Celtic Bride

by Margo Maguire

  “She’s got the height fer it,” Tiarnan remarked proudly.

  True enough, Marcus thought. Her height was perfect. As were her eyes, her smile, her hair. Her hands were soft and feminine, yet strong and competent. And the rest of her…

  “And what of the falcons?” Tiarnan asked. “Me brother never let her near his own birds, but Keelin had a passion for ’em. Sneaked into Eocaidh’s mews whenever she was able.”

  “She did very well with the birds, Tiarnan,” Marcus answered. “Handled them as if she were born to it.”

  “Well, that she was!” Tiarnan said. “If only me fool brother had realized what a prize he had in that lass. If only…”

  Marcus frowned. “Keelin and her father were…at odds with one another?” he asked, anxious to learn anything he could about Keelin.

  Tiarnan sighed, shaking his head. “’Tis not so easy to explain. Ye had to have known Eocaidh. Me brother was a born leader. He had a fierce devotion to the clan and to his duty.”

  Now, at least, Marcus could understand where Keelin got it. But doubted he’d accept any excuse for the man’s indifference to his daughter.

  “To Eocaidh, the good of the clan came before all else,” Tiarnan said. “Even before the happiness of his only child.”

  Tiarnan stopped speaking for a moment and mulled over his words. By the old man’s expression, Marcus could see that he was deep in thought. But the direction of those thoughts was a mystery.

  “You spoke once of Keelin’s brother.”

  “Aye, Brian,” Tiarnan said. “All Eocaidh’s hopes rested in the lad. The day he drowned…’twas as if Eocaidh lost all he’d had in the world.”

  “And Keelin?”

  “It took a year or more, but Eocaidh finally realized that all hopes for his line rested in his daughter,” Tiarnan said. “He began to look for a man who would be a suitable husband.”

  It was a long moment before Marcus could voice his question. “And did Eocaidh find one?”

  “Aye,” Tiarnan replied. “And to this day, the man awaits Keelin’s return.”

  Tiarnan’s health improved significantly in the days spent at Wrexton. The efficient chimneys as well as the freedom from worry had done wonders for him. He still coughed, but not with the same frequency as before, and it didn’t rattle him so badly when he had one of his spells.

  He’d begun to hope for a wee bit more time.

  He damned his loss of sight and the fact that his blindness made it necessary to concentrate all the more on the subtler signs given by a person: tone of voice, meaningful pauses, sighs. ’Twas all terribly wearying.

  The young earl stayed only long enough to satisfy himself of Adam’s condition, then to verify that someone would be along to help Tiarnan to his room. Then he wandered out, most likely to seek his own chamber, and the necessary quietude to think over what Tiarnan had said.

  Marcus de Grant had given him very few clues, yet the old man sensed clearly that the young earl was disturbed by the knowledge of a husband waiting for Keelin in Kerry. Mayhap there was hope here.

  In the days since the Englishmen happened upon their wee cottage in the wood, Tiarnan had learned more than enough about the de Grant men, and life at Wrexton, to know that Keelin could be happy here. Even without having the second sight, he knew that nothing but pain and disillusionment awaited Keelin at Carrauntoohil. If Fen McClancy still lived, she would be forced to wed the old lecher and produce an heir joining the McClancy and O’Shea clans.

  If not, then Clann Ui Sheaghda would make an oracle of her in the manner of the Druids, Tiarnan thought as he crossed himself piously, and Keelin would never have the things she longed for, the things she deserved for her happiness.

  Either way, the lass would be thrust once again into a land deeply ravaged by warfare and strife. As before, she would be but a mere instrument used to bolster the clan’s spirit. No one would recognize that she was a young woman with needs and yearnings of her own.

  Ach, aye, Tiarnan wanted the clan to survive and prosper. He knew his duty was to return his niece and the sacred spear to Carrauntoohil. But not at the cost of Keelin’s happiness…her very life. The O’Sheas could get along without the gift of Keelin’s second sight. Mayhap someone else who had the skill to tap into the power of Ga Buidhe an Lamhaigh would surface.

