Celtic Bride (19 page)

“Nay,” Keelin replied, wincing as she shrugged. “Just bruised my shoulder a wee bit, I think.”

“Let me help you up.”

The lad gave her his hand and Keelin pulled herself up. It had been close. One more inch either way and the heavy piece would have done serious damage. It might have killed her.

She wondered if
this
incident was what had her intuition humming with apprehension or if something worse awaited her.

“I—I’ll see you inside and then I’ll run back and get Lord Mar—”

“Nay, Dob,” Keelin said. She could see that the lad himself was quite shaken by the experience, and Keelin did not want him to feel responsible. She merely wanted to get to Tiarnan’s chamber where all would be well. Surely no harm would come to her when she was with her uncle. “If ye’ll just take me to the steps and walk along with me to my chamber…No need to be disturbin’ Lord Marcus over this. No harm was done as ye can see.”

“But m’lady…” he said, clearly unsure what to do.

“No arguin’, lad,” Keelin said firmly though she felt quite wobbly inside. She took the boy’s arm. “Come. Walk with me.”

Keelin found Tiarnan sitting with Adam. She had dropped off her cloak and changed into her green gown, and felt marginally better. By the
time she arrived in Adam’s chamber, her intuition warned her of no further danger, and she did not intend to upset either Tiarnan or Adam by speaking of the incident on the path. She would simply take what comfort she could from their presence.

Adam was laughing when she entered the room.

“Oh, Lady Keelin!” he said, grinning. “Lord Tiarnan was just telling me of the time when you tied together the boot laces of all the men sleeping in your father’s hall and—”

“Uncle Tiarnan!” Keelin cried. She pushed the frightening incident to the back of her mind for the moment. “Ye know better than to be regalin’ the lad with such wild tales. I’ve always behaved as a proper Irish—”

“A proper Irish rascal!” Tiarnan declared.

Both Adam and Tiarnan burst into laughter with Tiarnan’s description of her, and she could not help but smile, too. In spite of all of Keelin’s difficulties at Wrexton, Tiarnan had found contentment and a return to good health. He had all the companionship he needed with Adam and Marcus, and the knights who had sheltered with them in their poor cottage.

He would be happy here, Keelin thought. With a clear conscience, she could leave him at Wrexton, knowing his days would be safe and comfortable.

Adam’s wound was healing well, too. He was gaining strength every day and would soon be able to move in and out of his bed without assistance. He would begin taking solid food and his recovery would be nearly complete.

Though all these things meant she would soon be able to leave, thoughts of her return to Carrauntoohil gave her no joy. On the contrary, Keelin
felt nothing but misery at the thought of going away. Yet she schooled her expression and her voice so as not to betray the sorrow she felt within.

“I’ll have ye know, Master Adam,” Keelin said with feigned indignation, “that I am the daughter o’ Eocaidh O’Shea, High Chieftain of all o’ Kerry. ’Tis not fittin’ to mock such a high personage, if ye catch my meanin’.”

“Keelin!”

Just when Keelin thought she’d regained her equilibrium, Marcus flung the door open and stepped inside. His clothes were a mess—a combination of mud and blood, Keelin thought, and his face was drawn.

Clearly, he’d heard of the incident on the path, and suddenly Keelin had a desperate need to feel his protective arms around her.

“Ah, Marcus,” she said instead, standing up from her place on the side of Adam’s bed. She clasped her hands together in front of her, and sent him a forbidding expression. She did not want Tiarnan’s peace shattered by a discussion of the accident on the path. “How fares Frieda?” she asked quickly. “Has she foaled?”

For a fair man, Marcus’s face darkened perceptibly, but he went along with Keelin, clearly understanding her intent. He replied that the mare had delivered a fine colt, but not without difficulty. It remained to be seen whether or not the horse would recover from the birth, or if she’d ever bear any more young.

“Will she die, too, Marcus?” Adam asked, his voice small and troubled. It had not occurred to either Marcus or Keelin that the boy would take Frieda’s condition to heart.

