Celtic Bride

“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.

“Will we 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.