Marcus had taken excellent care of her. The thought warmed her thoroughly, even as it caused a wild turmoil within.
She had to return to Ireland. It was time to return
Ga Buidhe an Lamhaigh
to her clan.
Keelin pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her chin upon them. Her silky black hair spilled around her shoulders, trailing down her back and her legs. The leather cord heated in her palm.
Just the very thought of leaving Marcus made her ache inside, but Keelin knew her duty. Her first allegiance had to be to Clann Ui Sheaghda. She was compelled to wed the chieftain her father had chosen for her, to help ensure the security of the clan. ’Twas not hers to decide.
She brushed a tear from one eye and pushed her hair back behind one ear. ’Twould not do at all to allow her feelings for Marcus to grow into anything more than what she already felt for him. Which was considerable. Though she had little experience with matters of the heart, Keelin did not believe she would ever encounter another with as noble a soul as Marcus de Grant. He was kind and considerate, strong in his heart as well as his body.
’Twas no matter, Keelin told herself ardently. As soon as she was able, she would leave Wrexton. Tiarnan would be in good hands, and content here in Marcus’s keep. In spring, she would see that men were sent out from Kerry to escort him home, where he could live out his last years with his clan.
In the meantime, Keelin had to retrieve
Ga Buidhe an Lamhaigh
from her mule-wain. The fire in the stable had shown her how precarious her current hiding place was. It could have been the storage building that had burned in addition to the stable, and
Ga Buidhe an Lamhaigh
along with it.
Keelin’s only
choice was to get the spear and bring it to her chamber in the keep, where it would be safe until she was able to leave. Surely no fire nor any other untoward event would endanger the spear if it were well hidden in her chamber.
’Twas unfortunate she was unable to hide her heart as well.
T
he damage
to the stable was extensive. The roof was gone, and only the support beams of the building remained standing, along with a few of the horse stalls. The inside stank of smoke, and Marcus decided it would be necessary to rebuild entirely.
Marcus’s eyes scanned the bailey, assessing all the buildings and the potential for fire. Too many of them were made of wood. ’Twas never seen as a problem before, but now that the stable had burned, Marcus did not care to have that kind of disaster repeated. Come spring, he would have workmen begin to replace each building with stone.
Marcus poked around, pondering the fire and its probable cause.
“For the life of me,” the stable marshal said, “I cannot figure how it began, my lord.”
Marcus walked alongside the man as they inspected the ruins of the stable.
“I was just out back not five minutes before, answering nature’s call, and there was nary a sign of anything amiss.”
Of course there wouldn’t have been, Marcus thought, or Boswell would have dealt with it before the fire had had a chance to grow to such a magnitude. Still, it was worrisome. A fire that started and spread that quickly…precautions had to be taken.
By the
light of a few well-placed torches, men were sweeping up as much of the mess as possible. “Gordon,” he called to one of the grooms, “where did Lady Keelin fall?”
“Back here, my lord,” Gordon replied, leading Marcus and the stable marshal to the stall where her mule had been boarded. “Best watch your step.”
“Aye, I will.” Marcus walked around, noting that the area was remarkably clear of debris. There was one piece of charred wood on the ground, and when Marcus picked it up, he saw that it was sticky with what must have been dried blood, and a few strands of long, black hair. ’Twas the beam that had knocked Keelin out.
The roof was gone, but the side of the building remained intact, along with the support beams overhead. Marcus wondered where the joist in his hand had fallen from.
“’Tis truly amazing that no one was more seriously injured, my lord,” Boswell said. “Except for Lady Keelin. How is she, by the by?”
“She’ll do,” Marcus answered. “No thanks to this,” he said as he tossed the heavy piece of wood into the pile of debris.
“Will you oversee the rebuilding, my lord,” Boswell asked, “or shall I?”
“I’ll leave that to you, Boswell,” Marcus replied. “My only stipulation is that the new stable is to be made of stone.”
“Aye, my lord,” the stable marshal replied approvingly. “’Twas by the grace of God this disaster was no worse.”
Marcus
returned to the keep and asked that a bath be made ready for him in his chamber. He stopped in to see Adam first, and found Tiarnan sitting near the boy, dozing. Adam slept, every breath deep and clear. Marcus put one hand on his forehead and was relieved to find it merely warm. There might still be fever, but at least it no longer raged out of control.
“Ah, yer back,” Tiarnan said, sniffing at the charred, smoky odor Marcus brought into the room with him. “And did ye learn anything new?”
