Celtic Bride

by Margo Maguire

  ’Twas pure torment, though. No matter how much she cared for Marcus, regardless of what they two might want, she had to return to Carrauntoohil.

  Abruptly, she pushed away from him.

  “Keelin?” He’d thought she was equally enthralled.

  “Marcus,” she said in a quavering voice, “we cannot…’tis not possible for us…”

  “Keelin, I don’t—”

  “Please, Marcus,” she cried, turning away from him. “Do not make this any more difficult for me. I must return home.”

  “No.” His voice was harsh and full of frustration.

  “I cannot stay,” she said quietly, walking away from him, “no matter how I might wish otherwise….”

  Keelin pulled her cloak tightly around her and skittered out of the mews. It took every dram of willpower in her body to keep her legs moving, walking away from Marcus. If she allowed herself half a moment to think, to feel, she would turn and go back to him.

  She lifted her skirts and ran back to the keep as if the very devil were biting at her heels.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Ye cannot leave in this weather, lass,” Tiarnan said as he sat listening to the activity in Keelin’s chamber.

  “It’s bound to improve soon, Uncle,” Keelin said as she folded another gown and put it into her satchel. She would leave the wooden trunk for Tiarnan to keep his things in, and take only what she needed for her journey.

  “And what of Ga Buidhe an Lamhaigh?” he asked. “Who will protect you and the spear as you travel?”

  “I will find a way, Uncle Tiarnan,” Keelin replied, resolved as she was to leave as soon as possible, before her heart suffered irreparable damage. Before too much harm came to Marcus’s. “Mayhap I will pay some Wrexton knights to accompany me.”

  “Have ye yet spoken to Marcus about that?” Tiarnan asked, the anger and frustration in his voice nearly palpable. He never raised his voice to her, but Keelin knew he was close to it now. Did he not understand how important it was to get Ga Buidhe an Lamhaigh to Carrauntoohil?

  “Nay,” Keelin replied.

  Tiarnan slapped one hand impatiently on his thigh. “If all is so settled then, why do ye weep?”

  Keelin sniffed and brushed away her tears. She swallowed and tried to make her voice clear so that her uncle would believe the lie. “I—I do not weep. I merely…”

  “Ye merely what, lass?” Tiarnan demanded. By rights, he could not fault Keelin for her loyalty and sense of duty to the clan. But Tiarnan was convinced that returning to Kerry now would not be the best thing for the lass. Besides, it was dangerous to travel at this time of year.

  And travel with Ga Buidhe an Lamhaigh would be doubly dangerous. If Mageean’s men came upon her…ach, by the saints, if any group of unscrupulous men ran across her while she traveled…Nay he could not bear to think of it.

  Nor could he bear to think of her leaving Marcus de Grant. ’Twas obvious the lad cared deeply for her, and he was a fine young man. There wasn’t a better one in all of Kerry, either young or old, and that included Fen McClancy, Keelin’s intended bridegroom.

  Mayhap it took the hindsight of a lonely, solitary old man to see the folly of living life for a principle, an ideal. All Tiarnan knew was that he’d been alone his whole life, and that if he had the chance to live it over again, he’d have found someone to share it. Someone to care for, who would have loved him in return.

  ’Twas a shame Marcus hadn’t hauled Keelin off to some secluded place and had his way with her. Tiarnan had done what he could about the matter, sending the lad to Keelin’s chamber when she was bathing, knowing full well that Marcus would barge in when he believed Keelin faced the danger of handling Ga Buidhe an Lamhaigh alone….

  Well, that hadn’t worked, at least not that Tiarnan was aware of. Ach, aye, something had happened, but the result had not been a betrothal, as Tiarnan would have wished.

  Nay, the lass’s heart was breaking and there was nothing he could do to help her.

  “Uncle,” Keelin said as she raised the mattress and dropped the leather-encased the spear on the bed, as if she could not bear to touch it. “I must leave. I’ve been feelin’ a premonition that comes and goes—somethin’ terrible will happen soon. I must take the spear and return to Kerry before the O’Sheas suffer another disaster.”

