Celtic Bride

by Margo Maguire

  Wrexton’s cook had sent plenty of food in baskets, and the hunters unloaded plates and trays of meat pies and joints, cheese and bread, as well as some dried fruit, setting it all haphazardly on the back of the wagon.

  “’Tis fitting that you begin, my lady,” Gerald said as he handed Keelin a plate.

  “I thank ye,” she replied with a smile. Marcus was right behind her, and Keelin noticed him filling his plate quickly in order to make room for the others. He was a considerate man, knowing the hunters would never presume to push ahead of their lord.

  The air was not as bitter cold as it had been earlier in the morning, and with a quick glance to the sky, they saw heavy clouds moving in.

  “I’ll hand over my firstborn son if we don’t have snow by morning,” said one of the dog handlers as he surveyed the sky.

  “Can’t imagine who would want the lazy jackanapes,” Marcus teased as he helped Keelin to sit on one of the big fur pelts that had been laid out.

  “Ow, I resent that remark!” the said firstborn son protested, gaining a laugh from all the men assembled.

  Keelin laughed along with the others, appreciating the pure joy of being with Marcus as he bantered with these men and boys whom he’d known for years. She had never seen her father jest so easily with anyone, and in recent years, she had certainly not had any opportunities to make friends or indulge in such lighthearted diversions.

  Marcus eased himself down to her side and crossed his legs, putting his plate on his lap. His knee brushed her thigh.

  Though a lightning bolt of sensation coursed through her, Keelin kept her eyes on her plate and forced her hands to remain steady. She took a deep breath and made herself think of the morning’s hunt, and her success with Guinevere.

  “Are you too cold to continue with the hunt?” Marcus asked.

  “N-no, m’lord,” she replied, wondering if he had noticed her sudden tremor. ’Twould not do at all for Marcus to fully understand his effect on her. This pleasant interlude would be of limited duration. “But I should get back to the castle, and Adam—”

  “We’ll be summoned if he needs you.”

  “Lord Marcus,” the huntsman’s son said, “if I’m to become your huntsman, I’d best learn to shoot. My father says you’re the only one to teach me.”

  “Aye, yer father’s right, lad,” one of the men said. “There’s none better than Lord Marcus at the longbow.”

  Sounds of assent ran through the group, and Marcus agreed to begin the boy’s first lesson right after they had all eaten.

  “Will ye show me, too, Marcus?” Keelin asked.

  Marcus frowned when he met her eyes. Clearly, he’d never heard of a woman using a bow either for pleasure or need.

  “’Twould be a skill of great value to me when I journey home.” If only she’d known how to make arrows and shoot when she and Tiarnan had fled Ireland, she would have had a much easier time seeing that she and Tiarnan had had enough food. As it was, she’d had to snare whatever small game she could, and fish the rivers in order to eat. It had not been easy.

  Keelin did not know what her circumstances would be when she traveled to Kerry, but she was well aware that every skill she acquired would only help her.

  She could see that Marcus still had second thoughts about teaching her to shoot, but he tipped his head slightly and agreed. His face was ruddy from the cold, but his eyes were as clear as the Kerry sky. A few loose strands of golden hair blew over his forehead and Keelin felt an urge to smooth them back.

  She resisted. ’Twould not do at all to touch the man any more than was strictly necessary.

  “Yer leavin Wrexton, Lady Keelin?” one of the lads asked.

  “Aye,” she replied. “But not till young Adam is well, though.” Keelin did not see Marcus’s eyes darken at her words, but finished her cup of ale and stood.

  “Lend me your longbow, Philip,” Marcus said to one of the older boys. “It should be of a good length and heft for Lady Keelin.”

  The boy handed it to Marcus, who then picked up a bag of arrows and walked to the place where he would conduct the lesson. Keelin and the boy, Dob, walked alongside him while the rest of the hunters cleared up the remains of the meal.

  “Take this cloth, Dob, and tie it to a branch on yon tree,” Marcus said. “We’ll use it as a target.”

  The boy ran to do as he was bid. “Have you ever shot an arrow before, Keelin?”

