Wild Angel by Miriam Minger

Author:Miriam Minger [Minger, Miriam]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Tags: historical fiction, romance, historical romance
ISBN: 9780982883549
Publisher: Walker Publishing
Published: 2010-11-05T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 21

RONAN’S WEARINESS WAS great, but it was nothing compared to his frustration. He rolled onto his side and stuffed his pillow beneath his head.

Four damned weeks! Almost an entire month now he had waited for some sign that Triona might be growing more inclined to wed him, certainly twice as long as he had ever intended. But he would swear she was no closer to accepting his offer of marriage than he was to regaining his own bed. By God, and it didn’t help that this was the lumpiest mattress he had ever slept upon!

Ronan thrust himself onto his other side, this time jamming the down pillow against the headboard with such force that tiny white feathers burst from one corner. But he barely noticed them drifting around him, his frustration become like a raging fever.

Aye, even calling for three times as many raids had done him little good!

He had told his men that it was because they might never have a chance at such rich pickings again once King John quashed the rebellion among his subjects and left Eire. Even now the Norman army was still waging battle far to the north while to the south lay countless manors so poorly guarded they were like chickens waiting for the slaughter.

Yet behind that sound explanation lay the fact that he’d wanted to prove to Triona that he meant to stand by his word. And what better way than to raid so often that there had been barely time between to catch a few hours’ sleep before they were up and riding again.

Or so he had thought. But obviously it hadn’t worked for here he was, still sleeping alone while the woman he wanted no doubt hated him as much as before.

Ronan lunged from the bed, cursing his foolishness.

Damn her, he should have forced her to marry him. He would have forced her to marry the O’Nolan if the chieftain had wanted her. So why, then, hadn’t he spared himself this torment?

Ronan thrust his legs into a pair of trousers, giving up for the moment any notion of sleeping. Instead he went outside.

The night was warm. A light breeze ruffled through his hair. He doubted a walk would help, but it was worth a try. He turned and headed away from the dwelling-house where Triona was sleeping—his own damned house!—deciding it was best not to go too near. It was dangerous, given his mood.

"Lord?"

"Aye." Ronan said no more to the guard who’d approached him, pleased to see that his men were being vigilant about their duty.

He walked on, nodding to the clansmen standing at their posts, their numbers doubled of late. It was unlikely that any Normans would dare stray into Glenmalure, the cowards preferring to fight their battles on the open plains. But he and his men—and Triona, had stolen some MacMurrough cattle a week past, and though Ronan was certain much of that traitorous clan had ridden north to join King John, it never hurt to be cautious.

"Brazen

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