Читать книгу Celtic Bride - Margo Maguire - Страница 13

Marcus caught Lady Keelin as she fell, and carried her to the blanket on the floor. Unconscious now, she continued to shake violently, as if she had fever and chills combined. Marcus covered her with one of the blankets.

He did not understand what was wrong. One moment, they were both standing stunned by their kiss, the next, her eyes were wide, and dilated to black, and she was trembling and whimpering. He was not so naive to think it had been his kiss that had affected her so, but he could not imagine what had come over her.

He frowned as he shook her gently, and rubbed her hands to revive her, but his efforts changed nothing. She was deeply unconscious. And the longer she stayed that way, he felt the worse it would be for her.

Seeing no alternative, Marcus reluctantly arose and stepped to the bedside of her uncle. Quickly, he roused the older man from a deep sleep.

“What is it? Keely?” Tiarnan asked groggily. “Are ye—”

“Wake up, old man,” Marcus said, keeping his voice down. “Something came over Keelin a while ago. She was fine one moment, and the next…”

“The next?” the man prodded, frowning with worry.

“I don’t know,” Marcus replied. “Her eyes went black and she stood there, staring….”

Tiarnan coughed fitfully, then struggled to a sitting position, holding his chest all the while. “Did she start tremblin’ and whimperin’?”

Marcus nodded, thanking heaven that the man seemed to recognize what had happened, though he did not care much for the look of concern on Tiarnan’s face. “She did.”

“Ach, no. ’Tis too soon for another one,” he muttered dejectedly to himself. “’Twas a vision she was havin’,” the old man said to Marcus. “Was she holdin’ the spear, or just—”

“What spear?” Marcus asked, frustrated by the old man’s riddles. Beautiful Keelin was lying near death, and her uncle could only ask foolish—

“Oh, saints, ’twas straight from Keelin herself, then. And the power of it knocked her flat?”

“The power of what?” Marcus asked frantically, glancing back at Keelin’s trembling form under the blanket. “I don’t understand, O’Shea.”

“Nay, ye wouldn’t, lad,” Tiarnan replied, shivering. “’Tis cold tonight. Best ye wrap the lass up in blankets, then hold her close and give her some o’ yer own heat. And I’ll be explainin’ as well as I can.”

More than happy to comply with the man’s instructions, Marcus wedged his big body down between Keelin and the wall, then pulled her up into his arms and wrapped her snugly in the blankets. Her color was deathly pale and she felt cold as a wintry night. It was difficult for Marcus to fathom that this was the same hot, vibrant body he’d held only a few minutes before. “Speak, then, O’Shea. Tell me what ails her.”

Tiarnan succumbed to another coughing fit, so it was a few moments before he was able to begin his tale. Finally, though, he cleared his throat and spoke while Marcus sat holding Keelin, sharing his warmth.

“The lass has a ‘gift,’ ye might say,” Tiarnan said, “though she doesn’t quite see it that way.”

“What gift? Speak plainly, old man!”

“’Tis the sight,” Tiarnan explained. “Ever since she was a tiny lass, she’s been able to see what others cannot. In my clan, it’s called the ‘second sight.’ Here in England, ye may call it by another name.

“But whatever words ye use for it, Keelin has a powerful intuition that tells her of things that are to come. And when she touches Ga Buidhe an Lamhaigh, the power increases beyond anything ye, or even I could understand.”

“What’s this Ga Buidhe—”

“Ga Buidhe an Lamhaigh is our clan’s sacred spear. Many years ago—even before Saint Patrick trod on Irish turf—’twas given to an ancient O’Shea chieftain by Diarmaid, consort of the sun goddess. And don’t ye be thinkin’ ’tis a pagan thing. ’Twas blessed by Saint Bridget herself when Cathair Sheaghda was but a lad.”

“Enough childish fairy tales, O’Shea,” Marcus said, annoyed and frustrated that the man would not get to the point. “What ails Lady Keelin? How can I help her?”

“Ach, there’s nothin’ ye can do, but keep her warm now, and hear the tale so ye’ll understand what’s come over her.”

“Get on with it then, and be clear about it.”

“Keelin has always been able to see and know of events before they ever happen,” Tiarnan said. “Just like her mother, she is. She ‘sees’ danger comin’—whatever it may be—and gets us quickly out of harm’s way.”

“Do you mean to say that Lady Keelin is bewitched?”

“Nay, lad,” Tiarnan said with aggravation. “’Tis not bewitchment at all! The lass is blessed!”

