Celtic Bride (22 page)

K
eelin’s bruised
shoulder throbbed with every move. She desperately wished she had put on another layer of clothes. Her mittens were soaked through and she could no longer feel her fingers. Her nose was frozen and her ears numb, even though her head was well covered by the hood of her cloak.

The cold went bone deep. She shivered with it, but forged on, aware that her own personal discomfort was nothing compared to the loss of
Ga Buidhe an Lamhaigh.
She tamped down her misgivings about pursuing the spear on her own, and concentrated on keeping herself from falling from her horse.

’Twas full night, though the landscape was lit with an eerie light. The snow was coming down so hard, it was difficult for Keelin to see even a few feet ahead of her. ’Twas fortunate the power of the spear still drew her, because the robber’s tracks had disappeared miles back.

She trudged on, forcing herself to think only of the spear, and not the cold, nor the biting, freezing snow that pelted her face and froze her lashes. She could only hope
Ga Buidhe an Lamhaigh
would continue to guide her to it.

She visualized
the ancient, obsidian spear that had been handed to her ancestor eons ago at Loch Gur, and knew that she had no choice.
Ga Buidhe an Lamhaigh
and her powers of second sight had dictated the course of her life so far. As guardian, she was compelled to risk life and limb for it. Nothing had changed. The burden was hers and hers alone.

Burden?

Aye. She’d been burdened with the ancient power since she was but a wee lass, and it had never brought happiness or contentment.
To anyone.
To be sure, Clann Ui Sheaghda believed that possession of
Ga Buidhe an Lamhaigh
somehow made them greater than all other clans.

Keelin was the only O’Shea who knew otherwise.

Still, she had no choice but to return the spear to Kerry. What she felt for Marcus could not enter into the decisions that had to be made.

The course of her life was set. She would wed the man waiting for her in Ireland. It did not matter that she had no feelings for him, nor could he possibly have any for her. Marriage among the nobility was not based on fleeting emotions, but contracted to provide strategic alliances.

Keelin swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat and struggled to hold the reins. Survival was more important than these foolish mental meanderings.

Her hands barely functioned now and she did not know how much longer her legs would have the strength to keep her astride. Nor did she know how long her horse would last under these severe conditions. Ice was building up on his mane and his eyelashes. She would soon have to find shelter for herself and her mount, even if she did not
soon encounter the man who’d stolen
Ga Buidhe an Lamhaigh.

She hated to think it, but mayhap ’twould be better to return to Wrexton and wait for Marcus. She halted and stood in the blowing wind, attempting to get her bearings.

There were no landmarks, other than the hills around her, which she could barely make out in the distance. Her tracks were covered almost as quickly as she made them.

She was lost.

Her only hope was to continue following her sense of the spear, and find that the man who’d stolen it needed her help as much as she needed his.

Two of Wrexton’s knights met Marcus at the edge of the village. They appeared to be supplied for a long expedition.

“My lord, we were just coming in search of you!”

“Will and Robert, take the prisoners to the sheriff and make the charges against them,” Marcus said, then turned to the newcomers. “You two, take the falcons back to the castle and get them settled. I’ll—”

“Your pardon, my lord, but Lady Keelin is missing!”

Marcus’s heart dropped. His worst fear, that the thief had told the truth about Keelin, had come true. She was out in the storm, in pursuit of her spear.

The little fool! What had possessed her to go alone?

“Give me your extra cloaks—”

“We brought blankets, my lord,” the knight said, pulling the bundle off the rump of his horse and handing it to Marcus. “And some provisions.”

“Good. Return to Wrexton,” he said. “See that order is kept in the hall, and
find Beatrice. Lock her up somewhere.”

“But, my lord—”

“Do as I say,” Marcus commanded as he turned his horse and set off on another course. “Keep all secure at the castle,” he shouted as he rode away. “I’ll return as soon as I have Lady Keelin.”

West was the only direction to take. He’d traveled south once this night, and knew the thief who had stolen Keelin’s spear was not there. To the north were high cliffs that would be difficult, if not impossible, to climb in this weather, and the river was eastward. A crossing would not be feasible now.

