Celtic Bride. Margo Maguire

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ own father mere days before his death in battle, may he rest his bones and his detestable soul in peace, Tiarnan grudgingly prayed.

      Keelin’s intended was not only an old man, near as old as Tiarnan himself, but a lecherous old daff, besides. Sure and he might be high chieftain of all that lay northeast of O’Shea land, but Tiarnan knew there were other ways to secure McClancy’s alliance without bartering Keelin to the old rascal.

      Leave it to his brother, Eocaidh, the strong and capable one, never to see beyond the needs of the clan. He’d have abandoned his young daughter to old Mc-Clancy without a second thought. Though he must have known how Keelin would react to the betrothal for he had not informed her of his intentions before his death.

      ’Twas with sheer luck and a prayer that Tiarnan had been able to convince the elders to send Keelin away as guardian of Ga Buidhe an Lamhaigh, instead of staying in Kerry and becoming Fen McClancy’s wife. Tiarnan sincerely hoped that in the years since he and Keelin had fled Ireland, the McClancy chieftain had met his death. Nay, ’twas not a malicious wish—Tiarnan truly wished the man a peaceful end, but an end, nonetheless.

      And he truly hoped Keelin never learned of her father’s promise to Fen. ’Twould break the girl’s heart to know how little her father thought of her. ’Twas a miracle she’d never realized it—yet Keelin was surprisingly oblivious to the reality around her. For all her intuitive abilities, she often misunderstood the simplest motivations of others.

      Ah, but she was young still. Time enough to learn of the treachery of men.

      “Please, Uncle,” Keelin said, “save your breath now, and we will speak later. There is nothin’—”

      “But there is, darlin’,” the old man said as he lay his head back on the soft pillow Keelin had made for him. “This is important, Keelin, and time is short. Listen to me now.”

      “What is it, Uncle, that you’ve got to be saying to me rather than taking your rest?” Keelin asked somberly, pulling a low wooden stool close to the narrow pallet on which the man rested. ’Twas nippy with the late afternoon, though the single room of the cottage was pleasantly warm with a small fire burning in the grate. The aroma of the healing plants and herbs Keelin set out to dry was strong, but pleasing. Later, when Tiarnan was asleep, she would crush the leaves that were ready, and pack them away for their journey.

      “The Mageean warriors are comin’,” he said without preamble. “I know it with a certainty, even without seein’ it as you do.”

      Keelin frowned. Tiarnan was wise, but how could he know what she’d only just seen that morning? The visions had been shattering. Brutal Celtic mercenaries clashing with peaceful Englishmen. Horses screaming, the scent of blood hot and sweet in her nostrils. Mortal wounds, great sorrow. She could not say exactly when it would happen, only that it would happen, and it would be soon.

      “They cannot be far now, lass,” Tiarnan said breathlessly, “and ye know it as well as I do m’self. We’ve been here too long. They must be close to findin’ us out.”

      Keelin quickly assessed the humble cottage. How would she manage to pack their meager belongings, reinforce the hiding place of Ga Buidhe an Lamhaigh, and get her weak and ailing uncle away before Ruairc Mageean’s warriors came? And where would they go this time? Was it wise to attempt to return home now?

      Last time they’d run, Tiarnan had still been able to see a bit. He’d not seemed so terribly old, nor so feeble as he was now. Would he manage the journey across Wales and down to the sea?

      And the visions…Something, Keelin wasn’t sure quite what, but something was going on at Carrauntoohil Keep. Her urgency to go back was no longer a mere yearning to go home. She was filled with a foreboding that would not rest until she returned the sacred spear to her clan and saw for herself that all was well.

      “Listen to me, Keely lass,” Tiarnan said calmly, sensing his niece’s rising panic. She was young, a mere nineteen years, and though Tiarnan considered her second sight a gift, he knew it was difficult for her. The visions always left her weakened, distraught and drained, even if she tried to hide it from him. “You must take Ga Buidhe an Lamhaigh and go away from here before—”

      “Nay, Uncle,” Keelin cried abruptly. “I will not leave ye.”

      “Keelin—”

      “The warriors have been thwarted for now. I’ll not be leavin’ this place without ye. I can pack us up,” she said quickly, “and you’ll ride in the wain when ’tis time.”

      “Keely,” Tiarnan said, closing his eyes wearily. It tried his soul to know that he’d soon send the lass away, to journey on alone, but no amount of prayers to the Holy Virgin or any of the saints had availed him. His chest pained him something terrible, and the cough…Well, he had no doubt the cough would be the death of him.

      Keelin’s clear green eyes were bright with tears that overflowed their bounds. She took both her uncle’s hands in her own and raised them to her cheek. “I will move us to another place, a safer place where—”

      “Do ye not understand, love?” Tiarnan said weakly, feeling her tears on his hands. “I am not well enough to travel, and ye must get away before it’s too late.”

      “Nay, Uncle!” she cried. “There is time.”

      “Keelin,” Tiarnan said, “even if there were time, ye don’t need an old wreck like me holdin’ ye back. Now, go on with ye. Start to pack up yer things and—”

      Tiarnan paused and cocked his head slightly.

      “What?” Keelin asked, alarmed at the way her uncle had tuned his ear to some distant sound that she could not yet hear. “What is it?”

      “Someone’s comin’,” the man replied. “Horses…men on foot.”

      “Oh, saints bless me!” Keelin cried, standing up abruptly from her perch. “How could I have been so wrong? They’re here? Now?”

      “I doubt it’s them, darlin’,” Tiarnan said with the calm that comes with age. “But we’ve no choice but to wait and see, now.”

      Keelin swallowed hard. They’d always kept well ahead of the Mageeans before. Never even got close to a confrontation. Yet here she stood frozen in her skin. She was barely able to move, unable to guide her uncle away from the cottage to hide. ’Twas no way for Eocaidh O’Shea’s daughter to behave, and she knew it.

      “Do ye hear the voices now, lass?”

      Keelin gave a slight nod, unmindful for the moment, that Tiarnan could not see her.

      At least they would not find Ga Buidhe an Lamhaigh, she thought. ’Twas well hidden again, and she would never tell where to find it. Allowing the holy spear to fall into Mageean hands would be the worst possible calamity.

      Rage would not serve Marcus now. His desire to accompany Kirkham and his men as they chased down and killed the barbarians in the wood was great, but the need to get Adam to shelter was even more imperative.

      With great care, Marcus carried the boy down the hill. The distance to the little cottage was a good deal longer than he remembered, perhaps because of the added burden of the injured boy in his arms. He tried to concentrate only on getting Adam to safety, to a place where his wound could be tended. Any other thoughts of the terrible moments СКАЧАТЬ