  With a decision not easily made, Tiarnan roused the footman who slept at the end of Adam’s bed, and bid the man to help him to his chamber. He doubted he would rest easily tonight.

  Morning brought a slightly warmer temperature, as well as an ankle-deep layer of snow. And while it made quite a beautiful scene as Keelin gazed out her chamber window, it would make travel difficult.

  The strong foreboding was back, more potent than before. It crawled up her spine and gripped the back of her neck with icy fingers, just as it always did when some danger was upon them. But what was it now? Surely not Mageean’s warriors, come to attack Wrexton? They would not be so bold, nor so foolish, she thought.

  What could be making her feel so uneasy?

  ’Twas time, Keelin knew. Though touching it would make her weak and practically useless to Adam today, she knew it was time to use the power of Ga Buidhe an Lamhaigh, and try to discover what disaster was upon them.

  She went back to the bed and pulled the mattress up, dreading, as always, the contact with the mysterious power within the spear. She hesitated a moment, and stood gazing at the leather-sheathed artifact. It was right where she’d left it, resting along one edge of the bed frame.

  A quiet tap at the door startled Keelin and made her drop the mattress back into place.

  “Begging your pardon, Lady Keelin,” a young maid said. “I’d never be so brazen as to disturb you….” The girl glanced back into the gallery behind her, then twisted her hands, clearly ill at ease.

  “Yer not disturbin’ me, Lizzie,” Keelin said. “What is it, then?”

  “My sister’s babe,” the maid explained. “The child’s got the ague and it worsens with every day. We’re worried that—that—”

  “Do ye want me to have a look at the babe, Lizzie?”

  “Oh, please, my lady,” the girl replied gratefully, “would you be so kind?”

  “Ach, aye,” Keelin said. She had mixed feelings about abandoning Ga Buidhe an Lamhaigh for the moment, but her aversion to touching the spear won out. “’Tis no trouble a’tall. Where is the child?”

  “Down in the pantry with her mam,” the maid said. “If you’d follow me…”

  The pantry was a small and tidy room just behind the kitchen, kept warm by the adjacent cook fires. Lining the walls were shelves stacked with foodstuffs, crocks of spice and oil, bags of wheat flour, corn and barley. Barrels of ale stood along each wall.

  Keelin could hear the wee babe’s wheeze when she entered the room.

  “Oh, my lady, ’tis good of you to come,” the young mother cried. “I don’t know what’s to become of my poor little Peg.”

  Keelin went to the mother and child, and placed her hand on the infant’s back. “Has she been wheezy all along?” she asked.

  “Nay, for two days, she had a terrible wracking cough. Then last night, nigh on midnight, the wheezing started and then the fever, and she hasn’t opened her eyes to me since.”

  Tears streamed down the mother’s distraught face. Keelin could not deny that the illness was serious. ’Twas not a good sign that the infant had been insensible for hours. She had fever, and there was a swelling in the throat causing the harsh sound that came with every breath.

  Keelin did not know if there was anything she could do for the babe that would help her.

  Nevertheless, she would try.

  “Do ye mind if I take her from ye for a moment?” Keelin asked, touching the child’s downy blond hair.

  “Please…”

  With Eldred’s death, all the lord’s responsibilities became Marcus’s. He had lived at Wrexton with his father all through the five years of Eldred’s earldom, and the two me
n had learned together what was expected of the earl, what the earl could expect in return.

  Marcus knew he would soon need to travel to the other estates of his domain, but there was more than enough business needing his full attention at Wrexton Castle for the moment.

  Town affairs kept Marcus occupied most of the morning. He and Wrexton’s steward had ridden out in the snow just after daybreak, to meet with the bailiff. By the time they returned to the keep, the morning sun was high and glistened brightly on the new snow.

  ’Twas cheerful looking—not at all the kind of setting he would have chosen to sit Isolda down and straighten her out. Yet it had to be done, and the sooner, the better.

  Marcus headed for the keep, and the kitchen, where he believed he would find Isolda hounding the staff.