He could see no trail in the oddly reflected light of the storm, but there was a slight indentation in the snow that might once have been tracks. Marcus followed in hopes that it was Keelin’s path.

He had never felt so terrified in his life. Was she dressed warmly enough that she would not to freeze to death? Was she riding in circles, lost in the storm, unable to find her way to shelter?

Worse yet, had she met up with the thief?

Marcus knew who the miscreant was. The man and his brother passed themselves off as knights, but he’d had his doubts about that. More likely they’d run afoul of the law and were on the run. Marcus had considered throwing them both on the mercy of the weather, but he preferred to keep them close, where he could keep an eye on them.

Well, so much for that theory.

Now Keelin had put herself at risk for the sake of that damnable spear, the object that would take her away from Wrexton and back to Ireland. Yet, if the damnable spear were lost to her forever, would she still feel so compelled to
return to her home? Marcus was certain he could convince her to remain with him as his wife if there was no spear.

Mayhap he should wish the thief luck.

Nay. Knowing how she felt about the spear, ’twould kill Keelin to lose it. Marcus would do all in his power to see it recovered and returned to her.

So that she could return to Carrauntoohil with it.

She would not go alone. When the weather cleared, and travel became possible, Marcus would go with her. He would travel to Ireland with Keelin and do whatever was necessary to keep her from marrying some barbaric Celtic chieftain.

He grudgingly admitted that the husband chosen by Eocaidh O’Shea might not be a barbarian like Mageean’s mercenaries. He could be a handsome and charming young fellow, or a wise young man as Tiarnan must have been in his youth. Would Keelin be happier in the bosom of her clan, than if she remained exiled in England?

As he searched for the trail that would lead to her, Marcus knew he could not give her up without fighting for her.

He picked up his pace. Regardless of her ultimate decision, his first battle would be here, in England. He had to get to Keelin before the bastard with the mismatched eyes could cause her any harm.

Keelin realized she’d made a terrible mistake in coming out on her own. Not even her prayers to Saints Bridget and Patrick could save her now. She would freeze to death in the hills so close to Wrexton, that if it were a summer day, she could probably run to the castle on her own two legs in half the time it had taken to ride this far.

Keelin
wanted to weep, but knew that tears were useless. She was well and truly lost, and there was nothing to do but go on, as long as her poor horse could continue. If she had any kind of luck, they would go on until dawn, and perhaps there would be enough light to find some kind of shelter.

In the meantime, there was no choice but to—to—Keelin shook her head. She squinted her eyes to clear her vision. Something tall and dark loomed in the distance. ’Twas larger than a man on horseback…a building…but Keelin could not see if it was the barn she’d seen in her premonition.

She felt danger all around, the same as she had sensed in her vision, and knew this was the place. The spear would be here. She hoped the villain who’d stolen it, was not.

Glancing ‘round as she approached the neglected barn, Keelin saw no one. The horse, sensing shelter, plodded ahead with a lighter step and quicker pace. When they reached the yard, Keelin was frozen too stiff to move right away. Shivering violently, she made slow, deliberate movements, and finally managed to dismount.

The door was shut, but the place was quite obviously deserted. Bare trees surrounded the barn, with branches laden with long icicles, just as she’d seen in her vision.

The only thing missing was the blood on the ground.

Keelin desperately hoped she would be gone before any blood was shed. Feeling more fortunate than she had any right to be, Keelin waded through a deep snowdrift until she reached the door. It was stuck shut.

Besides being frozen to the core, she felt weak and exhausted. She had little strength left. Pushing with all her might, she could not manage to get the door open. Unaware that she was weeping, Keelin knew her one chance for survival
was in getting that door open, getting herself inside and making a fire.

With renewed strength and determination, she threw herself against the door once again, and when it burst open, Keelin fell in a heap on the packed dirt floor. She felt immediate relief, however, in getting out of the wind, and knew she had to get her horse inside, as well. Once she got a fire started, there would be a chance of survival.

