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.”
Chapter Five
The chamber washaunted.
