Wild Angel (26 page)

"Very well, we can move on if you wish."

Triona sighed again, but this time out of sheer
frustration.

"No, no, this place will do fine."

"You’re sure?"

In answer, she slid from Laeg’s back and tethered him
to a birch, Ronan dismounting just a few feet away from her. He was so close in
fact, that she couldn’t resist taking advantage of the opportunity by shrieking
at the top of her lungs, "Conn, where are you?"

"By God, woman!"

She grinned as Ronan grabbed for his stallion’s reins,
the huge animal rearing and snorting in fright. Yet by the time he had
controlled his horse and spun to face her, Triona had recovered herself, hoping
she appeared suitably contrite.

"I’m sorry. Truly."

"I thought you said Conn knew to come at a single
command?"

Oh, he was irritated
now,
she
thought smugly, his eyes a deep stormy gray. "He does, it’s just that . .
." She shrugged, raising her hands as Conn came crashing through the woods
toward them. "I wasn’t thinking, I guess."

"No, you weren’t. We’ll be lucky if we find any
prey now for miles."

"Well, my father always said I had lungs like a
banshee when I was a babe. It appears I still do."

Ronan seemed ready to make a comment, but then he must
have thought better of it. He turned to pull two javelins from his spear case.
Triona concentrated upon her weapons as well, shouldering her bowcase and then
checking to see that the jeweled dagger was sheathed securely in her belt. She
hadn’t had to ask Ronan to give the weapon back. He’d returned it along with
her hunting knife the same day as her bowcase, though she preferred carrying
the dagger since it reminded her of her father.

More of Ronan’s false gestures of goodwill, she
thought, feeling a cold nose nudging her hand.

"Are you ready to hunt, my brave Conn?" she
murmured, dropping down on one knee to give him a hug. "But you must be
careful. I’ll not lose you to some wily old pig."

"We should set out, Triona. The day is slipping
away from us.

She looked up to find Ronan watching her, the familiar
warmth returned to his eyes. Quickly she rose, regretting once more that she
was alone with him in these woods—thank God at least she had Conn—but
determined to make the best of this chance to spite him.

"You should lead," she suggested, not liking
the thought of him following her, his gaze roaming where it would.

"Very well, but stay close to me," he said to
her surprise.

"Why should I do that? I’m not some helpless
maiden lost in the forest, O’Byrne. I know its dangers."

"I’m aware of that, Triona." His voice had
lowered to a husky timbre. "But there may be others in these woods besides
ourselves
. As a precaution, just humor me."

"MacMurroughs?" She noticed for the first
time that Ronan also wore his fighting sword.

When he nodded, she found herself warmed that he would
be so concerned for her safety, but she did her best to shrug it off just as
she often had done during their raids. Yet some of the pleasant feeling still
remained as they set off through the thick trees, Conn already forging ahead
with his nose to the ground.

As they proceeded in silence, Triona found, too, that
her spirits were buoyed just by being out walking in the wild again.

She loved the pungent earthy smell of moss, loved its
soft sponginess beneath her feet and the swish of filmy ferns against her legs.
She loved the way the sunlight was filtering through the lush canopy of leaves
overhead, narrow shafts bathing the forest around them in hazy gold. It was so
magical,
it was easy to imagine impudent wee fairies
watching them from beneath creamy toadstools and behind ivy-covered rocks, the
occasional rustling breeze through the trees masking their merry whispers.

"Begorra, it’s beautiful out here."

She’d spoken in a mere whisper herself, but Ronan
stopped and looked around him.

"Aye, I’ve always loved these woods. When I was a
boy, I’d roam about for hours—well past dark, until my father would
come
hunting for me."

She nodded, understanding his passion. "I did the
same thing in Imaal. It used to give my mother a fright—she feared wolves so,
but my father didn’t mind." She sighed softly. "He didn’t mind
anything I did."

A long silence fell, Triona gazing at the bluebells and
wood sorrel nestled at the foot of a towering oak.

"Fineen must have been very proud of you."

