Celtic Bride (15 page)

“Yes, he is,” Marcus replied, “but he has a whole army of counselors to see to his interests.”

“Hmm,” Keelin replied. “And some of them see to their own, I’ll wager.”

Marcus laughed. ’Twas a wondrous sound to Keelin’s ears. She had to steel herself against the seductive sound of his deep laughter and keep a distance between them. “That’s a very astute observation for one who’s never been to court…or have you?”

“Have I what?” she asked. “Been to court?”

“I was jesting, Keelin,” Marcus said, watching deep color seep into her cheeks. He felt exhilarated, treading through the thick woods in the brisk morning air with Keelin O’Shea at his side. She was tall and stately, and kept up his pace as she carried Guinevere on her gloved fist, as if she’d been born and raised to do just that.

Yet something about her was different this morning. She was quiet, even wary. He had noticed it first thing, when he’d met her on Wrexton’s steps, but had thought she would relax when she felt accepted as part of the hunting group.

But the sun had long since risen and they’d been out over an hour, and still Keelin remained uncharacteristically reserved.

“Have you tired of carrying Guinevere?” he asked.

“Ach, no, Marcus,” Keelin said, her natural enthusiasm
surfacing momentarily. “She’s a marvelous bird and I fancy carryin’ her as long as ye’ll let me.”

“The lake is not much farther. Once we get there, I’ll show you how to release her.”

“Ah, that’ll be fine, Marcus,” she said, speaking from her heart. He knew her experience on the hunt would become a memory she planned to take back to Ireland with her. He would not speak to her of this again, but hoped that by the time Adam had improved enough for Keelin to leave, she would be hard-pressed to do so.

’T
was well before
noon when the members of the hunting party stopped to fill their bellies. Gerald found perches for the falcons, then covered their heads and attached their leashes to the branches. The dogs were led a distance downhill, then their leads were secured and they were given water and food. The huntsmen were then free to join the rest of the party for the meal.

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 will 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.