  “But Marcus—”

  “It does not matter what I feel for Marcus, or that I’ll never love another,” Keelin cried, whirling away from Tiarnan. He could feel her erratic movement about the room and felt the pain of her decision. “I have no choice! ’Tis my duty to take the spear back to Clann Ui Sheaghda! Ye know how precious the spear is, and ’tis irreplaceable. The clan depends on it! There is no other who can do this!”

  “Keely lass—”

  “Uncle!” Keelin rushed to his side and knelt next to him. “Hush…someone is…”

  “What is it, lass?”

  Keelin shivered. “I—I don’t know why it should bother me, but someone’s heard us.”

  “Who?”

  “I do not know,” Keelin replied. “But I sense clearly that someone listened to everything we said…about the spear, about my returning to Kerry…and it feels wrong. Someone wishes us—me—ill.”

  “The chatelaine?”

  She looked inward, trying to see more. “I do not know.”

  Tiarnan knew Keelin’s first thought would be to take the spear and suffer whatever visions it offered her. Yet the experience would weaken her substantially. And if an enemy was near, Keelin would need all her physical and mental strength to protect herself.

  “What of your premonition?” Tiarnan asked quietly. “Could it not be about Wrexton? Your heart is tied here as strongly as to Carrauntoohil.”

  Keelin shook her head. “I do not know, Uncle,” she whispered. “I do not know.”

  Keelin did not come to the hall to sup with all who were gathered there. Annoyed with himself for missing her so acutely, Marcus sat at the dais with Selby and his family, tending his cup of ale, and watching yet another of the mummers’ plays.

  In this, a “wooing” play, a clown in ridiculous garb courted a woman. Naturally, there was a mighty knight slain early in the story, but the wooing by the fool progressed. Marcus was oblivious to the laughter of the audience, but fully attuned to the clown and the object of his desire.

  Never had he felt so clownish himself. In all the years of his awkwardness with women, of the brutal shyness that had plagued him, Marcus had known how unlikely ’twas to find a woman with whom he could share his life.

  Yet now that he’d found her, he had to let her go.

  He took a long draught of ale and watched as the mighty knight was restored to life by the blessed water poured over him. His wounds now gone, the character took up his wooden sword and traveled through sleet and storm to return to his true love—the one now pursued by the clown.

  Marcus could watch no longer. He drained his cup and stood, taking his leave of the company. In his present mood, he was not fit for them at the moment, anyhow.

  His temper now as fierce as the weather, he stormed out of the hall, pulling on a cloak as he went. He did not know where he would go, for he had no wish to unleash his ill humor on anyone, neither man nor beast. Yet he felt too savage to keep up his civilized demeanor.

  The weather was too foul for a mind-numbing ride, so Marcus stalked through the freezing rain and wind to the mews. There, he knew he could find work to occupy him. There were always leashes to cut, jesses to mend. Perhaps he would work a bit with the new birds.

  Anything, he thought, to keep his mind from dwelling on Keelin’s disavowal of all they felt for each other.

  A terrible westerly wind blew the door open when Marcus unlatched it, allowing rain and wind inside until he could slam the door closed against the elements.

  It was suddenly dark again, though Marcus quickly lit the lamp that hung near the door. When he did, he was astonished and dismayed by the devastation within.


  Gwin and Cleo were not on their perches. Nor were the two nestlings that were just being trained.

  And where was Gerald?

  Marcus took the lamp and walked tentatively through the mess on the floor—through bits of leather, tools, candles, broken lamps and lamp oil. One workbench had been overturned, as well, with the contents of its drawers strewn about.

  “Gerald?” Marcus called. He walked farther into the long, low building, glancing as deeply into the darkness as his vision allowed.

  There was no reply, so Marcus continued his search. Two more birds were missing, one goshawk and a merlin. All in all, the missing birds were the most valuable in the mews.

  Deep in the shadows, Marcus caught sight of a long, dark shape on the ground. Knowing full well it was a body, he dreaded what he would find. He hurried over, set the lamp on the floor, then turned the falconer over. There was a bloody wound on the man’s forehead, but he was breathing.

  “Gerald!” Marcus called.

