Free Wild Angel by Miriam Minger

more!"      
    "No more? But I just started. I thought you wanted
to hear every verse . . . oh!" Triona was swung around so roughly that the
room spun around her.
    "Lilting as a lark?" Ronan demanded of the
astonished openmouthed maid, his grip on Triona’s arm so punishing that she
winced. "Tell me, And. Did you not say that your mistress had a lovely
voice?"
    "Aye, Lord, that I did," Aud replied,
recovering so quickly from her shock that Triona believed she couldn’t have
done any better herself. "A wee bit on the sharp side I must admit and
perhaps a shade too breathy, but pleasant enough to listen to just the same."
    "Then you must be deaf, woman, for if I’ve any
hearing left after this night, I’ll count myself fortunate. As for you"—Ronan
turned Triona roughly to face him— "you’re blessed to have earned such
loyalty. If Aud had been any less glib with her answer, you’d have found
yourself locked in your room for a fortnight instead of a week."
    Triona’s eyes widened in disbelief. "What? You’re
going to lock me up for a week? After I did everything you wanted . . . spoke
softly, acted agreeably, agreed to sing . . . wore
this—this wretched gown?" She was so outraged that this time she gave no
heed to Maire’s feelings. Triona raised her hand to slap Ronan but he caught
it, his strong fingers crushing hers in a punishing grip.
    "Bruised ribs and a broken toe are enough injury
for one night, thank you—" Ronan ducked just in time to miss her other
doubled fist aimed right for his jaw. Uttering a low curse, he yanked her arms
behind her back and then brought her hard against him. "You’re a wild one,
Triona O’Toole, but I’m faster than you. Now either you walk in as maidenly a
fashion as you can stomach or I’ll throw you over my—"
    "I’ll walk!" Triona declared, the muffled
laughter rippling through the hall enough to convince her that she would not be
the brunt of these O’Byrnes’ amusement again.
    Thinking that as soon as Ronan released her arms she
would bolt for the doors, her hopes were dashed when he wrenched her silk
mantle from her shoulders and wound it around her waist like a lead rope. Then
he prodded her with his knee, ordering over the erupting guffaws of his men, "Move."
    Her face burning bright crimson, she crossed her arms
over her breasts and planted her feet firmly on the floor. "I will not!
Not until you allow me to walk at will—oh!"
    Triona rounded upon Ronan in horror, her bottom
smarting where he had just pinched her.
    "Now there was a pure bell-like tone if ever I’ve
heard one," he said. To her surprise a trace of a smile was on his face. "Perhaps
if I pinch you some more we might hear the fair music Aud told me so much
about—instead of the noise you screeched just to spite me."
    Triona moved then, closing her ears to the laughter
that followed them past the crowded tables and out into the starlit night. She
didn’t stop until she had reached the dwelling-house, where she paused outside
the door to catch her breath. "Beautiful night."
    Her breasts rising and falling from hurrying so fast,
her humiliation so great she felt hot tears welling in her eyes, Triona glanced
at him in disbelief. He wasn’t watching her but looking up at the waning moon,
his striking features awash in its light.
    Her heart seemed to skip a beat and she hated herself
for it, hated herself for thinking him handsome after what he’d just done to
her. But she hated herself even more when he met her eyes, her heart leaping
into her throat when he reached out and smudged away a tear with his thumb . .
. his touch upon her cheek as soft as a whisper.
    "Tears? You’re more a maiden than you think,
Triona."
    Ronan knew he’d said the wrong thing the moment her
fist connected with his lower abdomen. Exhaling in pain, he doubled over, not
having seen the blow coming.
    "And you’re more the fool, O’Byrne, to think I’ll become something I’m not to please the likes of you!"
    She had