Keelin sat back down next to the lad and glanced up at Marcus, hoping that her
eyes did not betray her need for him. She knew he was torn between the need to stay and offer reassurances to Adam, and hauling her out of the room to question her on what had transpired outside.

She hoped he realized Adam needed him more than she did.

“Nay, Adam,” Marcus said, kneeling next to the lad, “trust that Marshal Boswell will take excellent care of her. And just wait until you’re able to go out and see the colt. He’s a fine lad—has the look of his sire.”

Adam relaxed some with Marcus’s words.

“But Frieda,” Adam persisted. “She will be all right?”

“Adam…I can’t promise you,” Marcus said, “but she seems so. The birth was not easy, but I believe Marshal Boswell will see that Frieda recovers.”

“Might I go and see her, Marcus?”

“Absolutely not,” Marcus replied. “You are not yet healed, young man, and I would not have you leave your warm chamber—”

“But Marcus—”

“Nay, I’ll hear no more,” Marcus replied as he got up. “I will check on the mare often and let you know of her progress. When you are fully healed, you may visit Frieda and Isabella in their temporary stable, but not until then. Keelin,” he said, turning, “I would have a word with you.”

He took her by the elbow and began to usher her out of the room. Completely attuned to each other, neither of them took note of Adam’s pout or the puzzled expression on Tiarnan’s face as they left Adam’s chamber.

Marcus kept one hand under Keelin’s elbow until they reached her room and entered. Marcus closed the door and latched it.

Keelin turned, pressing
her cheek against Marcus’s chest. His arms went around her.

Neither spoke.

’Twas the first time Keelin had ever felt fragile to Marcus. For all her height and strength, she was still a woman, in need of his protection. And he had failed her. First when she’d been injured in the stable, and today, on the path.

Never again, he vowed.

“Keelin,” he said, “where were you hurt? Dob said the stone hit you, knocked you down.”

“Aye, it did, Marcus,” she replied. She started to shake all over again, thinking about her close call. And then there was Marcus, so near, his effect on her so profound… “Dob pushed me from the path, so it barely hit my shoulder.”

“Thank God for that,” Marcus said.

“And for Dob.”

“Yes,” Marcus replied, his throat thickening with emotion. “He’ll be well rewarded.” Had Dob not been so quick, he might have lost her. All he could do now was hold her, and reassure himself that all was well.

He pulled away slightly, moving his hands to the laces that held her bodice together. Keelin did not stop him, nor ask what he was about. Proper or not, he would see with his own eyes that she was truly unhurt.

When the bodice was loosened, Marcus gently pulled it off Keelin’s shoulders, leaving her barely clad in her white chemise. She looked even more vulnerable than before, with so much soft, white skin exposed. He longed to touch her, to pull her close, but he dared not, for fear of injuring her. “Which shoulder was hit, Keelin?” Marcus asked, his voice a quiet rasp.

“My left,” she replied, turning slightly.

Gently he pulled
the thin chemise down. Keelin stayed still, though she was unable to conceal a slight tremor, and the way her breasts rose with quick, nervous breaths.

He had vowed to remain chaste, yet he could not resist touching her. The sight of her graceful neck and delicate collarbones evoked something totally male and primal inside him, responding to her utter femininity. He ran the tips of his fingers gently across her fine bones and could not suppress his own tremor.

A nasty red scrape marred Keelin’s shoulder, and a large bruise had begun to form around it. Marcus knew it had to hurt with every move she made, but he doubted any bones were broken.

Goose bumps appeared on her skin and when Marcus turned his gaze to Keelin’s face, her cheeks were flushed and her eyes closed. He felt every bit as aroused as she looked.

One long lace held the gathered chemise together. Marcus gave a half-hearted attempt to resist, but lost the battle. He gave the cord a slight tug, and the fine linen fabric slipped.
It will do no harm to look,
he told himself,
and mayhap touch. But no more.

As it was, he’d gone too far.

“M
arcus,” Keelin said. It might
have been uttered as a question, or an answer, Marcus thought. Mayhap even a prayer.

“You are so very beautiful,” he said. He took one hand and raised it to his lips, and when he lowered it, he dropped a soft kiss on her injured shoulder, causing Keelin’s breath to catch.