Marcus looked down at Keelin’s deathly still features. Cursed was more like it, though he had no wish to believe her soul possessed by the devil.

Yet she had certainly bewitched him. Suddenly, he realized why he had been able to speak to Keelin, touch her, kiss her, when in all his previous twenty-six years, he’d hardly been able to look at a young woman without tripping over himself to escape her presence.

“’Tis a rare gift, one that Keelin’s mother possessed before her, and her mother, and on from ancient times.”

Marcus had never heard such a far-fetched tale. Yet he knew there were strange things in the world, things he had not personally experienced. There could very well be an ancient, magical spear that possessed some unexplained power, a power that Keelin somehow used.

He pulled Keelin closer into his embrace, as if to protect her from further harm. She was not as cold now, but her body was trembling. Tight coils of desire wrapped around him even now, as she lay unconscious in his arms.

Was it witchery? Or a blessing, as her uncle had said.

Marcus could see nothing but innocence now in Keelin’s delicate features, feel only vulnerability in her soft form as he cradled her under the blankets.

“She must have seen something momentous,” Tiarnan mused.

“Why do you say that?”

“Well…’tis not so easy a thing to explain,” the old man said. He rubbed his chin and chewed his lower lip. “In all the years since Keelin’s been me own true responsibility, only twice before has she been benumbed by a vision she’s seen without the aid of Ga Buidhe an Lamhaigh.”

“Benumbed?”

“Aye,” Tiarnan replied. “Made senseless. As ye see her now.”

Marcus nodded as he shifted Keelin in his arms.

“The first time was when the lass was a mere child,” he said, “and her brother was drowned.”

Marcus cringed. “What happened?”

“Aw, it pains me fiercely to recall the day when Brian O’Shea died,” Tiarnan said. “’Twas early spring. As elegant a day as we’d seen in many a week, with the sun burnin’ high and new greenery shootin’ up all around. Keely and I were within the walls Carrauntoohil Keep, with me at me work, and the lass playin’ with her rag babe.

“Most of the able-bodied men went out to hunt early that day, and the lads were left with more time than sense. They left Carrauntoohil and went to the river, swollen by then with the spring floods, and rushing faster than any of them realized.”

Marcus listened as Tiarnan O’Shea described the sudden pallor that had come over Keelin, then the violent shaking and unintelligible speech. Then the girl had lost consciousness, only to weep uncontrollably when she was finally roused.

“She’d seen Brian’s death,” Tiarnan said. “The vision had come upon her without warning, without so much as a touch of the spear.”

“And this had never happened before?”

“Nay,” the man said. “Not even to her mother. But Keelin’s gift is strong. None before her ever had the same clarity of visions that Keelin experiences.

“She saw as clearly as the lads who were there—poor Brian as he fell from the boat, tumbling into the rocky passage….”

Marcus was appalled at the thought of the child Keelin witnessing such a thing, but Tiarnan went on.

“’Twas death again that took hold of her…when her father, Eocaidh, was slain by Ruairc Mageean.”

“And you believe it’s happened again? That she’s seen another death?”

“Aye,” Tiarnan replied. “Without touchin’ the spear, the lass senses things. She has premonitions. But when she actually holds it in her hands, there are visions. Colorful. Vivid.”

Marcus made no reply. He gazed down at the limp figure in his arms and tried to imagine how Satan could possibly do his evil work through Keelin and her visions. No answer came to him.

“If ye would be so good as to keep her warm, lad,” Tiarnan said, “just till the worst of it passes…”

Marcus had plenty of heat to spare. He glanced up at Adam, who lay still in the bed, and then slid down to make himself more comfortable with Keelin. He enveloped her in a cocoon of warmth, and waited.

Keelin regained full consciousness at dawn. She’d had moments of awareness through the night, when Lord Marcus rubbed her back and her shoulders and whispered quiet, soothing words to her, but she had been unable to respond.

Her mind was still muddled, and she could not piece together all of the events of the previous day, nor did she know how she’d come to be resting in the arms of Marcus de Grant.

He still held her close, though Keelin believed he dozed. His chest, pressed against her own, moved deeply and regularly. His strong arms still embraced her, though loosely, and Keelin, fully aware now, relished the feeling of security they brought.

Her face was eye level with the hollow where his neck met his chest, and the small hairs of his chest tickled her nose. Without thinking, Keelin burrowed her face in.

“Umm…” Marcus grunted. His arms tightened around her.

