Niall was sleeping peacefully, so the huge Irishman kept his voice low. "I thought all of you might want to know, the O’Byrne’s back." Her heart lurching, Triona rose from the chair. "Ronan’s here?" "Aye, miss, and from the looks of it, there’s wounded among his men. I hope you can spare the healer—" "Maire and I can see to the O’Byrne’s brother," Aud broke in, her brown eyes alight as she turned to Triona. "Go on with you, sweeting! You’ve been waiting all these hours . . ." Triona needed no urging, careening past Flann in her haste to get outside. She squinted in the brilliant midday sun. The stronghold yard was alive with sounds: horses whinnying, dogs barking excitedly—aye, she heard Conn barking, too—people calling to each other, women and children rushing through the melee to find husbands and fathers. But she didn’t see Ronan anywhere. At once Triona began to fear that he might be among those wounded, Flann not having the heart to tell her. She plunged with a racing heart into the throng, her anxiety increasing by the moment.
