and replaced it with his glittering surprise. “But I want only my gifts to adorn you.”
Triona had to blink away tears as he replaced her jeweled arm-ring, too, with a heavy bracelet of purest gold.
“Aye, and you’ll need a coffer for all of your beautiful things,” Maire said behind Ronan, her voice oddly catching.
Triona understood why when Ronan stepped aside, Maire rising from her chair with only the aid of her crutch while Ita stood close by, the plump serving woman’s eyes shining as brightly as her young mistress’s. Maire gestured to the jewel chest a servant placed upon the table, the same elegant coffer Triona had seen at Maire’s house that first day she’d gone to visit.
“It’s for you, Triona. I’ve a gift for Aud, too, for helping me…”
“Then you know?” Triona blurted, meeting Ronan’s gaze.
“Aye. Maire had a special surprise for me tonight as well.” He took her hands and brought them to his lips, his breath warm as he looked into her eyes. “You’re a kind, compassionate woman, Triona O’Toole. Thank you for helping my sister.”
As he gently kissed her fingers, Triona had never felt more wretched, the evening that should have been so perfect become a nightmare.
She had never seen the O’Byrne clan so merry, the feasting-hall alive with good cheer, while she was miserable. Yet she continued to smile and tease and banter, to sample the smoked salmon, venison sausage and roast goose Ronan set upon her plate though she tasted nothing, to drink the scarlet wine he poured into her silver cup though it made her want to choke.
It soon became clear when the meal was nearly done that Ronan was enjoying himself far too much yet to leave, Triona noticing the looks his people were casting him as if astonished to see him smiling and laughing as easily as Niall. Yet they appeared wholly pleased, too, and for that reason Triona guessed Fiach O’Byrne had chosen to remain at the back of the hall with the two guards who’d entered with him.
She had seen them at once, her heart lurching in her breast as she wondered if Fiach would make his terrible announcement to the entire clan. But he merely ate his supper, apparently loath to disrupt the night’s merriment. But she didn’t doubt for a moment from the somber way he was staring at her that if he found Ronan alone, he would tell him.
She had one more scare when a clansman came to their table, a cloaked guard as drenched and muddy as Ronan had been earlier that day. Just to hear the man mention the name Maurice de Roche was enough to make her blanch, her fingers trembling as she gripped her wine cup. But she relaxed the tiniest bit when she heard that the guard had just come from Kildare with news that the baron would be returning to his castle as soon as King John sailed home from Dublin.
“Did you hear that?” Ronan roared to his people after he’d bade the man to go warm himself by the fire. “The Norman king is receiving homage from his vassals at Dublin Castle. Mayhap the loyal Donal MacMurrough is there as well, licking that dog’s stinking feet!”
Triona winced as the hall erupted in jeers; she dropped her gaze when she saw that Fiach was watching her. She said nothing, even when Ronan leaned over and whispered, “We’ll have our vengeance soon, Triona. Even if I have to flush the good baron from his castle by setting fire to his fields just as you suggested. That I vow. And if it pleases you, you may send de Roche to hell with one of your arrows. It would be fitting.”
She had no time to dwell upon his offer, for in the next moment his voice had sunk to a whisper. “Sing for me, Triona.”
She was stunned, though it made sense that he would make such a request. Yet she shook her head, her emotions too frayed to bear it.
“Aye, woman, you must. You know how much it would please me.”
She swallowed hard, his slate gray eyes burning so intently into hers that she could not refuse him. As Ronan gestured for the gaunt harper to come forward, Triona rose and went around the table to join the man, her cheeks afire at the knowledge that Ronan’s gaze was upon her.
She could not sing of love. Not when hers was being so horribly threatened. Instead she sang of Cuchulain and his heroic deeds, and of his noble death on the battlefield, his back to a rock and his face bravely to the foe.
When she was done, the last shimmering strains of the harp fading into the air, there was a great silence in the hall. All faces were turned toward her as if spellbound until at last, the harper’s voice shattered the stillness.
“If ever fairer singing has been heard in Éire, let me cast down my harp and play no more!”
Immediately the hall erupted in cheers, Ronan’s people using their silver cups, their cutting knives, their shoes to bang upon the tables. It was such a wild din that Triona didn’t hear Ronan walk up behind her. She jumped when she felt his strong hands encircle her waist.
“Aye, woman, you’ve pleased me well,” he said against her ear, embracing her as the deafening tumult raged around them. “Come. It’s time we take our leave.”
If he’d pronounced a death sentence upon her, the effect would have been the same. Stricken, Triona somehow made her legs carry her from the hall after he’d settled her cloak around her shoulders, Ronan leading her by the hand. And this time he noticed her distress. As soon as they stepped outside, he faced her, concern etched upon his handsome face.
