Celtic Bride (23 page)

Keelin swallowed hard. How could she have thought she had any bargaining power with this man? He had the advantage—in every way.

“But Lord Marcus won’t—”

“Aw, but the earl is out chasing his falcons!” the man laughed. “Won’t be available to rescue his poor lady.”

“You!” Keelin cried. “You took the falcons?”

He shook his head. “My brother and some fool he found to help him. Quite a nice diversion, wouldn’t you say?”

Keelin shook her head in dismay.

“The old lady had everything figured. Once Ned has gone far enough, he’ll leave the birds for the earl to find.” The man started to move toward Keelin again, and she backed away, circling the room. “He’ll be so occupied with his precious falcons that by the time he checks on you…ah, well…”

“No.”

The thief merely chuckled at Keelin’s denial of all he’d said, and continued to stalk her. “Ah, good. All this talk has warmed me up.”

T
he snow
let up just enough for Marcus to increase his pace. He rode toward a deserted dell that lay just outside Wrexton property, across the Welsh border. There was a deserted old barn there, and with luck, Keelin’s horse had made for the shelter, as cold and unwelcoming as it might be.

At worst, it was the place where the thief had sought refuge, the only place for miles where Keelin could also find shelter.

After too many hours in the saddle, in the worst weather Marcus could remember, it was still deep night. At least, it seemed to be night, though Marcus was not sure morning would look much different if the storm kept up.

He rode on, oblivious to the cold, worried to the depths of his soul for Keelin’s safety. He prayed as he’d never prayed before, that she was safely situated in the old barn in the dell, and that the rogue knight, Bren, was nowhere near.

The miles passed at a crawl and the chill finally penetrated Marcus’s layers. His face was numb and his brows caked with snow
by the time he reached the rise that overlooked the barn.

All Marcus’s battle instincts came to life.

A horse, still saddled, huddled close to the building. It could not be the one Keelin had taken. Marcus knew she would not have left the animal untended in the harsh weather.

His heart sank. He must have missed her somehow.

Marcus drew his sword and approached quietly. The only person likely to be in the barn was the thief who’d stolen Keelin’s spear.

That thought was contradicted by a sudden scream that pierced the night.
Keelin!

Marcus spurred his horse forward, dismounting as he reached the entrance. He fairly flew through the tracks in the snow and flung the door open. The flickering light was just enough for Marcus to see Keelin sprawled out on the floor near the hearth, with her clothes in tatters, and her attacker hovering just over her.

The man roared up at Marcus’s interruption and tried to yank Keelin up in front of him to use as a shield. She resisted, barely evading his grasp.

“Marcus!” she cried. Her chest heaved with terror as she held the shreds of her gown in place. She was effectively cornered, though, and unable to get to him.

Marcus’s blood boiled with rage. How dare the knave lay his hands on Keelin!

Keelin tried to move away from behind the knight, but he spread both arms and leered at Marcus. “I could do her a fair amount o’ damage b’fore I go, m’lord.”

“Let her step away,” Marcus said threateningly. His sword was drawn and poised, but ’twas not his way to skewer an unarmed man. Still, if he made one move toward Keelin…

“
Don’t move,
m’lady,” the rogue commanded. His strange eyes darted around the room, looking for some solution to his predicament. He could not move away from Keelin without risking a confrontation with Marcus. Yet if he harmed the lady…

Clearly the man understood his peril. There was naught for him
to do but lower his arms and allow Keelin to move, else feel the point of Marcus’s blade.

Suddenly, and without warning, the man swooped down and grabbed the jeweled knife he’d dropped on the hearth. In one motion he stood, arcing the knife toward Marcus, in a desperate attempt to render a killing blow.

The knife glanced off Marcus’s chest and it fell to the floor with a thud. The thief quickly bent over and retrieved the knife, lunging at Marcus from his crouched position.

Marcus dodged the blow, but as the man fell to the ground, he wrapped one arm around Marcus’s legs and tried to pull him over, thrusting with the knife at the same time. Marcus was taken off balance, and as the thief jabbed the knife, Marcus ran him through with his sword.

There was not a sound in the barn until Marcus heard a small whimper. Looking up at Keelin, he threw down his sword and went to her, gathering her into his arms, drying her tears with his cloak.

“Oh, Marcus,” she whispered into his chest. “I was never so frightened—”

“Hush,” he said, pressing his lips to her forehead. “’Tis over now. You’re safe.”

