Celtic Bride

by Margo Maguire

  “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.

  He worried about hurting her, but if he caused any pain, she did not show it. She moved with him in a rhythm their hearts knew without prior tutoring. Bodies shifting, hearts pounding, nothing in Marcus’s life had ever felt so very right.

  Suddenly, she arced against him, and he felt the waves of pleasure course through her. He saw the wonder in her eyes and emotion overcame him. Feeling as if he’d found the other half of his being in Keelin, ecstasy shattered through him, taking him to heights he had never imagined possible.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The fire burned steadily in the pit, and Keelin slept with her head pillowed on Marcus’s chest. They were well insulated in the blankets he’d carried with him, and the heat generated by the animals made their shelter tolerable. Marcus closed his hand around the leather thong Keelin had worn all these days, and cherished the knowledge that she loved him. That she would stay with him.

  The sun may have risen on a new day, but there was no reason to rouse themselves to return to the castle. ’Twas still dark, and freezing rain pelted the rickety old building viciously.

  Nay, ’twas better—and more pleasurable—to stay cocooned together in the warmth of the wool blankets. Soon she would wake and they would make love again, just as they had done during the night.

  Marcus gazed at Keelin’s dark lashes, curved over beautifully sculpted cheekbones. They’d stay the day here, without a care as they waited out the storm and enjoyed the luxury of being alone together. The barn was sound, if a bit leaky, and Marcus could think of no better place to spend the day with Keelin.

  Just then she moved her legs restlessly and groaned in her sleep.

  Marcus smiled, and thought of all the years ahead, sleeping with Keelin. He would quickly become accustomed to sharing a bed with her, and never—

  “Mercy!” Keelin cried out.

  “Hush, sweetheart,” he soothed, kissing her temple. “’Tis just a dream. Sleep.”

  “Ye’ll fall! Stop!”

  “Wake up, sweetheart,” Marcus said gently.

  “Nay! It cannot be!” she cried out, neither asleep nor fully awake. “Please God, let it be—” Her eyes suddenly flew open and she sat up. She turned to Marcus. “’Tis Beatrice,” she cried.

  “Beatrice?”

  “Aye,” she whispered shakily. “She was up on a high ridge somewhere. Walking. Running…getting away…” Her brow furrowed as she recalled the vision that had come to her in her sleep. “But the rain and snow made it so slick…”

  “What happened, Keelin?”

  “Ach, the poor thing,” she said, taking great, heaving breaths. She covered her mouth with the fingers of one hand. “She’s fallen…There’s a river….”

  “I know the place,” Marcus said. “Beatrice is there? She’s fallen?”

  Keelin nodded. “Aye, Marcus,” she said. “She’s dead.”

  Marcus had not told Keelin of his suspicions regarding Beatrice. He’d hoped to deal with Beatrice personally when they returned to Wrexton, but he had no doubt that Keelin’s vision was accurate. Somehow, the woman must have left the keep during the storm and managed to kill herself falling off the ridge that overlooked the river.

  ’Twas an unfortunate turn of events, but if what Marcus suspected was true, Beatrice had been the cause of much of Keelin’s grief since their arrival at Wrexton.

  “There’s more,” Keelin said. “’Tis naught but a feeling, but…”

  “I know,” Marcus said as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I have it, too.”

  “Ye do, Marcus?”

  He nodded. “But only because I learned a few things yesterday from the men who stole the falcons.”

  “What?” she asked.
<
br />   “That Beatrice got them to take the birds so that I’d be occupied when she sent you out into the storm for the spear,” he said. “She intended you harm.”

  “But why?” Keelin asked, truly puzzled. “What reason could she have—”

  “She knew that I loved you,” Marcus said. “And that I intended to make you my wife.”

  “But—Ach, Isolda.”

  “Exactly. But I don’t believe Isolda was the one who decided to drive you away.”

  “Nay,” Keelin said. “She tried a few little tricks, but I doubt Isolda could be truly vicious.”

  “I told her I intended to find a husband for—”

  A loud pounding at the barn door, along with voices interrupted Marcus. He wrapped the blanket around Keelin’s shoulders and went to the door.

  “William?” Marcus asked as he pulled the saddle away from the door.

  “Yes, my lord,” said a relieved voice.

  Marcus pulled the door open to see his favored knight standing in the freezing rain, along with several other Wrexton knights mounted behind him.