Her reaction inflamed him. He put his hands on her waist, then slid them up to bear the weight of her breasts. With thumbs extended, he touched her nipples, causing the tips to bead, and making her gasp with the impact of his featherlight touch.

Marcus had never touched anything so fine. He circled the deep pink skin, then bowed his head in order to taste her. Taking one breast deep into his mouth, Marcus felt Keelin’s hands in his hair, and heard her gasp with pleasure.

He released her.

“Marcus!” she cried breathlessly. “Please…”

Marcus pulled the chemise back up to cover her. He could take no more, and knew she could not, either.

“Keelin, I must go before I
do something I will regret.”

“No—”

“Yes,” he said, summoning the strength to retie the lace. “I will leave you now and go to my bath. But we will sup together in the hall.”

“Marcus—”

He cut her off with a quick kiss on the lips.

“In the hall,” he said. “At supper.”

Marcus might have smiled at the expression on Keelin’s face when he left her, but he knew his own was no better. Still, he did not regret leaving her. Honor demanded it.

Water had been brought to his chamber for his bath, and he wasted no time getting to it. He stood upright in the tub, sluicing the warm water over his body. It did not help to ease the arousal that was nearly painful, but at least some of the day’s grime rinsed off. Looking down at his body, Marcus did not know how long he could live with the tension. The way he wanted Keelin was beyond what he’d ever felt for any other woman, and he had vowed to take his passions no further than chivalry allowed. Already, he’d stretched the boundaries.

But the relief of finding her relatively unhurt had been too great. He’d had to touch her, he’d needed the reassurance of her body against his, the taste of her skin on his lips. She had needed him just as badly.

With a frustrated groan, he forced his thoughts away from Keelin. ’Twould not serve either of them if he could not keep his emotions, as well as his physical reaction to her, in check.

He rinsed the soap from his body and stepped out of the tub. There was much to do before supper.

Marcus dressed
quickly and threw a warm cloak around his shoulders. It was full dark now, so he picked up an oil lamp to light his way. He did not meet anyone in the gallery as he walked toward the stairs that led to the parapet.

’Twas just as well. Marcus would see how and where the stone had come loose and fallen on Keelin before bringing workmen up to make repairs. He’d been unaware of any weak areas where the stone and mortar were deteriorating, but he supposed the storm could have knocked something loose.

The stairway was dark and cold. Marcus climbed the steps, and when he reached the top, he saw snow on the ground inside. He frowned. Unless there was a space under the door for snow to blow and accumulate inside, there was no logical reason for it to be on the steps inside.

He pulled open the door that led to the parapet. The small lamp and the unearthly glow of the snow provided the only light.

Yet Marcus could see tracks.

The footprints were obscured by the newly fallen snow, but clearly, someone had walked out there, and returned. Hence the snow inside, on the top step.

There was no reason for anyone to have been out there. Unless…

Nay. He refused to even begin thinking of such a thing. Someone must have decided to investigate the falling stonework in order to prevent any further mishap. Tonight he would talk to the men who were stationed inside the keep and find out which of them had heard of Keelin’s accident and had gone up to the parapet to look.

Marcus held the lamp up and walked to the wall overlooking the path. ’Twas a clear shot straight down, with no trees
or other obstacles to impede the path of a falling object. He looked along the crenelated wall, searching for a space where the stone had become dislodged.

He found the spot. And it was not in the vicinity where Keelin had been injured.

Keelin’s insides were shimmering. ’Twas the only way to describe how she felt. And now she was seated on the main dais at Marcus’s right hand, while servants brought course after course of beautifully prepared food. Keelin could barely sit still for all the agitation she felt.

She had yet to recover from their moments together in her chamber.

Looking back on it, the whole day had been heavily charged. Marcus had touched and teased her while they were on the archery range, until she was nearly out of her mind with need. Even now, as he sat beside her, Keelin could not remain unaffected.

