Chapter 31
They walked hand in hand back to the castle, the tote bag now on Duncan’s shoulder.
This, Bex thought – these quiet walks, the people they loved…
that was all that mattered. Not whether she had the same surname as him.
Whether they got to say a spiel of words in front of hundreds of people.
None of that mattered. It didn’t change their devotion to one another.
‘Maybe we just wait,’ she said, pausing as the castle came into view. ‘A year, two years. We’re not going anywhere. And does it really matter if we’re married or not? Everybody sees me as your wife already. God knows they’ve asked me to be on enough committees.’
‘I want to be with you,’ Duncan said. ‘Forever. For longer than forever. But if it’s okay with you, then maybe we should wait. And maybe we can find a slightly lower-key wedding planner too.’
‘Yes. Yes please!’ Bex said so emphatically that Duncan couldn’t help but laugh.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘I’ll go check the marquee. You need to go and spend some time with your friends.’
Now that sounded like something she wanted to do.
That afternoon, and into the evening that followed, was everything the day before should have been: full of laughter, catching up, and sharing one another’s ridiculous stories, of which Daisy had more than a few.
Apparently, antenatal classes were far more amusing than expected, while Claire was dealing with her own parenting dramas, as Amelia was currently enduring the kind of heartbreak only a teenager could truly suffer.
Bex’s parents were on good form too. Her mother was telling everyone how much she was enjoying all the free time she had with the house to herself, now that her dad was out marathon training four days a week.
‘Well, it might be a while until you walk me down the aisle,’ Bex said, deciding she might as well tell them about her and Duncan’s conversation. ‘We’re going to wait until we feel a bit more sorted here, which is probably going to take a couple of years, but that’s okay.’
‘You know y’already family to us,’ Carrie said with a grin.
‘I know. Thank you,’ Bex said.
‘It’s a shame Lorna and Eilidh couldn’t make it down tonight,’ Claire said, commenting on the last few people who would have made the group complete. Bex had had the same thought too, and had messaged them both, but they had sent their apologies and said they couldn’t make it.
‘I think Lorna’s planning on staying up all night baking,’ Carrie replied. ‘I don’t know if it would be a good thing if she won the Laird’s Cup or not. She’d be unbearable.’
‘She’s often unbearable.’ Duncan grinned, taking a swig of his drink as he slipped his hand into Bex’s. Yes, this was what life was all about. And maybe she would think before taking any more clients on at the firm. Growth was good, but this – having time – was better.
The next morning, Bex was woken by the smell of coffee wafting under her nose.
‘Come on, sleepyhead,’ Duncan said, planting a kiss on her forehead. ‘Time you got up, don’t you think?’
‘Already?’ she groaned, stretching out on the bed. She thought she’d kept her drinking to a minimum, so that Daisy wasn’t the only sober one, but maybe she could have had one less drink.
‘It’s not that early. Our dads have already got their trainers on, ready to go for a run.’
‘They have?’ Bex blinked.
‘Yep. He really is committing to this marathon lark. Oh, and Marjorie’s already here.’
‘What?’ Bex bolted upright.
‘Yeah, competitors were allowed to start dropping things off from seven, so she’s been here since six thirty.’
‘And she does this voluntarily?’ Bex asked in disbelief. ‘What time is it now?’
‘Nine fifteen,’ he groaned.
‘Have you offered Marjorie a drink?’
‘Already done,’ he said. ‘You want some breakfast? Daisy’s made some.’
‘You realise I have to try around three hundred jam tarts today, right?’
‘Good point.’
Realising she really couldn’t stay in bed any longer, Bex pulled herself out from under the duvet and headed into the shower, before dressing in jeans and the leather boots she’d found the other day, then headed downstairs.
There, Bex quickly said hello to her family and friends before heading outside and walking towards the loch.
It was a stunning morning; the perfect day for a gala, that was for sure.
Tiny white clouds drifted across the sky, reflected in the glassy, still water.
The route Bex took was one of her favourite paths down to the lake – as well as one of the fastest. It didn’t matter what time of year it was, flowers always lined the gravel: snowdrops in the winter, daffodils and crocuses as the weather warmed, and the phenomenal bluebells that filled not only this path but most of the woodland in April.
Last month had been a medley of tulips and azaleas, but now it was the roses and lavender that bordered the aisle-like path leading to the marquee.
Several people were milling around, but with no sign of Marjorie or Donald – and not being sure who the other committee members even were – Bex headed into the marquee.