“Aye,” she sniffed. “Safe. But what of you? Your leg—”

“’Tis naught,” he replied quietly, though
the rage of battle still rushed through his blood.

Marcus calmed himself with the knowledge that the primary danger was past. True, they still had to survive the storm that raged outside, and naught had changed between him and Keelin. She had her precious spear back, and would return to Kerry as soon as she had the chance.

Marcus remained silent, not saying any of the things that burned in his heart, but merely holding her close, relishing the softness of her body, the gentle purity of her soul. Mayhap there was something he could—

The horse snorted, startling them both, and Keelin let out a sobbing laugh. “I brought him inside with me,” she said against his chest. “There was nothin’ else to do with him.”

Marcus nodded. Then Keelin began to weep in earnest, though she hardly made a sound. He rubbed her back and whispered comforting words as he absorbed her tears, praying with every fiber of his being, that he would find a way to convince her to stay.

“Oh, Marcus,” Keelin finally said. “Can ye forgive me for bein’ such a fool?”

Marcus took her face in his hands and looked into her eyes. Then he tipped his head and kissed her. “My only care is that you’re safe. The rogue did not harm you?”

“Thanks only to you,” she said. “I should never have left the castle. But I was so afraid I would never get
Ga Buidhe an Lamhaigh
back, and you were gone.”

Marcus turned away and surveyed the room. He did not want to think about the damnable spear now, nor the risks Keelin had taken to recover it. He could not dwell on the fact that she intended to leave him to carry the spear to her homeland.

“Keelin…” he said, looking
back at her. He swallowed and considered what to say. He pulled off his glove and ran one hand along her jaw, one finger across her quivering lips. “Wait here while I deal with all this,” he finally said, his emotions too raw to talk rationally with her now.

He let her go and walked over to the man who lay dead near the fire. Grabbing his hands without ceremony, Marcus dragged him outside.

He pulled him to a snow-covered mound that looked like it had once been a building—probably a cottage, but at least it had been made of stone and wood. Here, he would do what was decent, covering the man, protecting his body from wild animals.

A sound made Marcus turn toward the barn, and he saw Keelin outside in the snow, leading the horses toward the door. There would soon be quite a crowd inside.

Keelin looked at the bloody trail in the tramped-down snow and shuddered. She drew the horses inside, then closed the door against the wind and added a few more sticks of wood to the fire. She picked up her belongings, the knife and the pin, and the pouch of coins, and put them with
Ga Buidhe an Lamhaigh
in a corner.

Keelin herded the horses to the back wall where they stood patiently, resting and gathering warmth from each other. She did not begrudge sharing the space with the animals, especially since their heat helped to make the drafty old barn seem snug. She hauled their saddles off and dried them with their thick blankets, and wished there was more than a few handfuls of old straw to give them.

Inside the thief’s pack, Keelin found some bread, along
with a block of cheese. There were two bottles of ale and some dried apricots and apples. Along with the blankets and other supplies Marcus had brought, they should be able to survive there for several days.

Keelin hoped that would not be necessary. She knew that by morning, Tiarnan would know she was missing and assume the worst. She did not want him to worry longer than necessary.

And Marcus…She knew now that she could never leave him.

When the thief had grabbed her knife and gone for him, Keelin had experienced a terror unlike anything she’d ever known. The thought of Marcus dying had taught her that life would not be worth living without him.

She would see to it that
Ga Buidhe an Lamhaigh
was restored to Clann Ui Sheaghda, but afterward, Keelin fully intended to return to Marcus. She would live out her days as his wife, at Wrexton.

That is, if he would have her. Mayhap Marcus would not want a wife who behaved as foolishly as she. She knew he was angry—he’d hardly spoken a word to her, and his body had seemed as tense as a coiled spring.

She could not blame him. She had been worse than foolish to go out in the storm alone.
Witless
was the word that came to mind.

The door blew open just then and Marcus appeared. He picked up one of the saddles and propped it against the door to make it difficult to open from outside, then he joined Keelin by the fire.

Wordlessly, he pulled off his wet cloak and tunic, and stood in the firelight wearing only his hauberk and chausses. Keelin watched as he unbuckled the fastenings of the hauberk
and pulled it off, leaving him in his plain, white linen shirt.

Keelin’s throat went dry. She had fought against her attraction to Marcus from the beginning. She’d resisted taking note of his broad shoulders and narrow waist, his tight hips and powerful thighs. But in the space of the last hour, all that resistance had vanished.

