Celtic Bride (14 page)

Keelin could only wonder what would happen next.

After the meal, Marcus had had no choice but to play the host to Delford, but he resented each minute spent away from Keelin’s side. Isolda
hovered nearby, quite aware that Marcus would say nothing of his plans to send her away in the bishop’s presence. She engaged the bishop in lively conversation, her eyes flashing with life and gaiety, while something else lurked beneath the surface.

Marcus was not quite sure what she was about, but Isolda did nothing without purpose.

The meal had barely ended when Keelin approached Delford to bid him farewell and wish him a safe journey on the morrow. Then she turned and bid Marcus good night. Her attitude was quite formal, subdued even, with none of the graceful ease of her conversation before dinner.

Marcus did not understand what had happened to change her demeanor so dramatically. He could not believe that the incident with the wine goblet could have upset her so much, but, suspicious now, he wondered what else could have happened that he had not noticed?

The evening wore on interminably after Keelin retired. The food did not settle well, nor was the company especially exhilarating. Eldred’s death had cast a somber pall over the evening, and the guests were quiet and appropriately respectful of their fallen lord.

The visitors from Wrexton Town departed early, and the castle guests retired as soon as it was polite to do so. Servants began clearing up the hall, carrying trays, cleaning up spills, and removing the trestles.

Marcus picked up a lamp and headed toward the stone steps, but he was waylaid by Sir William.

“A word, my lord,” the knight said.

“W
hat is it, Will?” Marcus asked. He was weary, but possessed of a
strange restlessness. Even when he retired to his chamber, he was unsure he’d be able to sleep.

“My lord, I have never been known to mince my words,” Will said, “and ’twould serve neither of us if I started now.”

“Speak freely, then.”

“’Tis pranks, Lord Marcus,” Will said. “Pranks that’ll do nothing but grow in severity until someone’s hurt.”

“Pranks?” Marcus asked, gaining a glimmer of what William referred to.

Will cleared his throat. He kept his voice down so that no others would hear him, but still, there was a hollow quality to the hall, now that it was nearly empty, and echoes emanated from every sound.

“Come with me to my chamber,” Marcus said.

The man followed as Marcus led with the candle, and he did not speak again until they’d entered Marcus’s room. The fire had been laid and the room was comfortably warm.

“My lord, do you
recall yestermorn, when you and I came into the hall with Robert?”

Marcus nodded. He recalled the moment clearly. His eyes had met Keelin’s and they’d made an instant connection to each other as if by some invisible thread that bound them. And the moment had broken when she’d fallen.

“Isolda tripped her.”

Marcus frowned. “Are you certain?”

“’Tis not my way to go telling tales, my lord,” Will said, firmly, “but like I said, this is bound to go further still. Tonight, Isolda greased the lady’s cup so she’d drop it and make a spectacle of herself.”

Marcus did not want to believe it, although it was all too easy to do so. He’d seen plenty of evidence of Isolda’s tyranny at Wrexton, especially in the last few days since his return. Now his ire rose on Keelin’s behalf, having to suffer Isolda’s meanness without a word of complaint.

No doubt Isolda had meant for Keelin to spill the goblet of wine all over herself as well as Bishop Delford. What a sight that would have been! Keelin would have looked like a clumsy churl to all who were gathered in the hall.

Marcus should have realized that Isolda would feel threatened by Keelin’s presence, but he’d been preoccupied with all that was required of him since his return to Wrexton.

And with Keelin.

He had not given any attention to Isolda or how she might feel about Keelin O’Shea. In fact, he had probably made matters worse by telling Isolda he intended to find her a husband and move her away from Wrexton.

“I thought nothing of all this until tonight, my lord,” William added. “But there
are bound to be more incidents….”

“You’re right, Will,” Marcus said.

“And Lady Keelin has done so much…first for Adam, then Edward’s leg….”

“Yes, she has,” he said, silently chastising himself for his oversight. “Concern yourself no further. I’ll deal with Lady Isolda.”

William lowered his head, then took the candle Marcus handed him. “Well, good night, then, my lord,” he said as he turned and opened the door.

“Good night, Will,” Marcus said. “And thank you for your vigilance.”

Keelin passed the night in restless sleep. That strong, intuitive sense of foreboding had abated to some degree, yet she still sensed something amiss at Wrexton Castle.

If she’d had
Ga Buidhe an Lamhaigh
in her possession, she might have picked it up and gotten a clearer sense of what was wrong. Instead, she tossed and turned through the night, battling faceless demons in her sleep.

It was barely dawn when a light tap at her chamber door woke her. By the flickering light of the dying fire, she climbed groggily from her bed and opened her chamber door.