  He was determined to speak to her now, before any further incidents occurred—either with the castle servants or Lady Keelin. For the duration of Isolda’s time remaining at Wrexton, Marcus would not allow her to continue her blatant harassment of Keelin. He would deal with her now, directly, just as his father would have done, just as he should have done when he’d first spoken to her.

  He was learning. Everyone tested his limits, from the town bailiff to Wrexton’s steward. And they were learning that he was as reasonable as his father before him. And that his limits were not to be pushed.

  Marcus entered the kitchen through the back entrance, and found a decided lack of activity there. Several servants stood about, yet no one seemed to be occupied with any of the tasks that were essential to feeding the multitude of people housed at the keep.

  “What is it?” he asked Cook, certain that Isolda had caused yet another set of problems. “What’s happened?”

  “’Tis Annie’s new babe,” Cook replied. “The child has taken ill and—”

  “Annie?” Marcus asked. “John’s wife?” He remembered the occasion of the girl’s marriage to one of Wrexton’s footmen nearly a year before. It had been an opportunity for Eldred to ride Marcus, in a purely good-natured manner, about his own unmarried state.

  Annie had grown big with child soon after, and Eldred had forbidden her to continue working so hard at the keep. He saw to it that Isolda found small tasks for the girl, to keep her occupied and happy.

  Marcus knew Eldred had seen to a baptismal gift for the child only a few weeks ago.

  “Yes, m’lord,” Cook replied. “Lady Keelin is there, doing what she can for the little girl.”

  That Keelin was involved did not come as a surprise to Marcus. He’d taken note of her friendly interactions with the servants, and while the Wrexton staff remained respectful, they were agreeable and comfortable with her. ’Twas very different from their dealings with Isolda, especially of late.

  “Where are they?”

  Cook gestured with a tilt of his head. “In the pantry, m’lord.”

  When Marcus arrived and looked through the doorway of the small room, he saw Keelin standing in the center with her back to him.

  Her hair was caught in a thick rope of braid that hung down the center of her back, and she was clad in the deep-green gown she’d been wearing when he’d first seen her. The fabric hugged her body closely, from her neck to her hips, then flowed loosely to the floor.

  From where he stood, he could not see what Keelin was doing, but a strange odor permeated the room and there was steam rising from a large pan on the table.

  “Take her now, Annie, and hold her over the pan,” Keelin said, turning. She caught sight of Marcus and a sudden flush brightened her cheeks.

  Keelin’s reaction warmed him, too. For a moment, he imagined that everyone else was gone from the room, and he was alone with Keelin. He would touch her gently. Run one finger from the nape of her neck, down her spine, then brush his lips across the bright color on her cheeks. She’d be quick to respond, especially when he spanned her waist with his hands and met her lips with his own.

  They had gone so far once before, in the inopportune location of the castle courtyard, with Keelin’s breath catching in her throat, her desire for him as great as what he had felt for her.

  Had they not been interrupted by Beatrice’s untimely appearance, Marcus had no doubt they would have found a more private, secluded place. There, they would have explored each caress, each whispered touch. And Marcus would have been hard-pressed to honor his vow of celibacy.

  He met Keelin’s sharp green gaze. Confusion was in her eyes, as well as worry and concern. She ached for the poor child as if it were her own, just as she had for Adam, and she worked as hard as any servant to do what she could for the infant.

  Hesitating only slightly, she stepped over to him and placed a hand on his arm. “Marcus, would ye mind finding someone to go up to Adam’s chamber,” she asked, “and get my herb pouches? This wee lass is going to need more than what I’ve got here, if I’m to help her.”

  Marcus did not dread his anticipated confrontation with Isolda as he had the last time, and knew the role of earl was coming more naturally now. ’Twas true, he had not yet tested his new standing in war, nor in any political dealings with the ruling council in London, but at least in his own domain, Marcus felt his competence growing.

  He left Keelin and walked through the great hall, surprised that he had not yet encountered Isolda. Summoning one of the maids, he asked the girl to find Isolda and send her to the lord’s study.

  He walked to the far end of the hall and left, heading toward the chapel. There, a narrow, winding staircase took him to an upper level of the keep, just below the battlements. Marcus entered the chamber where all the past earls had dealt with Wrexton business.

