Chapter Three

"Y e have my command," Errol insisted. "Get me a bride. Now."

His captain Brom hesitated.

"There are plenty of girls in the village," Errol grunted. "I have seen them tripping over themselves to get to my son. Here is their opportunity. It will be a true wedding. I'll keep the union solid if the girl does her part."

"And if the girl fails?" Brom asked pointedly. "Will she be free to return to her family?"

Errol narrowed his eyes. "It is all or naught! This is a battle. Only the winner will profit."

Brom frowned. He stepped closer. "Are ye sure about that, Laird? If I take one of the village girls and she fails…the clan could retaliate against ye if ye are harsh with one of our own."

Errol didn't like Brom's words, but he clamped his mouth shut because he recognized the truth in his captain's logic. But he clenched his fingers into fists, his jaw set hard with determination. "I must have a girl who will fight as though her life depends on it. I can do no less for my son."

Errol sent his captain a look that wasn't befitting of the laird of the clan. It was the beseeching look of a desperate father.

"Where do I find such a lass?" Brom asked with a shake of his head. "What girl would give up what she has for so slim a chance at a good life?"

As if in answer, a bolt of lightning cut through the heavens. It was thicker and brighter, momentarily blinding Errol and Brom. The following rumble of thunder was centered directly above them. As though heaven itself was experiencing a battle.

Errol looked at Brom. "It is a night of unnatural happenings. I have earned merit in this life. Head for the crossroads. There will be a lass. Find her, Brom. If there is justice in this life, ye'll not have to promise her anything."

Brom didn't agree with him. Errol saw that in the way his captain's eyebrows lowered. But Brom tugged on the corner of his cap in acknowledgement before he turned and left.

Errol looked toward the back of the hall where his household staff was clustered. "Clean the maiden's tower chamber. Ready it for my son's wedding."

There were wide eyes and shuffling of feet but not the action Errol craved. Standing there on the high ground, unable to help his son was intolerable. He pointed at his staff.

"Clean the chamber! Bring the finest things! Spices and beeswax candles! We will show my son the way back to this life!"

One of the older maids set her jaw and grunted at the younger ones. Errol watched them scurry out of the hall at last. A small bit of satisfaction was his, but it was only a fleeting moment. Desolation came for him in the next breath.

He had but one living child. All of the rest had already gone across the boundary into the afterlife. It was overly harsh of fate.

So fate would have to give him a lass to help lead Diarmuid back to his side. Hope flickered inside of him. It was faint but it was like a candle on the darkest night. Even a tiny flame pushed the blackness back like David facing Goliath.

Brom would find a lass.

There would be a bride to challenge Brigitta for Diarmuid!

*

There was salt in her eyes.

Ailsa rubbed at her face, but her hands carried a coarse, grainy substance to her eyes. She opened them, smiling at the sand stuck to her hands.

It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

Every inch of her body hurt. She smiled because that pain felt so very good.

It meant she was alive.

By divine grace, or pure stubborn determination, whatever the reason, she had made it to shore. Above her the storm was breaking up into fluffy white clouds. They drifted against the backdrop of a perfect dawn sky. It was golden and yellow, promising to be blue in another hour.

It was as if the night before had never been.

She struggled to her feet. The effort was almost too much until she recalled the way Mol had paid off the captain of Fortunes Gift.

Ha! She had survived.

Rays of morning sun broke over the horizon. Ailsa smiled in welcome. She started up the beach, picking her way across the rocks and debris. Her practical ship shoes had mercifully been too difficult to remove in the water.

But she wore naught but her smock. The undergarment was made of good linen, yet it was no match for the brisk morning air. She needed food and clothing, but she had no idea where she was.

And she refused to allow doubt to riddle her with fear. She would find someone compassionate and kind and they would help her.

She would not die on this remote stretch of rocky sand. Mol would not be so lucky.

The wind blew, flattening the linen of her smock against her body. Every inch of her was chilled and her belly rumbled long and low.

No, she hadn't survived this far to give up!

A new sound touched her ears. Ailsa turned her head so it would funnel into her ear better. Whatever it was, it was growing louder.

Horses.

The clip-clop of their hooves offered her hope. It was as bright as the dawn breaking through the remains of the storm.

But they might not be kindhearted. Doubt managed to insert one dark thought before her logic arrived to rescue her. The simple truth was she had no choice.

Hiding would see her dead from the chill in the air. So she steeled herself, staring at the place where the sound of horses was growing louder. Her heart accelerated, beating hard inside of her chest. A strange little sensation of foreboding rose inside of her.

There was no help for it, though. She kept her back straight and her chin level. She might have been betrayed but she wasn't a coward.

Mol would not be triumphant!

*

Brom was a simple man.

He didn't complicate his life by allowing himself to be distracted by irrelevant things. There was duty and honor. Between those lines was where he lived his life.

Today, though, Brom rode his horse to the high ground and discovered that perhaps there was something worth contemplating beyond the simple details of his life.

Fate was, in truth, an active force in the world.

What else could explain the woman standing on the beach?

He'd never placed his faith in it or squandered his time in hoping for the unseen force to deliver what he wanted. Better for a man to work hard for what he wanted in life.

But the woman was standing there on the shoreline.

Her hair was a tangled mess but enough of her skin was visible to confirm she was young.

It seemed that fate was in a kind mood today. Brom was sincerely grateful. For without Diarmuid, the clan would split into factions.

If that happened, blood would flow. His laird's plan lacked all logic. Yet there was no way Brom could deny that there was something unnatural about the Maiden's Tower.

And now he was staring at the very thing his laird had sent him to find.

Perhaps the impossible might not be as unobtainable as he'd thought.