Marcus stood in the dark gallery, holding one candle. He did not speak for a moment, but cleared his throat and seemed to consider what he wanted to say. Finally, he spoke. “I did not want you to miss the hunt.”

Through her haze of semiwakefulness, Keelin saw his eyes rove over her disheveled appearance. She knew her thin linen shift was hardly decent, but felt no need—or desire—to cover herself in Marcus’s presence.

“Oh,” she said as her mind cleared. Memory and good
sense returned. “Yes. With your birds.” Marcus himself looked dangerous, if only to her peace of mind, Keelin thought as she crossed her arms in front of her.

He nodded, unable to take his eyes off her. He stepped into Keelin’s chamber, pushing the door shut behind him. Then he held something out to her.

Ga Buidhe an Lamhaigh.

“Oh! Thank you, Marcus,” Keelin said, taking the leather-encased spear from his hands. She turned away and Marcus followed her deeper into the room.

“Here’s where I would hide it,” he said, finding his voice again as he walked to the bed and picked up one edge of the mattress. The imprint of her body was still there, and the blankets were a tangled mess from her restless night. Her intimate presence could not have been illustrated more clearly, though Marcus gave no sign of noticing. “Lay it here, lengthwise along the frame. I doubt it will be disturbed there.”

“Oh, aye,” she said, putting the spear on the frame, just as he’d said. “’Tis likely the best place for it. I thank ye, Marcus for thinkin’ of it. And for keepin’ it safe for me.”

Marcus dropped the mattress back into place and stepped away from the bed, his eyes never leaving her. They glittered darkly in the faint light of the room, and Keelin suspected that he was thinking of neither the spear nor the morning’s hunt.

She felt more naked than ever, even though she was covered from throat to toes. Keelin doubted Marcus realized how he looked at her, or even that a heavy silence hung between them. Uneasily, she placed one hand at her neck, where the ties of her gown had loosened. Her fingers toyed with the laces.

Keelin felt the pull, the need to be desired and cherished. She knew that
if she gave but one small tug on the laces, and then a tiny shrug, the gown would fall from her shoulders. She could finally learn what magical force urged her to seek Marcus’s embrace time and again.

But she would not risk
Ga Buidhe an Lamhaigh,
or the welfare of the clan, to satisfy her own trivial needs.

Her decision to remain aloof was a sound one, and Keelin knew it was the only one she could make under the circumstances. ’Twould be a mere week or so, she told herself, that she would have to keep this potent attraction at bay. Then Adam would be up and about, and Keelin would be well on her way to Carrauntoohil.

Quickly, before she could change her mind, she raised both hands to Marcus’s shoulders and turned him, pushing him out of her chamber. “Leave me now, m’lord,” she said shakily. “I’ll dress and meet you in the hall.”

Marcus stood outside Keelin’s door and forced his heart to slow, his breathing to return to normal.

Still, he could see the delicate bones of her neck, the sleek muscles of her throat moving as she spoke. Her hair was loose, as always, but this morning it had been tangled and mussed by sleep. Her eyes had been slightly swollen, leading him to believe she had slept no better than he.

The bed had nearly been his undoing. Still warm from her body, he could easily envision her lying upon it, her lustrous hair spread out like a sensuous blanket, her arms raised to welcome him.

He had his honor, though, and he meant to keep it, along with Keelin’s.

He was aware of the impropriety of visiting Keelin’s chamber, especially while she was undressed, but had been unable to
restrain himself. Besides, it had been necessary to return the spear to her, and see that she was awake and ready for the hunt.

He had no intention of letting her run from him today, as she had done the afternoon before in the mews, and again after the supper with Bishop Delford and the rest of the castle guests.

Marcus walked the length of the gallery and went down to the great hall. There, servants were already preparing for the day’s needs—food, laundry, fuel. Delford’s men were making ready for the bishop’s departure later in the morning.

Marcus went into the main kitchen and looked over the satchels of food Cook had prepared for the hunting party, as well as the baskets of food that would accompany the bishop and his men. He informed the servants that Lady Keelin would be out of the keep all day, but she was to be summoned if Adam’s condition warranted her presence.

When all was satisfactory within the keep, Marcus braved the cold and crossed the bailey. Entering the mews, he found Gerald Falconer readying the birds.

“Will we take the dogs this morn, my lord?”

Marcus nodded. They would need meat, and plenty of it, to keep the residents of Wrexton fed through the winter. Since Marcus had the right to hunt deer and boar in the king’s forest, he would attempt to bring back at least one of each, as well as plenty of small fowl and game.

“Lady Keelin will be joining us today,” Marcus said.

