Wild Angel (27 page)

"Aye, and don’t forget what he said about not
wanting you, Triona O’Toole," she muttered to herself, tears welling in
her eyes. She didn’t try to stop them, indulging herself for the first time in
weeks.

Damn him, why shouldn’t she cry? No man had ever hurt
her like this one. And no man had ever made her care before like Ronan, which
almost seemed worse. Closing her eyes, she leaned her head against the dirt
wall and let the tears come.

***

"Conor, look
out behind you! Conor!"

Ronan sat bolt upright,
grimacing at the pounding pain in his head. His heart was pounding, too,
phantom visions crashing around him. The silver flash of mail in the moonlight,
swords ringing, arrows flying,
men
screaming . . . God
help him, men dying. He clamped clammy palms over his ears to block out the
terrible sounds, squeezing his eyes shut, clenching his teeth—

"Ronan!"

He felt someone grab him by the shoulders and shake
him.

"Ronan, can’t you hear me?"

It was a voice he knew, a woman’s voice bringing him
back from the edge. But when he opened his eyes and saw only high earthen walls
around him, he feared for a fleeting moment he was in his grave. Until a face
appeared in front of him, the face of an angel . . . a coppery-haired,
green-eyed wild angel who shook him again, calling his name.

"Ronan O’Byrne, if you don’t answer me right now—"

"I hear you, woman. You don’t have to shout."

Triona stared at him indignantly, snatching her hands
away. Talk about true colors! Here she had spent the last hour worrying if he
was ever going to wake up and then, when he finally did, he had the nerve to be
surly.

"I wasn’t shouting. You were the one who was
shouting. You scared me, sitting up so sudden."

"I’m sorry." He slowly rubbed his hands over
his face,
then
met her eyes. "I must have been
having a dream—"

"You mean a nightmare." Now that he was
awake, Triona shifted to an opposite wall. "You’ve a good bump on your
head that was probably the cause of it."

"That dream has nothing to do with any bump,"
Ronan said under his breath, gingerly touching the swollen lump on the side of
his head. He sucked in his breath as pain shot through his skull.

"Aye, I can tell it hurts, but hopefully help will
come soon."

Ronan glanced up at Triona. "Help?"

"I sent Conn after Niall. At least I hope that’s
where he went and not after that wildcat again. Someone’s got to help us out of
this damned deer trap."

Ronan was stunned, staring around him almost stupidly
at the circular dirt walls. Then his gaze fell upon the splintered stake only a
few inches away from his hand. By God, had he come that close . . .

"You’re a lucky one, O’Byrne. Conn and I didn’t
know what we were going to find when we came upon this hole."

He glanced back at Triona, her voice having grown
strangely quiet. "You could have gone after help yourself."

She shrugged, looking away as thunder rumbled overhead.
"I suppose so, but . . . well, now we’re both stuck . . . and with a storm
brewing, too. It’s been thundering for a while now."

A strong gust of wind suddenly whistled into the pit,
bringing with it the first few cool drops of rain. Yet it could have been
bucketfuls for all Ronan would have noticed. He was staring at Triona, amazed.

She had jumped down here to be with him.

"I owe you my thanks, Triona."

The huskiness of Ronan’s voice took her by surprise,
Triona meeting his eyes. The warmth she saw there undeniably thrilled her, as
well as put her on her guard.

"If you mean for my deciding to stay with you—"

"Aye."

She swallowed nervously, the pit suddenly appearing
much smaller to her and Ronan sitting decidedly too close. "You were my
father’s godson, O’Byrne. As if I could just leave you here, not knowing if you
were alive or dead."

"That’s the reason?"

"Of course!" she snapped, growing
increasingly uncomfortable at the direction of their conversation. "What
other reason could there be?"

He sighed heavily.

She rose and began to pace.

"Where the devil can they be? Conn should have
reached the stronghold long ago."

"Mayhap we won’t have to wait for them."

Triona spun to see that Ronan had risen, too, although
he staggered a bit as he moved to a wall.

"Ronan?"

When he glanced at her, she immediately wished she hadn’t
sounded so concerned.

"Come over here, Triona."

"What?"

He held out his hand. "Please."

She looked from his outstretched hand to his face,
jumping as a deafening thunderclap sounded above them.

