Celtic Bride

by Margo Maguire

  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.”

  “Then they’re nearly ready for the lure.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “What is the lure, Master Gerald?” Keelin asked, a curious line furrowing her brow.

  Marcus followed Keelin and Gerald deeper into the mews as the falconer explained Wrexton’s method of training the birds. Knowing that Keelin shared his enthusiasm for the falcons, he had hopes of taking her out to the fields when these merlins were taught to hunt.

  He only had to convince her to stay long enough.

  They reached the perch where the two newest birds sat together, with jesses and bells on their legs. “Stay quiet, if you please, my lady,” Gerald said, using soft, even tones. “They’re accustomed only to me as yet, and my voice….”

  The falconer took one of the birds onto his gloved hand and held her close enough to pet her gently. He cooed and spoke affectionately to the bird and the merlin remained calm, her eyes darting around in the semidarkness of the building.

  Marcus picked up one of Keelin’s hands and slipped a glove onto it. Then Gerald transferred the falcon to her. Keelin’s eyes lit with excitement.

  “Speak to her in a soft voice like this,” Gerald instructed as he continued to stroke the bird.

  “Ach, yer a fine lass,” Keelin said, taking up after the falconer left off. The merlin ruffled her feathers slightly, but settled right down when Keelin continued speaking.

  Her voice had the opposite effect on Marcus. He eased up behind her, standing as close as possible without touching more than her cloak, though he would have preferred to press the length of her back against him.

  Instead, he listened while she cooed to the merlin.

  “I’ll take my leave now, my lord,” Gerald said. “Their hoods are on the bench….”

  Marcus nodded, giving the man his leave.

  He could feel her warmth. As she spoke to the bird, Marcus did not hear her words, only the soft cadence of her voice, the wonderful lilt of her speech.

  The door latched tightly behind Gerald as he left, and Marcus leaned slightly forward, catching a few strands of Keelin’s hair on his chin. He inhaled deeply of her scent, taking care not to startle her or the falcon.

  Only one torch glowed near the door of the mews, so the light was faint, but all the rest of the birds were dimly visible on their perches. Some were at shoulder height, and others down low. Beyond the perches was a large, open area where the training took place, and the birds could fly.

  “Ach, I love the trill of your wee bells, my beauty,” Keelin said. “Marcus, why do they wear the bells?”

  “To alert the falconer of their movements,” he replied. “Gerald or one of the other falconers, stays here at all times.”

  “I didn’t realize…” Keelin said, keeping her voice down. “Of course I should have known…they’re valuable birds.”

  “Will you come with us when we train them to the lure?”

  Keelin hesitated. Marcus came around to face her, taking the small merlin from her and replacing it on its perch.

  “When the weather clears, we’ll take them out to the fields for a couple of hours and see what they can do.” He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Say you’ll come, Keelin.”

  She seemed mesmerized by his gaze.

  The hot yellow flame of the torch flickered in her eyes, but then she closed them. “Aye, Marcus,” she breathed. “I’ll come with ye.”

  Pleased by her answer, he watched the smooth muscles of her neck as she swallowed hard. “Keelin,” he said, tipping her head back slightly. “Look above you.”

  She raised her eyes and looked at the dark beams overhead. “What, Marcus? Ah, ’tis the mistletoe.”

  He nodded, taking notice of the way Keelin’s eyes widened at the sight of the plant. Several sprigs had been hung from the beams in the mews, and Marcus had hoped for an opportunity to demonstrate how the mistletoe tradition was kept in England.

  “’Tis magic, you said,” Keelin remarked, her voice small and doubtful in the hollow expanse of the building.

&n
bsp; “There are many who say so,” Marcus said. He stayed close, taking a lock of her silken hair between his fingers.

  “And all ye must do is hang it above?” Keelin asked.

  One side of Marcus’s mouth quirked up. “Yes,” he said. “And…have a lover at hand.”

  “A—a lover, ye say?” Keelin whispered.

  “Aye,” Marcus replied, and without further ado, he took possession of Keelin’s mouth.

  Keelin had been both hopeful, yet afraid that something like this would happen. She’d done her best to avoid Marcus and the potent attraction that shimmered between them. Her heart was already impossibly tied to Marcus and to his home, and no matter how many ways she considered it, she could not find a reason to abandon her duty to Clann Ui Sheaghda.

  She had no choice but to leave Wrexton.

  Something that felt frighteningly like despair welled in Keelin’s throat and she made a sound. If only the mistletoe possessed some magic that could keep her here at Wrexton Castle with Marcus.

  She clung to him, relishing the sensation of his hands in her hair, on her shoulders, along her spine. She allowed him to pull her close, knowing this could very well be their last intimate moments together, for surely the weather would soon break and she would be compelled to leave.

  “Ah, Keely,” Marcus whispered as he nuzzled her ear. His lips moved down her neck, his hands pushing aside the bulky cloak. “Have you any idea how much I want you?”

  Aye, I do, she thought, as one wayward tear slid down her face. About as much as I want you, but I dare not say it.

  She threaded her hands through his hair, that gilded mane she so admired, and pulled him even closer while his lips drove her to distraction. She could not think while he touched her so…could not muster the power of will she needed to refuse him.

  “Marcus,” she murmured.

  He pulled her even closer, pressing their bodies together, sending sparks of need through her. His lips teased an exquisitely sensitive area below her ear.

  “The magic is very potent,” she said breathlessly as his touch wreaked havoc with her senses. She was certain that even without the mistletoe, her feelings for Marcus could not be any stronger. The tiny magical plant had not been necessary to bind her heart any tighter.