Page 6

Rogene’s heels clacked against the bridge as she ran towards the parking area. Damn it, she hadn’t taken her bolero, and it was so windy—probably because of three lochs that met here. Her lungs ached for air, and a needle pierced her side, reminding her that she should really get more exercise, not spend all her time in archives and libraries working on her PhD.

But her current discomfort didn’t matter. She couldn’t let her best friend down on her wedding day. She was already walking on a thin ice by refusing to let other people help with her research. There were two problems with that. One, her thesis supervisor was pissed off. Two, she had a bold topic, and she had no proof for it yet.

Panting, she got into the car. After three and a half years in the UK, she was used to driving on the other side of the road, and quickly navigated to Inverinate, which was ten minutes away. Luckily, there were no problems on her way, and she quickly picked up the bouquet and drove back to the castle.

When she was back in the courtyard of Eilean Donan, she saw Karin on the small landing in front of the arched entrance into the Banqueting Hall. Wind played with the long locks of her blond hair that cascaded down her back. A wreath of white heather circled her head. She was such a beautiful bride. One hand was on her flat, corseted belly, the other on her mom’s shoulder. David watched her, looking as if he’d swallowed a frog.

Rogene’s legs growing cold, she waved with the bouquet as she climbed the stone stairs, careful not to slip on the smooth surface. “It’s here! Don’t you worry, everything’s all right.”

Karin glared at her. “All right?”

Rogene swallowed as she kept climbing. Usually, Karin was sweet, but she was now definitely in bridezilla mode.

When Rogene stood in front of Karin, she handed her the bouquet and plastered a happy smile on her face. “Did the bagpipe player arrive?”

Karin paled as her eyes widened at David. “Did he?”

“Yes, he’s already inside,” David said.

Karin sighed. Her eyes glistened, and Rogene knew her best friend was on the verge of tears. “Do I look horrible?” Karin asked.

Rogene gasped. “What? No! You look amazing. Where is this coming from?”

“Even with this makeup?”

“What do you mean?” Narrowing her eyes, Rogene studied Karin. This looked like her usual evening makeup. Oh…shoot!

Karin sniffled. “The makeup woman never showed up.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Rogene said. “You look beautiful and Nigel’s going to be over the moon. Are you ready?”

Karin exchanged a glance with her mom, then took a deep, steadying breath and nodded. “Yes.” She smiled. “I am.”

“Okay. Let’s go.”

She opened the door and nodded to the bagpipe guy, who began playing. Nigel, who stood tall and handsome in his kilt, watched the door like a hawk. When Karin appeared, his face lit up, and Karin beamed as she met his gaze.

The couple lit candles and said their vows, which were beautiful and very Scottish. They drank from the silver quaichs, and finally signed the marriage license—or the marriage schedule, as they called it over here.

There were photos, and more bagpipe music, and cheers and broad smiles. The couple looked happy, and as enamored with each other as they could be.

After the ceremony, everyone descended into the Billeting Room on the ground floor for the champagne reception. As the waiters carried trays with drinks around, Rogene felt like she could finally take a breather. Her stomach squeezing in nervous spasms from the adrenaline that hadn’t stopped racing through her veins yet, she took her bolero and her clutch and went out onto one of the curtain walls facing north.

David stood on the circular wall around the Great Well, leaning on the parapet with his elbows.

Rogene knew something was wrong and made her way up to him. His eyes were on the island, which was covered with grass, a few bushes and small trees. A group of four people walked down the pebble-covered path that stretched from left to right.

Rogene couldn’t see any sign of the curtain walls that she’d seen on archaeological maps of the islands. There were supposed to be three towers that had been raised here in the first phase of construction, in the thirteenth to fourteenth centuries, and the castle where the wedding took place must have only had the keep building.

David’s profile was stern, his gray eyes fixed forward.

“Is everything okay?” she asked.

“I almost ruined Karin’s wedding.” He swallowed hard as he met her eyes, a muscle in his jaw flexing.

“Don’t say that,” she said.

“It’s my fault. The makeup artist’s car broke. Her phone was dead, and she came here. I gave her the address of Karin’s hotel…”