  The falconer groaned but did not open his eyes. Marcus gently shook him, and after several tries, the man finally looked up with unfocused eyes.

  “Lord Marcus,” he rasped.

  “What happened here?” Marcus asked. “Are you hurt anywhere besides your head?”

  “Nay, my lord,” Gerald replied as Marcus helped him to sit up. “I don’t think so. Just bruised a bit.”

  “Tell me what happened. Who did this?” Marcus looked around the shattered mews.

  “Two men,” Gerald replied, gingerly touching the injured spot on his skull.

  “Who were they?”

  “I couldn’t say, my lord,” Gerald replied. “They were not from the village, nor the castle. I’d guess they were a couple of the stranded ones. I mean, men staying at the keep…out of the weather…. Sorry, m’lord. My head’s a bit muddled.”

  “Don’t fret, Gerald,” Marcus said. “Stay here. I’m going for help.”

  Marcus braved the icy cold again, rousing the grooms and huntsmen, who followed him back to the mews. One of them saw to Gerald, while the others began cleaning up the mess.

  Marshal Boswell stood amidst the chaos with his hands on his hips, shaking his head. “What happened to the falcons?” he asked.

  “They took them,” Marcus replied, coming to the only conclusion possible. The intruders had wrought utter devastation to the mews, but had left no falcon carcasses. “If they can get far enough away, those birds will be of untold value to whoever stole them.”

  “Should we organize a search?”

  Marcus shook his head. “Send someone to the gate first. See if anyone has left the castle. Then we’ll search the grounds—we’ll look through all the buildings and cellars.”

  “Do you really mean it about leaving, Keelin?” Adam asked, his face a long mask of woe.

  “Aye, Adam,” Keelin replied, her own sad expression no better. “As soon as the weather clears, I’ll be off. As I told ye, my clan needs me.”

  “But I need you!”

  Twas not like Adam to whine, but he’d used every other tack to convince Keelin to stay at Wrexton, and no argument had yet worked.

  “And Marcus,” Adam continued. “What do you think he will do when you’re gone?”

  “Sure and he’ll manage once I’ve gone, laddie,” Keelin retorted, struggling to hold her emotions in check. “A man like Marcus will not remain unmarried for long, and he has Isolda to—”

  “Ah, but you’re wrong, Keelin!” Adam cried. “He has never looked at Isolda the way he looks at you. As often as Uncle Eldred urged him to wed Isolda, Marcus refused as many times.”

  Keelin looked down, embarrassed. She did not like to think what else Adam had observed while lying idle on his sickbed.

  “’Tis true,” Adam said. “And I’ve seen how you look at him.”

  “Adam, ye’re young yet,” Keelin said. “Ye do not yet understand the weight of responsibility and duty, but one day, ye will. And—and—”

  Keelin’s breath was suddenly, shockingly knocked out of her as if she’d been punched. She struggled for air, and began to shake as a vision took shape….

  There was a broken-down barn in a wintry dell. Snow drifted in deep swirls around the stone structure, and thick daggers of ice hung from the trees all ‘round. Blood stained the snow on the ground, and Ga Buidhe an Lamhaigh was in danger of being lost forever….

  The feeling of dread that accompanied this vision was akin to the feelings she’d had in recent days…a certainty that some evil was to befall her. Yet she could not pinpoint exactly what was to happen. If only—

  “Keelin?” Adam asked. “What is it? Are you all right?”

  Keelin gave a quick shake of her head and came to her senses. She did not want to alarm Adam. “Ach, aye, lad,” Keelin said shakily. Her mind was immersed in worry and her body slowly recovered from the shock of the vision. “I just thought of somethin’ I must do. Well, ’tis late,” she said lightly. “Time for ye to be catchin’ yer rest now. I’ll say good night to ye.”

  She had not planned to touch the spear until she was back in Kerry, but she had to clarify what she’d seen. ’Twas imperative to find out now, what she could do to prevent the loss of Ga Buidhe an Lamhaigh.

  Only by touching the spear—and suffering the consequences—could she do so.