  “I brought the men along to…” He caught sight of Lady Keelin standing behind Lord Marcus, wearing naught but a blanket, and coughed. “I…er…was not sure whether you’d need…”

  Marcus suppressed a smile at his confident, straight-spoken lieutenant, and stepped into the doorway to impede his view. “We’re fine here, Will,” he said. “Give us a moment, then you and the men can come in and warm yourselves before you head back to Wrexton….”

  Two days in a wretched, broken-down old barn, and they were heaven to Keelin. Marcus had sent Sir William and his men back to the keep with word that all was well, and instructions on where to find Beatrice’s body.

  Keelin knew that Beatrice had been responsible for putting Isolda up to her tricks, and when those had not worked, the old woman had tried to separate her from Marcus by more dangerous methods.

  Marcus and Keelin returned to Wrexton in the cold, but at least it was no longer raining or snowing, and the journey took merely a few short hours.

  They were welcomed with mixed reactions—primarily relief, but sadness and regret colored their homecoming.

  “My lord,” Sir Robert said, as he greeted Marcus in the hall, “I would speak with you in private.” Isolda stood beside the knight, with eyes downcast, her shoulders slumped. Keelin felt sympathy for the grief the woman must be suffering.

  “In my study,” Marcus said as he placed one hand on Keelin’s back and walked toward the stairs. “Right after we see Tiarnan and Adam.”

  As always, his touch sent a thrill of anticipation through her. Though ’twould be difficult to steal any time alone together, she knew they would manage somehow. After the last two days they’d shared, she could not imagine leaving him for any length of time, much less sleeping alone, though she acknowledged that would be necessary until they were wed.

  Then they would make plans to travel to Kerry.

  From Marcus’s glance around the hall, she could see he thought there were still too many people around, although many were making ready to take their leave now that the weather had cleared. She and Marcus learned that Baron Selby and his family had left earlier in the day, and the mummers were about to clear out.

  “Find Father Pygott for me, Bill, and send him to my study, as well,” Marcus said to a footman, then headed up the steps.

  They found Tiarnan in Adam’s chamber. The boy was sitting on a low settle near the fire, with Tiarnan right beside him. The two were head to head, speaking of some serious subject.

  “Marcus! Keelin!” Adam cried when he saw them.

  Keelin went to Tiarnan’s side and kissed his cheek before doing the same to Adam. “Well, I see ye’ve healed up fine without me!” she said happily.

  “Aye, the lad has done his part,” Tiarnan said, looking toward her with his piercingly blind eyes. “The question is, how do ye fare, Keely lass? Ye survived the storm, but—”

  “But nothing, old man,” Marcus interjected. “My lady survived her ordeal—”

  “And then you rescued her from the evil knight, didn’t you, Marcus?”

  “Aye, he did,” Keelin said fondly, taking Marcus’s arm. “He saved me from a terrible fate.”

  Keelin felt him straighten. “Lady Keelin has agreed to be my wife, Lord Tiarnan,” Marcus said. His tone was formal and respectful, in spite of Adam’s whoop of joy. “If she is not formally betrothed—”

  “Nay, Marcus,” Tiarnan replied, smiling broadly. “There was no binding betrothal agreement.” And with luck, the old man thought, old Fen was long dead and buried.

  “Good. I’ll not wait the customary period for the banns to be read, Tiarnan,” Marcus said, “so I’m sure Father Pygott will want to talk with you.”

  “Send him to me,” Tiarnan replied. “I’ll vow there are no impediments to the marriage.”

  Keelin accepted Adam’s embrace, and that of her uncle. Then she stepped out into the gallery with Marcus. He pressed her up against the wall and kissed her.

  “I’ve been wanting to do that ever since we arrived.”

  “Sure and that’s not all you’ve been wantin’, I vow,” she said breathlessly.

  “Nay.” His hand covered her breast and teased her mercilessly. “There’s more…” He nuzzled the sensitive spot he’d discovered at the base of her jaw. “You, naked…in my bed.”

  She ran her hands over his buttocks and pulled him tightly against her. “’Tis similar to my own secret wish.”

  “Ahh,” he groaned, “and what would that be?”

  She smiled. “’Twould not be a secret if I told ye, now, would it?”

  “And what must I do to discover it?” he asked.

  “Take as little time as possible with Sir Robert and Isolda….” was her whispered promise.

