Anjuli banged the door shut behind her.
* * *
Anjuli stood on the stage with Councillor Hamish and the Common Riding VIPs...including Mac. She had lost more weight, there were tension lines around her mouth and the circles under her eyes were panda bear dark. Her navy blue, scoop-necked dress looked two sizes too big, making her seem ungainly.
Anjuli had tried to speak to her but Mac had cut her dead, and was now standing as far away from her corner as possible. Other than stiffly acknowledging a table of primary school teachers and Florinda Montrose, Mac kept her eyes locked on Ben. He was at a table in the middle of the room, sitting next to an attractive older woman and looking every inch the romantic scoundrel in his kilt. Anjuli pulled up the low bodice of her sage green gown, not wanting to give Florinda the opportunity to tell whoever would listen that “Jules” had flaunted her jewels at the ball. The zipper fastening cinched her waist to within an inch of her life, but that wasn’t why she felt breathless. Rob hadn’t arrived yet, and she didn’t know whether she wanted him to or not. If he came with another woman she would...would...Why didn’t Councillor Hamish get a move on so she could get off this damn stage?
If the evening followed the normal pattern of events, Councillor Hamish would say a few words, then Mac would talk about the festival and there would be either a poem or a song. After that it was her turn to address the village, introduce the band and declare a start to the dancing.
Where the hell was Rob? She needed to see him, not the long ball gowns or formal kilts of the Lindsey, Crawford or MacDonald clan. Ash caught her eye and winked. She looked resplendent in scarlet and her arm was linked around Viking’s massive bicep. Her posture was relaxed but she looked tense. Anjuli didn’t think she needed to fear snide whispers or the morality police. Viking’s hair was combed back and he’d shaved and cleaned up, but he looked more dangerous in a formal kilt than in his usual jeans and leather jacket.
Relieved that their spat was over, Anjuli winked back. If it weren’t for the weight on her conscience, she’d be feeling pretty good right now. After all, she was coping with Ash’s motherhood and taking responsibility for her mistakes. Ash was right. Tonight she would tell Rob why she’d suddenly stopped work on Castle Manor. She’d never bought a lot of jewellery for herself, but would he take it in lieu of cash? It was risibly short of what he’d outlaid so far, but hopefully he’d take it and wait for when her new application was approved to get the rest of what she owed him.
Stupid woman, of course he won’t take it. He was Rob, and although he would be furious he wouldn’t strip her of everything she possessed in order to get his money. He’d be shocked, disappointed...and walking through the doorway. Alone.
Rob stopped and scanned the room, and an irrepressible thrill fluttered through her. She’d seen him in his formal kilt many times during their relationship—black Prince Charlie jacket and bowtie, crisp white shirt and Douglas plaid—and it had always filled her with pride, joy that such a man was hers. Now, the sight of his tall, dark form made her feel barren, empty inside, her skin a layer of thin tissue, wrapping a space meant to be filled by him.
See me, she wanted to say, look at me and smile. She willed him to turn his head, notice her, stop greeting people and come straight to the stage. He waved at Mac, looked straight through her and joined Ben at his table.
Councillor Hamish tapped the microphone, a big smile on his face. “Thank you all for coming tonight and for making our Common Riding Festival such a success, and a special thank you to the Chairman of the Committee, Mrs. Mackenzie Scott, for her tireless efforts to produce one of the most memorable festivals ever.”
Mac spoke as if by rote. “It was a pleasure to lead the committee this year and to help in organising the ride-outs and the revelries that followed. I was lucky to have wonderful support from family and friends through such a chaotic time. I would like to thank my two brothers, Benedict and Robert Douglas, for making sure I didn’t fall apart.” Her eyes teared up and she swallowed, then straightened her shoulders. “They’ve agreed to go one step further and begin our evening with their interpretation of Heaverlock’s very own poem, The Reiver’s Lament. Please give them a huge round of applause.”
Rob and Ben stood up, and Anjuli, along with every other hot-blooded woman in the room, ran her gaze over the two Douglas brothers, so similar yet so distinctive. The Reiver’s Lament was the tale of a wayward, courageous boy who grows up wanting to be a soldier and discovers that killing destroys the soul. Ben took the audience through laughter at the lad’s mischievous antics, hopes that he’d achieve his dream and then horror as he grew up, fought battles and suffered as an English captive.