  “Nay, Marcus,” she replied. Her intensity and the lilt of her voice pierced through him.

  “Here, then,” he said. “Take hold of the bow in your left hand, and the arrow in your right.”

  Keelin did so, but awkwardly.

  “Nay,” Marcus said, coming close behind her. He put his left arm around her to steady her hand on the bow. With his right hand, he guided hers in the correct way to hold the arrow.

  Her scent was as fresh as the outdoors, laced with the intriguingly spicy fragrance that was Keelin’s alone. A few loose strands of her hair brushed his face and he inhaled deeply.

  He felt a slight tremor run through her and he pressed closer to her.

  “I-is this right?” she asked breathlessly.

  “Better.” Marcus’s voice was a mere whisper in her ear.

  “And the arrow? It goes—”

  “Here. Nock it this way.” Marcus kept his arms around Keelin and turned her body away from where Dob was tying the target to the tree. Marcus used the bow to gesture ahead. “See the young birch with the notched trunk?”

  “Aye.” Her reply was barely audible amid the sounds of the forest, and Marcus knew she felt his proximity just as potently as he felt hers.

  “Take aim just below the notch.”

  She lifted the bow and Marcus felt her stiffen.

  “Relax, Keelin,” he said. “You’re wound as tightly as that bow string.”

  She nodded stiffly, and Marcus could see that her joints were not about to loosen.

  “Bend your knees, sweetheart,” he said, “and roll your shoulders.”

  If Keelin noticed Marcus’s use of the endearment, she did not show it. Instead, she followed his instructions and bent at the knees a few times, then rolled her shoulders, inadvertently pressing her back even closer to Marcus.

  This time, the shiver ran through him, and ’twas all he could do not to drop the bow, turn her in his arms and meld them together with his kiss. But his men were all around, and Dob would be upon them in a few short moments.

  “Now, take aim,” he repeated hoarsely this time. “Be careful not to crush the fletching.”

  She moved her fingers so that they no longer rested on the feathers, then raised the bow again.

  “Pull back on the string,” he said, moving her arms slightly to correct the aim. “Now let loose.”

  Keelin released the arrow and watched it fly. She stood stock-still, waiting to see the results of her first attempt at archery. Hardly an instant passed before the arrow hit its mark. When it did, Keelin dropped her arms, then she turned and faced Marcus.

  Her lips were but a breath away from his. Long black lashes framed eyes darkened with excitement.

  “Good shot, my lady!” Dob said as he reached the spot.

  “I thank ye, Dob,” Keelin said without taking her eyes from Marcus’s. “Your turn,” she said then, and laughed.

  Marcus could barely draw a breath.

  They rode into Wrexton’s bailey where grooms met them to take their mounts and the kill of the day, and the huntsmen herded the dogs to the pens. Gerald headed to the mews with the falcons, with Marcus and Keelin walking right behind him.

  Keelin had had a marvelous day. She’d learned to hunt, had shot a bow and was fast becoming a decent horsewoman. She’d not had so much excitement since…well, she could not remember a more exciting time.

  “Do ye mind if I help with this, Marcus?” Keelin asked. Though she was weary, she did not want to see an end to this day.

  “Not at all, Keelin,” Marcus replied. “Gerald wil
l look them over to see if they sustained any damage while out on the hunt, and if not, he’ll leave them on their perches for the night. There will be little to see.”

  “Ah, but ’tis not every day I’m given the privilege of huntin’ with falcons, Marcus,” she replied. “I would see them bedded for the night.”

  Keelin would have recalled those words if she’d been able to, for Marcus’s eyes held a look that made her realize he was thinking of something altogether different than leaving falcons on perches. She was determined, however, not to succumb to any seductive looks or wishful thinking. She had worked too hard all afternoon to avoid falling prey to Marcus’s powerful allure.

  “Will ye be feedin’ them again, Master Gerald?” Keelin cleared her throat. She turned away from Marcus and walked toward the falconer in the farthest corner of the mews.

  “Nay, my lady,” Gerald said. “They’ve had their fill. But if you would release Gwin’s leash?”