"Woman, if we have a chance to get out of here it
will have to be before the rain starts in earnest. Otherwise you’ll have
nothing to grab onto but mud when I boost you up—"

"Boost me . . .?"

He lunged and grabbed her arm before she could dart
away, easily dragging her against him. Astonished, she stared up at his face,
her hands pressed to his chest, his heart beating in hard steady strokes
beneath her palm. But in the next moment, he whirled her around so her back was
against his chest.

"When I crouch down, I want you to climb onto my
shoulders. Are you ready?"

"But, Ronan, your head. You’re not feeling well.
Should you—" She didn’t have a chance to say more, gasping as he went down
on his knees behind her and grabbed her hips. Before she could blink she was
sitting astride him, her fingers laced around his forehead as he rose with her
to his feet.

"Triona, you’ll have to lift your hands a bit or I
won’t be able to see."

For some strange reason that made her grin, imagining
how ridiculous they must look. "Of course, Ronan. I’m sorry."
Obliging him, she took care, too, not to apply any pressure to the bump on his
head.

"Good, that’s better. Now grab onto anything up
there that looks sturdy enough to hold you, sod, a tree root, then pull
yourself
up."

"But what about you?"

"Just concentrate on yourself for the moment,
Triona. I’ll stand as close to the wall as I can."

Her shoulders now level with the rim of the pit, Triona
threw out her arms and grabbed for something, anything that might sustain her
weight. But the sharp inward slant of the walls wasn’t making her task any
easier, her back aching at the unnatural angle. And when she lunged a second
time, she only succeeded in dragging with her chunks of sod and prickly
brambles, much of which rained down upon Ronan.

"What in blazes . . . Ouch!"

"Ronan?" She glanced down as he began to
cough from all the dust and dirt; she smiled in spite of herself at the dried
grass littering his hair. "Are you all right?"

"Fine. Just try again."

She did, trying hard, too, to suppress the husky
giggles welling in her throat. But after another unsuccessful lunge, Ronan’s
coughing
and sputtering only growing worse as she dragged
more dirt and debris into the pit, she began to laugh in earnest.

"By God, woman, are you trying to bury us alive?
Grab onto something!"

"There’s nothing to grab, Ronan!"

"Well, if you’d stop laughing—" He gave a low
curse, stepping with her away from the wall. "You’re doing this to try me,
aren’t you?"

Before Triona could answer, he grabbed her round the
waist and lifted her above his head as if she weighed nothing, then plunked her
down right in front of him. She was spun to face him, her eyes widening at the
sight that greeted her. If she’d thought for an instant that he might be angry,
she began to giggle afresh at the lopsided grin on his face.

"Laugh if you will, Triona O’Toole, but I’m not
the only one who looks a mess. You should see yourself."

Indeed, she was covered in a fine layer of dirt, with
brambles and broken ferns sticking to her clothes. But Ronan looked as if he
had been rolling happily as a pup on the ground, his hair, his brows, even his
eyelashes a dusty shade of brown.

"You might want to brush yourself off a bit,"
she suggested, her playful swipe at his tunic only making her cough as a cloud
of dust rose between them.

"When we’re out of here. I’d wager we’ll only get
dirtier. Are you ready to try again?"

She nodded and Ronan hoisted her onto his shoulders.
She was still giggling but she couldn’t help it, Ronan looking
so
funny as he tried to keep his stance steady while she
lunged and flailed her arms. She was so busy glancing down at him that she gave
little heed when she suddenly caught something in her hand, but it wasn’t a
tree root squirming between her fingers. Looking up, she shrieked, an ugly
green forest toad staring at her with bulging eyes.

"Let me down! Oh, God, Ronan, let me down!"
She didn’t wait, twisting off his shoulders in such haste that she lost her
balance and tumbled backward, Ronan barely catching her as he fell, too, right
on top of her.

"By God, woman, what . . .?"

Triona shrieked again, the toad having toppled into the
pit to land with a loud plop on Ronan’s shoulder. It stared back at her, wet
and slimy and covered with bumpy warts and only inches from her face.

"Get it away from me! It’s on your shoulder,
Ronan—oh!" She froze as the toad took a hop toward her. Triona’s voice
rose to a desperate squeak. "Ronan, please . . ."