She tried not to take note of his hands as he cut their meat in the trencher, or when he held his cup. She avoided inhaling too deeply, to avoid sinking into the clean, masculine scent that was Marcus. She tried not to become too accustomed to the extraordinary sense of safety she felt whenever he was near.

She shut out thoughts of leaving here, and the pain that was certain to accompany her departure and took a sip of wine to settle her nerves.

Baron Selby and his wife sat at Marcus’s far side, along with his daughters. He was a jovial fellow, and seemed not at all put out by the storm that delayed their return home from a journey to visit Lady Selby’s parents.

“I never expected such harsh weather this far before Christmas,” he said. “Else we’d never have left Rent-ford Manor, the estate of my wife’s father.”

Lady Selby just rolled her eyes.

“Papa,” Selby’s younger daughter said, “Grandsire warned you of the—”

“Now, now, Elga,” Selby scolded. “’Tis rude to contradict your elders. Your grandsire was not entirely certain that the weather would change so drastically after the rain.”

The friendly banter
continued as they ate, and Keelin relaxed. It seemed strange that Isolda, who seemed set on controlling every aspect of life at Wrexton, was not in the hall. However, the meal was far more pleasant without the chatelaine’s disapproving eyes constantly glaring at her, without having to be continuously on her guard.

Someone had seen that trestle tables were set up to accommodate the rest of Wrexton’s visitors, and they feasted nearly as well as the lord of the castle. While acrobats in gaily colored costumes began tumbling at one end of the hall, the visiting mummers prepared to entertain the company again. Musicians were tuning up and making ready to play as two wandering minstrels walked among the tables singing and harmonizing songs of valor and romance.

“Have you mastered the bow yet, my lady?” Sir Robert asked from his place farther down the dais.

Keelin laughed. “Far from it, Sir Knight,” she said. “But I’m makin’ good progress, I think.”

“Lord Marcus is a good instructor,” Sir William remarked. “Without fail, his aim is true.”

Keelin thought she detected a twinkle in the knight’s eye, but could not be sure. “Aye,” she replied, “but is he as good with a target that moves?”

“Well, that remains to be seen,” Robert said, “does it not, my lord?”

“I’ve been tested
both ways, gentlemen,” Marcus said dryly, “and never found wanting.”

“Lady Keelin,” a feminine voice interrupted. Isolda had come up behind her and spoke quietly. Her expression was one of distress, and her hands twisted in front of her. “May I speak with you for a moment?”

Keelin hesitated, but Isolda seemed quite upset. Without a doubt, something was wrong and Keelin worried that it was Annie’s babe again, or another one of the castle children fallen ill. Pushing herself away from the table, Keelin stood, causing Marcus to notice Isolda for the first time.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

She shrugged, wincing with the movement of her sore, stiff shoulder. “Not far, Marcus,” Keelin replied. “Don’t be mindin’ me. Just continue with yer meal and I’ll be back when I can.”

Marcus shook his head. “If you don’t mind, I’ll come along.”

Keelin could see from his expression that he would brook no resistance, even though his tone was mild. He intended to accompany her wherever she went and Keelin had to admit that his big, solid presence was comforting, even if ’twas unsettling at the same time.

They walked a few steps from the dais and Marcus stood behind Keelin. She resisted the urge to lean into him as Isolda spoke.

“Lady Keelin,” she said, taking care to avoid looking at Marcus. “I—I just want to say how regretful I am to have been so…unkind to you since your arrival here at Wrexton.” Her manner was awkward, though she seemed sincere.

Her words
were so unexpected, though, that Keelin was caught speechless for the moment. ’Twas no matter, though, for Isolda continued.

“Those incidents…they were childish and mean,” she said. “I cannot tell you what came over me, but I sincerely regret causing you any embarrassment. Please allow me to—to bid you a belated welcome to Wrexton. I intend to do all in my power to see that you are made comfortable.”

Isolda glanced quickly at Marcus, then back at Keelin.

“I thank ye, Isolda,” Keelin said, extending her hands in a friendly gesture. Isolda took hold of them and squeezed once. Then she turned and walked away in haste.