  Every nerve in Marcus’s body was humming as he entered his study and found Robert in the act of gently touching a tear that had dropped onto Isolda’s cheek. ’Twas as erotic a thing as he’d ever seen, and he wondered why he’d never noticed the attraction between them before.

  He cleared his throat and the two split apart guiltily.

  “Lord Marcus,” Robert said, clasping his hands in front of him. “I…er, I’ve come to ask your consent to wed Lady Isolda.”

  Marcus raised an eyebrow in astonishment.

  “I realize it seems sudden,” Robert continued as Isolda stepped up to him and looped her arm through his. “But I have admired the lady for a long time…longer than I care to think about.”

  Marcus had been blind to the attraction, though now that Robert spoke of it, he realized that what the knight said was true. And Robert had obviously kept his feelings in check in deference to his lord, who might have chosen the lady for himself. “And Isolda? What say you?”

  Isolda looked at Marcus’s shoes. When she spoke, her voice was soft, though not uncertain. “I have always held Sir Robert in high esteem,” she said. “But ’twas not until after Beatrice…” a tear slid down Isolda’s face, but she continued. “When Bea disappeared, I was frantic. We’d quarreled—over what she’d done to Lady Keelin. Oh, Marcus,” she wept, looking him in the eyes, “I am so ashamed I did not realize to what lengths she would go….”

  “As you’ve probably surmised, Beatrice pushed the stonework from the parapet in hopes of injuring Lady Keelin,” Robert said.

  “She also set fire to the haystacks behind the stable,” Isolda added tearfully. “She only told me this before she disappeared, so I did not know…. Marcus, you must believe I did not know.”

  “But why?” Marcus asked, his expression one of sheer puzzlement. “What purpose—”

  “To keep you from Lady Keelin. When the stable caught fire and Lady Keelin was there, Beatrice hit her. Whether she hoped to kill her or just scare her off, we’ll never know,” Rob said.

  “Bea sent Lady Keelin out in the storm, too, hoping she would perish…all done so that you would lose her, and wed me,” Isolda sa
id sadly.

  Marcus shook his head. He did not understand why the old woman would go to such lengths to eliminate Keelin when he’d made it clear that he had no intention of marrying Isolda. ’Twas a tragedy that she’d brought upon herself, to be sure, but a tragedy nonetheless.

  “My father is aging, Marcus,” Robert said. “I would take Isolda and move to the family estate, if you would release me from duty.”

  “Isolda,” Marcus said. “Is this your wish?”

  “Yes, my lord,” Isolda replied. “I care deeply for Robert. If only I’d—”

  “Hush, love,” Robert said. “’Twas not your fault.”

  “I feel so ashamed,” Isolda said sadly. “I behaved so badly toward Lady Keelin. Beatrice said no harm would come to her…that she would leave Wrexton and we would stay.”

  “’Tis over now, love,” Robert said. “You’ve made your apologies to Lady Keelin and Marcus.”

  “You have my blessing,” Marcus said absently, still in shock over the extent of Beatrice’s betrayal.

  “Enter!” Marcus called in response to the tap at the door. “Ah, Father Pygott…”

  Keelin did not know how Marcus managed to convince Father Pygott to forgo the usual three weeks necessary for the reading of the banns, but in three days, she would be Marcus’s wife. The ceremony was to be a simple one, in deference to Marcus’s father, with no guests other than the dignitaries of Wrexton Town. Later, Marcus would send messengers throughout the shire to announce his marriage to Keelin.

  ’Twas nearly Christmas, and the hall was decked out in sprigs of pine and holly. There were bits of mistletoe hanging from the lintels of doorways, and Marcus never failed to make use of them, whenever he had the chance.

  “Lady Keelin!”

  She was standing on a stool in the solar, with Isolda and one of the maids, who were taking fittings on the gown she would wear for her wedding. Keelin turned to look at the maid who had entered, calling her name.

  “Men have arrived in the hall,” she said breathlessly. She must have run up all the stairs, Keelin thought. “Irish men! They’re asking for you…and Lord Tiarnan!”

  A terrible sense of dread should have come upon her, but there was nothing. There’d been no premonition of visitors from Kerry or anywhere else, only a strange and puzzling sight she’d seen a few days before, a vision of Carrauntoohil at peace—her people cooking and preparing for the holy days that were nigh.