Read Online Wild Angel by Miriam Minger - Free Book Online Page B

forward carrying his harp.
    "I think the O’Byrne is in mind for a tune,"
Niall announced as Ronan pushed himself back in his chair, his foot braced on
the table. "Play of Dermot MacMurrough, harper, and how that traitor, that
accursed king of Leinster invited the Normans to our green isle!"
    Triona became so caught up in the impassioned music
leaping from the strings that she gave no more thought to her meal, the food
growing cold upon her plate. She knew the words as well as anyone, the infamous
story recounting Dermot’s treacherous plea to the Norman King Henry to send
fighting men to protect his Leinster kingdom from invading Irish clans. So the
Normans came, forcing clan after clan to bow under their yoke while those who
didn’t bend were branded as rebels and burned from their homes.
    The O’Byrnes were one of those
clans. As the harper’s high tenor voice soared into the air, his rusty hair and beard wild about his face as he sang, Triona wasn’t
surprised when everyone in the hall joined him.
    Forty years had passed since the Normans had sailed
across the Irish Sea and conquered much of Eire, but the O’Byrnes still had
strong reason to hate the MacMurroughs. While the Irish traitors enjoyed the
comfort of their lands around them, a reward for their devil’s alliance, the O’Byrnes
and the O’Tooles lived in the mountains where they had been forced to take
refuge . . . their rich hereditary lands to the north overrun by men clad in
shirts of mail.
    "At least the O’Byrne didn’t deceive us about the
harper, eh, sweeting?" came Aud’s sudden whisper. "The man plays as
fine as you sing."
    Startled, Triona almost hadn’t heard her maid above the
cascading strings. But before she could respond Triona felt a strong hand at
her elbow.
    "You will sing next."
    Ronan’s commanding voice sent a shiver plummeting to
the pit of her stomach. She was suddenly so nervous that she almost abandoned
her plan to sing poorly, displaying yet another lack in feminine graces. But
one glance at Ronan’s face made her resentment flare hot. His stone gray eyes held a clear warning, that to her, became a dare. Aye,
she had been blessed with a crystalline singing voice, but she wasn’t about to
share her gift with him!
    Triona rose as the harper’s long yellow-nailed fingers
sounded the last biting strains of Dermot MacMurrough’s tune and then moved
into the gentler courtship melody of Lady Emer and the legendary hero
Cuchulain.
    "Remember, Triona," Ronan warned her. "Every
last verse."
    In spite of her pounding heart and damp palms, she
closed her eyes and breathed serenely. Her father had often chuckled at her
made-up verses mocking the shy, self-denyingly noble, ridiculously perfect
conception of maidenly excellence. Fineen had been proud possessing instead a
daughter whose skill with the bow had matched his own.
    "The song, Triona," Ronan prompted sternly,
wondering if she planned to keep them waiting all night. He shot an impatient
glance at Aud who smiled stiffly.
    "As lilting as a lark, Lord, you will—"
    The last of Aud’s words were drowned out as Triona
emitted the most grating, most shrill noise Ronan had ever heard in his life .
. . so piercingly high that he clapped his hands over his ears while every face
in the hall looked at Triona in horror.
    "Woman!"

     

     

 
    Chapter 7

     
    TRIONA GASPED AS she was whirled around by the arm,
coming face-to-face with a man she doubted could look more furious.
    "Yes?" she asked Ronan innocently, blinking.
    He was so enraged that he couldn’t seem to answer, so
she glanced at Niall instead. The younger man looked quite stunned. So did
Maire, although she had the smallest of smiles upon her face.
    "Oh dear, I started too fast, didn’t I?"
Triona prodded. "Too slow? Perhaps a bit too loud—"
    "Enough!" Ronan’s command made her jump, but
she recklessly decided his eyes weren’t yet furious enough.
    "But if you’d let me begin again, I’m sure that I—"
    "No