He doubted he’d have been able to remain with Lady Keelin a moment longer without some terrible blunder. As it was, he was merely lucky he hadn’t trodden on her delicate feet, nor had he said anything inane. At least he didn’t think he had. The riders hailed the house and approached, identifying themselves in the firelight. They were the last of Nicholas Hawken’s men, those who’d been left to deal with the dead Celts. There was nothing new to report, so the knights of Wrexton and Kirkham alike settled down for the night, posting a guard over the bodies, and men to keep watch, leaving Marcus pacing restlessly at the perimeter of the camp. ’Twas his place to sit at Adam’s bedside for the night, but he was loath to return to the close quarters of the cottage. Spending the night with Keelin O’Shea— He blushed with the very thought, even though there was nothing in it. Marcus cursed silently. He was earl now, and it was time he took control of his ridiculous shyness whenever he was near a woman.
