Celtic Bride by Margo Maguire Page A

was thinking of Keelin O’Shea’s hair! He curled his fingers into his fists and subdued the inappropriate urge.
    Marcus wondered if Keelin had gotten any rest at all since coming to Wrexton, and denigrated himself for neglecting her. The discoloration of the fine skin under her eyes only added to his guilt. He realized that while he’d spent the afternoon playing host to the bishop, conferring with Wrexton’s steward, and seeing to his falcons in the mews, Keelin had been attending his family as well as her own.
    Keelinhad kept to herself all day. ’Twas true, she had come to his father’s funeral, but she’d disappeared immediately afterward. She’d been moved by the ritual—he’d seen her wipe away tears more than once, but he detected a deep sorrow within her, something she’d managed to keep well hidden until then. Clearly, Keelin O’Shea kept her own counsel. Marcus had never known anyone like her.
    “M’lord?” she asked. “Mayhap I should have summoned an—”
    “No, no,” Marcus said, looking down at Adam. “What would you have me do?”
    “Go on up near his head,” she replied quietly. “Hold him gently, and speak to him. I doubt this will be a particularly agreeable experience for the lad.”
    Her brogue rolled pleasantly over him as it had done over the past days. Mayhap she was no more than she appeared—merely a displaced Irish noblewoman who had a talent for seeing the future. He could only pray that it was so.
    Marcus rubbed the rough planes of his face with his hands, then knelt next to the boy. “Adam,” he said. There was no response, so he looked up at Keelin.
    “I gave him somethin’ to ease the pain,” she said as she pulled her lower lip through her teeth. “He’ll be drowsy, but speak to him anyway.”
    Marcusgave a quick nod. “Adam,” he repeated, touching the boy’s head. “He’s burning up!”
    “Aye. The wound has festered and now it’s causin’ fever,” she said. “That’s why I must drain the poison out.”
    Lady Keelin seemed to have things well in hand, so Marcus spoke quietly to Adam while Keelin did what was necessary to the wound. The boy squirmed and moaned weakly, but did not seem fully coherent.
    Still, Marcus held his shoulders and arms, and talked to him, giving the kind of reassurances he’d seen Keelin give him and the injured men over the last few days. Keelin did what was necessary, then finally cleaned the wound and slathered a green paste over it.
    “How’s he farin’?”
    “Fainted, I think,” Marcus replied.
    “’Tis better that way,” Keelin said. “It had to hurt him somethin’ fierce.” She washed her hands, then began to wrap clean linen around Adam’s torso. ’Twas an awkward task. “Would ye mind helpin’ to lift him, m’lord?”
    Marcus moved to the opposite side of the bed and slipped his hands under the boy, reaching to take the roll of bandage from Keelin. He did not expect the shock of heat that flashed through him when their hands touched.
    He looked up and met her eyes, and saw the same kind of awareness there. Quickly, she pulled her hands out and reached for the bandage that he was ready to hand her, acting as if nothing had passed between them.
    ’Twas for the best, of course. She was merely a visitor at Wrexton, a woman whose very presence would lure the Celtic assassins. And when they came, Marcus planned to be ready for them.
    There was that strangeness about her, too. He knew ’twas her odd powers that made him so uneasy. He still had not figured out how the lady could seem so devout in her prayers, yet keep him so completely in her thrall. For enthralled, he was—utterly and completely, which was one of the reasons he’d stayed away from the keep all afternoon and evening.
    Keelintied the bandage in place, then dipped a clean cloth into a basin of water. Uncovering one of Adam’s legs, she wiped it down with water. She repeated the process on the opposite side, then again with his arms.
    “What