Sounds of movement behind her startled Keelin and she whirled around, only to find that her horse was pushing his way inside. She gave a tremulous smile at his good sense, then got to her feet and shoved the door closed behind him. Then she started looking for fuel.

There was absolutely nothing of value in the barn. A few sticks of broken wood lay strewn about the floor, so at least there was something to use for making a fire.

Still chilled to the bone and shivering beyond control, Keelin managed to gather some of the scraps and toss them into the fire pit. Once she got a fire started, she stood close and tried to warm herself.

Steam rose from her wet clothing. She would have to remove it soon, but could not face doing it until the barn warmed up. ’Twas, unfortunately, a rather large room, and would be difficult to heat. Especially with holes in the thatching and cracks in the walls.

An old, rusted anvil lay on the floor near the fire pit, along with some useless, broken tools. Rotting leather straps hung from hooks on one wall. Looking ‘round, Keelin could see that a smith had once worked here. Fleetingly, she wondered what had happened to him.

The horse nickered and shook himself, throwing wet chunks of snow all over the room, forcing Keelin’s attention on her present situation. “Aye, well, ’tis sorry I am that I haven’t any grain for ye, lad,” she said with chattering teeth. “I’ve nothin’ for myself, either, ye know.”

The horse snorted
and shook again, as if unsatisfied with Keelin’s answer.

Keelin glanced around again. While there was nothing to eat, at least she could quench her thirst with melted snow. And besides, she did not intend to stay long, only until daylight, when she would return to Wrexton and get help. At least that was—

The door whipped open.

At first thought Keelin believed she hadn’t closed it well enough against the wind, but quickly realized her error.

The thief had arrived.

“Well, well, well…” His voice echoed ominously in the cavernous space.

Keelin recognized him at once. He was the knight with the strange eyes. One blue, one brown. She shivered, and not only with the cold.

“Lost my way for a bit back there,” the man said as he came into the humble shelter. “But I caught onto your tracks and followed you here.”

He looked too cold to be a real threat to her now, but Keelin knew that could change at any minute. Her eyes darted around for something to use as a weapon, but there were only the rusted, broken tongs on the earthen floor next to the anvil. She was at the thief’s mercy.

He threw his pack down beside the fire pit, and approached.

Keelin stepped away, eyeing the pack. Her spear was there. She had only to circle around the man and grab it. Then…What? She could not go back out in the frigid weather, even if she could get her horse out with her.

She was
trapped. By the weather as well as the man.

“Ain’t it just cozy-like?” the knight smiled unpleasantly as he sidled up to the fire. “Right nice of you to heat the place up.”

As long as she kept her distance, she did not see how the rogue would be able to harm her. At the very least, she should be able to keep the horse between them.

But she had to get to the spear.

“The old hag was right about this place,” the man said as he reached into his pack. He drew out a tin cup and set it on the hearth, acting as if all was well with the world.

His confidence shook Keelin. “Wh-what old hag?” she asked.

“The one what wears the white headrail,” he answered, rummaging through his belongings. “Acts like some kind o’ saint, she does.”

“Beatrice?” Keelin asked. Isolda’s companion was the only old woman at Wrexton who always wore a white wimple.

“Yeh. That was her name, all right.”

“Beatrice sent you here?”

The knight barked out an obnoxious chortle. “Sent me here? Yeh, that and a bit more.”

Keelin eyed the fire and wished the thief would move away so she could get closer to it. “Wh-what more?”

In reply, he dumped a handful of coins on the stone hearth. Grinning broadly, he added Keelin’s jeweled knife and brooch to the pile. Keelin shuddered at the look of blatant glee in those disturbing eyes.

“Might take a while to get rid of that spear,” he said. “Don’t know of anybody who’d want it. But these…” he said, gesturing toward Keelin’s valuables.

“You can have it all,” Keelin said, “but the spear. That’s the only thing I—”

His peel of
laughter stopped her. “I can have it all?” he asked in a derisive tone. “My dear lady, I
do
have it all. Even more than you’ve guessed.”