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

rims or shiny cups like her own.
    "Is this a special feast night?" she asked.
When Ronan didn’t reply, she added conversationally, "It surely must be. I’ve
never seen so much silver. We had fine plate in my father’s household, but only
enough for his table. And we never used it except for the most important feast
days."
    "Believe me, Triona, your presence tonight is no
cause for celebration," Ronan said stiffly, his ribs still smarting and
his big toe throbbing. When she merely shrugged and looked away, he swallowed a
deep draft of wine but it did little to soothe his foul mood. If he’d felt edgy
earlier that day, now his carefully nurtured self-control felt in shreds.
    Damn her, did she think that he could be so easily
deceived? She had walked capably enough across the hall, her lithe grace capturing
not only his attention but every other man’s in the room. Graceful, that is,
until she was close enough to do him bodily injury—
    "I’d say your hospitality is sorely lacking,
brother. If you don’t care to converse with our beautiful guest, then perhaps
we could exchange seats."
    "You’ll stay where you are." Ronan shot Niall
a dark look. To his annoyance his brother speculatively raised his brow. Maire
was looking at him oddly, too. Realizing how possessive he must have appeared,
Ronan’s vexation mounted.
    By God, the last thing he wanted was for them to think
that he held some genuine interest in Triona. Though he admitted he found her
desirable, he found many women desirable, at least for a night.
    "What are these?"
    Ronan glanced at the steaming platter of chicken being
held in front of Triona, her eyes fixed inquisitively upon the pear-shaped nuts
studding the fragrant golden sauce.
    "Almonds, a delicacy from the East. Compliments of
the Normans . . . like the wine you’ve been drinking."
    Impressed, Triona held out her cup. "This, too?"
    Ronan nodded. "The silver, the linen tablecloths,
the silk on your back, the rare saffron in that sauce, the meat roasting on our
spits." He paused to drink, his eyes granite hard when he lowered his cup.
"Anything they hold dear, we’ve taken. Their lives if they’re fool enough
to stand in our way."
    Hearing the sudden harshness in his voice, Triona
imagined that few Normans of sane mind would dare to raise their weapons
against so forbidding an opponent as Black O’Byrne.
    "Aye, Triona, we’ve even taken a cook," Niall
said with a laugh.
    "A cook?" Astonished, Triona glanced at Niall
then back to Ronan. "How?"
    He shrugged as if the incident had been of no
consequence. "An unwise man left his manor too lightly guarded during
supper. When we rode our horses into the knight’s hall, our weapons drawn and
ready, his cook threw down his ladle and begged to go
with us."
    "An Irishman," Niall interjected, clearly
eager to tell part of the story. "Seamus was sold into slavery as a lad
and cooked for Normans most of his life."
    "Aye, though after his years with our foes he adds
a bit of foreign refinement to our meals." Ronan’s voice grew harsher. "It’s
well-known among our enemies that we Wicklow barbarians prefer our women
filthy, our wine sour and our meat still warm and bleeding."
    This comment brought great guffaws from the clansmen
seated nearby, one man nearly choking, his mouth was so full of food.
    "Our clever Seamus toiled for a time in an Irish
kitchen as well, a MacMurrough’s kitchen." Ronan’s voice rose above the din.
"For a wedding between Irish and Norman. And well we know that the
MacMurrough clan’s taste has long been for treason, and forming alliances with
the French-tongued dogs who stole Kildare from its rightful owners, the O’Byrnes!"
    This time the hall erupted in jeers, slurs and curses upon the name MacMurrough and all its descendants. The noise grew so
deafening that Niall had to stand on his chair and roar at the top of his lungs
for the harper, a lank, sallow-faced man who unfolded his gaunt frame from a
nearby corner and came