“Ah,” Gerald replied as he pulled a hood over Cleo’s head. “The lady has a clear and healthy respect for your birds, my lord.”

’Twas true. He’d seen that Keelin appreciated the falcons with a reverence that few people had. “Are the lads ready to go?” Marcus
asked as he gathered some fur pelts from a cupboard. They would need extra warmth once they were far afield and he did not want Keelin to be chilled.

“Aye,” Gerald replied. “They’ve been up awhile, making everything ready. We were just waiting to see if you wanted the hounds.”

“Very good.”

Marcus’s next stop was the shed where many of the horses were temporarily being housed. He chose a gentle mount for Keelin, and had it saddled along with his own.

By this time, the rest of the hunting party was out in the bailey, creating a bit of a disturbance before sunrise. Marcus walked into their midst, looking for Keelin. She was not among the throng.

He looked through the darkness back toward the keep, and saw a tall shadow there, a woman draped in a warm, dark cloak. Keelin. Marcus handed the reins of both horses to Boswell, and headed to the place where she stood.

He clipped up the steps, taking them two at a time. When he reached Keelin, he saw that a bright excitement lit her eyes even though she was reticent to join the party in the bailey. Though Keelin had never struck him as timid or retiring, Marcus understood her hesitance in approaching a strange crowd of people. Especially after having been treated so poorly by Isolda Coule.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

Keelin gave a shy nod. “Are you sure I should be comin’ along, Marcus?”

Pausing for only a moment, Marcus took her hand, then turned and led her quickly down the steps and into the bailey while a pale, pinched face observed from a narrow, stone arrow-loop high above them.

“Hold your
arm out, Keelin,” Marcus said, “and she’ll return to you.”

Keelin did as Marcus instructed, holding her thickly gloved hand out so that Guinevere would find her perch. Keelin watched as the beautiful gyrfalcon circled, riding high on the cold wind, until she was just above them.

She braced herself for Guinevere’s landing as Marcus began speaking to the bird, using the familiar words and tones that calmed the creature. All at once, in a controlled and dignified descent, the gyrfalcon alighted on Keelin’s forearm, and was rewarded with a bit of meat.

Keelin felt her heart tip as the graceful bird rested on her hand. She could not imagine anything more powerful or majestic as these beautiful birds in flight, or on the hunt.

And Marcus…His patience in handling the falcons made her wonder if he would show the same patience and joy in his children, when he had them.

Keelin looked up at him then, and saw pride in his eyes, along with something more. Her heart tipped again, and her eyes skittered away before she was forced to acknowledge what she saw.

Clearly, allowing Marcus’s feelings to develop any further was wrong, when she intended to leave Wrexton as soon as Adam’s condition improved. God and all His saints had to know that her own feelings had progressed well beyond what was prudent. As it was, Keelin did not know how she would manage to leave Wrexton—
Marcus
—when it was time.

Her eyes suddenly burned and she turned toward Gerald Falconer, mindful of the gyrfalcon still perched on her fist. What she really wanted was to run away, run back through the hills to Wrexton Keep.

Or throw herself
into Marcus’s arms and never let go.

“Will ye be takin’ her now, Master Falconer?” she asked, her voice an embarrassing croak.

“Nay, my lady,” Gerald replied. “This time, you’ll be sending her to her real prey.”

Marcus came up behind her. “Can you hold her any longer, or is your arm tiring?” he asked.

“N-no, I’m all right,” she stammered. He was too close, and she was all too susceptible to him. She did not want to notice his thick, gold-tipped lashes, or the bright blue of his eyes. She
could not
acknowledge the admiration he had for her. She
would not
allow it to progress any further.

Marcus nodded to Gerald, who began to walk toward the lake where the large waterfowl fed. It was there that Guinevere and Cleo would hunt and bring cranes to their masters.

Keelin tramped through the woods next to Marcus, unable to trust her own voice. Once she’d started thinking about Marcus’s children, all she could do was envision the lovely wee darlin’s he would have one day. Without her.

“There’ll be cranes in the water beyond the wood,” Marcus said. “Gerald said there’re enough so that we might bag a few without depleting the population.”

“Depleting…?”

Marcus smiled at Keelin’s puzzled look. “The huntsmen must take care not to kill off too many, else there won’t be enough to populate the brooks and fields next year.”

“And ’tis the same with the deer,” Keelin asked, “as well as the boar?”

Marcus nodded.

“I never knew anyone
kept count of the game in the forest.”

“You would be surprised,” Marcus said. “I am fortunate to have jurisdiction over Wrexton’s forests, but most of the green land of the kingdom belongs to the crown.”

“The dead king’s son?” Keelin asked. “But he’s just a wee lad, is he not?”