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 Ijoin 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.”
