Wild Angel by Miriam Minger Read Free Book Online

rest until her father was avenged. So she had sworn!
    She vaulted from the bed and flung herself across the
room just as a key grated in the lock. Stunned that Ronan could so cruelly
confine her, she pounded upon the door with her fists.
    "O’Byrne?"
    She heard footfalls receding, and she pounded even
harder.
    "O’Byrne!"
    Still no answer and she knew then that he was gone.
Just as she knew she would make him pay for deceiving her.
    The blackhearted liar! Aye, he would pay, and in ways
that would make him wish that he had held to his word!
     
     

 
    Chapter 5

     
    "BEGORRA, BROTHER, YOU’VE taken on quite a
handful."
    Snorting in assent, Ronan lifted his cup and took
another draft of ale. The feasting-hall was abustle with preparations for
supper but at least at this end near the fire, he and Niall had enjoyed a
measure of privacy.
    "The O’Toole’s adopted daughter no less,"
Niall continued. "Probably the last request you would have expected."
    "What I expected was a docile young woman who’d
give me no trouble," said Ronan, throwing a disgruntled look across the
table. "Find her a husband and be done with it, my duty ended. Or I’d
never have sworn—"
    "No, Ronan, you would have sworn either way. You’d
not have let Fineen go to his death worrying for his daughter."
    Ronan didn’t answer, although Niall spoke the truth.
Aye, he’d have taken Triona into his care even if she was twice the
hellion—although that was difficult to fathom—but that didn’t mean he had to
like it. He didn’t, and the sooner he found her a husband . . .
    Low chuckling drew Ronan’s attention. He frowned at
Niall’s grin. "Something amuses you?"
    To his surprise, Niall began to laugh in earnest, his
mirth only fanning Ronan’s irritation.
    "I knew I’ve been too soft with you, Niall.
Twenty-four years old, my Tanist, no less, and you’re still unable to hold your
ale—"
    "It’s not the ale," Niall broke in, his
laughter abating but only slightly. "I was thinking of earlier this
afternoon. You should have seen your face, Ronan! You usually manage to keep a
tight rein on yourself, but when Triona stood up to you . . . just a wee bit of
a thing, too, and spouted she’d have no part of your plans for her—"
    "Something she’ll not do again if she’s wise."
Ronan thunked his empty cup upon the table and
gestured for a nearby servant. "She’ll learn soon enough that my patience
is very short when it comes to such willfulness."
    "I’ll say." Wiping the tears of laughter from
his eyes, Niall shook his head. "I couldn’t believe it when you picked her
up and threw her across your shoulders."
    "She deserved much more than that. That chit needs
a good strong dose of discipline. She’s lucky I didn’t take her across my knee."
    "You think that would make her change her ways?"
Growing thoughtful, Niall waited until his own cup was refilled before adding, "Odd,
a young woman not wanting to marry. Did you have a chance to ask her why?"
    "Yes, but it doesn’t matter. She’ll relent and
abide by my wishes soon enough."
    "I don’t know, brother. If she’s always done
exactly as she pleases. . . ."
    "I said she will change. And quickly, for I’ve
little time for her foolishness."
    "Just as you’ve no time for a wife?"
    Tensing, Ronan met Niall’s eyes. "You know why I’ve
never married."
    "Aye, as you’ve said since I can remember, you’ve
been too busy. Harrying the Normans, looking after the needs of our clan. But
it’s more than that, Ronan, and I’ll not hold my peace any longer. Your guilt
has consumed you! You’ve been doing penance ever since Conor O’Toole’s death,
denying yourself—"
    "Enough!" Ronan thrust himself from the
bench, giving no heed that his roar had caused all activity in the hall to
cease. "I will hear no more!"
    "Aye, the truth always stings deeper than any
wound," Niall continued undaunted, rising to look Ronan squarely in the
eyes. "If it’s so important to make amends to the O’Tooles,