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.
