Chapter Five

T he chamber was haunted.

Even as she had watched the captain take Mol's bribe, Ailsa hadn't really been terrified.

Now she was.

Her breath came in short gasps, and she was quivering from head to toe. She stumbled back, unable to quell the urge to recoil from the man lying in the bed.

She bumped into the chamber door.

It was hard and unyielding. She spun around to look at it. Reaching out, she grabbed the handle and pulled. Ailsa pulled so hard, she slid toward the door.

She ended up snorting in frustration.

She latched onto that emotion, her lips thinning as she pressed them tightly together. Her temper seemed to melt the icy fear gripping her, so she propped her hands onto her hips and grunted.

Very poor behavior indeed. Unbefitting of a high born maiden, but at least her heart had slowed down.

You survived being left in the open sea; you can face this as well…

Even if she didn't believe her inner voice, the door she was staring at was going to make sure she remained inside the chamber.

She didn't like being afraid. Not one bit.

Ailsa spun back around to face the chamber. Whatever was there, it was better to be done dealing with it rather than quivering in dread.

She'd made it to shore by being determined. So she would just employ the same thinking here.

Would determination work with a restless spirit?

It was an interesting question. Ailsa stepped forward, curious if there would be any reaction from the ghost.

What was the name of the girl? Oh, Brigitta.

Ailsa watched the room intently, but nothing stirred. There wasn't a single sound at all coming from the man in the bed.

Was he dead?

If he was, no amount of determination would raise him. A different sort of chill made its way down her limbs. This one had to do with the living, though. Ailsa recalled the way Laird Keith's eyes had nearly glowed with his zeal. If her groom was dead, she was standing in her tomb.

There was, of course, only one way to discover the truth.

Ailsa looked at the bed. The man hadn't moved. All of the commotion, the hasty wedding blessing, and his father's booming voice and still, the man in the bed was lying like an effigy.

She wasn't ready to die.

The same need that had kept her going through what seemed like endless water, got Ailsa walking across the floor. As she got closer she could see that Diarmuid wasn't old. He was in the prime of life. His hair was the darkest shade of brown and silky. His skin was smooth, with just a hint of creases on either side of his eyes.

Any bride would have been pleased to see such a groom waiting for her after departing her home for a marriage to a stranger.

But Diarmuid was still as death.

She reached out, needing to know if he was cold. Her fingertips gently landed on his neck. Ailsa let out a sigh of relief. His skin was warm.

What ailed him?

It couldn't be just the ghost. A mere second after Ailsa thought that idea, the wind howled, shaking the window shutters.

She jumped, turning around to scan the chamber behind her. "Hello?"

For the first time Ailsa was grateful for the closed chamber door. She didn't need anyone witnessing her talking to an empty chamber.

Yet it wasn't really empty.

You are stuck inside, silly…

She was and the only way out was to wake the man in the bed. Ailsa turned back around to face Diarmuid. She felt that familiar shifting inside of her, the same one that she'd felt stir when she'd realized she had only herself to rely upon in the open water. If she wanted to live, she would have to find the way to shore.

Or in this case, she would have to wake a nearly dead man.

But how?

Well, he was her groom. Her mother had told her what to expect on her wedding night. The chamber door was closed, her hair was flowing down her back, and the sweet scent of beeswax candles was filling the air. All of the details described to her were certainly present.

Ailsa felt her cheeks heat. She knew her duty as a wife. Marrying far from home meant she had expected this moment in her life to be awkward because she and her groom were strangers.

She hadn't expected her groom to be unconscious.

Ailsa pushed that troublesome thought aside. She had more important matters to concern herself with.

It was her wedding night.

She looked around the chamber once more. Her belly knotted up with nerves, but her mother's instructions were clear in her memory.

It was time for the bedding ceremony.

Ailsa's cheeks were burning red hot now. She did feel a little silly for how hot the blush was, after all, the matrons had not stripped her down for an inspection. No, she still had on the surcoat.

The time had arrived for her to remove it.

Ailsa worried her lower lip, suddenly realizing that there was a usefulness in being stripped down by matrons. Such a tradition kept a bride from hesitating.

Her gaze traveled around the chamber one more time. There was nothing moving except for the flickering candlelight. They danced slowly, casting yellow light onto the food placed on the table.

It would be her last meal if she failed to wake Diarmuid. Her belly knotted with dread, making all the fine food appear unpalatable. But her temper also stirred.

She'd left for her wedding with a heart full of hope. To be without hope was something she simply could not tolerate. She hadn't let despair win while watching the ship sail away from her. Ailsa drew in a deep breath, filling her senses with the beeswax and other spices. It was a fine wedding chamber.

Ailsa opened the front of the surcoat and shrugged out of it. The chamber was cool with the approach of night, making the bed more appealing.

Ailsa squared her shoulders and looked at Diarmuid.

It was time for the kiss of peace.

*

"My lord…shall I join you?"

Diarmuid blinked. He must have dozed off. His vision was slightly blurry. A few blinks and his sight cleared up.

"If you are tired, we can retire now." Brigitta offered him a nervous smile. Her eyelids fluttered betraying her uncertainty. She drew her fingers across the strings of her mandolin a few more times.

Diarmuid felt an urge to offer his hand to her, to ease her uncertainty. She lifted her eyelashes, locking eyes with him as though she sensed that he was contemplating how to soothe her.

Her pink lips curved up. Hesitation still drew her features tight, but she set the mandolin aside.

Diarmuid was captivated by her. His gaze glued to the way she drew in a deep breath before rising gracefully. Inside his chest, his heart thumped hard and then stilled as Brigitta began to walk toward him.

He felt her closing that distance. In fact, it was almost as though he was moving toward her. He felt besotted by her, growing more intoxicated with every step she took.

A sweet scent of freshly washed hair filled his senses. Brigitta frowned, lifting her hand toward him. "Please, please stay with me."

*

It was her very first kiss.

With a man that was.

But Ailsa admitted that she'd snuck into the stables to peek at one of the maids who had ventured out to meet her lover. Now, that sin seemed to have been a very wise choice.

Ailsa slid onto the bed. The linen was soft against her bare feet and lower legs. She leaned down, her hair falling like a curtain. It was sad to have such a moment marred by the threat of being entombed in this chamber. Diarmuid was a fine, handsome man.

He is your husband…

It didn't feel as if he was. She hesitated, hovering over him. So close, she caught the scent of his skin. It was unexpectedly pleasant and tinged with something else. A new sensation snaked through her. This time, when her cheeks heated, it wasn't uncertainty or nervousness.

No, now she felt a stirring of a desire to get on with pressing her lips against his.

It was wholly unexpected but reminded her of the memory of watching that maid. Ailsa stroked the sides of Diarmuid's face with her hands first. Doing it slowly. She smiled, delighted by the way touching him pleased her.

Would he like it?

She leaned over, pressing her lips against his.

Diarmuid, though warm, felt cold. His responses felt so very cold to Ailsa's touch. Ailsa stroked down to his chest to test if his heart was still beating. For long moments there was no motion beneath her fingertips.

"You have so many years left to live, Diarmuid," she implored him.

The need to see him live sent her back down for another kiss. Suddenly his chest rose, and she felt a strong thump from his heart.

"Yes," Ailsa gasped in relief. And she followed with another gasp when Diarmuid opened his eyes.