  The sounds of revelry in the hall were clearly audible when she walked through the gallery to her chamber. After all the minor disturbances that had occurred throughout the past few days, Keelin knew Marcus would not leave the hall until everyone had retired. ’Twas comforting to know he was nearby.

  Keelin would not tell Tiarnan of her intention to draw on the power of the spear, because the old man did nothing but worry when she did so. Instead, she went straight to her own chamber, lit the lamps and lifted the mattress.

  Ga Buidhe an Lamhaigh was not there. Nor was the pouch of gold coins she had hidden with it.

  Keelin lit another lamp and began to search her chamber. She clearly remembered returning the spear to its hiding place next to the coins before walking Tiarnan to his chamber. Certainly her uncle had not returned and taken the spear and the coins—he would have had difficulty finding his way. Moving the mattress and finding the precious items would have been nigh onto impossible for him.

  No, it had to be here somewhere, her mind insisted, even though she could not sense its presence.

  Keelin spent precious minutes searching. The spear was not in the chamber, nor were Keelin’s other valuable possessions, a small gold brooch that had belonged to her mother, and a jeweled dagger that her father had owned all his life. The coins had disappeared as well.

  An intruder must have gone through all her things and taken whatever seemed valuable. Yet that explanation did not feel quite right. Intuition told her there was more to it than that, but Keelin could not quite see what it was. Whatever was going on here, however, Ga Buidhe an Lamhaigh was missing. That was all that mattered.

  She had to find Marcus.

  Keelin had vowed to redouble her efforts to avoid him, knowing that being with him was pure torture. She was certain he must be angry with her for running from him that afternoon, but now she had no choice but to enlist his assistance. She could not go after the spear alone.

  She left her chamber only to collide with Beatrice, Isolda’s companion. She’d never exchanged words with the woman, but had sensed an unexplained hostility from her, ever since the day Beatrice had interrupted her and Marcus in the garden.

  The old woman gave Keelin the impression of a spider under attack, all curled up upon itself. The comparison made Keelin shudder. “Is aught amiss, my lady?” Beatrice asked.

  Immediately, Keelin was suspicious of the woman, but she doubted Beatrice was so foolish as to steal a guest’s belongings. Nor would she have knowledge of the spear, unless…Beatrice must have been the one who’d listened at the door. She would have learned of the spear from overhearing Keelin’s conversation with Tiarnan. It took no second sight to k
now that Beatrice was not innocent in this.

  “Aye,” Keelin demanded, facing the woman, “and I’ll have an answer of ye, Beatrice. Now.”

  The old woman’s eyes darted in the darkness. Eyes that Keelin had often felt upon her, though she had not realized it until now. “There was a man,” Beatrice said boldly. “One of the visitors, a knight…a strange one, he…one blue eye, one brown…went looking for things to take…valuable things, like Lord Marcus’s books….”

  Goods that were easy to carry.

  “Came out of the lord’s study and nearly knocked me down…went to your chamber, and when he came out, said he’d be a rich man….”

  “What else, Beatrice?” Keelin demanded. “What more did he say?”

  “Nothing, really,” Beatrice replied. “Only that he knew a better place where he could wait out a storm, with none the wiser and no way to find him.”

  “Well, he must have taken a likin’ to ye, to be so free with his tongue.”

  Beatrice shrugged. “Mayhap,” she said.

  “So, what else did he tell ye?”

  “Why should I tell you?” Beatrice asked, backing up to the gallery wall. She clenched her fists, gathered all her bitterness about her, and snarled, “You’ve ruined everything by coming to Wrexton, and now Isolda and I are to be cast out.”

  “Cast out? What do ye mean, woman?”

  “The lord will wed ye,” Beatrice said angrily. “Isolda and I will be useless to him then.”

  Keelin shook her head impatiently. Everyone knew she planned to return to Kerry. Regardless, this discussion had no bearing on the thief, on Ga Buidhe an Lamhaigh, or where the man had taken it. By all the saints, the villain could keep the brooch and the knife, but she had to retrieve the spear.

  “Tell me about the thievin’ maggot who sole my things,” she demanded, leaning threateningly toward the woman.

  “He said there’s a place, an old barn in a little dell west of the castle—”