“Nay,” Marcus replied. “The fire started in a haystack behind the stable and spread from there. ’Tis likely someone was careless with a torch and is afraid to come forth and admit to it.”
Tiarnan did not reply right away, but waited for Marcus to continue looking Adam over, and satisfy himself that the boy’s condition continued to improve.
“Keely says ye took fine care of her,” he finally said, “and I thank ye fer it.”
“I only wish I had kept her out of it,” he replied. “She would not have been hurt if—”
“Ah, but stoppin’ my Keely lass isn’t always an easy thing,” Tiarnan interjected. “She’s got a mind of her own, just like her father before her.” The old man crossed himself as he mentioned Keelin’s father.
Marcus nodded, forgetting that the old man could not see the gesture. He wondered if Tiarnan knew Keelin intended to leave him at Wrexton and return to Ireland.
The thought of her leaving caused an ache in Marcus akin to what he felt over the loss of his father. He could not say exactly what his feelings for Keelin were, but knew that not once in his life had he ever felt this way about any woman.
And
if he allowed Keelin to leave, chances were he would never see her again.
“Tell me, m’lord,” Tiarnan said. “How badly was Keelin hurt? She will never say when aught ails her, and tonight is no different, though I could hear from her hoarseness that she swallowed a lungful of smoke and soot.”
“Yes, she did,” Marcus said. And the huskiness of her voice had seared him clear to his toes. “It’s likely she’ll have quite a cough for a few days.”
Tiarnan nodded. “And the cut on her head?”
“’Twas deep, but the bleeding stopped and she wanted no fuss,” Marcus replied, “so I did not stitch it.”
He was glad he had not been required to sew the wound. Needlework was not one of his particular talents and he was loath to hurt Keelin any more than she had been already.
“Well, she’s a hearty lass,” Tiarnan said. “She’ll mend.”
Marcus supposed so, though he still wished she’d not gone into the stable. He did not understand how she had managed to be struck by the one beam that had fallen in her vicinity. An ugly suspicion reared its head, but he quickly discounted it. Isolda would never venture into the stable for any reason.
“How is Adam?”
“Better tonight,” Tiarnan replied. “The fever’s down and the wound is not quite so putrid. I had young Katie mix some valerian and the lad swallowed it. He’ll sleep a good while.”
“His color is better,” Marcus said.
“Take
yerself off to bed, lad,” Tiarnan said. “Katie and I will see to young Adam tonight. And if we’ve need of ye, we’ll call.”
The prospect of a bath and a few hours’ sleep was too compelling to resist, though he did not believe the old man was well enough to stay up all night. Nor should Katie have to do so, either, since she’d already spent the day doing Tiarnan’s bidding. The girl, who was nodding in a chair near the hearth, needed her rest, too.
“Kate,” he said, waking her. “Go to bed.”
“But—”
“One of the footmen will spell you for the night.”
“Yes, my lord,” she said sleepily. She stood up a little unsteadily, and left the room.
“Tiarnan, I’ll send someone to help you to bed as well,” Marcus said. “Adam’s sleeping comfortably now. If he needs us, we can easily be summoned.”
Tiarnan did not protest as Marcus bid him good-night and left Adam’s chamber.
He did not go far before Lady Isolda waylaid him.
“Marcus,” she said, “I’ve been looking for you.”
“What is it, Isolda?” he asked wearily.
“As you know, Bishop Delford plans to leave on the morrow,” she replied. “I persuaded him to delay his departure one more day, and I intend to serve a suitable feast for him. ’Twould be well for you to preside at the meal.”
“My presence will depend on Adam’s health, madam,” Marcus said, “and whether I am needed here.”
“Marcus,” Isolda sighed impatiently. “The bishop is an important man. You met with him only briefly after the funeral, and again for a terribly short time this evening. You cannot snub His Eminence in this manner. The bishop has a great deal of sway at court and—”
“And
if he is such a dolt that he cannot understand the gravity of my other commitments, then I give him leave to return to Chester without the pleasure of my company.”
“Marcus!”
Isolda could not have been more surprised by his words and tone than Marcus himself. Never before had he spoken to her in such a fashion.
However, it was not just the fatigue that drove him, nor the events of the day. He was earl now. He had the power and authority of his station and he intended to put it to good use.
“Send one of the grooms to Adam’s room,” he said to Isolda. “Have him help Lord Tiarnan to his chamber, then return to Adam to keep watch for the night. If Adam’s condition changes in the least, I wish to be summoned immediately.”
