Chapter Four

F ate was very kind.

"I am very grateful," Ailsa said.

Around her, there was a flurry of activity. Several women came and went into the bathhouse. They were tending to her as though she was some treasured member of the family.

A girl poured more hot water into the tub Ailsa sat in.

Someone was using a comb to work the snarls from her tangled hair.

Another maid brought in a plate with cheese and dried fruits.

"Oh my…thank you!" Ailsa shoved several pieces of cheese into her mouth. Nothing had ever tasted so good! "My father will surely compensate you for tending to me. I was on my way to be married. My chaperone betrayed me. She tossed me over the rail of the ship and paid the captain to turn a blind eye."

There was a stiffening of the women around her. Some of the younger ones cast uncertain looks toward the older ones. The matron in charge snapped her fingers, sending them all back into their tasks.

"Ye look the age to be married," the matron said.

Ailsa nodded and chewed.

The matron clapped her hands. "Get her out and dressed. The laird is waiting to meet her."

"The laird?" Ailsa questioned.

"Aye," the matron confirmed. "He's the one ye can thank for yer treatment here."

The matron gave Ailsa a look designed to get her moving.

"Of course." Ailsa rose from the bath. The hot bath was tempting to linger in but thanking her benefactor was more important.

The maids clustered around her. They brought her a clean smock but only a surcoat to cover it with.

"I cannot meet a man in only this," Ailsa argued. It was clothing suited only for her private chambers.

"It's all we have that will fit ye just now. The laird does nae have any daughters and the roads are flooded from the storm."

"Oh." Ailsa felt her cheeks heat with a blush. "Please forgive me for being troublesome."

She was covered and warm. No one would know she didn't have a dress on beneath the surcoat if she didn't mention it.

The maid behind her gave her hair a final stroke with the comb. The matron's gaze swept Ailsa from head to toe and nodded.

"She is ready."

*

"I am Laird Keith. This is my land, my stronghold."

The laird was formidable.

Ailsa decided it wasn't just his height or the bulky shoulders the man had. There was something about the way he looked at her. His eyes were so bright, they almost glowed. He seemed to have expectations of her, but she couldn't guess what those might be.

He could hardly have been expecting her arrival.

But his lips were curved in a very satisfied grin.

That sense of foreboding returned. This time it was much stronger. Her lack of a corset and dress made her feel even more vulnerable.

But she mustn't turn coward now.

Ailsa lowered herself into a curtsy. "I am most grateful for your hospitality."

"Ye should be." Laird Keith said pointedly. "If Brom had nae found ye and taken pity upon ye, there is no doubt that ye would nae have lived much longer. Do ye understand yer circumstances, lass?"

He actually leaned toward her in anticipation of her response.

"Yes," Ailsa confirmed. "If I might send a letter to my father, he will compensate—"

Laird Keith turned around before she finished speaking. He made a gesture to follow him with his hand. Ailsa was uncertain to say the least, but the matron had followed her out of the bathhouse. The woman poked Ailsa in the back to get her moving.

"Really?" Ailsa turned her head to glare at the matron.

"The laird is master here," the matron stressed.

Of course he was.

Ailsa was no stranger to understanding that there was only one master in any home. Her father treated her kindly, but she was still bound to obey him. Everyone had to keep to their place. It was the natural order of life.

She turned and followed Laird Keith.

He walked down a narrow hallway. This was an older tower, built in a square. The large flat walls were vulnerable to cannon fire. But it was in the back of the stronghold, proving that the Keith clan had built newer defenses to keep up with the modernization of weaponry. Black powder had changed the world.

But here, there was a definite feeling of times gone by. The surcoat she wore was lined in thick, quilted linen for warmth. Yet Ailsa shivered. There was something about the stone walls that made her feel her mortality more keenly.

Surely it was just her recent brush with death that made her feel so.

And yet, the chill felt as if it was intensifying with every step she took.

Laird Keith started up some stairs and the women behind her made certain Ailsa followed. Her trepidation grew. Not wanting to be a coward was all good and fine, but her heart was hammering inside of her chest. No amount of determination seemed to keep her insides from twisting.

She caught a scent of beeswax.

It was sweet and warm, reminding her of home with its comforts. Had she only left just a week ago?

Laird Keith stopped at the top floor. He half turned to make room for her on the landing. There was a double door that opened into a chamber.

It turned out to be the source of the sweet scent that had wafted to her. Ailsa started to smile when she spied the twinkling candles. She could see a well-ladened platter with all sorts of fine food sitting on the table beside the candles. A pitcher was there with two glass goblets.

A very finely appointed chamber indeed.

There was a tingle traveling along her limbs. She shuffled, recoiling from the chamber. "What…what is this place." Laird Keith laid an arm across her back to muscle her forward. "It is yer bridal chamber."

"But…where is the groom?" The question just spilled over her lips before she realized it was likely better to not ask.

"He is there in the bed. Waiting for ye," Errol insisted.

There was a man on the bed. In spite of all the noise, he lay undisturbed.

Ailsa stiffened. "Is he…dead?"

"Not yet," Laird Keith declared scooting her across the floor.

There was a note of desperation in his tone. He shoved her forward. Ailsa turned around, the need to flee pounding through her. But the door was crowded with Keith retainers.

And a priest.

"Perform the rites of marriage," Errol demanded.

"But he is…not awake," Ailsa sputtered. "This cannot be a true wedding."

"I swear to ye, I will consider it a binding agreement," Laird Keith declared.

"But—"

No one heeded her protest. The priest began a low incantation in Latin. Several of the women cupped Ailsa's shoulders and pushed her down to her knees.

For such a life changing event, the marriage ceremony was extremely quick. The priest finished after only a few moments. All around her, the women hastily made the sign of the cross over themselves before dashing toward the door. The sound of their hurried footsteps echoed up from the circular stairs.

Laird Keith gazed at the man on the bed. However strange she found the situation; Ailsa felt her compassion stirring. Whoever the man on the bed was, Laird Keith loved him.

"There is a ghost in this chamber," Laird Keith informed her softly.

Ailsa gasped and shot up off her knees. "Who is it?"

"An innocent girl, who died unjustly." He pointed toward the man on the bed. "Brigitta is trying to claim my son Diarmuid for her groom. Ye…," he pointed at Ailsa. "Ye will do whatever ye must to lure him back to the world of the living. If he dies, I will entomb ye here with him and Brigitta."