“Triona, are you feeling well? You’re so pale.”
“The…the hall was overwarm.” She shrugged, mustering a smile to reassure him. “Or mayhap the wine was too
rich.”
“Or too plentiful. You emptied your cup four times.”
If she had, Triona possessed no recollection of it. She had been so preoccupied with what lay ahead, she was surprised she hadn’t drunk more.
“Here, I will carry you.”
She didn’t protest. When he lifted her, she wound her arms around his neck and buried her face against his shoulder, his clean male scent doing little to soothe her. She didn’t look up again until they were almost to their dwelling-house, when Triona glanced back toward the hall. She saw a dark male shape standing outside the doors and guessed at once it was Fiach, her stomach twisting into knots as Ronan carried her into the house.
At least the main room was empty, Aud nowhere to be seen. Ronan set her down gently just inside their room and then left her for a moment, Triona watching him as he went to Caitlin’s door and pulled the key from the lock. He was frowning when he returned, his jawline set angrily in the orange glow of the hearth.
“I long for the day when that accursed wench is finally gone from Glenmalure.”
Triona felt suddenly as if she couldn’t breathe. She stepped out of his way as he tossed the heavy key onto a bench against the wall. But she gasped when he suddenly pulled her into his arms, kicking the door shut behind her. His breath was warm and scented with wine as he looked down into her face, though they couldn’t see each other at all in the dark. Yet she knew when he spoke that his lips were very, very near.
“Forgive me, Triona. It wasn’t my intent to spoil our evening.”
She remained mute, tears welling in her eyes when he reached up to stroke her cheek.
“Woman, when I said I loved you before, it was nothing to what I hold in my heart this night. You are everything to me. Life. Hope. Happiness…”
As his mouth tenderly covered hers, Triona could hold back her tears no longer. She let them come, the low sob breaking from her throat causing Ronan to draw back in surprise.
“What’s this?”
“I…I have something to tell you,” she began, only to fall silent as memories of the past days suddenly flashed through her mind. The hatred written on Ronan’s face whenever he spoke of Caitlin. His cruelty toward the young woman…the way he’d dragged her through the mud and rain just that afternoon. The rancor in his voice only moments ago.
“Triona?”
She started, grateful for the darkness so he couldn’t look into her eyes. She doubted she could have hidden her misery from him as she swiftly decided to do now. She couldn’t tell him. Not yet. Not yet! In the morning she would, but first let them share one more night where he knew her only as his Triona O’Toole.
“You’re everything to me, too, Ronan O’Byrne,” she whispered brokenly, a low chuckle sounding in her ear as he bent his head close.
“So many tears for those few words?” he teased, his warm fingers cradling her chin. Again his lips found hers, his kiss so achingly tender that Triona went limp against him. She felt him lift her, then she was laid gently upon his bed, Ronan leaving her for a fleeting moment to shed his clothes before returning to her side.
“You looked so lovely in your gown that I hate to take it from you,” he whispered, slipping the silk past her thighs and over her hips. “But what’s underneath is lovelier still.” He slid both her gown and camise up over her breasts. “I need no lamplight to see it.”
Ronan drew his arm beneath her shoulders and lifted her, a gentle tug freeing her of the garments to leave her lying naked beside him. Naked, that is, except for the gold bracelet and the jeweled necklace which he drew slowly back and forth across her nipples.
“Can I tell you what I see?” he asked huskily when Triona moaned deep in her throat. The smooth gold beads and precious stones were cold against her heated flesh, the sensation nearly overwhelming her. Somehow she murmured a breathless “Aye,” but already his fingers were sliding along the inside of her thigh, his voice low and seductive.
“Begorra, I see a woman so beautifully formed”—his hand slid higher—“with silken legs honed and lithe from years of wild rides through the forest.” He chuckled wickedly, his warm palm gliding along her hip to her waist. “Soft curves that could defy Éire’s finest poets to do them justice—wide here and narrow there, aye, just as they should be, and this tempting hollow in the middle…so deserving of a kiss.”
Triona gasped as his lips found her navel, his hot breath tickling her belly and making her arch beneath him. But she began to tremble when he tunneled his fingers into the thick wet curls at the juncture of her thighs and tugged gently.
“Ah now, this is one of the sweetest places of all—”
“Ronan!”
She cried out at the same instant his fingers slid deeply into her, his tongue no longer toying with her navel but swirling around and around a swollen nipple that he’d taken into his mouth. She couldn’t say how long the exquisite torture lasted for she had grown quite dizzy, either from the pleasure, the wine she’d drunk or both. All she knew was one moment she was lying on her back and the next she had been rolled over on top of him, his hard body stretched out beneath her.