She looked up in surprise, but she saw no mockery in
Ronan’s face. "Aye, so he often told me."

"I can understand why. Your courage and skill
during our raids these past weeks have more than shown that you were deserving
of such praise."

Truly stunned, Triona had never wished more fervently
that Ronan’s words were sincere. Nor had she ever felt so flustered. She
quickly sought to change the subject back to the trees, the leaves,
the
moss, anything but to talk more of her. "Just—just
look at this place, Ronan. It’s so green it hurts your eyes."

Ronan was looking, but not around him anymore. His
heart was slamming in his throat, the way she’d said his name, so soft and
husky, touching him deeply.

"And over there
         
the
way the sunlight is shining through those trees. Like gold mist spilling from
the sky. Have you ever seen anything more wondrous?"

He didn’t want to break the spell, it was so sweet,
every part of him wishing that things could always be
like
this between them. But finally he spoke, his eyes upon her face, "No,
Triona. I’ve never seen anything more wondrous . . . than you."

She started as if stung and met his gaze.

He stared back, daring to hope . . .

A distant frantic barking made Ronan turn his head just
as Triona opened her mouth to speak, but whatever she might have said was lost
as she shouted, "That’s Conn! He must have found something!"

They both began to run, Ronan with a javelin in each
hand while Triona deftly pulled out her bow.

Her heart was racing, but it wasn’t because of her
exertion. She couldn’t forget the burning look in Ronan’s eyes even as she told
herself fiercely that his flattering words meant nothing to her. Nothing! She
damned well would have told him, too, if Conn hadn’t—

A shrill yelp rent the air, Triona feeling the blood
drain from her face.

"Conn! Oh God, Conn!"

Chapter 23

NO BARKING CAME back to her, only the nervous
chattering of birds overhead as she and Ronan plunged onward, dodging trees and
jumping over fallen logs. But they didn’t go much farther before Ronan came to
a sudden halt, his breathing as hard as hers as he gestured for them to split
up.

"Go that way, Triona, there! Call me if you find
him and I’ll do the same." Then he was gone, wending through the trees as
swiftly and surely as any man she’d ever seen while she veered off to the
right.

She was almost to the rise of a hill when she heard
Conn’s barking, her relief intense that it sounded hale and strong. Wondering
if Ronan might have heard it, too, she shouted his name as she burst into a
small clearing, an arrow set to the bowstring and ready to fly.

"Conn . . . what in blazes?"

The frantic wolfhound, reared up on his hind legs,
barely gave her a glance, his full attention focused upon the spitting creature
he had cornered high in a tree. Cautiously Triona approached, keeping her arrow
trained upon the large, wicked-looking wildcat just in case it decided to
spring.

"Conn, back! That’s not a pig."

Still barking, Conn obediently retreated a few feet
only to rush forward again when the cat swatted at the air with its paw. Triona
edged closer herself, more than anything to get a better look.

She had seen only a few of these rare dangerous
creatures and this cat was by far the largest, probably three times the size of
Maeve. Triona shivered as the animal fixed its yellow eyes upon her, yet she
was awed by its wild beauty. No wonder such creatures had been immortalized in
Eire’s ancient legends.

"Conn, no. I don’t want to shoot him, so back
away. Back!"

This time the wolfhound retreated to her side, whining
in frustration. Probably a bit of pain, too, Triona realized after risking a
glance and seeing the bloodied claw marks alongside his snout. The cat had
taken a good swipe at him, but fortunately it appeared only a minor grazing.

"Aye, I know you’d like to get back at him for
spoiling your handsome face, my Conn, but trust me," she said in a low
steady voice, her bowstring still pulled taut as they backed out of the
clearing. "You’re no match for such a creature. And Ronan’s cook would
hardly want a wildcat in his kitchen."

Triona fell silent, wondering suddenly what had become
of Ronan. He must have heard her shout, and Conn’s barking had been loud enough
to summon the saints.

Confident that she had retreated far enough away from
the wildcat to venture a glance around her, Triona scanned the forest. It had
grown darker, the patches of sky visible through the trees heavy with clouds,
the sun disappeared. She felt another shiver, unease gripping her.