Sure enough, there was Marjorie, standing with another woman who, judging by the dog collar around her neck, was a member of the church. The rest of the tent was empty.
‘Patricia,’ the woman in the dog collar said, stretching out her hand. ‘The other judge.’
‘Bex,’ Bex said. ‘The laird’s w—’ She stopped herself, with a smile. ‘The laird,’ she finished.
‘Now.’ Marjorie clasped her hands together, clear that the introductions had already gone on long enough. ‘Everybody had to get their entries in by 10 a.m. so we can start judging straight away. How does that sound to you?’
‘It sounds good,’ Bex replied, aware there wasn’t really another answer she could give.
‘Great. Well, you’ll go through everything together, but if you can’t decide, I’ll cast the third vote. Any questions?’
Bex and Patricia looked at one another, before shaking their heads.
‘Great, then let’s get going.’
Twenty minutes later, Bex knew she’d made the right decision in not eating breakfast.
‘This is divine. Amazing,’ she said, chewing her seventh mouthful of homemade focaccia.
‘I feel bad only cutting a tiny sliver of each,’ Patricia said as she went in for the best sponge cake.
‘I know,’ Bex agreed, taking the piece of cake that Patricia offered her.
‘Oh my gosh, this is perfect. Whoever made this, I want them to do my wedding cake,’ Bex said, before thinking the same of the next four she ate.
‘Talking of the wedding, do we have a date?’ Marjorie asked. ‘The whole village is so excited, you know. I’m sure the festivities’ll last a month.’
Bex’s smile tightened. It was one thing explaining the delay to her friends, but it was a different matter when it came to the village.
‘There’s still a lot to sort out,’ she said evasively.
‘I can imagine,’ Patricia replied. ‘Oh, brownies next,’ she added enthusiastically, before shooting Bex a quick smile. ‘I love brownies.’
By the time the food categories had come to an end, Bex didn’t think she could have managed another mouthful.
Thankfully, they had been walking a fair bit, which had helped.
The photography included a couple of prints Bex was sure she recognised from the café, while the pottery – which she hadn’t even known was a category – had some incredible vases, mugs and even cafetieres.
After awarding various rosettes, they moved onto sewn crafts, where the first items of which were dresses.
‘There’s been a lot of entrants here,’ Marjorie said. ‘Variable quality of course.’
‘I think my friend entered this category,’ Bex said, standing at the garments.
A shadow crossed Marjorie’s face.
‘You can’t let that affect your opinion,’ she said, worry warbling her voice. ‘The judges have to be impartial.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Bex replied, wishing she hadn’t commented. ‘I’ve no idea what she’s made. She wouldn’t let me see it.’
‘Okay. You’re sure?’
‘Absolutely.’
Marjorie’s pout remained. ‘Well, perhaps it will be best if all three of us vote on the winner of this one anyway,’ she said, still unconvinced of Bex’s impartiality.
Yet it was Patricia who spoke next.
‘Actually, I don’t think there’s going to be any need for a deciding vote on this one,’ she said, and as Bex turned and looked at the dresses properly, she understood exactly what the clergywoman meant.
There were at least a dozen dresses on mannequins, all different colours, lengths and styles, but she could only look at one.
‘That is incredible,’ she said in hushed awe.
Even Marjorie couldn’t disagree.
‘Is it a wedding dress, do you think? We did take out the wedding dress category a couple of years ago because there weren’t many participants.’
What it was was beautiful. Ethereal. The soft, oyster-coloured fabric glinted with beads as it fell to the ground with effortless grace. No hint of a train, yet exactly the type of thing Bex could envision herself getting married in.
Her hand was moving forward to touch the softness of the silk when the curtain flap of the marquee flew open.
All three women turned instantly.
‘What is going on here? This is judging. No one should be in here except officials!’ Marjorie let out, only to turn bright red at the sight of Duncan standing there.
‘Oh, Lord Duffy. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know…
’ She dropped into something that could only have been described as a curtsey; the type of action that would normally have horrified Duncan, but he wasn’t even looking at the old woman. He was looking solely at Bex.
‘Duncan, what is it?’ His skin was pale; his eyes wide. Not a flicker of doubt entered her mind. Something was wrong. ‘Duncan?’ she repeated, her pulse rocketing with every moment he stood there. ‘What’s happened?’
‘It’s your dad,’ he said, gaze locked on her. ‘You need to go up to the castle. You need to get back there. Now.’