"Twill come. Now, elves and fiery demons? Nay, I dinnae understand that.
Gilly might. Could just be some trickery of your mind which is struggling to remember." He shrugged. "That would explain all that talk of clearing the mists and the like. Mayhap ye should postpone the wedding."
"And what reason could I give? Dreams of scarlet elves?"
"Weel, that could do it," drawled Connor, but his obvious amusement quickly fled. "The return of your memory. Just tell Sir Campbell ye sense a danger behind what happened to ye and, since the memories are struggling to return, it might be best to wait and see if ye finally recall what that danger is."
For several moments Diarmot sat sipping his wine, staring into the fire, and considering Connor's advice. It was good advice. The increasingly strange dreams he was having could indeed mean he was beginning to remember the attack upon him. Then he shook his head. It did not really matter when his memory returned, whether it was before or after his marriage. He might not recall what the danger was, but he was absolutely sure it was his danger alone. If it started to reach out to others, it would reach for his betrothed as swiftly as it did for his wife.
"Nay, it would just cause more trouble than it would solve," Diarmot finally said. "All my instincts tell me this danger I face is mine and mine alone."
"But if ye are wrong?" Connor asked quietly.
"Then I have already drawn Margaret into my danger by betrothing myself to her."
"True. At least, as your wife, ye would have better control o'er the protection of her. Weel, I dinnae think I have helped ye much. I sense ye are still uneasy." Connor stood up. "Years ago I would have looked at your bride's bloodline, her land, and her dowry and said 'good lad.' Once I wed Gilly, I lost that blindness."
"And if Gilly had turned your life into a near hell upon earth as Anabelle did mine? Would ye wish to risk giving any lass that sort of trust, e'en power, ever again?"
"Nay," Connor replied immediately. "Ye made your point. I just wish it wasnae so."
"So do I, but far better a wife so unexceptional I forget she is about than one who rips my heart and soul to shreds."
Connor walked to the door, but paused on his way out to look back at Diarmot.
"There is a third choice and ye have until the morning to decide."
"What third choice?"
"No wife at all."
Diarmot was still considering Connor's parting words as he watched the dawn brighten the sky. He had slept very little, troubled by that strange dream again as well as his own uneasiness. Although there were any number of times in his life that he knew he should have thought twice, this constant worrying over something was unlike him.
It was possible that his memory was beginning to return, although he wished it would not do so in strange dreams. He could not understand how that should make him question his decision to get married, yet, that seemed to be what it was doing. Until the strange dreams had begun, he had been content with his choice of bride and his plans for the future. In fact, he could not figure out what scarlet elves and fiery demons had to do with anything.
Suddenly realizing he had missed the dawn because he had become so lost in his own thoughts, Diarmot cursed and rang for his bath. Enough was enough.
Illness and a strange reluctance to bed any of the willing lasses around Clachthrom had kept him celibate for a year. That was what was disordering his thoughts and dreams. In a few hours he would be a married man again and he could do something about that problem.
Constant company and the final preparations for the wedding feast kept him busy and he was glad. Diarmot wanted no more time with only his own tangled thoughts for company. It was as he walked to the church with Connor at his side that Diarmot realized he was not going to be able to go blindly to the altar, marry his bride, and get it over with. Connor was tense with the need to say something.
"Weel, what is it?" Diarmot grumbled.
"I was rather hoping ye would take the third choice," Connor murmured. "So was Gilly."
"Why?"
"Weel, Gilly says Margaret is indeed sweet, shy, and biddable. She also says she is, er, empty."
"Empty? What does that mean?"
Connor shrugged. "Not much emotion in the lass."
"Good," Diarmot snapped, although Gilly's impression troubled him. "I have had my fill of emotion. Anabelle drowned me in emotions, good and bad. Calm would be a nice change."
"It could also be teeth-grindingly dull."
"I dinnae care." He looked away from Connor's expression of wry disbelief. "I may not find any fire in my wife's bed, but at least when I choose to go to her, she will be there. She may nay welcome me verra heartily, but she willnae be welcoming anyone else, either--mon nor woman."