Chapter Thirteen

She hadn’t answered his question. Was Logan right? Could her family have Scottish heritage? That would explain her mother’s interest. In a fog, Irene had followed Logan and Grant back to the Great Hall. Why hadn’t she insisted they find the portrait? They’d made so many twists and turns that, by the time they arrived, Irene felt dizzy and disoriented, the complete opposite of her professional persona of a cool, calm, and always-in-control prosecutor. She felt like she was standing on a cliff, afraid to look down. The drop could be inches or miles. One she’d survive, the other…

Lady Roselyn raised her voice to announce dinner was served and led the group to a long trestle table dressed for a feast. Handwritten place cards, each with a person’s name scrolled in a flourish of Old English-style script, took the guesswork out of where to sit. The Great Hall had been transformed into a winter wonderland of tree branches and candlelight. Irene’s practical side screamed “fire hazard” while the softer side of her gave an audible sigh. She half expected to see butterfly-size fairies dancing around the tree limbs.

She found her seat and picked up the place card. On the eve of her sister’s wedding, she and Louise had snuck into the reception room and thrown away all the place cards. By then, their mother had been in decline, and Louise’s mother-in-law had taken over all the wedding preparations. In addition to the arranged seating, the woman had ordered that the tables be set up in rounds to accommodate no more than four people each. She insisted the guests didn’t want to mingle with anyone they didn’t already know. Louise held an opposite opinion.

Irene’s sister had used what they did as a test for her future husband, and he’d passed with flying colors. When he realized what had happened, he gathered his friends and, with the help of the staff, brought in larger tables.

Irene never knew what her sister’s husband said to his mother that day, but from that moment on, she’d welcomed Louise more as a daughter then someone who was in competition for her son’s affections.

This small rebellion had turned a solemn, stodgy wedding into a real celebration of family and friends. Irene fingered the place card before setting it back on the table. Louise had always been the one who leapt without a net. The only reason Irene was here was because Louise’s child was due soon. Her mother always said things happened for a reason, even if they couldn’t be understood at the time.

Lady Roselyn took her position at the head of the table and indicated for everyone to find their chairs. Directly to her right was a place card for Ann, one for Sean, then for Logan, and finally Julia’s at the end. On Lady Roselyn’s left were place cards for people Irene hadn’t met yet. Caitlin, the laird’s daughter, who would be getting married at midnight, according to what the tour group had been told, and Angus, a man who looked like everyone’s dream of a knight-in-shining armor. Next to them were place cards for Grant, Irene, and someone named Sam.

There was a brief period of confusion while everyone found their chairs, and then a quiet lull descended over the group. With Irene the only exception, everyone was seated beside someone they already knew, so there was no reason to strike up a conversation. Was that what her sister had suspected would happen when she’d learned about the arranged seating? Being organized wasn’t a bad thing, but in certain circumstances it could rob an event of its spontaneity and discovery.

Irene placed both hands on the high-backed chair and kept that in mind as she tried to ignore the hemmed-in feeling. Lady Roselyn had placed her between Grant and a complete stranger.

“Hello, gorgeous,” a man said as he pulled out her chair. “My name is Sam.”

She jerked a nod and scooted her chair in close to the table. He seemed like a perfectly nice man. He had that five-day-old beard thing going for him that some women found sexy. On some guys it worked, but on Sam all she could think of was that he was too lazy to shave.

She jumped.

Sam’s hand was on her knee. His fingers squeezed as he slid her a sideways glance. She wrenched it away. “Not cool, Sam.”

He tucked in his chin and pouted. “We were seated next to each other. I thought the sisters meant…” He took a drink from his apple cider, made a face, and motioned to one of the servers for something stronger.

“Sam was out of line,” Grant said, leaning toward her. “I’ll talk to him. We’re both trying to figure out the rules. Julia and I and a lot of our friends attend Renaissance and medieval faires. The matchmaker’s ad was irresistible. Tired of failed relationships? Take a journey back in time and find your match, it said. I liked everything about the pitch. Since the three of us love going to these types of festivals, we felt it was a good fit. Besides, Julia’s been here before, and she wanted to return.” He stole a glance toward Julia. Even the casual observer could sense the attraction he felt for her. Grant ducked his head and fingered his goblet. “The tour is not what I…that is…”

“May I have your attention?” Lady Roselyn said, raising her voice above the music. “All the food is authentic to the thirteenth century. For those of you with food allergies, we’ve taken our selections into consideration. Everything presented here tonight is perfectly safe to eat. Enjoy.” She then motioned for the servers to start the procession.

Each course was presented with much fanfare and description. The first course was a thin broth with bacon, followed by pigeon stuffed with herbs, in currant sauce. There was stewed hare, except Irene couldn’t banish the image of cute bunny rabbits, so she declined. When the eel in a spicy mustard sauce was presented, Logan made a gagging sound. Irene smiled, choked on a turnip, and covered her mouth with her linen napkin to smother a laugh.

Lady Roselyn stood once more and clinked her goblet with a knife to get everyone’s attention. “I’d like to make an announcement. The desserts will be presented in a few moments, and more will be offered during the wedding feast, but now I’d like to introduce our wedding couple, Caitlin and her groom-to-be, Angus.”

Everyone at the table clapped—everyone, that was, except Julia. She sat as still as a statue carved from a solid piece of cold marble. She dropped her knife on her plate and overturned her goblet in her haste to leave.

Stunned silence gripped those at the table for a moment, and then everyone started talking at once. Angus rose to go after Julia, but Caitlin held him back with a touch of her hand on his arm. He hesitated before he pulled away and left in the direction Julia had run. Irene had witnessed the instant recognition between Angus and Julia. They knew each other, and the announcement that Caitlin and Angus were to be married had been a shock to Julia.

Irene knew how it felt to be caught off guard. Catching her ex with another woman had been bad enough: learning he thought she should understand and just “get over it” had caused her to go into a mini meltdown. Fortunately, she’d had her sister to bring things back into perspective. Louise had reminded Irene that it was a good thing she’d learned what a creep he was before they got married.

Irene wondered who was there for Julia. Angus had chased after her, but was he really the one Julia should be talking to right now? Maybe she should stay out of it. After all, she didn’t know Julia that well, and this was obviously some sort of love triangle. Or maybe it was part of the entertainment of the tour experience? Except it seemed too real. She could tell heartache when she saw it. Caitlin was sobbing, and Lady Roselyn was trying unsuccessfully to comfort her.

Grant and Sam were talking in whispers across Irene, and on the other side of the table Logan and his father were trying to calm Ann. She kept alternating between attempting to leave and glancing toward Irene. Her gaze was focused and her expression intense as she ignored both her son and her husband. Irene had the distinct impression that Ann was trying to say something to her.

Irene focused on Ann.

The response was instant as Ann responded and mouthed the words: Go after Julia.

Irene sprang to her feet.