Chapter Eight

T he window shutter rattled loudly.

Ailsa opened her eyes, startled by the violence of the wind. It howled outside like some wild creature intent on clawing its way inside.

"Brigitta is nae pleased with the fact that ye have shown me the way back to life."

Diarmuid was holding her. He stroked the back of her head slowly. "What is yer name, lass?"

"Ailsa."

The wind howled again, longer this time. Ailsa shivered. Diarmuid stroked her with a warm, soothing hand.

"Do nae fret. It is done now. Brigitta will have to accept that I am bound to ye here in this life."

"You saw her?" Ailsa asked in almost a whisper. She looked around the chamber, searching for any hint of the restless spirit.

"Aye." Diarmuid tipped her chin up so that their gazes met. "Ye drew me back, sweet Ailsa. I vow to be a good husband but that shall not be enough to repay ye."

Ailsa felt her cheeks heating. "A wife should always give her best to her husband."

Diarmuid studied her for a long moment. "I should condemn me father for having ye locked in here. Yet I find myself quite pleased to be pulled back from the abyss. The best I can do is to vow to spend my life repaying ye for the service ye have done."

The look on his face was the one she had longed to see. In his eyes, she saw admiration. Ailsa ducked her chin, too overwhelmed to continue to let him see what she was feeling.

Diarmuid lifted her face. "Do nae doubt me, lass. Forgive me for rushing the consummation of our vows."

"I did not mind." The words were across her lips before she thought about them.

She sounded wanton.

Shameless.

Ailsa squirmed. But Diarmuid chuckled. It was a warm sound, one she liked very much.

The wind blew again. But it was weaker. Diarmuid turned his head, sweeping the chamber.

"It seems there is a fine feast waiting for us." Diarmuid sat up.

He still had his shirt on. Ailsa pulled the bedding up to cover herself when he left the bed. He paused near the table, inspecting what was on it.

"Me father did nae hold back. This is fine fare." Diarmuid lifted a gleaming silver pitcher and sniffed at the contents. He smiled at her. "This is me favorite cider. A very fitting offering for my new bride."

Ailsa watched him pour a generous amount of the amber brew into a goblet. He carried the vessel to her.

"Ye gave me all of yerself, lass. Now it is my turn to give the best I have to offer to ye."

It was really a dream come true. Many husbands would have sent her to fetch them the meal, for the wife served the husband.

One of Diarmuid's eyebrows rose when she remained still, just staring at him. "Are ye shy, lass?" He sat the goblet down beside the bed. He turned around and retrieved her smock.

"I promise ye I shall court ye, sweet Ailsa."

She pulled the smock over her head and down to cover herself. True to his word, Diarmuid averted his gaze while she did so.

"There is no need of courting," Ailsa said. "I am a wife now."

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed. There was a slight twinge, marking the reality of their consummated union. She smiled, relieved beyond measure to have Diarmuid awake. Whatever else she faced in their relationship, it certainly wouldn't be more challenging than Brigitta.

Ailsa picked up the goblet. She turned and offered it to Diarmuid. "I will be a dutiful wife, I promise."

Diarmuid lifted the goblet from her grasp. He returned it to the table and then swept her off her feet.

Ailsa gasped. He spun around with her cradled against his chest.

"Tonight, ye are a bride," he informed her with a smile. "My bride."

He settled her on the bed and retrieved the goblet. "Drink, lass. I know ye are sore."

"You are very…observant," Ailsa muttered.

It was slightly unnerving to know he understood such a personal detail. Yet she also felt cherished. The goblet was cool in her hands. She lifted it up, filling her senses with the aroma of the cider.

Fruity and sweet.

She tipped it up, drinking deeply. When she lowered the goblet, Diarmuid was watching her. He reached out and lifted the goblet from her hands.

"Ye are a very fair, lass." He pushed some of her hair back from her face. His gaze shifted to the sheet. The evidence of her virginity was clear.

He grunted. "I may have slept through our wedding, but I am awake now. No one will doubt ye are my wife."

He lifted her off the bed and then tore the sheet off it. Ailsa felt her cheeks heat but she was also pleased to know that he wasn't going to allow any gossip to brew.

He respected her.

The concept made her a little breathless. She watched him carry the sheet across the chamber to the door. Diarmuid pounded on the door.

"Open up!"

Ailsa felt her heart pounding harder. There was a scratching sound as the bar slid to the side to open the door. She was just giddy to hear it. Her vision actually had sparkles.

"My laird….Sweet Christ in heaven!" The first man to appear was stunned. He looked past Diarmuid to where Ailsa was sitting on the bed.

"Me wife is nae dressed man," Diarmuid chastised him.

The retainer instantly returned his gaze to Diarmuid. He reached up to tug on the corner of his knitted bonnet.

"Have this flown in the hall since it is raining."

Diarmuid handed over the soiled sheet. The retainer smiled brightly.

"Yer father is going to be beside himself with joy!"

Diarmuid turned to look at her. "I will return—

His expression turned harsh. Ailsa gasped or tried to, but her throat was nearly closed.

"Lass…" Diarmuid had made it to her side.

Ailsa knew he was there and yet, he seemed to be at the end of a very long tunnel. She was floating away from him.

And could not seem to stop.