“Look at the table. It is laid with a wedding feast. Do you smell the beeswax candles and the spices? Someone named Aodh proclaimed that the only thing that would free you from an eternity with Brigitta is a mortal wife.”
Ailsa had to stop speaking to draw in a breath. Relief swept through her for Diarmuid’s expression had eased. He blinked and then looked off toward the table.
“Brigitta…,” he muttered. A shudder shook his body, and then he simply collapsed.
“Diarmuid?” Ailsa felt her terror return like the tide coming in. She pushed Diarmuid to the side. He rolled over, one arm flopping over the side of the bed.
“Diarmuid?”
He was gone again. Just as he’d been when she was first shut inside the chamber.
It couldn’t be! Had she been given a taste of hope only to be denied it now?
No! She refused to give up!
But where determination might warm her, Diarmuid was becoming chilled. His pallor whitened and a single word came across his lips in a whisper.
“Brigitta.”
*
“My lord…I amhere.”
Brigitta hurried toward the bed. Her expression betrayed her stress and worry. “Forgive me for making you wait.”
Diarmuid needed to think. There was something very important inside of his mind that he suddenly couldn’t recall.
“I will be your wife in every way,” Brigitta muttered softly. Her dress was gone, leaving her in her under clothing. She lifted her smock up, the fine fabric like a cloud.
Diarmuid blinked but she slid into the bed beside him before he saw her bare form.
“I am yours in every way…,” Brigitta muttered.
She embraced him. The curves of her body fit perfectly against his. Once again, something needled at him. Some thought lingering in the back of his mind. But with a warm, willing woman pressed against him, Diarmuid felt besotted.
“At last, we shall be one.” Brigitta threaded her fingers through his hair, urging him to lean down and kiss her to seal their union.
His heart thumped only a single time and then it was still.
*
Fingal was waitingnear the back passageway into the kitchen. Ysenda locked gazes with him for a moment before he turned and waited for her in the shadows. She didn’t risk a look in the direction of the cook for fear of seeing that the cook had noticed Fingal’s presence.
She continued to work, finishing her task before she headed out of the kitchen.
Her cousin was waiting impatiently for her.
“Ye should not have come,” Ysenda chastised Fingal. “Everyone is on edge. We must not give anyone a reason to question anything we do.”
“There is a rumor of Diarmuid’s voice being heard through the closed doors from those set to guard them,” Fingal informed her gruffly. “There is no way to get the poison inside the chamber now.”
“Be at ease,” Ysenda cautioned him. “I already put the poison in the cider that is inside the Maiden’s Tower chamber.”
“Ye did?” Fingal was surprised.
“I told ye to trust me,” Ysenda said. “The cook ordered Diarmuid’s favorite cider to be prepared. If he wakes, he will drink it to ease the ache in his head.”
Fingal nodded; his tight expression eased.
