Celtic Bride. Margo Maguire
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They were both transfixed, neither moving
Until the chamber door shut.
Keelin suddenly came to her senses and attempted to cover herself with her hands. Marcus should not be in her chamber. No man had ever seen her unclothed.
He took a step toward her.
“Marcus…” she whispered, unable to keep from wanting what she could not have.
She had no will of her own when he looked at her. Her hands dropped to her sides when he reached for her.
“You are so beautiful,” he breathed, taking her hand as she rose from the tub.
Nothing in Keelin’s life had prepared her for the surge of emotions that coursed through her now. She felt feverish, though she knew she should have been cold after stepping out of the bath. Instead, she felt heat—nay, ’twas more than mere heat, ’twas a sweltering fire that consumed her….
Celtic Bride
Harlequin Historical #572
Praise for Margo Maguire’s previous titles
Dryden’s Bride
“Exquisitely detailed…an entrancing tale that will enchant and envelop you as love conquers all.”
—Rendezvous
“A warm-hearted tale…Ms. Maguire skillfully draws the reader into her deftly woven tale.”
—Romantic Times Magazine
The Bride of Windermere
“Packed with action…fast, humorous, and familiar…THE BRIDE OF WINDERMERE will fit into your weekend just right.”
—Romantic Times Magazine
“A wonderful story…experience the emotions and trials of these individuals as they travel on their journey. This one is a must.”
—Rendezvous
#571 THE WIDOW’S LITTLE SECRET
Judith Stacy
#573 THE LAWMAN TAKES A WIFE
Anne Avery
#574 LADY POLLY
Nicola Cornick
Celtic Bride
Margo Maguire
Available from Harlequin Historicals and
MARGO MAGUIRE
The Bride of Windermere #453
Dryden’s Bride #529
Celtic Bride #572
This book is for Mom, a Celtic Bride herself.
Thanks for the stories of the McCarthys, the Deans, the Lannens, the Flynns and all the rest of our Irish kin. And thanks especially for telling me about Uncle Billy who could charm warts off—but only under the big oak tree next to the cemetery, and under a full moon.
Contents
Prologue
Early Winter
West Cheshire, England
The Year of Our Lord 1428
The night was a long, troubled one, allowing little rest or comfort for Keelin O’Shea. Plagued by half-remembered dreams and terrible nightmares, Keelin’s remarkable intuitive abilities made her aware that she and her uncle Tiarnan were in danger. The Mageean warriors were near. She had no choice now but to take her clan’s ancient spear from its hiding place, and by touching the priceless relic, try to gain some clarity of their situation.
Some day, Keelin thought, some day soon, she would end her exile. She would return to Ireland and wed the man chosen years before by her father, Eocaidh O’Shea, chieftain of Clann Ui Sheaghda. What a comfort it would be to have a strong and confident champion to care for her, and protect her; what a relief not to be looking over her shoulder at every turn, nor jumping at creaks and shadows. What joy to return to the home she had always called her own.
Tears came to Keelin’s eyes as thoughts of her clan pierced her heart. The lonely, isolated existence she and Tiarnan had lived for the past four years had finally worn her down. She could not remain in this foreign land any longer.
’Twas not an ideal time for travel, with winter nearly upon them, but there were precious few coins left of the purse Tiarnan had brought when they’d fled Ireland. If they did not go now, who was to say there’d be any left when it came time to buy their passage across the Irish Sea?
Keelin knew she would lose what wits she had if circumstances forced her to stay away