“But Marcus—”
“Unless you prefer to sit with Adam yourself. In that case—” Marcus began, but Isolda gathered her skirts and stalked away. Marcus felt only a twinge of regret for calling attention to Isolda’s particular shortcoming. She had no stomach for illness, and Marcus knew she intentionally avoided contact with the sick or injured.
He continued on his way until he reached his chamber, where he entered, untying laces and shedding his smoke-damaged clothes as he went. Keelin’s gown had been ruined as well, and Marcus doubted she had many more to choose from.
He sank into the tub that awaited him, exhausted yet unable to relax. Keelin O’Shea was very much on his mind.
She planned to leave.
Marcus did not care for the empty feeling that came with that thought. He had never known anyone like Keelin O’Shea—not in west England or Wales, not in London or anywhere in France.
Marcus
hadn’t realized until now what a difference her size meant to him. She was not one of those soft, petite ladies who seemed as if they would crumple under the least pressure. Nay, Keelin was more like Cleo, his magnificent gyrfalcon. Soft and sleek outside, Lady Keelin was strong and fierce within.
She was tall for a woman, tall enough that he had hardly needed to bend to kiss her. He recalled that her long, lithe form had fit him well, and his body had ached to make it a more intimate fit.
Marcus ducked his head in the water in a futile attempt to clear it, and to settle his body’s runaway urges.
She would return to Ireland as soon as she was free to do so, he told himself again. That was where her heart, as well as her allegiance lay, though if he knew how to change that, he would not hesitate to do so.
Marcus suddenly thought of the spear Tiarnan had told him about. He hadn’t thought much about it before, but now he realized that Keelin must have brought it to Wrexton with her. Where had she stored it on the journey? Marcus was certain he’d seen everything that had come on the mule cart, and there had been no spear. She had not carried it on horseback, either.
The spear was obviously something of great importance to the O’Sheas, Marcus thought, judging from the way Tiarnan had spoken of it. He could not imagine that Keelin had left it at her cottage, not when she knew the Mageean warriors would soon return.
No, it had to be somewhere here at Wrexton.
Keelin was up early the next morning, before anyone at Wrexton stirred. She dressed and threw her cloak over her clothes, then made her way down the stairs and out of the keep. It was still dark but her eyes quickly adjusted to the shadows in the predawn light. She did not need much light, anyway. She knew the location of the storage shed where her mule cart had been stored and she hoped the power of the spear would draw her to it.
Letting
herself inside the shed, Keelin let her eyes adjust to the deeper darkness. She had to pick her way through a mound of equipment that had been salvaged from the stable and tossed inside, but she soon found her wain mixed in with those that belonged to Wrexton.
’Twas strange…she could not feel the presence of the spear. For some reason, it did not draw her.
Regardless, she slipped her hand along the frame of the wain, and searched for the hollowed-out length of wood that sheathed the spear. Sliding her fingers along the wood, she bit back a cry of discomfort as a sliver of wood jabbed into her flesh. She stopped her task to pull it out, then went back to her search.
Finally locating the small metal latch that held the cover in place, Keelin flipped it open and reached two fingers inside.
’Twas empty!
Ga Buidhe an Lamhaigh
was gone!
No, that could not be right, Keelin assured herself. She must somehow have chosen the wrong wain in the dark, no matter how certain she’d been of her choice.
Before true panic could set in, Keelin lit one of the candles by the door, and started to look around more carefully.
There must be a good dozen wains in here,
she thought.
No wonder I’ve chosen wrong.
But even as she thought it, she realized that no other wain would have a hollow chamber in which to store an object as long and thin as
Ga Buidhe an Lamhaigh.
Her heart sank as the truth of the matter hit her.
She’d
lost her clan’s precious spear.
How would she ever find it if it no longer possessed the power to make its presence known to her?
Surely no thief would own up to taking it, for the punishment would be severe. But what would she do now? She could not return to Carrauntoohil without the spear, nor could she stay here at Wrexton while her clan was suffering the chaos that had certainly resulted from Cormac’s death.
Keelin lifted the tallow candle and looked around. Mayhap she was mistaken about
Ga Buidhe an Lamhaigh
going missing. Was it not possible that someone had discovered the spear and then put it away somewhere, not knowing what else to do with it?
She checked every wall to see if the spear had been propped up or laid down. When that failed, she looked inside and under every cart and wagon, in every pile of leather harnesses and behind every tool that was stored there.
It was all to no avail. The spear was gone.