Ronan should have been here by now.

After he’d made it a point to warn her to stay close to
him, surely he wouldn’t have wanted them to be apart for this long . . . there
might be some MacMurroughs.

"Jesu,
Mary
and Joseph,"
she whispered, her eyes darting all around her as she half crouched beside a
broad tree trunk. Tapping Conn’s nose in a command for him to keep silent, she
thought back over the last few moments.

If there had been fighting, she would have heard the
melee. Shouts, the clang of swords. Unless the weapons used had been arrows,
the attack having come so swiftly—

"Oh, God. Ronan."

Swallowing hard, she shoved away from the tree and
began to cut stealthily through the woods, her path the one Ronan should have
taken. Her heartbeat was drumming so loudly in her ears it was almost
impossible to listen for anything else, her eyes cutting to the left and right.
But she saw nothing out of the ordinary, finally daring to send Conn ahead of
her with a vehement whisper, "Find Ronan, Conn. Go!"

She followed him, her legs beginning to ache from all
the running. She wanted to shout Ronan’s name but she didn’t dare. If enemies
were near, that would only bring them down upon her. Yet she was almost to the
place where they had separated earlier and still there was no sign of Ronan.

"Conn? What the devil . . .?"

The wolfhound had veered so abruptly that Triona almost
stumbled trying to follow him, his agitated tail-wagging making her breath
freeze in her chest. Then Conn just as suddenly came to a halt near what looked
to be a sharp dip in the earth and began to bark frantically. Only when Triona
drew closer could she see that the dip was no natural depression but a yawning
pit, remnants of a sod and bramble covering scattered around its rim.

A deer trap.

The kind that often bore a sharpened stake at the
bottom, pointed upward, a cruel instrument of death for whatever hapless animal
tumbled inside.

Triona’s stomach pitched; she came very close to
becoming sick all over herself. She was so shaken that she could barely bring
herself to look down into the deep round hole.

"Ronan . . ."

He was there, lying facedown and ominously still atop
what was left of the sod covering.

She jumped before she even knew what she was doing,
landing hard on her haunches beside him. He was still breathing. Her relief was
so intense that her eyes blurred with tears. Then she saw the shattered stake
lying crosswise beneath him, clearly having been broken by his fall.

"Lucky, lucky spawn," she said hoarsely,
smoothing the midnight hair out of his face with trembling fingers. He looked
almost as if he were asleep, which made her fear then that he must have
severely knocked his head.

Triona flung aside her bowcase and shifted to her
knees. She managed to roll Ronan over but only after a good bit of effort. He
was so much bigger than she, and heavier, that she was astounded she could have
lain beneath him when he made love to her and not been crushed.

"Ninny, this is hardly the time to think of such
things," she chided herself, swiping aside chunks of broken sod and dried
brambles as she scrambled to lift his head into her lap. His handsome face was
so pale that she felt her throat tighten; she desperately wished that there was
something else she could do for him. But she was no healer.

Dirt raining down upon her made Triona look up, amazed to
see Conn digging furiously at the sides of the pit.

"Conn, no! That won’t help us. Go home! Go find
Niall!" Whining, the wolfhound stubbornly dug some more, a large dirt clod
barely missing Triona’s head.

"No, Conn, no! Go find Niall! Go!"

More earth sprayed down upon her as the wolfhound
suddenly spun and retreated, Triona wondering if he had obeyed. But after long
moments had passed and he still did not reappear, she dared to hope that he was
on his way back to the stronghold.

Even if Ronan soon regained his senses, she doubted they’d
be able to climb out of this pit without assistance. The earthen walls were at
least seven feet high and slanted inward, which would make them almost
impossible to scale.

Triona’s gaze fell once more to Ronan’s face. Gently
she brushed away the dirt from his cheek. At least his breathing seemed normal,
a promising sign. Without thinking, she traced his warm lips with her finger,
remembering with a jolt the first time he had kissed her . . . how wonderful
his mouth had felt upon hers, how incredibly overwhelming