“Straddle me, Triona. I want to feel your thighs gripping me as when you ride.”
She obliged his raw-spoken demand, her hair spilling over her shoulders to cover her breasts as she sat upright upon him. Trembling uncontrollably now, she wasn’t surprised at the turgid bulge pressing between her legs, his body straining to enter the hot wetness her woman’s flesh had become.
And she wanted him inside her, deep, deep inside her, tears springing to her eyes as fresh misery assailed her. But somehow she swallowed them back, lifting her hips as Ronan groaned raggedly in the darkness and guided his swollen flesh into the very heart of her.
With a broken cry she sank down upon him, enveloping him in her tight heat while he drove upward to fill her body. There was such power in his movements as he began to thrust inside her, such power in his hands as he caressed and gripped her bottom. She held onto his thick wrists as she rode him, her breasts bobbing, her breath panting, until her wild craving to be closer to him made her sink forward upon his chest.
“Hold me, Ronan!” she pleaded, but she hadn’t needed to say a word, his arms going around her to clasp her fiercely even as his body began to tremble and stiffen beneath her.
She was quaking, too, her body being consumed by the fire blazing outward from where their flesh was joined. One moment she still had some semblance of conscious thought and the next she was engulfed entirely, the heat, the ecstasy overwhelming her, overwhelming him.
It was wonderful and yet terrible, for somewhere in the midst of her mind-shattering pleasure the pain began again, Triona finally collapsing upon Ronan’s chest in mute despair. She said nothing, could say nothing, beginning to wonder if she would ever say anything at all. To see his love become hate would surely kill her.
That thought remained long hours later, Ronan sleeping sated and peacefully beside her despite the violent thunderstorm raging outside.
But Triona had only dozed fitfully and now lay wide-awake, watching the jagged lightning cut across the sky and wondering what she was going to do. A particularly blinding flash was followed by such a rumbling of thunder that she didn’t hear the loud pounding upon their door until the sky grew still.
“Lord, it’s Flann O’Faelin! Lord!”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Her heart racing in her throat, Triona gave no answer. She hoped desperately even as Flann kept pummeling at the door that he might give up and go away. But already Ronan was roused, his arms going from around her as he vaulted from the bed.
He seemed alert at once, and though he said nothing to her, Triona could sense that he felt something was wrong. Wondering if Flann knew the truth of her birth from Fiach O’Byrne and was about to expose her, she could only watch frozen, her hands clutching the sheet, as Ronan flung open the door.
“Lord, an entire quarter of the outer embankment is close to washing away! And still m
ore of the ramparts are threatened, those damned posts no match for this storm. We need to sink more of them—”
“Aye, call out every man if you have to,” Ronan commanded, Triona feeling relief so great she could taste it. But it was horribly short-lived when he added, “I’ll meet you there.”
As Flann disappeared, Ronan began searching for his clothes. Triona, gone numb from the thought that he might soon run into his clansman Fiach, somehow managed to throw aside the covers so she could rise and help him. But Ronan came over to her at once, pushing her back down upon the mattress and pulling the blanket up under her chin.
“Stay here, Triona, and keep warm. I’ll return as soon as I can.” He brushed a kiss upon her cheek and then he was gone from her, dressing swiftly. With a last glance toward the bed he left the room, the sound of the front door slamming an instant later followed by another deafening thunderclap.
Triona lay there for long moments, stricken, until finally she tossed back the covers. She had never felt like a coward before in her life, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to bear Ronan looking at her in any other way than with the love he had last night in the hall.
She rose, stepping over the gown lying in a silken heap upon the floor. Instead she found the shirt and trousers that were still damp from yesterday’s rain. But it made no difference. Soon she would be soaked through to the skin, no matter the cloak she settled around her shoulders as she hurried to the bench by the door.
She grabbed up the key and went at once to Caitlin’s room, the thunder crashing so loudly as she unlocked the door that it seemed to shake the house.
“Caitlin!” Triona hissed, keeping her voice down as low as she could so any guards outside wouldn’t hear her. She saw her cousin sit bolt upright in bed, Caitlin’s sleeping gown a stark white in the darkness.
“Get up! We’re leaving.”
“What? Leaving?”
Triona spared no time to explain, hurrying to the chest to pull out another pair of trousers. Spying Maeve curled upon the pillow as a bright flash of lightning fit up the room, Triona felt a terrible stab of regret but she couldn’t turn back now.
Lords of Ireland II Page 146
