“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 since she’d crept back toward the church with Jamie in pursuit. Was that the last time I’d seen her?
“Jamie, where’s Veronica?”
The tight smile on his face melted into alarm that mirrored my own. “Isn’t she with you?”