Celtic Bride by Margo Maguire Read Free Book Online

any were upon them. Though she did not know who the riders were, she did not feel any threat. “Uncle?”
    Tiarnan shook his head. “I’ve no idea, lass.”
    “Well, then,” she said to Adam as she hugged her arms tightly around herself and sat down next to the boy, “we shall just have to await your cousin’s return for news.”

Chapter Three
    W hoeverthe riders were, friend or foe, Marcus was glad of the reprieve. He doubted he’d have been able to remain with Lady Keelin a moment longer without some terrible blunder. As it was, he was merely lucky he hadn’t trodden on her delicate feet, nor had he said anything inane.
    At least he didn’t think he had.
    The riders hailed the house and approached, identifying themselves in the firelight. They were the last of Nicholas Hawken’s men, those who’d been left to deal with the dead Celts. There was nothing new to report, so the knights of Wrexton and Kirkham alike settled down for the night, posting a guard over the bodies, and men to keep watch, leaving Marcus pacing restlessly at the perimeter of the camp.
    ’Twas his place to sit at Adam’s bedside for the night, but he was loath to return to the close quarters of the cottage. Spending the night with Keelin O’Shea—
    He blushed with the very thought, even though there was nothing in it.
    Marcus cursed silently. He was earl now, and it was time he took control of his ridiculous shyness whenever he was near a woman. Somehow, he had managed to speak coherently to Keelin O’Shea today. He could do it again.
    He ought tobe able to do it again.
    Marcus heard the quiet voices of the men in camp, the horses nickering, the fire crackling. The sky was black and without stars. Rain tomorrow, he thought, knowing he was putting off the inevitable.
    Finally, he picked up his saddle pack, gathered up his blankets, and his courage, and headed for the cottage.
    Keelin gave Adam a draught of her precious valerian, then sat at the young boy’s bedside, watching over him as he drifted off to sleep. It was serene and peaceful in the little cottage, with her uncle’s quiet snores brushing softly over the silence. She could hear men’s voices outside, and knew there’d been no confrontation with the riders.
    Marcus would soon return. She sensed no need to fear him, aware that he preferred to keep his distance from her. She did not blame him for despising her race—after all, her people were responsible for so many undeserved deaths that day. She only wished…well, at the very least, she wished he wouldn’t shrink away from her so blatantly.
    The sudden presence of Marcus de Grant made Keelin realize how very alone she’d felt these last few years. Sure, she’d had Uncle Tiarnan all along, but it wasn’t the same as having her peers about. And it was not at all the same as having a man like Marcus de Grant.
    Not that she had him, exactly. But Keelin had never felt so alive as she had when he’d held her in his arms.
    To be sure, he’d carried her only because he was a man who understood chivalry, and she’d been as unsteady as a leaf in the autumn wind. Keelin knew she could expect nothing more from him than mere civility. Yet his very masculine touch, and his concern for her well-being touched something deep inside her, arousing feelings and sensations Keelin had never experienced before.
    Itmade her yearn for something she could not have—or perhaps she would have it, she thought hopefully—once she returned to Ireland and learned what plans her father had made for her before his death.
    In the flickering light from the hearth, Keelin unpacked her comb and a shawl. She loosened the laces of her kirtle, then slipped it off, keeping on a linen under-kirtle. Wrapping herself up in the thick woolen wrap, Keelin was satisfied that she was decently covered for the moment when Marcus de Grant returned.
    For years, Keelin had managed to keep the ache of loneliness at bay but now it threatened to overwhelm her. She’d