Squeezing her hand, I lied for her sake. “I’ll be okay, Ken.”
After Jamie placed the folded paper into a cream-colored envelope, the steward pressed the hot wax seal onto the flap, closing it with a quick flourish. Applause filled the room as Jamie turned toward the crowd and executed a deep, graceful bow, a huge grin revealing the long dimple in his right cheek. “All will be revealed in due time, but ye must attend the ball this evening.” Cheers echoed through the room at Jamie’s teasing announcement.
“What an idiot!” Kenna muttered beside me. I knew she wanted me to agree, but I didn’t have any anger left. It didn’t matter anyway. The name he’d written on that slip of paper wasn’t mine. A blessed numbness descended, buffering me like a cloak against a cold night. I just hoped this odd detachment would stick around long enough to get me through the ball and then over the bridge.
“We have one more order o’ business ta attend to, friends,” the clergyman said, obviously joyful while attempting to keep the ceremony on track. He indicated a rough slab of sandstone at the center of the altar. “Prince James, I ask that ye take a knee on the Liath Fàil.”
A reverent silence descended on the room as Jamie lowered to one knee, his golden head bowed. Analytically, I noticed the slight curl of his hair where it lay against the tan skin of his neck, the strength of his calf muscles defined beneath woolen hose, and the humble set of his broad shoulders as the simple gold and diamond circlet was placed on his head—it was like a page ripped out of a storybook.
“Rise, new laird of Doon, and take your rightful place before your people.”
Fluidly, Jamie stood to the responsive roar of the crowd as they shot to their feet while I remained frozen to my seat. Despite my newfound aloofness, a lump filled my throat, my volatile emotions threatening to pull me into the frenzied adoration surrounding me. The rustling of multicolored silks and plaid kilts encircled me, and I grasped for the protective cloak that was already slipping through my fingers.
Less than five hours. You can do this.
Rising slowly, I joined the crowd, bringing my hands together in polite, respectful applause—just another person in the crowd, not someone whose heart and soul was, and always would be, irrevocably intertwined with the young King of Doon.
CHAPTER 28
Veronica
Loser was not a word I liked to use to describe myself, but I was pretty sure only a pathetic loser—or a complete moron—would subject herself to this torture. And yet here I was walking into a ballroom that looked like it had been decorated by Jane Austen and Tinker Bell. As I stepped through the doorway, I drew a deep cleansing breath, resolving to relax and enjoy the otherworldly brilliance before me.
Kenna, Fiona, and I were among the first to arrive, so the displays of tantalizing edible art—including a dessert table anchored on both sides by confectionary sculptures resembling the Castle MacCrae—remained untouched. When I ran into Mags, I would be sure to tell her how amazing everything looked. She and her kitchen staff had certainly outdone themselves for the occasion.
Beyond the tables of food, a row of french doors opened to reveal a harvest moon lighting the elaborate gardens and lake beyond. The vast ballroom itself, adorned in garlands of flowers and greenery, glowed with hundreds of candles, their warm light casting a golden sheen on every surface like a coating of pixie dust.
The room oozed romance.
I had a sudden desire to knock over the nearest candelabra and burn the whole place down. Instead, I pressed my fingernails into my palms and took another deep breath.
Three more hours, Veronica. You can do this.