Free Celtic Bride by Margo Maguire

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.
    “Willwe 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.
    There was, however, no doubt in Marcus’s mind that it had very much happened.
    He took a pair of blankets from the table and settled himself down by Adam’s bed. Too weary to think any more on it, he fell quickly asleep.
    “Keelylass,” Tiarnan said, “sit yerself down half a minute and have a talk with yer old uncle.”
    Keelin glanced around the cottage and saw that everyone except Tiarnan was dozing. She could put it off no longer. She pulled a stool up next to Tiarnan’s bed and told him all she’d seen when the vision overtook her.
    Marcus opened his eyes to the sound of a fierce wind lashing around the cottage. Surprisingly, it remained snug and warm inside. He sat up, wondering how long he’d slept. The men outside needed to be relieved of their watch and a chance to come in and warm themselves.
    He watched as Lady Keelin knelt beside one of the knights and wrapped a clean length of cloth around his shoulder wound. She spoke quietly to him, reassuring the man that the wound was clean and he’d not lose the arm to putrefaction. She was gentle and kind with the knight, and fully aware of his worries. She bolstered his spirits with her smiles and kind words.
    Then she turned to the other fellow who lay in front of the fire and wiped his brow with a cloth from the water bowl next to him. Her kirtle molded to her breasts as she moved, and Marcus could practically