Page 129 of Death at a Highland Wedding
“I… feel as if I have missed something.”
“Never mind.” I take his arm. “We have a wedding to attend, and I shall let you escort me, even if you are not wearing a kilt.”
The ceremony is held in the gardens. The basics are familiar to me, with a few differences from modern weddings. There are maids and groomsmen, and a bride in her gown, a groom in his suit. Fiona has not opted for white, instead wearing the most gorgeous dress of light blue satin, with an elaborate bustle and equally elaborate flounces down the skirt, all trimmed with ivory lace. Her only jewelry is a sapphire necklace from Cranston and matching earrings from his parents. Both sets of parents walked the brideand groom in. At the front, the parents stood behind, the attendants to the side.
The service is simple, held in the shade of an oak. Isla explained earlier that church weddings are more common these days, but this is still acceptable. Ceremonies are often either morning or late afternoon. This is early afternoon, to take full advantage of the setting and the sunshine.
After the ceremony, we dine at tables in the gardens, eating a feast of chicken croquettes and lamb cutlets with strawberries and cream for dessert, alongside a wedding cake as elaborate as any from my own time.
Once the meal is complete, everyone begins doing their own thing, with musicians playing in one area, a croquet game set up in another, and Cranston presiding over what seems to be a whisky tasting that turns into a loud debate over some trade issue that I couldn’t understand even if I wanted to.
I start with Fiona, Violet, and Isla, but then Fiona and I get to talking about the wildcat kittens—the three-legged one can’t be returned to the wild, and Alice would like to take it home. Isla has already agreed; now Fiona must do the same. Of course she does, and we’re busy talking about how to care for the cat when Cranston whisks his bride off to a dance on the lawn. I turn to look around. Am I kinda hoping to see Gray there, ready to be cajoled into the dance? Of course I am, and of course he is not.
I don’t see Isla, Gray, or McCreadie. I wonder whether they’re avoiding the two sets of parents. I met them earlier, with Gray, and that was awkward enough. This must be hell for McCreadie.
I’ve wandered over to the punch bowl and taken a glass when a voice behind me says, “I was going to ask you to dance, but you seem otherwise occupied.”
I turn and smile up at Gray. “I could put this down.”
“Mmm, you may wish to drink it first, if it is heavily laced with brandy. I am not the best dancer.”
“That makes two of us.” I turn toward the lawn where Cranston and Fiona lead the dance. “I… don’t even know what that is.”
“A minuet, I believe.” He leans down and whispers, “I am not certain either. I know how to do a quadrille and a reel and the Viennese waltz, none of them well.”
“I can waltz. My nan taught me.”
“Then let us wait for that. Is your back well enough to dance?”
“It is after whatever you gave me.”
He smiles and takes a glass of punch. “We shall dance, then. In the meantime, have you seen my sister?”
“No, and I should speak to her. Fiona has agreed to let Alice take the kitten.”
“I last saw her walking around the house. Perhaps to the croquet game?”
We head out, sipping our punch and talking. We stay within sight of other guests. That damned propriety again. It’s even worse at a wedding, where sneaking off could be construed as being swept away by the romance of the day.
“I do not see her by the croquet game,” Gray muses. “Where could she have—?” He stops, and I follow his gaze to a stand of bushes. Protruding from the side is a flower-printed bustle that I’m ninety-five percent sure belongs to Isla.
“What is she doing there?” Gray glances at me. “Did she seem unsettled? The wedding a reminder of her own perhaps?”
“No, she was in a wonderful mood, even while getting ready, which is never her favorite thing. Today she took extra care and…” I trail off, as a thought hits at the same time I notice something else.
“She’s not alone over there,” I say.
“Hmm?” He leans to peer and then pulls back. “Oh.”
With the shade of the bush, it’s easy to see Isla’s pale gown, but her dark-suited companion almost disappears.
I grin at Gray. “When’s the last time you saw Hugh?”
He smiles back. “About the same time I last saw Isla.”
I glance toward the bush. Isla and McCreadie standing, obviously. I mean, all the power to them if they found a quiet place for something needing more discretion but if so, it’d be more than fifty feet from the croquet game.
When I start in that direction, Gray whispers, “What are you doing?”