As his low chuckling began to fill the pit, Ronan
looked unbelievingly from the wiggling toad he had captured in his hand to
Triona’s stricken face. "You’re afraid of this little thing?"

"Little? It’s huge! Throw it out of here! Throw it
out!"

Still chuckling, Ronan obliged her, though he didn’t
throw the poor creature. Instead he rolled off Triona and went to the pit wall,
where a single jump enabled him to deposit the toad beyond the rim of the pit.
Hoping for the creature’s sake that it didn’t hop back inside—Triona might
squash it!—Ronan turned back to her, shaking his head as he held out his hand
to help her to her feet.

"The courageous Triona O’Toole, afraid of toads?"

"Hardly afraid," she countered, glaring at
him as she arose without his assistance. "I don’t like them, is all—
"

She gasped as Ronan caught her, dragging her into his
arms. "You were afraid, woman. Admit it," he said huskily, a teasing
smile on his lips. "All I’m wondering is what happened to make you—"

"I’ll tell you what happened!" Triona
blurted, shuddering at the memory. "I was only thirteen at the time.
Murchertach O’Toole hid a whole bucketful of those—those disgusting things in
my bed and when I crawled in—" She couldn’t go on, grimacing as goose
bumps puckered her skin. But when she looked up, she began to giggle in spite
of herself at the endearing grin on Ronan’s face. Yet still she tried to remain
indignant. "It was a terrible thing he did."

"Aye, I’d agree with you there."

"I didn’t talk to him for weeks."

"As he well deserved. A good reason, too, not to
marry the man."

"Aye, it was one of them." Triona’s giggles
faded as she stared up at Ronan, discovering that he had sobered, too. "You
know the other."

"So I do," he said in a half whisper, gently
wiping across her cheek with his knuckles. Suddenly he seemed to grow tense,
his gaze lifting to search her eyes. "Strange, these tracks on your skin.
If I didn’t know better. . ."

Triona half turned before he could finish, her hands
flying to her face. "They’re nothing . . . the rain."

"But so far it’s only sprinkled, Triona."

"Aye, but it poured while you were lying
senseless."

"That’s not possible. Our clothes would be wet."

She didn’t know what to say, she’d become so flustered.
She tried to turn her back to him, but he caught her by the shoulders and
brought her around once more to face him. As he lifted her chin, his eyes
burning intently into hers, she didn’t think she’d ever felt her heart beating
so hard.

"Were your tears for me, Triona?"

Chapter 24

HER BREATH GONE still, she couldn’t speak, but Ronan
didn’t wait for an answer. His mouth came down upon hers at the same moment
agitated whining sounded above them, followed by a bark more startling than the
thunder booming across the sky.

"Damn."

Ronan’s low oath did more to bring Triona back to
reality than Conn’s continued barking. She shoved herself out of his embrace so
abruptly that she stumbled and fell hard on her bottom—an added jolt she needed
to calm her rioting senses.

"No, no, I can get up by myself!" she
insisted as Ronan took her arm to help her. Wrenching herself free, she
clambered back to her feet. "Just stay away from me, O’Byrne! Stay away—"

"Good God, are you two all right?"

"Never better," Ronan said tightly, glancing
up at Niall’s worried face as more clansmen gathered around the pit. "Get
us out of here."

Within moments, the task was accomplished, Ronan and
Triona brushing
themselves
off as Niall shook his
head.

"You can imagine the commotion when Conn came
tearing back to the stronghold without you. I’ve never heard such barking. I
feared some MacMurroughs had dared to trespass on our land."

Ronan was acutely aware that Triona had remained
silent, doing her best to avoid his eyes. But she did bend down to give her dog
a fierce hug, probably more out of gratitude for Conn saving her from Ronan
than anything else. Pained, he turned back to his brother.

"The MacMurroughs would be fools to come to
Glenmalure, and why should they? They’ve a rich Norman king to replenish their
herds. All the more reason to steal more of their cattle before they return
from the north." Ronan glanced at Triona to find her shouldering her
bowcase, and this time, she’d been looking at him as if listening intently. "That
is, after the men have enjoyed a few more days’ rest. Triona and I’ve yet a boar
to snare."