  “Oh, aye,” Keelin said gladly. She needed a task to occupy her mind, her hands.

  Marcus carried a lamp to the perch so that Keelin could see better to open the small buckles. She felt the warmth of his body so close to hers, just as she had during the archery lesson.

  Even now, she could feel his warm breath in her ear, his strong arms around her, guiding her own hands and arms.

  “’Tis a wee buckle, Gwin,” Keelin said shakily, “but I’ve got it now.”

  The falcon took a step away on her perch, then ruffled her feathers and settled down.

  Keelin wished it would be so easy for her to settle down.

  Isolda met Marcus and Keelin just inside Wrexton’s great hall, with footmen to take their cloaks, and goblets of warm, mulled wine to ward off the chill. The fire had recently been stoked, so the hall was warm and inviting.

  Marcus would have enjoyed a few quiet moments with Keelin near the fire if only Isolda had not remained with them. Keelin appeared distinctly uncomfortable in her presence, and Isolda herself seemed somewhat ill at ease.

  Marcus did not think he would ever understand women. But at least he’d become more adept at dealing with them of late. He credited Keelin with the change. Somehow, his dealings with her had caused him to be less diffident, and more confident in his exchanges with the fairer sex.

  Men’s voices disturbed his train of thought, and he turned to see three of his knights approaching from the far end of the hall. ’Twas Sir William, along with two other knights who had been sent out early to scout the perimeter of Wrexton land.

  Will and the others gave their lord a bow, then greeted the ladies.

  “Anything to report, Will?” Marcus asked.

  The knight shook his head. “Nay, my lord,” he replied. “Nary a sign of any strangers on our boundaries. We ran across a peddler or two, but no other intruders.”

  Though Marcus would like to have had a swift and expeditious confrontation with the vicious Celts who’d killed his father, he had to admit he was glad of the reprieve. He wanted his knights in top form before taking on that barbarous army, and he wanted some solid plans in place to ensure his victory.

  “Well, I must say, that’s a relief!” Isolda remarked, drawing the men’s attention to her. Her eyes were bright, as if she’d had one cup too many of the mulled wine. She rubbed her hands on her gown nervously, then turned to Keelin and smiled graciously. “You’ll want to change out of that awful kirtle before we sup, Lady Keelin. We generally do not wear rags to table here at Wrexton.”

  Keelin’s eyes lowered and her face drained of color. Everyone was silent in the wake of Isolda’s insult. All the men, including Marcus, were struck dumb by Isolda’s petty cruelty to the guest who had done so much for Adam.

  Keelin quietly set her goblet down. Clearly, she did not know what to say, or how to react to the acerbic words Isolda had cloaked in a deceptive sweetness. As the men watched Keelin struggle for control, Marcus moved quickly to stand beside her, before she was able to bolt. Then he met Isolda’s insolent gaze and spoke to her with a tone of authority that came from a source deep within.

  “Since you will be sitting in Adam’s chamber during the meal, Lady Keelin’s attire should not bother you. It certainly does not offend me, nor will it offend anyone else who intends to join me at table.”

  “But my lord—”

  “And in future, you will guard your tongue in the presence of my guest, Isolda,” he added, touching Keelin’s lower back. “I will tolerate no further discourtesy from you as long as you reside here at Wrexton.”

  Silence persisted as Marcus urged Keelin away from the group and walked with her to the stairs. He did not know what power possessed him to speak to Isolda the way he did, but he did not regret speaking out. Isolda’s insolence was intolerable, and if she thought to use Keelin to punish him for sending her away, then she had better think again.

  She was fortunate he was not a man who would ever consider using violence against a woman.

  Keelin climbed the steps ahead of him, her spine straight, her bearing as regal as befit the Irish princess she was. She did not speak until they were close to Adam’s room. When she turned to face him, her eyes were suspiciously bright and held none of their previous confidence. “I—I would ask that a tray be brought to Adam’s room for me, Marcus. I should be dinin’ tonight with the lad since I promised—”

  “You will sup with me,” Marcus said gently. He traced the line of her jaw with one hand and smoothed a lock of hair back over her ear. Though Isolda’s cruelty had cut him to the quick, Keelin bore the slight nobly. “How you are garbed matters not,” he said. “I care only that you join me….”

