Читать книгу Celtic Bride - Margo Maguire - Страница 13

Marcus sat at the river’s edge. He washed and shaved, just as he’d done every other morning of his adult life. But today there was a significant difference. Now, he was Earl of Wrexton. Eldred was dead.

A new wave of anguish swept over him. His father had always been solid as one of the ramparts of Wrexton Castle. Eldred and Marcus had been as close as a pair of friends, yet Eldred had clearly been Marcus’s mentor. They’d worked together to repair Wrexton—the castle as well as the estate—after the death of the last earl. They’d wrought wonderful changes and Wrexton was more prosperous than ever before.

Yet the holding had just lost its true master.

Marcus dropped his head into his hands and allowed the sorrow to flow through his soul. If only Adam hadn’t been injured as well, he thought, then this grief would not be quite so hard to bear. As it was, he did not know if Adam would survive. He did not know when he’d be able to return to Wrexton. Nor did he know if he would ever wear the mantle of earl as well as his father had done.

A soft footfall interrupted Marcus’s dismal thoughts. He got to his feet and turned to see Nicholas Hawken approaching on the path.

“’Twas a quiet night,” the marquis said.

It had been anything but quiet, but Marcus said nothing of the way he’d passed the hours. He still didn’t know what to make of it himself. Besides all else that troubled him, his blood still burned for the woman whose body had been pressed so close to his through the night, but he dared not pursue that chain of thought.

The two men walked together, surveying the area for signs of intruders. Celtic prowlers.

“There doesn’t appear to be anyone lurking about,” Marcus finally said. “No signs of a fire, no tracks.”

“My men must have gotten all of those rotters,” he said. “All but the one who doubled back here yesterday.”

Marcus shrugged. ’Twas often how it went in battle. Amid the confusion of battle, one man could slip away with ease. Certainly that was how the lone Celt had managed to elude Hawken’s men.

A chill wind blasted through the trees. Marcus glanced up and saw heavy low clouds in the distant sky. ’Twould begin raining soon. Perhaps a freezing rain, for it had turned so much colder during the night.

Talk around Wrexton town was that they were in for a particularly harsh winter. ’Twas the reason Eldred had gotten his party on the road so soon after the wedding at Haverston Castle, rather than staying for the lengthy festivities planned by Lord Haverston. Eldred dreaded getting caught away from home in an early storm.

Eyeing the ominous clouds above him, Marcus wondered how long the poor weather would last and whether or not it would interfere with their return to Wrexton.

“Marcus,” Hawken said. He bent his head and folded his hands behind his back as he spoke. “My men and I will be heading back to Kirkham today. We can easily go by way of Wrexton. I would be honored to carry your father…and the others…home if you wish.”

Marcus was astonished by Nicholas’s offer. The man was usually rude and crass, with little consideration of aught but his own amusement. Yet Marcus knew the man was plagued by his own inner demons which drove him to excesses.

His offer was well-timed. Marcus realized it might not be possible for him to escort his father’s body as he’d intended. Better, perhaps, to get Eldred transported within Wrexton’s walls and go on with the solemn requiem even if Marcus became waylaid.

“I appreciate your offer, Nicholas,” Marcus said. “Perhaps ’twould be better if you carried my father home.”

Nicholas glanced at the sky and Marcus could read the other man’s thoughts. He’d have to hurry in order to stay ahead of the storm.

The two men walked back to the riverbank where Marcus had left his leather pack, and found two of his men gathering reeds and rushes in large burlap bags.

“What are you two about?” Nicholas asked.

“Lady Keelin bade us collect stuffing to make pallets for the wounded men,” one of the men replied.

“She said it’s too cold and damp for them to remain in tents,” the other said, “and she’d rather have them indoors where it’s warm and dry, where she can tend them.”

Nicholas but raised an eyebrow, then headed up the path to where his men were camped.

