Page 5
That was the 0.1 percent talking.
To distract herself, she turned back to the table and placed the silver candleholder by the quaich.
The 0.1 percent reminded her that she couldn‘t rely on people. That people could disappear at any moment. That they could die. That people wouldn’t take care of her when she needed them the most.
That she was so much better off on her own.
She took the vase that held a gorgeous bouquet of thistle, white roses, and freesias and placed it in the center of the table. As she removed a rose from the side of the bouquet and put it into the center, the unhappy 0.1 percent of her wondered if she’d ever have a bouquet like this at her own wedding. Probably not. She couldn’t imagine getting married. How did others manage to be happy and in love and trust another human being?
As she turned the vase a little, she went completely still.
The bouquet!
She whirled around to the arched exit, her heart slamming in her chest.
“What is it, Rory?” Anusua, her colleague from Oxford University, asked. She stood at the entrance to the hall, ready to greet newly arriving guests. Short and full-figured, she looked stunning in a similar lilac dress to Rogene’s.
“The bouquet…” Rogene grabbed her hair, likely messing up the intricately woven braids and the chic updo that felt like bread crust under her fingers. She felt naked in the long, mermaid-style, lilac dress with low cleavage. Rogene’s usual wardrobe included elegant blouses and turtlenecks with suit pants or black jeans, which made her look like a professor before she even was one. “I forgot to pick up the bouquet.”
“Oh, bollocks,” Anusua muttered, abandoning her post. “Let me fetch it. What’s the address?”
Anusua was an Indian Brit, and definitely more accustomed to driving on the “wrong” side of the street. But Rogene was the maid of honor, and if Anusua made a mistake, Karin would be crushed. There was also the bagpipe player who was due to arrive any minute…
“Come on, Rory,” Anusua said. “Give me the car key.”
Anusua was right, Rogene could delegate, be part of a team.
But the 0.1 percent stopped her.
David walked towards them and opened the beautiful, massive door under the arched entryway for an old lady to pass through. Too bad the door was only a replica made in the grand restoration of the castle in the 1920s, the historian within Rogene thought distantly.
“Everything okay?” David asked.
He was so handsome in his suit, his dirty-blond hair cut in a simple, classic style that made him look older than he was.
Or, maybe, it was because he’d had to grow up sooner than he should have, especially with her abandoning him in Chicago for her doctoral program at Oxford.
“All good,” Rogene said, her voice tense.
“You aren’t going to let me help, are you?” Anusua said softly. “You know you can rely on people to give you a hand.”
Anusua sighed and walked to the old lady who had just come in, no doubt to see if she needed any help. David patted Rogene on the shoulder. “What was that about?”
“I need to go get the bouquet, but the bagpipe player still isn’t here.”
“Let me get the bouquet. You deal with the bagpiper.”
“Is your permit even valid here?”
If he misread the name of a street while driving the car on the other side of the road, she’d need to deal with a lost teenager in a foreign country. His face darkened. He knew she was thinking of his dyslexia, not his driver’s license.
“Okay,” he said. “Go. I can deal with the bagpiper.”
She sighed. That was the lesser evil, even though she did hate to leave the responsibility to anyone but herself.
“I’ll be right back. Thanks, Dave.”
She opened the arched door into the damp, freezing air of the Scottish Highlands and hurried down the old stone stairwell into the courtyard. Harsh wind blew in her face as she passed through the gatehouse with the raised portcullis and onto the long bridge that connected the island to the mainland. She barely glanced at a couple of tourists who roamed around the shape of the medieval tower back on the island.