“Marcus—”

“Keelin—”

They spoke at once, then stopped, awkwardly.

“Please,” Marcus said quietly. “Go on.”

Keelin blushed then. She took a step closer, until she could feel his breath on her face.

“I was wrong,” she said simply, looking into his eyes. They were hazed with puzzlement, but he did not speak. Nor did he touch her.

With her fingers, Keelin brushed his hair back off his forehead. “I cannot return to Carrauntoohil,” she said without taking her hand away. “At least, not without ye, Marcus.”

“Keelin…what are you saying?” he rasped, taking hold of the hand that caressed him.

“That I love ye with every drop of my blood, every beat of my heart,” she said quietly. “That I cannot bear the thought of leavin’ here without ye—”

Marcus’s lips interrupted her flow of words. In one motion, he slid an arm around her waist and pulled her to him, then kissed her as if he could absorb her into his being.

Keelin felt the rasp of his whiskers against her tender skin, the strength of pure muscle as he held her close. He smelled like the cold air, like leather and man.
Her
man.

Keelin threaded the fingers of both hands through his hair, pulling
him ever closer. She parted her lips and then Marcus was there, tasting, exploring, ravishing.

“Keelin,” he said, trailing hot kisses down her throat.

“Aye, m’lord,” she breathed, and tipped her head back to give him full access.

“I’ve longed to hear you say it,” he said. He opened the laces to her cloak and let it fall. Her torn surcoat and kirtle followed.

The storm outside was nothing compared to Marcus’s effect on her. ’Twas as if the combined forces of nature were acting on her now, causing a torrent of emotions and sensations to flow through her. She should have felt icy cold, standing in her thin chemise, but Marcus’s touch ignited a fire in her that seemed impossible to quench.

His lips burned a trail along the sensitive skin at the edge of the chemise, making the tips of her breasts flame in response. When he finally parted the cloth and put his mouth to one tingling peak, Keelin’s knees buckled.

“What’s this?” he asked, discovering the leather cord Keelin always wore near her heart.

“’Tis yours, Marcus,” she said breathlessly. He nuzzled one breast as his hand closed around the other, along with the cord. “I’ve…kept it over my heart…. I had to keep somethin’ of ye…for when I left….”

“Tell me again,” Marcus demanded gruffly. “Tell me you’ll not leave.”

“Oh, Marcus,” Keelin cried, “’Twould tear my very heart out to leave ye.”

“We’ll be wed as soon as the banns can be read,” he said, gently taking her shoulders in his hands.

“Aye, Marcus,” she squeaked as he drew the chemise over her shoulders and let it fall.

“But I give you my vow here and now,” he said as he lay her
down on the blanket near the fire, “to love and honor you always with my heart and soul and my body.”

He threw off his own shirt and lowered himself over her, placing one hand on either side of her head. “I love you, Keelin O’Shea,” he whispered. “I would do anything for you.”

“Then love me now, Marcus,” Keelin murmured, kissing the sensitive flesh below his ear. She relished the sensation of Marcus’s powerful body all around her. “Make me your wife, m’love.”

She moved her hips against his loins and felt his surging response. Desperate to feel him, flesh to flesh, Keelin unfastened his points, divesting him of his chausses.

“I should be frightened, yet I am not,” she whispered, pressing kisses to his chest, to the small beading nipples hidden in the mat of golden hair.

The sound Marcus made was unintelligible, but he moved one knee to rest between hers, opening her, making her as vulnerable as she’d ever been. Yet she trusted Marcus entirely. He would never hurt her.

Trailing her hands down his taut belly, she touched him timidly, then more confidently when he made a low growl of approval.

“Keely.”
His mouth came down on hers and once again, she reveled in the taste and texture of him.

Marcus could not get enough of her. Every move she made taunted him with promises of more, and he wanted to make it last for hours. Yet he knew that if she continued her sensual assault, he would last a mere minute or two.

Her beautiful eyes, hazy now with passion, were entirely centered on him. He watched them as he slid one hand down
her body, stopping only to learn her most responsive areas.

“
Oh!
Oh, Marcus!” she breathed when he touched the essence of her heat.

He caressed her, teased her, and took her to the brink. Then he made her his own with one swift stroke, a fiery joining of their bodies as one.

“Oh, aye,” she whispered as Marcus began to move.