She searched her memory but couldn’t summon a single image of what had happened the night before. The last thing she remembered was standing in front of Keeley’s window.

Now she was lying in bed next to her … husband.

Did it count as consummation if she couldn’t remember it? Shouldn’t she have shed more clothing than she had? Keeley and Mairin hadn’t gone over specifics such as that. Then she realized that if she had no memory of the event, it couldn’t have been so bad, could it?

Humiliation burned her cheeks and tightened her chest. What on earth was she to say to him? How could she face him? What if she’d acted like a harlot? What if she’d disappointed him, or worse, what if her lack of skill had disgusted him?

Despite the throbbing in her head and the nausea boiling in her stomach, she eased from the bed and shivered as the cold slid over her body. The warrior put off a lot of heat and it had been toasty warm in the bed.

Thank the good lord she couldn’t see him. She’d been close enough to him to know he hadn’t worn a tunic. What if he … What if he were completely naked?

She was torn between wanting to run from the room with all haste and succumbing to the absurd urge to peek under the covers.

Close on the heels of that dilemma came the realization that this was his chamber, not the one afforded to her as a guest.

She stumbled over her wedding finery that lay on the floor and heat singed her cheeks all over again. Had he undressed her? Had she?

She yanked on the gown and held it up as best she could before cracking the door open to peer into the hall. It was dimly lit by half-burned wall candles and, as best she could tell, empty.

Thank God.

She pushed out of the chamber and fled down the hall to hers. She stripped off the dress and donned what she was more comfortable in. Warm trews, a worn tunic, and leather boots. She needed to clear her head despite its horrendous ache, and the only way she knew to do that was with a good fight.

Caelen awoke to find his bed empty and a cold draft blowing over his privates. He yanked up the furs with a muttered curse and then searched the room for his wife’s whereabouts.

She was nowhere to be found, which irritated him. He was always the first one up and about in the keep. Even Ewan, who rose early and retired late, never managed to rise earlier than Caelen.

It was a time he had grown to crave for its solitude. While the rest of the keep slept, he began the day, sometimes with a swim in the loch and other times honing his fighting skills.