“How can ye smile?” Diarmuid demanded.
“What would ye have me do, Diarmuid?” Errol asked pointedly. “Shall I shed tears for the lass? I did not know her.”
“Without her, I would be dead,” Diarmuid reminded his father. “Brigitta did her best to make me choose an eternity with her.”
Laird Keith made the sign of the cross over himself.
“If I could thank the lass, I would,” Errol insisted. “But I cannot. It seems that Brigitta will at long last have some company in the Maiden’s Tower. I will get the priest.”
Diarmuid felt his blood go cold. His father left, considering the matter done.
“I am so happy to have company at long last…”
Diarmuid recalled Brigitta’s words clearly. He shook his head. Something inside of him refused to accept that Ailsa was lost to him.
Ailsa still drew breath. She hadn’t given up on him. So, he wouldn’t give up on her. He was already on his way across the chamber before he finished thinking.
The beeswax candles had burned low. The flames were flickering, heralding darkness. Outside, the wind started howling once more. A rumble of thunder announced another storm was coming.
He knew the true source of that storm now.
“Ye can nae have her, Brigitta,” Diarmuid stated firmly. He reached for the handle of the pitcher and drank straight from it.
He moved toward the bed where Ailsa lay.
“I will rescue ye, lass, or join ye in eternity.”
*
Brigitta turned aroundin the final step of the dance. Her silk skirt fluttered down while she laughed.
“Oh, that was very delightful!” She clapped her hands together.
Ailsa was smiling too. The dancing was wonderful. Hadn’t she dreamed of dancing and…the other thing eluded her. But there was definitely something else she had been anticipating.
The candles in the chamber flickered. Ailsa looked around but all she could see was the mist surrounding her.
“Let’s try a French dance next,” Brigitta suggested.
“This lady has promised me the next dance.”
Ailsa blinked. Oh yes, Diarmuid. That was the thing she was trying to remember. He came right out of the mist.
“You should go back the way you came.” Brigitta pushed her lips into a muse. “One of you must stay. It is so lonely here. Please.”
Diarmuid was beside Ailsa. She recalled how hard and warm he was. Somehow, she’d become chilled without realizing it.
“Why did you come back?” Brigitta asked. “You may not want to stay but does that mean I am to have no one again?”
“Ailsa is my wife,” Diarmuid stated firmly. “It is my duty to come for her. She is too young to die.”
Die. Ailsa suddenly recalled that Brigitta was dead.
“I was also too young to die,” Brigitta said mournfully. She collapsed onto a bench, her silk skirts collapsing around her like a wilting flower.
“Ye were,” Diarmuid agreed. “I am sorry. Yet the best I can do is to ensure me wife does nae suffer the same fate.”
Brigitta looked at Ailsa with pleading eyes. “Could we not be the very best of friends? It is so lonely here.”