  “Marcus,” Keelin said, stepping back to the wall, “I—I will not be the cause of a rift between you and Isolda. Soon I’ll be leavin’ Wrexton and Isolda—”

  Marcus did not allow her to pull away. He let one hand drop to her shoulder. The other hand went to the wall beside her, bracketing her head. He hesitated only for an instant, then dipped his head and tasted her lips as he’d wanted to do all day.

  The sound Keelin made gave him the impetus to seek more. He delved into her mouth and pulled her close, matching the hard planes of his body to her soft curves.

  Keelin responded as though she could not get enough of him, the knowledge sending hot flames of arousal through him. He’d never experienced anything like this, and knew he never would again, without Keelin O’Shea.

  Abruptly, and without warning, Keelin broke away. She gave a quick shake of her head. “Nay, Marcus,” she whispered, working to regain her composure. “What I feel—” She stopped, then began again. “’Tis no matter what we might want….” One crystal tear dropped past the barrier Keelin worked so hard to maintain. “Please!” she cried, then turned and hurried to her own chamber.

  Marcus stood alone in the gallery and watched Keelin make her escape. He had not wanted to upset her, but only make her understand the depth of what he felt for her. She was his. If ever there was a woman made who was meant for him, Keelin O’Shea was the one.

  He ran one hand across his mouth and over his whisker-roughened jaw. He knew the timing was bad—he should not be thinking of love and marriage when his father’s body was barely cold in his grave. Yet Marcus knew Eldred would not begrudge him this. For years, his father had despaired of Marcus ever finding a suitable wife, one he could love as Eldred had loved Rhianwen.

  Now that he’d found the right woman, Marcus was not about to let her leave without fighting for her.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Keelin dried her tears and looked down at herself. She was wearing the same plain, brown kirtle she’d worn on the hunt, and could see nothing wrong with it. ’Twas well made and clean.

  To be sure, the gown was not in the height of style, nor would Keelin ever have considered wearing it to the earl’s table. But it had been purely practical to wear while out on the hunt. ’Twould have been utterly foolish to wear one of her better gowns for tramping over the countryside with the falcons and
dogs.

  She sniffed again, and fought a new onslaught of tears. The ugly brown kirtle was the least of her worries.

  Her growing feelings for Marcus would do nothing but cause further heartache for both of them. They both knew she had no choice but to return to Kerry. The clan needed her, never so desperately as now, with Cormac’s death.

  And there was a man in Ireland waiting to wed her. Keelin knew her father had chosen a fine, powerful chieftain for her husband, and ’twas her duty to go to him as soon as she was able. The O’Sheas would need every alliance possible in order to thwart Mageean and his plans to subjugate Clann Ui Sheaghda.

  It did not matter that Keelin’s heart was becoming too deeply involved at Wrexton. For the duration of her stay, she would take pains to avoid Marcus. No matter how difficult ’twould be, she would go out of her way to show Marcus that she was unaffected by him, by his kisses, his touch. She would discourage his attentions whenever possible.

  The fire was nearly nonexistent in the grate, so Keelin added more peat. She did not doubt that Isolda had given orders to the servants to stay out of her chamber, for there were none of the usual amenities she had become accustomed to at Wrexton.

  After all of Isolda’s attempts to discredit her—and the lady had been quite good at it, if truth be told—Keelin finally understood how threatening her presence was to Isolda. The woman had a secure position at Wrexton, as long as the lord did not take a wife, and it probably seemed to Isolda that Marcus would soon remedy his bachelor state.

  Keelin wiped the tears from her eyes and hoped Isolda would leave her alone once she learned her position was safe.

  “Ye don’t say, lad!” Tiarnan replied when Marcus told him of Keelin’s exploits. He kept his voice down because Adam was asleep, but couldn’t contain his joy for Keelin and the fine day she must have had. “She learned to shoot a longbow?”

  Marcus smiled. “Yes, she did,” he said. “And with some practice, she’ll become quite adept.”