mouths of all shapes and sizes curved in empathy. Large doe eyes of every hue imaginable gazed up at Duncan with invitations of solace.
Thinking of him taking consolation in one of their arms made me feel like going postal. Stupid, stupid me. I’d had my shot … and blew it. I could’ve kissed him in the meadow, but I’d taken the high road. Or the low, slinking road of cowardice, depending on how you looked at it. My heart twisted sharply with that observation, and I had to remind myself that it was better this way. I was leaving at the first opportunity.
Unable to continue watching the macabre flirtfest, I drifted along the edges of the pavilion until I came to the lake. Heavy rain caused a symphony of ripples on the water’s surface. Little clusters of ducks and geese, reveling in the downpour, swam in jubilant pursuit of each another. At times, one or another would stop to dive for an underwater morsel, their duck butts quivering and bobbing along the water’s surface.
In the midst of such aquatic frivolity, a single swan glided in complete isolation. The graceful black and white bird cast such a somber contrast to the reckless ducklings that I felt drawn to it. Wasn’t it a bird like the others? Yet unaffected by the ducks’ infectious play, it floated among them as an entity apart.
“Swans mate for life, ye know.”
In my distraction, I hadn’t heard Duncan approach. His smooth brogue caused me to jump in surprise and set my girl parts to tingling. “No, I didn’t know.” Intrigued by the noble swan, I returned to my contemplation of the lake and conveniently away from an even more captivating view.
“His name’s Romeo,” Duncan supplied. The words rolled softly from his tongue, making me long to hear him recite the soliloquy of Shakespeare’s iconic hero.
Pulling myself back to present, I asked, “Where’s his Juliet?”
“Died.”
The poignancy in that single word caused my chest to contract as I faced the prince. Grief etched deep lines around his eyes and the corners of his mouth. As I stared at him, Duncan continued to regard the lake with luminous eyes. “Five winters ago … Not a day goes by that he does not miss her terribly.”
“How do you know?”
He turned to me with his weary, honest gaze and a tight smile. “Because they were inseparable. If ye were to watch them, you could feel how happy they were. Romeo’s not been the same since his Juliet left him.”
“What if you found him a new mate at the Centennial, maybe—”
“No. He wouldna take to her.”
His face held more than a deep empathy for the bird, something honest but unfathomable. The golden flecks in his chocolate eyes shimmered as he leaned slightly forward and reduced the distance between us. Caught in his magnetic pull, I struggled to recall our dialogue—oh, yeah, swans, and mating for life.
I swallowed down the egg-sized lump that’d materialized in my throat. “It must be difficult to be a swan.”
“But amazin’ too. Swans are nature’s true soul mates.”
Duncan and I were not swans. Or Romeo and Juliet for that matter, and we hadn’t—uh—mated. We were humans—plenty of fish in the sea, and all that.
Duncan cleared his throat. When he spoke, his voice cracked awkwardly. “Have you—uh—ever been to a funeral before?”
Okay, that was a random, personal segue. As I pondered my answer, I looked into his guileless eyes and the world slipped away. I felt myself nod without any conscious decision to open up. “My mom’s—but I don’t remember much. And then when my aunt passed … I was twelve.”
Quiet as a whisper, he said, “Tell me about it.”
Under his hypnotic spell, I began to share. “I remember feeling devastated, lost. Everyone was telling me how sorry they were, but all I wanted was to be left alone. When I finally slipped away, I went to see an old friend. A boy, actually.”
“And?” Despite the heaviness of the word, his face remained impassive.
“He kissed me.” Never mind that Finn was imaginary—so the factualness of the kiss was questionable. Duncan didn’t need to hear that part. “It was the last time I ever saw him.”
“Have you been kissed since?”
“Oh, sure.” I’d had my share of lip locks and tongue tangles, both on stage and off, though none had come even close to Finn. Made up or not, it was hands down the best kiss I’d ever had.
Following my unspoken thoughts, a deep sigh slipped from Duncan’s mouth. “But there’s nothing like your first.”
“Exactly.”
His dark, luminous eyes continued to work their magic, pulling me toward him like an invisible tether. As his lips came within striking range of mine, his long lashes fluttered closed. “Except, perhaps, kissing your soul mate.”
Suddenly, I felt like I’d swallowed a mouthful of wriggling bugs. Pulling away, I tried to cover my panic by looking at the crowd. “When will the Coronation happen?”
That stopped him. His eyes snapped open and he blinked his confusion away before straightening himself. “Day after tomorrow.”
So Saturday, right before the Centennial. “And the Brig o’ Doon will open when?”
Between one heartbeat and the next, Duncan flinched as if I’d slapped him and quickly recovered. “Day after tomorrow at midnight.”
And Jamie will name his betrothed …? My mind flipped the sentence around trying to come up with a way of asking that wasn’t totally obvious. When I couldn’t work the question out, I gave up. Instead, I lowered my voice to just above a whisper. “And Gideon?”
He matched my volume. “Still contained. With everything going on, he won’t be missed.”
We just had to get through the next two days. “You’ve got a lot to do before the Centennial.”
“Aye.” Duncan raked his hand through his hair to create those brown, spiky peaks that were both chaotic and modern. “You’ve got something to do too.”
Figure out your feelings.
He didn’t need to say it aloud. It was scripted in the yearning on his ridiculously gorgeous face. But my choice had already been made.
I would have plenty of opportunity for romantic leads in my life. Once I returned to the real world. And Duncan would eventually marry one of the locals from his fan club. In time, we would be nothing more to each other than a bittersweet ballad of remembrance.
Which was what I wanted. Right?
“M’ laird.” A man from the village placed a sympathetic hand on Duncan’s shoulder. He nodded somberly. “It’s time.”
With a final, sad smile in my direction, Duncan left to lay his father to rest.
As mournful bagpipes underscored the fiery bier floating toward the center of the lake, I thought about the beauty and savagery of the ritual I’d just witnessed. The voracious fire that consumed the pyre seemed jarring juxtaposed against the gentle motion of the water. Yet somehow, together, the pervasive impression was one of peace.
“Shall we return ta the castle?” Fergus, with Fiona clutched at his side, smiled down at me. Despite their obvious grief, they looked mighty cozy.
As my gaze darted from one to the other, Fiona intercepted my train of thought. For the first time since I’d met her, she blushed, a pretty pink that accentuated her wide cheekbones. She held a thick shawl in her outstretched hand. “Take this, Mackenna.”
Mesmerized by the funeral ritual, I hadn’t noticed how chilly it had gotten. Until now. The rain had finally stopped, but the cold front that followed in its wake seemed more like November than August.
As I wrapped the thick woolen shawl around my shoulders, Duncan and Jamie drifted our way. Hopefully, Vee and Doon’s future king had been able to work some things out. I looked beyond the princes for some indication of her mood. But she wasn’t there.
Doing a slow three-sixty, I examined the clusters of mourners to confirm what I already suspected. She wasn’t anywhere in the pavilion. The irrational concern I felt at her absence rocked me to my core. It’d been hours