Keelin shivered, not from cold, but from an altogether strange sensation, unlike anything she’d ever experienced before. Oddly compelled, she moved against him, eliciting another groan. Marcus’s muscles flexed against her, and one of his hands made circles on her back, pulling her closer to him. She knew he was not quite awake as she breathed in the scent of him. The smell of fresh river water, his chain hauberk, his linen, and something altogether different…something that was distinctly…Marcus.

Her body felt every inch of his where they touched, and she had the inexplicable urge to taste him. Her mouth was a mere breath away from his chest and she could easily—

Shocked by her own wanton whimsy, Keelin would never be so bold as to attempt such a thing. No matter how strong the impulse.

She sensed the moment when he came fully awake. His body tensed and he pulled slightly away from her.

“Ah, you’re awake, then?” he said awkwardly, clearing his throat as he spoke.

Keelin nodded. It was still unclear how she’d come to be lying among these thick woolen blankets in Marcus de Grant’s arms. She remembered parts of the previous evening, Marcus’s hands working on the knot at her neck—his kiss, and the way her bones had seemed to melt….

Cormac!

Oh, dear God and all the saints, she suddenly remembered. Cormac O’Shea was slain! And the deed was done by Ruairc Mageean.

Keelin pushed herself up from their cozy nest and became dizzy with the sudden movement. She went back down on her knees.

“Easy,” Marcus said as he helped to lower her down.

“Keely lass?” Tiarnan questioned from his bed.

“Aye, Uncle,” she replied. She kept her head down. She could not bear to look up at Marcus and see the revulsion she knew he must feel. She remembered clearly now. He’d kissed her, and then she’d “gone to black” on him. What must he think of her?

“How are ye, now?” Tiarnan asked, propping himself up on one elbow and facing her as if he could see her.

“I’m all right, Uncle Tiarnan,” she answered as she moved to stand again. “The lad…is he…?”

“Still sleeping,” Marcus replied. “I checked him not long ago.”

“No bleedin’ from the wound?” Keelin asked, finally looking up at him. She did not see revulsion, but that could mean only one thing. That he had a rare gift for hiding his emotions.

“No,” Marcus replied to her question. “And there’s no fever yet, either. Whatever you gave him made him sleep soundly.”

“’Tis a blessing indeed,” Tiarnan interjected while Keelin studied Marcus surreptitiously.

She recalled how he pulled away from her as soon as he’d awakened, and knew how he must feel, having been forced to spend the night sharing his heat with an aberrant woman of questionable sanity. No man outside Clann Ui Sheaghda could possibly understand the “gift” that was passed from mother to daughter in her family for generations.

Keelin stepped away from Marcus and went to Adam’s bedside. She knew that Tiarnan was anxious to know what she’d seen, but the vision was still too raw to speak of those things. She would talk to him later, after her heart and mind settled down.

She lit a tallow candle and listened. Adam’s breathing was soft. There was no unhealthy sound or irregularity to it. His forehead was not hot when she touched it, but seemed to be of normal temperature. She pulled the blanket down and peeled the dressing away from the wound. It looked just as it had the day before.

As Keelin made a new paste of lady’s mantle and spread it over the wound, she heard sounds of the men outside rousing themselves. There were wounded men out there, too, she remembered, men whose injuries she should tend.

After viewing Adam’s wound, and seeing that all was well in hand, Marcus let himself out of the cottage and went out to the area where the men were camped. No changes there, so he went on to the river where he sat down with his back against an ancient willow.

He felt shaky this morn. ’Twas not so much from lack of sleep, but from hours of lying thigh to thigh, and breast to chest with Keelin O’Shea. The most alluring woman he’d ever met, she was the only one he’d ever slept with—and ’twas a far more intimate experience than the one shared with a harlot years before when he was with King Henry’s army in France.

They’d been camped at Troyes, just before King Henry signed the treaty that should have brought peace to the two countries. Marcus and all the rest of the English knights were jubilant. Victory was theirs. Henry would wed the daughter of the French king, and be made king of France upon Charles’s death.

The wine flowed, and women made their way into the victors’ camp. Marcus drank more than he ever had before, and more than he had since. And, he allowed himself to be seduced by a woman who wanted his coin.

Marcus had not been entirely naive. He’d spent a whole night learning what a woman expected of a lover, from a cocotte who did not particularly care for him, nor he for her. Though he had experienced a great deal of physical pleasure, he’d gone away with an intense emptiness inside. He had chosen not to share himself so cheaply again.

Until Keelin O’Shea, not that any sort of conjugal sharing with the Lady Keelin would be a cheap affair.