“Move his bed here,” Lady Keelin said to the men who’d come in to help rearrange the cottage. The weather had turned cold, and a piercing rain had begun to fall, so she’d made up pallets for the two wounded Wrexton men and had them brought inside where they’d be warm and relatively comfortable.

She had not seen Lord Marcus since he’d left the cottage much earlier, nor had she spoken yet to Tiarnan about the devastating sights she’d seen the previous night.

She sighed. He would not allow her to avoid him forever.

While organizing the cottage so there’d be room for the men, she pondered her moments under the blankets with Lord Marcus, dwelling on the strange sensations caused by his close proximity, by his scent and by the touch of his big hands stroking her back. She’d never experienced anything so exhilarating, and at the same time, confusing.

She was strongly attracted to the young man, but Keelin knew her destiny was in Ireland. Not only was she betrothed to the man her father had chosen for her in Kerry, but after seeing Cormac’s fate in the vision, Keelin knew she had no choice but to return to Carrauntoohil. Whoever became chieftain would have desperate need of Ga Buidhe an Lamhaigh, in order to prevail over Mageean.

Keelin renewed her vow to see Tiarnan settled at Wrexton Castle, then somehow get herself across the Irish Sea before the snows began. She would ignore the confusing feelings and sensations that coursed through her whenever Marcus de Grant was near.

’Twas time to return home to see what could be done about Mageean.

The cottage should have smelled like an infirmary. Instead, the pleasing aroma of herbs and spices met Marcus’s nose as he entered the hut. A kettle of stew simmered over the fire, and men slept on soft, stuffed pallets near the hearth.

Old Tiarnan was awake and propped up somehow, and Keelin sat next to Adam, speaking quietly to the boy.

She wore the green kirtle again, laced tightly against a narrow waist and full, high breasts. The linen under-kirtle, with which Marcus was so familiar by now, was visible above the low neck of the green wool, and her fine white skin showed above that. Delicate bones slashed across both sides of her shoulders. She was exquisite.

“Oh, aye,” Keelin said, after halting a moment when Marcus entered, “’twill be a mighty warrior’s scar. And if ever yer tunic’s raised, all who see your back will know you’ve seen battle.”

“Who is come?” Adam asked weakly.

“’Tis Lord Marcus,” Keelin replied, “come to see how ye fare.”

“How do you fare, lad?”

“Lady Keelin says I am perfect, Marcus,” Adam replied weakly. “She said I am stronger and braver than any lad in Carrauntoohil—that’s her village in Ireland.”

“I daresay the lady is correct,” Marcus replied. “Though I don’t know the lads of…Carrauntoohil.”

“Lady Keelin told me that the Marquis Kirkham took Uncle Eldred to Wrexton.”

Marcus nodded as he put his hand on Adam’s forehead. The boy was hotter than before. He looked over at Keelin, who nodded slightly. Fever.

“Will we go to Wrexton for the requiem?” Adam asked.

“We’ll try, Adam,” Marcus replied. “For now, just concentrate on getting well.”

The boy acquiesced and lay quietly as Lady Keelin got up and went to the hearth. Here, she picked up a long wooden spoon and stirred the steaming contents of the cookpot. “How many of your men are left here, m’lord?” Keelin asked quietly.

Marcus stifled a yawn. The last twenty-four hours had taken their toll. When Nicholas Hawken left, he’d taken most of the Wrexton men with him. Marcus and the remaining men made a thorough search of the surrounding area, making certain that no enemies or other intruders were near. “Four, in addition to these men,” he replied, indicating the two on pallets near the fire. “They’re keeping watch.”

“You must be weary, m’lord,” Keelin said, “after the night ye had. There’s room enough for ye to stretch out your blankets here and rest awhile.”

Marcus blushed at the mention of the night he’d had. He thought there was a brighter tinge of pink on Lady Keelin’s face, too, and wondered what she thought of the whole incident. He hadn’t heard any description of the vision she’d seen before her collapse, nor had either of them discussed the fact that they’d spent the night entwined in each other’s arms. As though by not speaking of it, it hadn’t happened.