Keelin stood watching Isolda as she made her way through the throng of people, then turned back to the table. Robert and William had both witnessed the chatelaine’s apology, and while Robert smiled broadly as a result of it, William’s visage was dark and forbidding, as if he did not believe in Isolda’s sincerity.

“’Twas a very gracious thing,” Keelin said to Marcus as she seated herself. Her words were for William’s benefit as well, for Keelin truly believed Isolda was remorseful for her unkind behavior.

Marcus did not know what to believe. He shared Will’s skepticism, yet he’d seen Isolda’s eyes. He did not detect any deceit there.

Questions remained regarding Keelin’s accident, however, and whether or not it was in truth, an accident. Isolda was the likeliest villain in the scenario, yet Marcus had learned she’d been occupied in the hall at the time Keelin had been hurt. They could not be Isolda’s footprints on the parapet.

Yet who else felt threatened by Keelin? The castle servants had come
to love and respect her, especially since she’d cured Annie’s babe. Not one of the servants missed an opportunity to sing Keelin’s praises for the fine job she’d done with Adam and little Peg. And Marcus had seen them coming to her at all hours to ask her advice for one malady or another.

Mayhap the stone and mortar incident was truly just an accident, though come daylight, Marcus intended to investigate further. ’Twas quite possible he’d missed something in the dark.

Keelin knew that the frivolity in the hall bothered Marcus. After all, his father was only recently buried, and such merry activity had no place at Wrexton now. ’Twas one thing to hang a little pine and holly about the keep in order to commemorate the season, and yet another thing altogether to engage in boisterous fun.

Still, the stranded travelers needed diversions to keep their interest—and the peace. So Marcus did not object to the plays or the dancing, although he refrained from joining in, as did Keelin.

Of all the visitors in the hall, only two made Keelin uneasy. They were knights, brothers by the look of them, and not as old as their first impression gave out.

Both men had brown hair, worn long. The shape of their chins was the same, long and pointed, and one of them had a deep dimple piercing the center. The same brother was cursed with eyes of two different colors, brown and blue. Keelin was unnerved whenever his gaze caught hers.

They’d let it be known they were on an errand for their lord, a viscount from Lincolnshire, when they’d been caught by the storm. Keelin thought the viscount must have fallen on hard times to have outfitted his knights so poorly, for their
armor was tarnished and their livery frayed.

Keelin noticed that the women of the castle avoided both brothers. She planned to do likewise.

The weather turned even colder, and it kept everyone indoors another few days, bundled in extra clothes and cloaks.

Tempers flared among the visitors in the hall, and Marcus and his men were well occupied keeping the peace. The servants were overtaxed, as well, and Marcus solved the problem by seeing that the burden of maintaining the hall was shared by all, including the visitors.

Though ’twas a blessing that the inclement weather would not last much longer, Marcus knew that when it became possible to travel, Keelin would make haste to return to Kerry. After all, she’d only promised to remain at Wrexton as long as Adam needed her, and the boy’s condition was improving steadily. In another day or so, the boy would be able to leave his bed unassisted.

Marcus had not pressed Keelin for the last few days. He’d been acutely aware of her whenever she was near, and his hands fairly itched with the need to touch her. He realized, however, the benefit of allowing Keelin to stew alone over her feelings for him. If he had accurately read the look in her eyes, then she was feeling equally frustrated.

He judged it was time to act. All was quiet in the hall for the moment, with Marcus’s most trusted knights present to keep watch on things.

Knowing that Keelin would not refuse an opportunity to visit the falcons, Marcus invited her to join him to see how the nestlings progressed at their training. He had spoken to Gerald on
several occasions and knew the small merlins were ready for company.

“Ah, my lord!” Gerald said as he and Keelin entered the long building. “I—I was just about to take my leave—”

“Nay, Gerald. Not yet,” Marcus said, suppressing a smile. The falconer had not forgotten Marcus’s instruction to vacate whenever he and Keelin arrived. “Stay and show us the nestlings.”

“Very good, my lord.” The falconer smiled. “’Tis a fine pair of merlins you’ve got. They took to the hood and bells, and they’ve been out at night.”