Celtic Bride Read Online Free PDF

through her mind as she clawed at the man’s hands. Would the warrior kill her? Who would care for Uncle Tiarnan then? What would happen to Ga Buidhe an Lamhaigh? Had her cry been loud enough for anyone to hear?
    “Letthe woman go!”
    The Celt suddenly stopped and whirled around. Holding Keelin in front of him like a shield, he faced Marcus de Grant, who appeared like a golden giant out of the woods to challenge him.
    “Be still, Keelin,” Marcus de Grant growled. Startled once again by the young earl’s sudden appearance, Keelin felt the cold, steel blade at her throat and knew that her life depended on keeping still.
    “Give me Ga Buidhe an Lamhaigh and I will free you,” the warrior demanded.
    “Níl!” Keelin cried.
    Lord Wrexton’s sword was drawn and he was ready to engage the Irishman, but Keelin was afraid the young lord could do nothing while the mercenary held her this way, with one hand tightly tangled in her hair, the other on the knife. If de Grant attacked, Keelin would surely be killed.
    De Grant stood at the ready, slightly crouched, and slowly began to circle Keelin and the Irishman. Somehow, in the depths of her distress, Keelin wondered what he could possibly do to free her.
    She heard a strange, strangled sound, and realized it had come from her own throat. The mercenary pulled her hair even tighter and turned to keep Wrexton in front of him, though Keelin could feel that he was slightly off balance. She was too frightened to act, and so she moved with him, taking care not to jar herself against the knife.
    “You’ll never leave these woods alive, Celt!” Marcus taunted. “Let her go and I’ll spare you! Drop—”
    A loud crack split the air behind her, and the Irishman yelped. Keelin was thrown forward, onto her knees, facedown in the dirt.
    Amidst the sudden shouts of men, and confusion all around her, Keelin came as close to fainting as if she’d just experienced a powerful vision. Heart pounding, blood rushing in her ears, she was helped to her feet, then pulled off them again when her knees buckled. As she fell to the ground, she heard the clash of swords, the grunts of men fighting for their lives. Suddenly, all was silent. De Grant lifted her into his naked arms and carried her to the path that led to her cottage.
    Theyoung lord was quiet as he carried her faultlessly through the woods. Trembling, Keelin wrapped her hands around his neck and held on, treasuring the unfamiliar sensations of safety and security. It had been years since anyone had protected her, or helped her in any way. The warrior had killed a man to protect her.
    She gazed up at Lord Wrexton, whose eyes were locked straight ahead, and took notice of the short, red-blond whiskers that covered his jaw and neck. She’d never seen any young man up so close, had certainly never before appreciated the strong lines and muscles of a warrior’s physique. Yet she’d found herself gaping at this powerful man more than once in the short hours since he’d crashed in on her life. She had never thought a man beautiful before, yet now…
    She squeezed her eyes tight as if to shut out the thoughts that would surely cause her nothing but trouble. How the man could have such an effect, and so quickly, was a mystery to Keelin.
    Marcus got her back to the cottage and the place where his men were encamped. He eased her down onto the stump of a great oak, and tilted her chin with one hand as his men gathered round. “You’re bleeding,” he said, oblivious to her appreciative gaze, and astonished that she’d come to no harm. The Celt had been quick to raise his sword against Keelin. ’Twas by the grace of God that Marcus had been quicker, though he’d achieved little satisfaction in killing the Celt.
    With asurprisingly steady hand, Marcus touched the injury on Keelin’s neck, assessing its severity.
    “The knave cut me?” Keelin asked, surprised. Yet another odd feeling rose in her, much more intense than anything she’d