  The room was neither terribly small, for it served the Wrexton lords to hold meetings there, nor was it overly large. ’Twas a man’s room, with furnishings and masculine appointments that had suited a number of Wrexton’s earls before Marcus.

  A handsome mahogany desk stood near the fireplace, with a large comfortable chair behind it. Mullioned windows provided better than adequate light during the day, and an iron ring holding several oil lamps hung over the desk so that it was possible to read or work by night.

  The few books that Eldred had brought to Wrexton from Northaven Manor, as well as those belonging to the previous earl’s collection were stored here under lock and key. There were ancient tomes, along with a few more recently copied volumes, colorfully illustrated and bound in leather. ’Twas Marcus’s pride that he was able to read every one.

  While he waited for Isolda, he carefully paged through the large volume that rested on the desk. ’Twas a religious tome, a work his father had recently acquired and was in the process of reading before they’d left Wrexton on their fateful journey.

  A particularly vile but colorful illustration of Satan startled him. Portrayed as a lewd, grinning satyr, the devil stood in the pits of hell, watching as a witch was burned at the stake.

  With uncharacteristic disregard for the value of the book, Marcus slapped it shut. He did not care to see the image of a dark-haired maiden being ravaged by fire. Nor would he entertain thoughts about witches and devils. If the rest of this volume contained similar topics and illustrations, Marcus would lock it away at the bottom of the cupboard, never again to see the light of day.

  Still disturbed by the image he’d see in the book, Marcus stalked to the window and looked down on the courtyard. Dark clouds rode low in the sky, and it was snowing again.

  Where is Isolda? he wondered impatiently.

  He knew exactly what he intended to say to the woman, so he gave no further thought to it. He only wished he had an honorable offer of marriage in hand, and could get her settled somewhere soon.

  Marcus wondered instead whether Tiarnan O’Shea supported or even knew of Keelin’s decision to return to her home. He wondered if the old man knew Keelin intended to leave him behind at Wrexton, under the care of strangers.

  Not that Marcus felt like a stranger to Keelin or her uncle. They’d spent too many days together in the crowded l
ittle cottage to be anything but familiar, and Marcus had developed a true fondness for the old man. He was unsure exactly what he felt for Keelin.

  Was he a fool to discount the possibility of Keelin using sorcery? It had seemed entirely likely only a few days before. She had known about Edward’s broken leg before he was carried into the cottage! She had healed Adam, when the boy’s chances for survival had been utterly dismal.

  What magic was at work through her?

  Marcus went back to the desk and opened the offensive book. He turned the pages until he found the one with the illustration that had shocked him. Silently reading the Latin text, he soon found himself sitting down in the large chair, studying what was known about witches and their habits.

  When he finished, he was shaken by what he’d read, but he knew Keelin was not one of them.

  Marcus could not imagine her killing a child and sacrificing it, not after seeing how tirelessly she’d worked to heal Adam, or the way she cared so tenderly for Annie’s infant. She prayed fervently and often, invoking the Irish saints as needed, never giving any sign of profaning the Eucharist or twisting the Mass to some evil purpose.

  As for the Devil’s marks on her body, Marcus had to assume there were none, although at his first opportunity, he would verify that with his own eyes.

  With pleasure.

  “Lord Marcus?”

  “Enter,” Marcus replied to the summons.

  One of the footmen stepped inside the chamber and informed Marcus that Lady Isolda was nowhere to be found.

  “The storm worsens by the minute, my lord,” he added. “Baron Albin Selby and his family are here seeking refuge.”

  Marcus remembered meeting Selby a few years earlier, but he was not on familiar terms with the man. Nonetheless, Wrexton was known for its hospitality. That would not change with Eldred’s death. “Find suitable chambers for them, Mathiew, and see that they are fed and made comfortable.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Mathiew replied as he turned to leave. “Ah, Lord Marcus…there are others…several knights, a few peddlers…some freemen….”

  “We’ve room enough, Mathiew, and stores to spare, I believe. See them situated in the hall.”